I put my shoes on. It's a new pair of Brooks Adrenaline ASR 9's. I decided I needed a newer pair of more aggressive trail shoes a couple of weeks ago. Only the second time I've run in them and it was pretty painful. Is this wise? Should I wear the road ones that I've worn in properly? Am I on a fast track to an injury? I guess I'll find out in a few hours...
Off to the registration at the little Keswick Mountain Festival village that's been set up. There is a triathlon starting this side of Derwentwater lake soon and there are a lot of nervous faces around. I get my free shirt and socks, sign the back of my number with contact details in case I'm found unconscious somewhere after a fall and, most importantly, my timing chip.
Off for the long walk to the other side of the lake for the start line. There's a lot of runners going by. A couple of them smile casually as they eat the last minute porridge sitting on the road side. A couple jog by trying to calm their nerves with a warm up. A couple more storm past looking very serious and obviously mentally running through the day already. Ah, the differing faces of trail runners before a race.
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| Milling about before the start... Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
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| Limber up... |
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| Listen carefully... |
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| Focus... |
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| ...and we're away. Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
I'm near the front of the pack and the pace is fast. There are some excited cheers as the tension of the build up is released and we are finally on our way. Less then two minutes in and I roll the same sore ankle. I swear under my breath and limp a few steps but keep going. The horrible thought that I may have to drop out within the first kilometre rears up but I slow briefly and allow the ankle to sort itself out. It does thankfully.
We wind through the forest trail next to the lake. It's very low undulations with some muddy puddles and a lot of tree roots. Now this is running. Screw tarmac. Nothing beats dodging tree branches whilst slipping on an unexpected bit of bog only to right yourself and notice an amazing view across a picturesque lake.
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| Looking back on Derwentwater. Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
We weave in and out of the trees for some time and my new compression leg sleeves are slipping down more than expected. A couple of other runners comment every now and again as they pass me about my quite constant readjustment. I joke with them. If you can't laugh at yourself then you've got no hope. You may as well give up or you won't make it when the going gets tough and you have to mentally keep yourself going. New kit on race day though...rookie mistake.
The field starts to thin out ever so slightly and we are now in single file with the occasional person catching and passing each other. I'm finding my rhythm. I'm starting to feel good and the endorphins are still rushing. I realise they have been since the start and I'm happy. It's a nervous one but a grin all the same.
I go through yet another deep part of boggy ground and come out the other side shoeless. I curse my stupidity. When will I learn to tie my shoelaces tighter for these types of races? I walk back through the bog and collect my shoe with debris gaiter still fully attached and sitting on top. I walk back out and try to put it back on but it takes 30 seconds of faffing to get it sorted and clipped up again. I can feel that shoe is now at least half a kilogram heavier with thick mud both inside and out. No matter. I push on.
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| Can you see my shoe? Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
The path thins to a singletrack and the runners quicken around me. I'm still nearer the front than my ability suggests I should be and it shows in the agility around me. Rocks, mud and streams make no difference to us- we plow through as if we were running a road marathon. Occasionally someone will walk up a particularly tricky bit and I dodge round them or cut across on a higher or lower path. I may be fearless now but my time will come on the mountain. I'm sure of this. They always pass me back on the flat as well anyway.
I've been pushing the pace quite hard up until now. I hadn't hit today with any great pacing plan I had just decided to do it. I've learned in recent races the importance of doing so but I just didn't know what to expect from today so had no idea what to expect. Now that it's happening I'm setting up the plan as I go. I decide I'll push it at quite a fast pace for as long as I can but without going so hard I'll hit the wall later. I'll have plenty of time to walk later so don't want to pace it like a flat course. That's the plan anyway.
We hit the first climb of the day and I run to start then settle into the fastest hike I can manage. I pass a few people on this uphill stretch. It's steep enough that, whilst easily possible, it would be pointless to run it. The minimal extra pace gained over a fast hike is far outweighed by the glycogen lost through the expenditure. As is being demonstrated by a determined runner up ahead. I decide to conserve the energy for when it's needed. I walk. It's fast, but it's a decided and definite walk. I take the chance also to get some jelly babies out of my bag to start the refuelling earlier rather than later. I want to keep the reserves high rather than wait in case it becomes too little too late and it's always best to eat on an uphill if possible. I realise that with jelly babies if you are struggling to breath you can store then in your cheeks like a squirrel and make a mental note to make sure I snack on these throughout to keep energised.
Just before the crest I move back into a run as does every other runner around me. It's a fairly sharp descent and quite bouldery. The guy in front decides to move down the path gingerly. I cut across down a brush slope and pass him. I always do enjoy the downhills. Plus it feels to me to make more sense to go down these parts rather than the paths. Less mud and wet rocks to slip on that way.
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| Down the brush to the right? Yeah? Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
I'm proven right at the bottom of this small slope as we go through a kissing gate and have to go down a few rocks to hit the road again. I slip. It's not hard and I straight away hear the usual 'You alright, mate?' from behind me. He hasn't even finished his words before I've given him a thumbs up and said 'Yeah, all fine'. You've got to love the camaraderie of the trail running community. It's so guaranteed people will check on you that you can let them know before they've even done so.
A road section ensues and we suddenly find ourselves on the cycle route of the triathlon also taking place. As the cyclists speed past I can't help but think this is slightly dangerous so make sure I take extra care keeping an eye out behind me. It's all fine and it dawns on me that the riders will be equally as concerned as the runners to avoid a collision. If for no reason other than to conserve ones own chances of completing the race. It's only short and we are met by a marshal directing us back down another road. I can't help but be pleased at getting away from any potential crash.
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| Waiting to direct us away from cyclists. Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
I click to the fact that the marshal was standing at Seatoller. From here the route is unmarked. We've been told we need very good navigational skills in order to complete this course and I can't say I'm confident. I did a very brief introductory crash course yesterday on this and that's the extent of my knowledge. It did give me a lot of good tips and help quite a lot in my understanding of things but I know this is going to be tough. I've got the mandatory map and compass in my bag and now hope I have the skills should I need them. I've just never put them into practice before. I've spent last night very carefully drawing the route onto the map and studying it in detail to make sure I understand where I'm going. I've also uploaded the gpx file of the route recce the organisers have kindly sent me (and also where a lot of these photos are coming from) to my phone and am tracking and following that route. My plan is that if I get lost I'll hope my phone GPS is working and that I'll be able to see the route I'm supposed to be on as opposed to where I actually am and be able to get a quick bearing of which way I need to go to get back on track. If the GPS fails, which I do expect it to do that high up, that's when I'll move to the map and compass. That's the plan anyway.
The mountain hike yesterday up to the top of Great Gable ended up going through a considerable part of the route also, taking in part of the next section from Seathwaite up, the Styhead check point and part of the route back down from the Esk Hause check point en route back to the Styhead checkpoint a second time. This gave me a lot of extra confidence in that I knew part of the route. I was to find two problems in this false bravado later on.
Right now though, it's helping me to feel good about the next section. We have a short two kilometre stretch on the road which is actually quite nice. Road is always a bittersweet thing for the trail runner. We all hate road sections and long to get back to the trail but it's also quite a nice change to get a chance to open up a bit, stretch those quads and hamstrings and remind yourself that you can actually have speed in your running sometimes as well. I decide to go for the latter view today. I want to remain as positive as possible throughout as I know I'm going to be tested very soon. By those big mountains looming right in front of me.
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| Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
At the end of this stretch we arrive at Seathwaite farm. I arrive with two others. I feel at an advantage now as I walked this next section yesterday. The guy in front of me veers off left around the building but I carry on through the road between the building and the sheds to my right. The guy behind us looks rather confused as we both went our separate ways with confidence. In the end he follows me when he sees another group off to the left waiting outside the toilets situated there. We come out the other side of the farm with a couple of runners who've finished their comfort break and see the first feed station. Everyone stops here but I completely ignore it. It's only a moment later when I hear the marshal calling out my number that I confirm my passing through.
I'm going on the idea of staying as little as I can at the checkpoints and I know that this is not one where we need to touch in with our timing chips so continue. I've filled my bag with two litres of electrolyte drink so should be fine to make it through the day without needing to fill up and I think I have just enough energy gels to get me through. Just enough but not too much. I plan to have one at the first checkpoint at Styhead, one at the summit and then go by feel for the last one. Hopefully that will be enough. Hopefully.
So I continue on and don't stop at this feed station. We now go through next to a field of sheep and are back out into the open trail, following a fence for a kilometre or so and I'm buoyed by the fact that I recognise parts from yesterday even though I'm also aware of how high the mountains are we have yet to climb. The gradient becomes marginally steeper. A precursor of sorts. I then notice the back of the photographer I met the other night on the organised moonlit canoeing trip as part of the Keswick Mountain Festival and shout his name. He turns around and gives me a big grin and a smile and tells me I'm doing great. I tell him I've still got the mountain to go yet and laugh my way off.
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| Image courtesy of Sport Sunday. |
I get talking to the runner next to me. It's the same casual exchange you have at most races. Have you been here before? Do you know the area? It's his second marathon ever and I commend him on his choice. It's going to be a tough day. He's a bit worried about the navigation too. So I'm at least not alone. I explain my motivation and my luck in having managed to recce some of the route yesterday by chance. I mention my previous races and that I've purposefully gone off too fast for the first section. He laughs nervously and mentions he's worried he's done the same. A few sentences later he drops back. I hope I haven't put him off his pace but don't get the chance to say so.
Over Stockley bridge and I get a strange thrill from the fact that I already know which route to take here. To my left is Grains Ghyll and a slow incline. Straight on is the route up Styhead Ghyll and straight into a very hard climb. I go straight. It's now at a point of using hands as well as feet to get up the path at some points here and it's straight into a fast hike rather than a run. I'm still pushing this as hard as I can all the same. I still want to make the hiking as quick as possible and lose as little time as I can.
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| Stockley Bridge. Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
I pass a couple more runners and then approach a further one from behind him. He's one of those guys who runs with poles. After seeing someone arse over on the Endurancelife CTS Exmoor Ultra a few weeks back I just can't see the point in them. They ended up in that case meaning that the guy had no free hands to steady himself so they just seem a hindrance to me. Yet a lot of runners use them so there must be some merits that I'm not seeing. I'm so caught up on pondering the pros and cons of poles that I fail to notice until I'm level with him that he is wearing a full respirator gas mask. I get quite a fright seeing this as it's so unexpected and out of place here on the trail that it jars. What's going on? I wonder. I can't help but think the zombie apocalypse is awaiting up ahead. It makes no sense but its the first thing that jumps into my head. My next thought is how the hell did this guy stay ahead of me so long? We're now fifteen kilometres into a marathon and this guy has run faster than me that whole time. Either he's really quick or I'm slower than I feel. After recovering my senses I'm spurred to run faster and carry on up ahead.
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| Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
The path evens out and I can settle back into a canter. It's a false hope however as it fast becomes bouldery again and we meet Styhead ghyll winding it's way down the mountain. I suddenly notice that the path is actually going through the riverbed. I realise I will need to focus hard here. There's nothing more for it- I throw myself at the mercy of these boulders, bouncing from one to the next and making sure to keep a very close eye on how close to the river each one is, therefore how slippery it is and try to make sure I land on my toes on each one. Right in the middle. It's too easy to snap an ankle going at pace through this sort of terrain so I focus hard.
At one point there is a woman standing on a rock and saying encouraging things. She tells me my effort is absolutely amazing and that she is stunned. It's always great to have such support and this woman's genuine over enthusiasm spurs me on that much more again. I smile ear to ear and give her a big old thank you.
The boulders go on for a while until we move back to running beside the Ghyll. Much simpler. The incline is constant but it's definitely still possible to run some parts although it's definitely becoming less and less possible. We come up unexpectedly next to a tarn and I realise this must mean we are near to Styhead which is the first checkpoint. I don't know why but seeing a lake this high up is so unexpected and it gives me a surge of peacefulness. It spurs me on and I feel like I'm making good time. Sure enough not long after we approach the 'Stretcher Box'. This is where mountain rescue come to get their supplies before heading up the mountain if anyone ever needs help. I put off the thought that I may well be that person in the next couple of hours.
Must.
Stay.
Positive.
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| Image courtesy of Adventure in Mind. |
There are a number of blokes standing around chatting and eating here taking a minutes rest. I stick to my plan and move straight up to the marshal. I look in front of me and there are two timing boxes. 'Either one?' I ask. I'm told yes so I hold my chip up to the box and wait for the beep. It sounds and I turn around and run off. I don't want to lose any time stopping here.
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| My arrival at checkpoint 1. Image courtesy of Adventure in Mind. |
This is another location that I had the fortune to see yesterday. I notice that the ground here is still covered in puddles. The difference now is that where yesterday I did my best to avoid the puddles today I just go right through the middle of them without a second thought. My shoes and feet have been soaked since very early on. After I arrived back at the B&B last night I had frantically tried to dry my shoes off to avoid having to start the race today with wet shoes. I laugh to myself. How pointless that was.
I'm now confused however, as the published route from here doesn't go along an actual established path and I wonder whether we are supposed to go left towards Sprinkling Tarn and then right up the mountain path or to just go straight on and make my own path as the route suggests. In front of me there are a few other runners moving off into the distance and it suddenly hits me that visibility is very low here. I can't see that far ahead of me other than the said runners disappearing into the ether. I can't help but wonder if the zombie apocalypse really is approaching looking at this sad state of affairs. It looks almost more like these people are just running for their lives rather than putting themselves through this pain on purpose. The things we do for fun.
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| Image courtesy of Adventure in Mind. |
I still don't know where they're going but they are taking the option of not following the path so I blindly join them and take my first gel of the day in as I'm moving. From here I am in uncharted territory and have no idea what to expect. Yesterday I had asked the hike guide how much lower than Scafell we were at the top of Great Gable. He said we were only a couple of hundred metres below and that hike hadn't been too treacherous so I have filled myself with confidence that this section of the mountain today will be manageable without too many worries. How wrong I was.
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| Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
The next four kilometres will see us climb about five hundred metres. Give or take.
The terrain becomes instantly and very noticeably harder. I start to question my confidence in projection at how hard this is going to be. I throw this thought out as soon as it arrives.
Must.
Stay.
Positive.
There is no path so we are suddenly thrown into scrambling up the side of this mountain with no real idea of exactly which path or direction we should be taking. It's fine for a while but the visibility is steadily getting worse the higher we go. The gradient is getting steadily steeper. The ground underfoot is steadily getting looser. My mind steadily starts to fray.
After a kilometre of this, the path is still not visible and I have settled into a group of about six or seven runners all moving together. I'm near the back so I'm just following them but I start to notice the ones at the front looking around more and more. More and more it dawns on us that we are no longer as certain of the fact that we are definitely going the right way. There is no option, however, other than to keep going. So we do.
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| The corridor route on a good day. Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
As far as I understand we should have now joined the corridor route up the mountain but if we have I can't tell. There is no definable path whatsoever. We are winding our way around the eastern side of the mountain and then we come up against a cliff face about twenty metres high. Several runners are standing at the bottom of this looking very puzzled and unsure. The two in front of me veer off to the left muttering something about getting around this rock face from above. The runners standing at the bottom of it point and say loudly that these two are cheating and cutting corners to which a protest is thrown back that they are in fact going the right way. I'm now torn. There are more people climbing the cliff in front and it does look like a quicker way past but the two moving to the left are going what looks like a less treacherous way.
I decide to carry forward and wait my turn to climb. I place a sodden shoe on a slippery rock and take my first step up. I silently thank the gods that may be that I decided to risk the new trail shoes with grip. Road shoes could kill me here.
One hand, one leg at a time. I am halfway up and look down. There is a very steep drop to the other runners who are all pushing up directly behind me trying to get up as quickly as possible. Below that there is a scree slope off into the misty ether. I am unsecured. If my shoe slips in my haste to race then I may well die here.
One hand, one leg at a time. I am halfway up and look down. There is a very steep drop to the other runners who are all pushing up directly behind me trying to get up as quickly as possible. Below that there is a scree slope off into the misty ether. I am unsecured. If my shoe slips in my haste to race then I may well die here.
Part of my reason to enter this race is that I am terrified of heights. I wanted to challenge myself on this level and put myself in a position where I would have to face my fear head on. As I cling to this slippery rock looking down a cliff at a scree slope that disappears into a cloud, I realise this is now the moment that I am doing so. I force myself to look back up and I suppress the terror.
Must.
Stay.
Positive.
I move my leg up again and clear the top of the climb. I am alive. I did not slip or even struggle too much. I breathe a sigh of relief.
I look in front of me at another scree slope and put one shaky foot in front of the other. As I took a few moments longer to get to the top of this climb the runner before me is now only a very faint outline twenty metres ahead. I realise I may have to now also focus on figuring out which way to go. As well as running. As well as suppressing my fears. I start to run in the hopes of catching up with the two in front. More runners are pouring over the lip of the cliff behind me. I catch up and am caught up in turn and we now have a group of about ten of us running and walking together. We are on our individual journeys but we are, for the moment, in this together.
We are still scrambling and unsure of what we are doing and then suddenly the two in front of me stop to try to get their bearings. The guys behind catches up and the whole group of us stare frantically up this nondescript mountain with no idea where we are going. I don't know why but I suddenly just carry on forward in the same direction we were going before winding around the eastern side. As I looked fairly sure of what I was doing the rest fall in line behind me and we are off again. Somehow I have ended up in the position of being the temporary, unelected leader of this group. I think they presume I know which is the correct way. I don't. I just know that we have to keep going up.
I look ahead and scour the slope. No longer am I looking for a path. There is no hope of finding one it seems. I'm just looking for the best line to take. Over a few more rocky sections and then we reach a point where I realise that we need to take a left and start our way straight up rather than winding around. This section is quite treacherous and I dread it. I go on all the same.
At this point I hear a few people below me frantically shouting 'rocks!' I stop and pause and look back, worried. The guy directly behind says it's fine and quite a few people below us but I'm more concerned about their safety than whether I'm going to get hit. Since he seems to think it's fine I carry on. I'll later find out that it was in fact a rather large rock that bounced down, narrowly missing someone's head which would have knocked him down the cliff. It's a good thing I didn't know this at the time and an even better thing that he wasn't hit.
We reach another section of climbing and I look down again. I am having to move fast to avoid a collision with the guy coming up behind me. I want to freeze but I can't. I need to compose my thoughts as a nauseous wave of terror sweeps up my body like a cold jet of water and reaches my mind.
I panic.
I stop.
I decide I am going to turn around and go back down.
I can't handle this.
But I realise that is not an option as I'll cause far too many troubles for those coming up and it will be more dangerous than carrying on. I am completely terrified and can't fathom the fact that I am trapped here. I can't just get out of this situation. And the worst thing is I put myself in this situation. I have no one I can blame. I actually want to cry. This is the first point that I really regret my earlier false bravado at my competence in getting through today easily.
Must.
Stay.
Positive....it doesn't work. This mantra has worked until now but I am now past the point of being able to suppress this.
But I don't cry. I turn back around and I carry on up the climb. I look around me and gain strength from the seemingly unworried faces of the other runners around me. If they aren't bothered by the heights then I must be okay. Right?
I must be okay. I must be okay. I must be okay.
The liquid ice of terror starts to melt. I put one foot in front of the other and I regain myself. I don't want to rationalise this. I just want to keep going. I think of nothing else other than looking at where I need to go. I'm no longer leading the group. In my panic a couple of other guys have gone passed me and I am happy with this. I am happy following again. Is happy the right word? I don't know anymore. I don't think I know anything anymore. At one point I ask the group if anyone knows if the route on the other side that we'll be taking down is as hard as this side. I dread the answer but thankfully am told it's a bit bouldery on the top but it is indeed easier.
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| The corridor route on a good day. Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, the gradient on the scree slope starts to smooth out a bit. The fear recedes. I am regaining control of myself enough to start a conversation with an older runner next to me. He is white haired but seems pretty stable and able for this sort of thing. We exchange races stories. He normally does MTB or duathlons so this is a break from the norm. I commend him on how he's doing given fell running is not his usual discipline. I tell him about my fears and my moments of panic and it feels good to voice them. To share the burden as it were. He commends me on the fact that I didn't given up and am pushing through the vertigo. I'm shattered at this point and decide to have my second gel early. I hadn't planned to but I prefer to have all plans adaptable and would rather go on the fact that I feel like I need it now than wait until it's too late to rectify the damage.
There is a rare section where it is now runnable again rather than hiking. I can't remember the last time I ran. It feels weird doing so again. It feels more painful than I'm expecting too and I am reminded how far I have come. Literally and metaphorically. We're still all getting lost and just going blindly up until at one point a few of us stop, unsure. A short conversation ensues and a few opinions are given then a guy to the right of me says he can see some cairns ahead of where he is. This sounds good by me and sensible so the four or so in our current group head that way until my legs start to fade. I am trying to keep up but these guys seem to have more in their legs than I so I let them go.
Eventually I do regain the actual path and it is a relief. I am soon met with a fork in it though. One path goes up to the left and the other winds round further. I take the option to the right as assume the left is the path that we were made aware we couldn't follow or face a time penalty. Two runners ahead aren't so sure and one has his map out. I shout ahead that I think it's the right way and the other path is the one we're not allowed to take. The three of us move off together and the third guy is looking at his GPS watch and says there is a waymark not far away. I note the three different ways we are navigating. One by map. One by a premapped GPS route on a watch. And myself by the memory of studying the map with either other option as back up. I'm pretty surprised, though, that he is even still getting a reading up here. He thinks that we'll soon meet the main route up and have a left turn for the final push up. I gain strength from the fact that we know exactly where we are and that that is very near the top.
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| Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
It's not long before the rock shelter at the top of Scafell looms out of nowhere right in front of us. I am relieved and surprised and actually have to ask if this is it. The marshal confirms, I touch in and ask him which way to go. His eyes narrow and he asks if I have my map. Have I made a faux pas? Am I not supposed to ask marshals directions? I confirm that it is right in the pocket visible on my bag and he relaxes. It's the right answer. I'm not about to be disqualified. He smiles and points me the way and informs me to follow the cairns and the tape fluttering in the wind which will mark the way but only for the imminent section. I notice that there are runners stood around again refuelling, chatting and laughing. As fun as it looks I have no interest in joining them and move on.
Straight away I see another rock shelter with some hikers sat in it having lunch and am simultaneously hit by the fact that I can't see any of the cairns or markers I was just told to look out for. I ask the hikers and they point me off again. I get less than thirty metres before the same thing happens. I really have no idea where I'm going. Another runner comes up behind me clearly with the same problem. He asks another hiker who points us the right way and tells us there are cairns the whole way. We set off and now the descent starts. It's big rocks a metre high and we are bounding down them and I am reminded of the fact that contrary to the popular belief of the general populace running downhill is actually harder than uphill when my quads are slammed to a jarring stop by a hard step down. It's all new ways to use the muscles than it was on the way up. Whilst it feels nice to have the change I quickly realise that they are already very fatigued so having to use them to control my downward motion is going to hurt. A lot.
Suddenly we are heading back up again. I wasn't expecting this and my spirits are knocked slightly. A guy running next to me, I realise, has a camera strapped to his chest and I am reminded that I nearly bought one myself but just managed to refrain. I'm now regretting this decision as I don't feel I'll be able to explain in words what this experience is actually like when I am back down in the real world. We chat a bit and he seems very surprised by how hard the navigation has been so far. I agree with him although note that I've not struggled too much and have generally been lucky and managed to keep going the right way without much more than a quick stop and check with the other runners around me. I twist my ankle and fall behind. This is not the first twist and it is definitely not the last. I have been lucky so far though and note the fact that the stiffness from the other day seems to actually feel better which is a pleasant surprise. Then I twist it again straight away. Then again. Then again. There's a lot of pointy and slippery boulders here.
We reach a flatter section and suddenly have the chance to open up again. I take the opportunity to take my first toilet stop of the day. I've been needing to go for ages but hadn't wanted to waste the time then found there wasn't really a chance on the way up. It's funny how in a race normal etiquette goes out the window and everyone just stops on the side of the track to go without going off out of sight somewhere.
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| Ascent profile of the race. Image courtesy of High Terrian Events. |
I'm back moving again very soon after and it feels good but my legs are rusty and the pace isn't too fast. The older guy comes blasting back past me. Looking at him earlier I had expected I wasn't going to stay ahead of him for long. It would seem I was right. I soon end up once again finding myself in a group of four runners, we reach a small intersection and are all confused. There is a hiker who one of the other guys asks which the right way is. She points down and they start to head that way. I'm not convinced and ask her if it's actually the way to Esk Hause which is the next checkpoint. I know if I miss this checkpoint it's going to be a long climb back up. She says yes. She doesn't seem certain. I ask if she has come from Esk Hause. She says she has seen loads of 'your people' coming down that way. I'm still not convinced but the mention of other runners means we do carry on down that way. I quote ahead to the cameraman 'your people'. We have a bit of a laugh at the terminology before the talk turns again to the navigation.
The three guys ahead are now going at quite a clip and it's all I can do just to keep up until suddenly the white haired man stops in his tracks. The others follow suit and I'm confused. I wonder if he's just going to the toilet. Then I hear the dreaded word.
Lost.
They are looking at maps. I quickly pull my phone out of my bag to see if it's got a GPS location and am surprised to find it does and see that the line of the correct route and our line is indeed askew. I confirm we are lost and start back up behind me, holding my phone in my hand. That damned hiker was wrong. We should have gone straight. I realise we'll be going back up to then go right and down again so suggest to the other guys that we go off the track and cut across the boggy land. They agree and off we move. After a couple of minutes we find another path and follow it up a bit. I look at the map again and it now seems we've overshot the checkpoint. We're all confused and pointing in different directions until one guy goes the way I think we should so we follow suit. Ten seconds later shouts are passed down the line that he can see Esk Hause ahead and we have finally found the checkpoint. This is the second point I curse my false bravado in managing today.
We touch in and the marshal is telling people to have a quick rest and is partway through explaining that some runners went all the way back down the Styhead to be sent back up. I don't know how true this is but it's nice to see someone smiling and jovial after our stressful ten minutes trying to find him. The other guys stop to put a jacket on but I've put the sleeves of my baselayer down and am fine so follow my plan of not stopping at checkpoints and carry on.
It's more bouncing around doing my best not to twist my ankle which I am becoming slightly more successful in achieving. Soon after I reach the turn off to the other path down the mountain to Grains ghyll and realise I am going down the section we did yesterday, where the guide pointed up the hill and told me where Esk Hause was and that it would be pretty straightforward. He'd obviosly not thought of the fact that visibility could be this bad.
It's not too long before I'm back at Styhead and for the past couple of kilometres I've been consciously noting the fact that my tension levels have been subsiding the surer it becomes underfoot. Now that I'm back at the 'Stretcher Box' I realise how incredibly relieved I am to be back in one piece. I didn't notice that my joking thought of hoping not to need the mountain rescue team was actually more possible than I had assumed.
I touch in and look at the other faces around me. The other three guys who I got lost with who then shot off ahead are all here now. They are laughing and I can see a lot of relief on their faces that the worst is done for now. I point off and say 'that way?'. It's confirmed and I'm away. The guy with white hair is with me again and we chat again. I feel able to talk again finally. One of the other guys opens up and storms away from us on a rare chance of a flat section. My companion mentions that he wishes he had that guys still fresh legs. I concur.
We reach the bouldery part again going down Styhead ghyll and bounce along the rocks, only slipping on my ankle twice although one of them is harsh and opens up a gash. It only stops me a moment. At the end of this it's back down the first steep sections and I recall the man in the gas mask and wonder how he managed up the top. We get back down the kissing gate and he opens it for me. I thank him and he says he's going to take a walk as he's badly twisted his ankle but can't give up this late into the race. I tell him he can still do it even if he walks and that I'll see him when he passes me back again. He laughs at this and I'm away.
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| Image courtesy of Sport Sunday. |
I get down to the very first climb that I had to use my hands on only this time coming down I slip and can't right myself. I quickly turn to face into the rock rather than out and skip my way down to the bottom. That could have been a lot worse.
The endorphins are still running. I'd hoped not to have any more struggles after coming down from the top but I guess it's not to be. Some mountain bikers look on at me seemingly bewildered at the fact I'd managed to take quite a considerable fall and slide then right myself and keep going without missing a beat. Through the gate and back over Stockley bridge. It's fairly flat again and good to get a chance to run once more on the way back to Seathwaite farm.
When I arrive back at the feed station again the marshal tells me I'm doing well and to take a rest. I look confused this time as I'm not sure whether to go back the same way and he corrects me that I do in fact now turn off away to the right instead back onto unfamiliar ground. I then ask if he has any gels and he informs that the organisers don't believe in them as people just throw the wrappers away. I agree that's a good reason and grabs a slice of caramel shortbread instead. He laughs and says that he knew I couldn't resist it. I'm feeling a bit nervous about only having one gel left and seemingly quite a while to go. Then I remember I still have the jelly babies and should be fine for energy. I note at this point also that he is giving out seed bars that are in wrappers and mentally question his logic.
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| Image copyright of Stuart Holmes -http:// |
I press on and am surprised by a photographer. I laugh to myself at his choice of spot to stand just after a checkpoint when most of us are shoving something in our mouths. It's also about this point where I start to wonder how far away I am from finishing. It feels like I should only have about ten kilometres but I'm not sure. I start to feel good about the fact of how far I've come and that I still feel like I'm doing quite well. From here back the route is supposed to be marked yet I find ironically that I have to get my GPS tracking out straight away to know which side of a fence I need to run down.
Suddenly and unexpectedly I start to fade. I've run out of energy. Two or three runners pass me and I just feel tired. I'm still buoyed by the fact that I'm near the end, though. Just have to keep going. The hard parts done. One foot in front of the other. I decide to have my final gel. I'm unsure if it's a good idea as I don't know for certain how far there is left but am reminded of the jelly babies and that decides it. I go through a horribly boggy, muddy patch and some of it goes under my gaiters and over the top of my shoe. I'm suddenly also alerted to the fact that there is a blister forming. I felt like I can stave it off if it is only ten kilometres to go but I'm just not sure I'm correct in that calculation. I make a mental note to keep checking on it and tell myself to stop if it gets any worse. It's better to fix these things early than try to do it when it's too late and too painful.
A couple of kilometres later I reach a YHA and realise there's probably a long while to go and take the opportunity to sit on the first seat I've seen in hours and gets the plasters out. I notice that the fabric strapping is looking pretty buggered under my socks so no wonder it's letting a blister develop. I fix it and two or three runners pass me including the white haired guy who twisted his ankle. He asks if I'm okay. I confirm and give him a smile. I'm pleased to see he's okay as well. I finish up and am back on my feet as quickly as I can be. I then go through Rosthwaite, a small village, and am directed by a marshal who informs me there is only six left. Miles? Kilometres? She confirms it's miles. Damn. I'd been banking on having about six kilometres left and worry how much energy I've got left for a strong finish rather than a gradual fade.
Soon after is another big hill and I'm reduced to a slow walk. I can see the three guys who passed me not too far ahead and know that I can catch people with fast hiking here but no matter how hard I push I just don't have it in me and they don't get any nearer. I mentally start to break and the overwhelming rush of emotion that hits me as I finally let it sink in what went on back on that mountain is quite hard to take. My fraying mental state earlier loses it's resolve and I snap. For hours I have had had to focus so intently on what I was doing that I didn't have that much of a chance to take the experience it. It's like going on a rollercoaster and having to hold your breath through exhiliration. You don't get the biggest thrill until you take a big breath at the end and that's what hits me here. I'm tired. I've no energy left. I've been tense for hours thanks to my fear of heights. I can't catch these guys ahead of me and it just all gets a bit much. This hill is quite a hard barrier to get over and I'm not coping very well.
Most runners experience at some point in a race a very low point. It's possible to not have this happen but if it doesn't it usually means you've either raced and paced incredibly well or you haven't pushed yourself hard enough. This is what they call hitting the wall. It can be from a number of factors. Most commonly it's people pacing wrong and going too hard at the beginning and paying for it later. Or maybe because of not taking in enough energy. I'm now hitting the wall and for me today it is just because of that mountain. I'm overwhelmed at how pleased I am with how fast I've gone considering my average ability and I'm even more overwhelmed at the fact that even though I was shaking and terrified I managed to not give in to the fear on the way up and I managed to get over that mountain. Physically I'm still feeling okay other than being fairly low on energy. Todays wall is a mental one.
Must.
Stay.
Positive.
MUST.
STAY.
POSITIVE.
It's not working very well but I can see the crest of the hill. It seems like an aeon to get there. It seems to take as long as Scafell did. Near the top a couple of hikers tell me I'm doing well and it's not too far. I thank them and it buoys me a bit. I break back into a slow run. A very, very, slow run. Maybe it is still possible. Maybe it's not so bad. I arrive at a fairly technical downhill section and realise that I've caught the three guys again. It gives me a boost and I fly down past them with more confidence than I should. One of them shouts that I'm a brave man to do so at this late stage especially after all the falls we'd all taken up on Scafell.
This makes me feel good once more and I suddenly find I've got my rhythm back. I'm back in the game. I reach an unexpected feed station and notice a lot of people milling about and think I'm about to take at least a few places. I shout loudly asking how far it is left. A fat pensioner with a race number stares at me over the top of a banana and shrugs nonchalantly and unapologetically. If there wasn't a banana hanging out of her jowls I imagine she would have said she didn't know and didn't really care. This annoys me so I ask again. Someone I can't see says it's four miles and I shoot off again. I then wonder who the hell the old fat pensioner was and realise I'm not passing runners I'm passing the stragglers of the thirteen kilometre race that's part of today's events. I can't help but have a little chuckle.
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| Image courtesy of High Terrain events. |
A couple more kilometres and I see Derwentwater again. It lifts my spirits even more to know that I'm close. We're back on the road again for a minute and I wonder if I'm lost again. I check my GPS and find that I am just off course so run across the brush to the trail by the water. I'm still unsure so keep an eye on it and realise I've made a mistake and that I was supposed to be on the road. I double back over again to see a guy passing me and curse myself for not having trusted the fact that I was going the right way. He looks pleased to be passing someone this late but he also looks shattered. I keep him in my sights and make a resolution to pass him back. He looks way more tired than I am so I know I can do it. I just need to keep the focus. It takes a kilometre or so then he struggles on a small incline and I make my move and pass him. Now I just have to stay ahead. I know he's going to try to stay with me so I decide to give it quite a push now and show that I'm still feeling strong. It works and after giving chase for a while I realise he's dropped back and given up. I'm secretly a bit pleased that I've still got some race in me left.
It's at this point also that I decide to ring ahead to tell Jess I'm coming home. No luck. No reception. The GPS is working fine but getting a signal to call out is not happening. I try once. I wait. I try again. Still nothing. It takes a good couple of kilometres of trying to focus on running and making a phone call to finally get through. I leave it three rings and hang up. I hope that she knows this means I'm not far and will see her soon rather than just leave her in confusion. I put the thought out of my mind, though, as it's done now and if it didn't make any sense then I'm not going to know until the end and I'd rather focus on what I'm doing and then figure that out.
Every now and again now I get a small glimpse of Keswick and the finish line. I check my GPS and realise I've gone a full marathon now. There are still at least a couple of kilometres left and I wish there wasn't. I'm happy to finish up now. I don't feel like running much more. But I have to. It's at this point, however, that there are more and more people out for their Sunday walk and I'm getting more and more cheers. This is more than I've had at any race that I've done before and I'm feeling pretty good.
Then I see I'm being chased by one new runner and this ones looking strong. I pass a couple of marshals who tell me I'm a mile and a half from the finish. Through a gate and I decide to try my same tactic of opening up a bit to scare this guy off. I roll my ankle, though, and have to limp a few steps ironically. My tactic doesn't work and this guy is still on me. Can I hold him off? I'm not sure. But I will try, damn it. A few hundred metres later I round a corner and think I see the finish line and am ecstatic. I've done it.
Then I go round the bush and realise I am in fact wrong. This isn't it and I can't even see the finish. I give in and realise I'm going to lose a place. The guy catches me and passes me. 'Well run' I say. We have a small chat about how knackered we both are and we both still seem in good spirits. He's away again soon and promptly stops to open a gate for me. I feel slightly guilty at this after trying to fend him off the past few minutes as we arrive at another little hill. I'm not that bothered but he seems rather annoyed and when we're at the top a walker laughs at it commenting on not being sure why they put that there this close to the end.
I get passed back and I don't bother to chase. I ask someone how far and they say about five hundred. I'm spurred on and there are now quite a lot of people lining the route on their Sunday walk and a number of them are cheering. One woman is being more enthusiastic which is nice and then a massive smile spreads across my face. 'You were up the hill earlier weren't you?'. Without out a break in the beat of her clapping she says she certainly was. I laugh and carry on.
I can see the jetty now and know that the finish is just behind it. There is a fair bit of clapping now and I see a photographer standing in the middle of the road. I give a smile which gets even bigger as I realise the person behind it is Jess. It's a nice surprise as I'd expected her on the line rather than just before. I reach her and ask her to come with me. She's a bit surprised at the suggestion but it's not like it's hard to keep up with me at the finish line going the pace I am so agrees.
We get to the finish chute. Yeah, that's right, a finish chute on a trail race believe it or not. It feels great to go down one with quite a few people clapping around me. I touch in with a grinning marshal. Someone else throws a medal around my neck. I get my time slip and it says six hours and five minutes and am pointed at the water table. I gulp two glasses and realise it's not just water and there is a faint and sort of unpleasant taste which I can't tell if it's some electrolyte replacement or if it is indeed water and I just can't tell after all the energy drink I've been having. No matter. I gulp it down anyway.
My legs start to buckle under me a bit and I leave the finish area to give Jess a hug. She's grinning and telling me I did well and asks what I need. I say I want to sit down but there isn't anywhere. I'm looking around and the ground is a lot of churned up mud. I'm not bothered and about to just sit down anyway then realise there is a tent not far away with benches and make a beeline. We sit down and I let it all hit me. The guy who passed me right at the end joins us and we chat a while. He's excited but I'm exhausted. My first question is how many times he got lost and he did an extra mile or two as well. He eventually heads off and we do the same.
After a quick shower back at the B&B we are on the bus back to Penrith on the long journey home to Kent. Looking over my GPS map and some race reports from others later I realise a few things. Scafell summit was the twenty one kilometre point and I was actually twenty five minutes quicker up than I was down which shocks me as I was certain I was in for a considerable negative split in this race. The horrible rock climbing may not have been necessary as we has just about regained the corridor route before veering off again for a kilometre or so.
So it didn't look like there was a path because there actually wasn't one and we may have got lost less and climbed less to boot if we'd gone the right way.
My final kilometres were also at least a minute slower than my beginning ones and I did nearly forty five rather than the standard forty two. It also seems like everybody else did extra and got lost looking for Esk Hause rather than just the four of us. Including the winner.
I placed forty sixth which is by far my best result yet. Best keep improving and lowering that number. All in all an amazing day thanks in big part to High Terrain Events who put on a brilliant challenge and managed to get a couple of terrible photos of me (as did Adventure in Mind). The guy in the respirator apparently had wanted to go hell for leather with the front runners as much as he could then slow and actually managed to finish it. Big respect to him. The older guy stormed to a finish ahead of me. The guy with the chest camera ended up being James Harris who has put together the following video. It's probably a good thing I didn't feature in it...
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