Today I lost a running friend...

My beloved collie, Islay, reached the end of her race of life today. A few days shy of her 16^th birthday she needed a major operation that there was little chance she would recover from and so, with a little help from modern medicine, the lights went out.

Back in 1994 we selected one of a litter of six from a VHS video and then drove all the way up to Kirkcaldy in Fife to pick-up our little bundle of fur. That bundle of fur grew rapidly into a spindly youth, sustained mostly it seemed by chewing everything around her – thank goodness the furniture was mostly hand me downs or acquired from local newspaper adverts.

With hindsight – she started her running career a little too young and a little too adventurously – but that’s no surprise really considering the passion and training miles I clocked up in those days. As a 5 month old – she struggled in the deep heather and snow one January day around Moel Famau but she gradually developed the economical slightly crabbing gait and prodigious endurance of a true collie.

By the time she was 2 she was comfortable completing races like the Edale Skyline and keeping me company on days out in Wales and the Lakes. At the end of the run I would usually have to endure a 2-3 hour drive in the car and arrive home ready for a lie down and a cup of tea. She would sleep the whole journey through and arrive home ready for more!!

Islay was named from a Scottish Island and on a windswept but beautiful beach in the outer Hebrides she discovered “bunched up running” – unique to Islay and a comical – tail between the legs – back legs ahead of front legs style only used for occasions of extreme joy. On a snowy Coniston Old Man in the Lake District she discovered tobogganing- stick the nose in the snow and plough forwards with the back legs - creating a bow wave of snow.

Mostly Islay was trouble free – the occasional escape to explore the local countryside provided a few worries but visits to the Vet were rare – except , that is, for the 6 month period when she managed to get rolled over under the front of a car (miraculous escape), stung by a bee inside her nose (expensive New Years eve vet visit) knocked out by a horse (bloody nose and a few seconds unconscious but no harm done) and swallowed a Duplo people duvet – worried examination of “output” to ensure it had passed through the system.

Dogs are sensitive to fear and emotions in others and Islay was a silent but knowing companion in tough times. She also knew the meaning of bravado – her furious, yelping, spitting indignation of cats quickly turned into a hasty retreat if they stood their ground.

Collies are also highly intelligent and she learnt to pace herself – me and no pack meant a run of less than 90 minutes, a pack meant it could be a good run out and the presence of Craig usually meant an adventure. She knew these things.

Islay and I shared some great running miles and a few mishaps – once we were running with a small group of Harriers alongside a frozen canal with a sprinkling of snow on. At least I recognised it was a frozen canal but maybe she didn’t – at a recess in the path she confidently jumped down onto the “road” only to disappear through the thin ice for what was probably less than a second but felt like an age. Her eyes were so wide as I hauled her out. Another time, towards the end of a Peris Horseshoe round with my mate Craig it became obvious that her pads, unused to the rigours of scree and rock, had worn down and blistered painfully. She sat down and whimpered so I got to carry her over my shoulders all the way down Snowdon on a busy summer’s afternoon. The fur ruff on a hot day wasn’t too bad but the incessant licks of gratitude made me rather sticky.

Islay – you bought joy to many lives and you will be missed

Scottish Island Peaks - race report

The story of the 2010 race - hot and calm - sunburn and rowing

Commenting that I would be back in the office Monday morning – wind permitting – was intended to be light-hearted. Whilst it’s obvious you cannot sail without wind, none of us could imagine the hours and hours of rowing that would be required to win this year’s Scottish Island Peaks Race (SIPR).

The SIPR brings together runners and sailors to compete over some of the finest parts of Western Scotland. Starting in Oban at noon on the Friday it takes in mountains on Mull, Jura and Arran before finishing over on the mainland at Troon. The 60 miles of running include some of the roughest terrain around on Jura and a total of around 12,000ft of climbing. The circa 160 nautical miles of sailing include some of the most challenging waters in the world with tidal gates, numerous wrecks, hidden dangers and the famous Correyvrekan whirlpool; 3^rd largest in the world with currents up to 8.5 knots.

Chimera - F31R - our home for the weekend

It was 6 or 7 years since I had enjoyed this mini adventure and, in the words of Jake Elwood from the Blues Brothers movie, we were getting the team back together. Alex Johnson – fellow runner, Ian Loffhagen – skipper and 3 times previous winner and Spencer Harrison – powerhouse, oarsman and crew from our successful campaign in 2004. Graham Goff was the new team member but already had 2 SIPR victories to his name, has made sails for a living and was involved with the infamous Team Phillips boat that spectacularly failed in the North Atlantic (but not his fault!)

Getting 50 boats out of Oban harbor at about the time the CalMac ferry steams in could be a nightmare so the organizers invoked a “le mans” style start a few years ago meaning that us runners get a 4.5 mile run up the local hill and surrounding countryside to split up the field. The Oban Slip trophy is huge and is sometimes hotly contested by the youth teams whilst the more senior runners save their energies for the mountains that will soon follow. This year, however, Scottish Internationalists Don Naylor and Dan Gay were first to don lifejackets and leap into their team dinghy for the quick transfer to their boat. Alex and I were about 6^th or 7^th team back and soon the bay was alive with boats sailing out of the harbor. Actually, that’s not quite true, the bay was filled with boats being frantically rowed where possible and generally bobbing around at the huge CalMac ferry approached at around 20 knots. Like the parting of the red sea they all managed to get to the edges of the bay and carnage was avoided

Within minutes our boat, Chimera, was nudging to the front of the fleet and before too long we were picking up some intermittent breezes. By Salen on Mull, the team had given us a comfortable lead and so Alex and I were able to transfer to shore and submit to the compulsory kit check without hassle or pressure. Mull is a 23 mile run up and down Ben More – a full Munro from sea level but with around half the route on roads. Back in 2004 Alex had suffered a little on the road back to Salen but I had no idea how much this had etched on his memory until he detoured to pass on his respects to the phone box where both legs had locked solid with cramp back then. This time it was me who faded a little over the final mile or two back to the jetty – the heat of the day getting to me as my water bottle had run dry over 30 minutes earlier. Quickly back aboard the sailing team confirmed we had started with a lead of 1 hour 20 mins and we hoped we would have preserved at least an hour of this. For a short while we were whooshing along at 8-10 knots but within an hour, as dusk settled, it was flat calm.

This set the tone for that first night…and the second!! By midnight we had finally entered the sound of Jura and, in the early hours, the team made a decision to head West of Jura. “Which way to Jura?” is the biggest route choice of the race – avoiding 5knot foul tides but taking a route almost 11 miles longer is the Western option and one we had never taken before. Of course, once committed it’s impossible to change course and for hour after hour we toiled away on the oars wondering if we might possibly hove into Craighouse bay and see much of the rest of the fleet already moored up with runners on the hill. We did see other boats and we even saw boats leaving but they were youth teams whose boats had motored. In the overall stakes we were still in top spot and, by 4pm, Alex and I were running along the Jura shoreline - past families dining al fresco Mediterranean style in the afternoon heat – headed for the Paps. The Paps of Jura are world renowned for their roughness. Comprised of tottering heaps of quartzite scree they present a few small paths and trods and acres of ankle breaking boulder fields. Back in 04 we had scorched this route but today the heat once again took its toll and scorched us - we even stopped for a few pics before trucking along the road back from the 3 arch bridge with Alex working hard; one all in the fiercely competitive internal and unspoken battle we were having - both on the same team but massively competitive with each other!!

Alex climbing the first pap on Jura

One of the teams who motored to Jura - taking a little time out!

With glass calm seas, Graham at the helm coaxed almost 5 knots out of nowhere and we slipped away from Jura in the late evening as much of the fleet struggled to get past the small isles and into the bay.

By midnight, though, we were back to the oars and taking turns to fight sleep, row, make tea, helm and simply be mesmerized by the luminescence in the water. The nighttime hours pass in a blur – at one point Ian and Graham put the boat on autohelm and rowed for 2 hours solid, at one point it rained, at some point there was a squall and the boat fizzed along at 10 knots for an hour or so.

Dodging rocks on the Mull of Kintyre

Tense times as we navigate the rocks off the Mull of Kintyre

Sunday morning – in previous years we have finished by this point but this time we are rounding the Mull of Kintyre – adverse tides of 2-3 knots are going to see us heading backwards so Ian bravely takes the decision to go right inshore where the current is weaker and continue rowing; anything to make forward progress at all times. For hours on end we are all occupied, one at the helm, 2 rowing, one lookout for rocks and one on the “exercise bike” human propeller or tidying up or making tea etc.

Nothing is more fickle than the wind. One minute Ian is calling his wife, Liz, to confirm we will not be at Troon before Monday morning, less than an hour later we are skimming the waves at 16 knots and a 10pm finish looks possible.

Heaven - skimming the waves at Ferry speed

We pull into Lamlash at around 16.20 and Alex and I set off for Goatfell. I knew that the competitive Alex was in charge from the off and he set a furious pace, running all the first climb over to Brodick and all the way up beyond the forest edge on Goat Fell. The pace didn’t lessen on the descent either and by the time we climbed Prospect hill on the return I knew beyond doubt that the internal competition was a 2:1 result to youth. Running back along the bay into Lamlash I was blowing, huffing, puffing and groaning all to stop him dropping me completely but the time of 3 hrs 24 was good – around 40 minutes faster than we had managed in 2004 and ensuring a faster time for the three runs overall.

Goatfell summit - Arran

So, an epic. Truly. Curious seals, wild mountain goats, phosphorescence, unprecedented heat, porpoise and a palm full of blisters all added to the list of experiences that the SIPR has catalogued in my mind. For Ian, a record 4 victories and I have been privileged enough to accompany him on all four – with 3 different boats and 2 different runners. The secret – I think it’s simple – 5 people sharing a common goal, making all decisions based on achievement of that goal and working ceaselessly, night and day, to pursue that goal. Put simply – I think Ian is more prepared than any other skipper, the crew is hugely talented and the team as a whole is prepared to work harder than any other – first on the oars, thinking ahead, making decisions.

Bliss - after 59 hours, Spencer checks in to confirm the victory!

Scottish Islands Peaks race

The month of May always used to be crazy. Its when I would get into trouble; booking myself up for races every weekend and neglecting my commitments. It's my favourite month of the year as new life explodes all around and the evenings draw out. It's my daughters middle name. The blossom, new leaves, nesting birds, lambs and warm sun bring forth in abundance the possibility and potential that the buds of early spring hinted at.

To me, the Fellsman and Scottish Islands Peaks race epitomise the best of this month. The Fellsman - a glorious day long romp across a great swathe of Yorshire's finest and then the SIPR - a weeks worth of runing, sailing and adventure packed into about 40-48 hours.

After a break of 7 years I will be returning to the delights of the SIPR again this weekend and am full of anticipation.

• eagles on Mull
• dolphins and Otters
• rowing against the 5knot tidal current to avoid being pulled back into Correyveckan
• waking up to the sound of the hull buzzing as our boat skimmed across the water in the early dawn at 20 knots
• descending the first of the Paps of Jura in the night and watching the sparks fly as we crashed down the scree
• rowing from 2nd place into the lead
• beach start with a 28ft trimaran off Aran.
  

These are the kind of memories that the SIPR can give.

I have a little trepidation too - Alex, my running partner is much younger and, although Fellsman was 2 weeks ago, I wonder whether I have fully recovered.

Still, get started and deal with what arises is the way so........i'll try to update on Sunday, assuming we are not still on the water!!!

Fellsman - again!!

There are many phrases and euphemisms to describe it – a glass half full, one door opens another closes, a curates egg – since time immemorial it has been an immutable fact of life that we get our opportunities and challenges in broadly equal measure; what we do with them is down to us and us alone.

First off, let me say I think its great that someone can run Fellsman in around 14 hours and then come back the next year and win the event. I didn’t get the chance to really understand how well prepared Duncan Harris was this time around but I do sense he had his lines right and was well trained and motivated for the performance. I also sympathise with Steve Birkinshaw – he was clearly so much fitter than me and will know that he is unlikely to see a repeat of the stomach problems that bedeviled him around Middle Tongue – nevertheless, its one more thing he has to deal with and rationalise in the run up to his Lakes 24 hour record round.

As for me – if you had told me 2 months ago I would get 2^nd place I would have laughed. I was running 15 miles/week or less and didn’t have an entry in. By the weekend before, that over inflated sense of self ability that propelled me to many a challenge had returned and I was even thinking of the win. But I know how dangerous that bravado can be – it took me to 3^rd place at mile 80 of 100 in one of the world’s elite races only to crash and burn to 28^th spot by the finish line.

What last weekend gave me was some discouragement as I toiled up climbs I know I have run in races gone by – the long drag up Blea Moor, the stony track out of Stonehouse – no way could I float up these last weekend. It gave me some discouragement as I slipped from 2^nd to 4^th to 6^th and realized I was somehow missing the vistas, the birdsong, the ever changing pattern of sun and clouds dappling the hillsides. And it gave me discouragement as I was reacquainted with one of the age old dilemmas of distance running – food is fuel, eating is a struggle and nausea is a persistent companion you carry with you. Then, without warning, it gave me quiet satisfaction as a better line brought me back to 4^th spot and a bit of determined running consolidated that, it gave me encouragement as Simon vocally demonstrated that he was feeling as nauseous as me and I ran a solid section over to Middle tongue back into 3^rd and it gave me amazement as I first passed Steve over to Hells Gap and then held off repeated challenges over the remaining 15 miles. My god – I ran up much of Great Whernside and felt like some of those last 20 miles were covered as quickly as I have ever covered them.

Coming into Redshaw

So, what to make of all this? A comeback or a fluke? Where do we go from here. There has always been a part of me that wanted to set an emphatic record on this race and I was arrogant enough to believe I could go under 10 hours but it never happened. Is it impossible now? This is balanced by the desire to see Fellsman as the Grand Prix of UK distance running – the Western States of the UK – with top UK and overseas runners racing head to head to set that sub 10 hour time. I would be a bystander for such a contest – presumably? …and actually I have always loved the solitude on that race…running alone for hours on familiar terrain, mentally and physically ticking off each section, monitoring the internal systems, taking in the environment; not pressured by anyone else but putting the ultimate pressure on myself – the race of truth.

So, many questions but, at this moment, precious few answers. There are two things I am very clear about though:

• the race takes more out of me as I get older, I felt trashed on Monday :)
• running long has beauty, power and grace - it cleanses the soul - it matters everything and nothing. If you aren't alraedy doing it you should start - life will change.
  

So

An ultra-runner - again!

Calderdale Hike

It’s been quiet on here for a while. Mainly that’s because it’s been quiet on the running front for me. Constant pain from the knees acts as a powerful disincentive for training. Couple it with the dark winter weather and the feeling every time I ran that I had been hit by a truck and you get a picture of a more sedentary life. Besides which, Lynn has been feeling mellower about running and racing. As I said to a few people – the fire used to burn bright from within, now it is a glowing log on the grate – something to warm my toes in front of and toast the odd marshmallow.

Four weeks ago I took the runfurther banners to Wuthering and spent a little time snapping some pictures. It was a bitterly cold day but the enjoyment on everyone’s faces was evident and I got the chance to reminisce a little about some classics like the Fellsman and the Scottish Islands Peaks race.

The day left me chomping at the bit to run a little myself so early on the Sunday morning I decided to head out of the door and trot around the Macclesfield Harriers club handicap route. Hallelujah – the knees didn’t hurt, I heard skylarks, found 20p on the trail and generally felt more alive than I had done for weeks. Somehow I had forgotten how life affirming running over the hills can be.

With all my layers of excuses peeled away it seemed only reasonable to run again on the Monday – lunchtime – and once again it was great. Well, carpe diem has long been my motto so before the day was out, entries for the Calderdale (36 miles) and Fellsman (61 miles) were in the post. In fact my entry for the Fellsman was well timed as the event has filled for the first time in many years and the organizers have had to turn dozens away.

Serendipity so often plays a part in proceedings and so it was an unexpected but delightful surprise when, the very next day, I received an email from Ian Loffhagen explaining that we wanted to put team in for the Scottish Islands race once more and asking if I would run. Wow!! This is a real honour, whilst I expect that sailors don’t slow much with age I am sure runners do but Ian seemed content that I find a suitable partner and there is no better man than Alex – “Woo Ha Ram It” team cyclist extraordinaire and my running partner from our last successful entry into this race back in 2004. I love it when a plan comes together!!

So, with the training upped from around 10 miles/week (I’m serious) to 50-55miles/week what could I do with the Calderdale? A week before the race I gave myself a stiff talking to and set off from home in sleet to drive to Sowerby and run the course. I was lucky, it stayed dry whilst I was out and I persevered to do the whole course. It took over 7 hours though and felt hard. Maybe 6 hours would be a good target for race day. Saturday went well; despite being aware of the dangers of setting off too fast (based on running memory rather than running capability) I hung with the leading group and was in 4^th at halfway. It seemed obvious that Jon Morgan was running well within himself – able to catch up to the lead at will and looking relaxed. Simon Bourne was breathing hard as he passed me though and I sensed that Martin Beale was working hard to open a lead from the front in the hope that he could then use his superior route knowledge to slip away. Maybe 22 years of racing and running long has given me a keen eye for the weak deer in the pack because, sure enough, I reeled Simon in on the climb up to Thieveley Pike and then overhauled Martin on the short rough section skirting below Trough Edge End on Inchfield Moor where the heat of the day was making itself felt more than a little.

Jon was always going to be way too strong for me but I was delighted and surprised with 2^nd place and with a finish time of 5 hours 31. Of course a few things hurt afterwards but it’s a massive motivator and I am now 100% certain to overcook it at Fellsman. Keep checking back for more progress updates to the big blow-up on May 8^th!!

Welsh Wanderings

After missing the worst/best winter weather for many years I was hankering after a mini-adventure and the weekly forecast seemed to be promising some clear skies and cold temperatures for last weekend so plans started to form.
The 15 mountains over 3000ft in Wales (the Welsh 3000s) are arrayed in 3 compact groups around Snowdon, the Glyders and the Carneddau. Steve Watts, Ross Litherland and I had enjoyed a run around them at about the same time last year and having covered the route 4 or 5 times over the years I knew it to be a good day out – especially for this time of year where there will certainly be some darkness hours to heighten the experience. So, the objective was set but what about fellow conspirators. Well, one person who can be relied upon for some potentially foolhardy fun in the hills is Steve Watts so, with Ross on the other side of the world, it was going to be a 2-up this time around.

The start of an adventure

The 5am alarm after a full working week was pretty unwelcome but you do what you have to do and I was soon on autopilot with the soothing sounds of Farming Today whisking me along the A55. By 8am we had a car placed at the finish point in Aber and were at the starting point of Pen-y-pass to see a clear dawn freshened by a biting north-westerly. As we ascended the shoulder of Crib Goch we started to encounter increasing amounts of verglas with some patches of old and very firm neve. Our “weapons of choice” for the day were Kahtoola flexible crampons – designed to be worn over running shoes – and set to be indispensible as the freeze/thaw action of the previous 2 weeks had turned the old snow into solid boilerplate. Of course putting crampons on early would be a great idea but we put it off and put it off until, teetering on the edge of friction, we finally bowed to the inevitable having made the job 10 times harder by waiting.

Getting to grips with the Crib Goch ridge

Once suitably shod, the rest of the NW ridge presented no difficulties and we were soon stepping out onto the famed Crib Goch ridge with just one set of fresh prints ahead of us. It was clear that this was going to be a classic day – clear skies, some challenging snow conditions and up before the crowds. We shared Snowdon summit with only one other person (try coming up here in June and doing that!!) and were soon trotting down the line of the summer railway to search out the steep descent to Nant Peris.

Across the Glyders

The Welsh mountains have fine character but they are arrayed in discrete groups and are close to the sea so, the near 3000ft descent to the first main valley took a lot out of the knees and raised temperatures by about 10 degrees. In fact it was to be one of those days where constant adjustments are needed to keep the temperature balance. With the first bag of hot cross buns dispatched we toil up the slopes of Elidir Fawr and re-enter the winter wonderland. The crampons are needed again half way up Y Garn and as we descend to Llyn y Cwn we see the big yellow bird. No, not something from Sesame Street but the RAF Sea King helicopter. It seems that its not just the usual practice exercise but an airlift of someone who tried to descend from Glyder Fawr without crampons and found a very quick way down. Indeed there are a few people trying this and we overhear one pass on sage advice to his girlfriend – “don’t hit the rocks too hard” – a wise man!

No crampons = consequences. Thanks Kahtoola!

This whole section is wonderful – wind behind us, wonderful ice rime and neve, a dusting of new snow, sun in the sky. Soon we are descending the gully down to Bwlch Tryfan and, guess what, the helicopter makes a second appearance to airlift another unfortunate soul who took the fast way down. The clatter and throb of the helicopter is amazing as he hovers 100ft above us. Whilst its reassuring to know that they are “to hand” should we need them it certainly makes us want to hurry along and get out of their way. The descent of the West gully from Tryfan demands care and attention but should be the last of the technical difficulties and we hasten on to a much anticipated cup of tea at Ogwen.
Sitting on the wall at Ogwen brings back vivid memories of the year before. Everyone else is coming off the hill, looking forward to a shower, a bath, an evening in the warmth with a beer in hand. And us? We are setting off into the Carneddau – the biggest upland area in Snowdonia. We know that it will be dark in an hour and we will be above 3000ft for quite a few miles. It is excitement and apprehension mixed but you have to live outside the comfort zone now and again. You have to taste a little fear to appreciate security, you have to hurt a little to enjoy simple comforts and, in any case, nature will have some experiences for us – experiences that we simply won’t get by bobbling around for a couple of hours in the sunshine – she doesn’t disappoint. Over the ensuing 4 hours we get snowed on, we get into the cloud so that distances and judgement of terrain go haywire, we get to see the street lights 3000ft below – so tantalizingly close but yet miles and miles away – and we get to see the majestic full moon peeking through billowing clouds and casting its cold light on the snowy slopes.

If its bling you want then look around – ice crystals falling from a clear sky, rocks encrusted with diamond rime ice, the moon like a huge opal hanging in the sky.

Bring on the night!

Well, time passes, legs get weary, tops are ticked off and, before we know it, it’s time to descend to the valley. Car to car is 13 hours this time – about an hour slower than last year but conditions account for some of that and I am really quite unfit! So, the Welsh 3’s – a great mini-adventure, especially for the winter if you are OK with the conditions and navigation. Of course, it’s really quite foolhardy in some ways so I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone except those who want to live a little!