I
did it… and
within my (loose) target time!!!
“Did what”, you say? “DID WHAT”?!?
“Did what”, you say? “DID WHAT”?!?
RAN THE 53 BLINKIN’ MILES OF THE HIGHLAND FLING, THAT’S WHAT!!!
WITH GREAT FRIENDS ON A GREAT DAY!!!
WITH GREAT FRIENDS ON A GREAT DAY!!!
</disbelief>
<deep breathing> </deep breathing> <normal>
Right…
let’s get the running stuff out of the way, then I’ll throw in some thoughts
and whatnots. Look, I’m hopeless with remembering race details. Emotions, yes.
But the actually running stuff… not my strong point. But I’ll do my best here…
and cross-reference my Strava
map but primarily Trevor
and Mike’s
2013 blogs for pointers!
1. Milngavie to
Drymen: 12.6mi in 1:51’39” (split pace: 8’52”/mi)
At 6am on a dry Scottish Saturday morning, we headed off under the bridge in the centre of Milngavie onto the West Highland Way. Spirits were high as 624 runners merged into one mass of hardened souls and kindred spirits, all silently appreciative of the efforts required to get to the start line – and, as far as newbies like me were concerned, with only a rough idea as to what lay ahead. I got the feeling a lot of those around me had run many previous Flings, or at least were heading along the West Highland Way for the umpteenth time! This was my first Fling and my first 50-miler, Mike having called it “a natural step up” after my longest run to date had been last September’s High Peak 40 Challenge. Not sure when turning three half marathons into four became “a natural step up” for anyone…
…anyway,
that was never a concern. I couldn’t afford for it to be. Sure, when you set
off on any experience likely to take that length of time there is apprehension:
a slip, a fall and all those hours of training could prove pointless. But, in
principle, I felt ready. Or “entitled to be there”, anyway: I’d put in the
training, I wasn’t looking to bluff it. Besides, you can’t bluff an ultra. Once
we’d made the start, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d make the finish.
Equally there was no doubt that it was going to be very tough and hurt a lot,
but there was no point focusing too much on those details…
…just
before we got going, it was lovely to meet Sandra, the human behind the twitter
handle SantaBaby100 – who was
marshalling for the day. Always inspirational to see people give up their day
so that others may enjoy theirs. I find it hard enough to get to races I’m
running to get to anything else, although I did feel I’d done a little bit by
spending an hour or so cheering on fellow runners in London recently. Might
mention that another time… suffice to say that managing to get Simon’s attention along Embankment was
a great moment!
Anyway,
where was I? Oh yes… at the start… Better get going, then!
The
first part was a fairly standard trail section – in terrain and ascent, if not
scenery, which was a beautiful prelude to what lay ahead. Once we’d got beyond
the bridge at the start, down the industrial-like stairs and onto the path
itself, that is… As such, we were able to maintain a good running pace. Making
the most of it while we could…
…these
early miles also highlighted why Mike believes that the ideal group size is a
measly two, maybe three max. Mike, Andrew, Martin and I had agreed to run as a
foursome: however, this naturally engenders different dynamics. Two people chat
to each other; three may chat or one of the three may listen to the other two;
but four… four break into two pairs. In itself this was of no concern,
especially when the two sub-groups are only a few yards apart: indeed, it gives
you the opportunity to switch partner and, with that, topic and tone.
(Hey – 53 miles is a
long way… you need something to keep your mind occupied or it will start to
struggle to cope with the reality at hand… so why not group dynamics? Made a
change from theology
for me..!)
2. Drymen to Rowardennan: 14.6mi in 3:01’31” @ 12’26”/mi
(total:
27.2mi in 4:53’10”)
Half
a mile or so after a water refill stop, Mike pointed out that we’d covered the
first half (as in, “half marathon” – not “half of the race”!) in 2h05’. He then
swiftly ordered us to not “do the maths” and look to convert that into a
8hr-something finish. Now, by then I’d already done some maths… but Mike
needn’t have worried, for I applied a completely different formula:
(53-13)/(12-2)
= 40/10 = 4
My
primary goal for the day was to get round. My second goal for the day was to
get round in under twelve hours. Now, I had to take the primary goal as a
given: not out of arrogance, but to keep at bay any protests from my legs. So forty
miles still lay ahead with ten hours in hand. I knew the worse was still to
come, both in terms of the challenging nature of the course and the inevitable ensuing
fatigue. But the knowledge that 15’-miling would see me achieve a sub-12hr
finish meant that in my mind I felt pretty good. And the mind is what I had to
take care of. The legs were going to do their own thing.
The
sight of Loch Lomond was also a huge boost. It’s to witness sights like that that
I pound uninspiring suburban tarmac whilst those in the houses I run past are
most likely still asleep. All of a sudden the promise had materialised and lay
there before my very eyes. This was the one time I got my phone out to take a
picture. One of Trevor’s top tips in his
blog is: “Take lots of photos. They're great reminders of the route and
day.”, another one being “Carrying a smartphone and separate camera might be
overkill when pack weight is an issue”. With a phone being one of only two
items of compulsory kit, alongside a foil blanket, I’d left my camera in
Portishead. But I then left my phone in my rucksack for nigh-on forty miles.
Man’s gotta make choices and sacrifices……but before then, I took these! Can you spot the difference?
After
ticking off the first HM, reaching 20mi was a key milestone for me, as was the
halfway point. I always knew it was going to be strange to tell myself “just a
marathon to go”, but I also expected it to feel good. It did. A few climbs, not
least to Conic Hill, had brought the pace down into Ultra territory, but we’d
still been running well and in a relatively compact formation. Martin’s not a
climb lover, and I did wait for him at one stage while Mike and Andrew drifted
off in front of me. However, Martin’s a descent guru, so seconds after we’d joined
we were soon apart – a reminder of the challenges of running as a group. As per
a discussion I had with a Brummie in the latter stages, running as a team can
mean you share everybody’s weaknesses. Martin’s flight down the hill was an
early and timely reminder that, much as we were in this together, there would
be times when it was not in the group’s interest for everyone to seek to stick
side by side. The comradeship that bound us had to be elastic, not a ball and
chain.
Rowardennan
was also the location of the first checkpoint, where I started tucking into my cold ham &
pineapple pizza… slices one and two of eight!
This
was one tip I didn’t owe to anyone but myself. Nope, not out of Karnazes’ book this one
– just a case of great minds thinking alike! My one Fling-specific training run
had been on March 17, with Rich – whom injury had the audacity to keep down in
Bristol. The day before the run we’d hosted my Mother-in-Law’s 70th birthday
party. As is generally the case, there was enough food left over to warrant Bob
Geldof clipping me round the ear (not that I’d placed the catering order, mind).
The amount of pizza slices still on display when everyone had disappeared meant
there was only one thing for it… and that was foil!
 |
| Running up a hill. In Scotland. Sums it up...
© Stuart Macfarlane
|
Cold
ham and pineapple pizza therefore became the primary component of my snacks on
my 32-miler with Rich.
A nice carb base, plenty of fat on the bacon… a soft texture (yes, thin crust!)
that was easy on teeth and stomach alike… what was there to not like?
Two
slices of pizza, a small pork pie, granola and a banana were the staple
components of all my drop-bags, with a few chocolate bars and bottles of
defizzed Coke thrown in two of them. I didn’t eat any of the bananas or the
chocolate bars, although I did nibble a few mini-Snickers left over from a box
at Christmas because “nobody wants them”. The ‘chocolate bars’ were Mars,
incidentally, both from post-race goody bags. I will eat them – one day… or
maybe let the kids have them! Bad dad, I know…
…back
in Rowardennan, I changed into my Sheffield HM 2013 top, replaced the surgical
tape over my nipples and was all set to go. Martin and I arrived a couple of
minutes after Mike and Andrew, Martin struggling with his knee. Which had been
hurting all the week – did I mention that? Or that Mike’s ankle meant he wasn’t
sure he’d start, let alone finish?
 |
| I so need to find a pair of socks like Martin's! © Michael Wells |
Hmmm…
maybe not… Indeed, I may even have failed to tell Karen that. I think the last
thing I told her about the race was that I wouldn’t be on my own. But then we
don’t really talk about this sordid little hobby of mine much…
…oh,
can I just clarify summat?
At
all checkpoints other than Inversnaid, we didn’t have to scramble for our
dropbags. Sarah and Sue were effectively crewing not just for Mike and Martin,
but for Andrew and me as well. So throughout the run we had access to more than
just a plastic bag but additional food and running gear as well. From a
practical perspective alone, that’s great. But then add to that the
psychological boost that comes from knowing someone’s there to support you, has
given up their time to do so… in Susan’s case, slept in a car for the
privilege… and it really does give your heart a lift. This wasn’t a day for
continuous high-fiving along busy pavements, as with a Half Marathon. This was
a day when you might go (at about half the pace) the best part of an hour
without seeing anyone: and, when you did, you were glad for the top-up.
Nutritional, emotional… everything helped. Thanks again, Ladies: I have no idea
how you do it, but it makes life so much easier for us nutters!
Oh,
and one last thing about reaching 20 miles…
…there’s
no denying that, after Manchester, this was a meaningful landmark for me. That
had been where ‘it’
happened. As coincidence would have it, I found myself alongside Colin at this stage. Can’t remember
who was catching whom this time – we passed each other so many times over the
course of the run…
 |
| Gaffer to the right of me*, Mike Wells to the left... © Martin Hookway - *from my perspective |
…see,
it had been Colin who first recognised me lying by the side of the road in
Manchester. I say ‘recognised’… Mike had asked Philip, who was marginally
behind us, if he recalled passing me, only to be told he didn’t. Upon talking
to Colin, it emerged he had seen someone by the side of the road. “Was he
wearing a green vest and was he very hairy?” were all the words Mike needed for
Colin (whom I’d only met for the first time a few hours prior) to correctly ID
me…
…so
I couldn’t resist pointing out to Colin at 20.5mi that I was in better shape
than the last time he’d seen me at this stage during a race! He would later
reference it on my Strava
record, which was nice. You have to laugh… or force a wry smile, at least…
otherwise 53 miles can feel an awfully long way.
The
final miles of this section featured rocks and undergrowth, tricking me into
thinking they were the section Mike so disliked because of how it makes running
impossible. I was quite enjoying it: it wasn’t that dissimilar to the Portishead
Coast Path which I use as my trail running training ground. Only, upon arriving
to the checkpoint, Martin and I trailing Mike and Andrew by just over a couple
of minutes, and bringing this up with Mr Wells (the only one amongst us to have
previously run the race), it turned out that ‘that’ section still lay ahead..!
At
the checkpoint I was looking forward to my first bottle of defizzed Coke. Only…
it hadn’t truly defizzed, had it?
I’d
bought them and unscrewed them on Thursday. Trouble is, fearful of opening my
suitcase in Milngavie to find spillage, I’d not unscrewed them totally – just enough
to hear that ssssh sound… Even removing the tops on Friday afternoon had
ultimately proved insufficient…
…Martin had had a similar experience. Well, I say ‘similar’: he had removed the tops, but Susan had helpfully put them back on! Nothing a little shaking hadn’t sorted out, mind. As we were having this conversation at the checkpoint, it dawned on us (him more than me) that the solution was to put a bottle in my bag and shake it by running along! Boy, I was already looking forward to the next checkpoint…
…Martin had had a similar experience. Well, I say ‘similar’: he had removed the tops, but Susan had helpfully put them back on! Nothing a little shaking hadn’t sorted out, mind. As we were having this conversation at the checkpoint, it dawned on us (him more than me) that the solution was to put a bottle in my bag and shake it by running along! Boy, I was already looking forward to the next checkpoint…
3. Rowardennan to Bein
Glas Farm: 13.7mi in 3:51’39” @ 16’55”/mi
(total:
40.9mi in 8:44’49”)
Nice
enough start as we left Rowardennan. Then…
…now:
do you remember when you were a kid, and you’d play around on rocks by the
beach – figuring out the quickest and/or safest way to get to the other side?
Well,
I do. There are rocks along the shore in Santa Margherita which, at one point,
I could have (but didn’t) run along and jumped around blindfolded, so well I
knew them. Whereas the rocks and undergrowth in the six miles leading up to
Bein Glas…
…ah,
they were all new. This section was tough, if in a way beautiful. Mike and I
left the checkpoint together but he soon overtook a couple of runners in front
of him just before any scope of doing so slipped through the cracks. We made
our way over rocks and streams, eager to get running again… only, of course, to
find a climb waiting for us once we were in a position to do so!
The
latter part of the section leading to the final checkpoint was perfect running
territory. I knew Andrew had been about four runners behind me during the
single-file segment and duly expect him to breeze past me once we’d walked the
climb and got onto open terrain. As time went by, I grew increasingly surprised
by his absence: surprised and, to some extent, concerned. I knew there was no
way he could have passed me without me noticing and feared something might have
happened to him, for there was no other explanation for The Gaffer’s absence. I
equally knew that I could not now go back, and that there was a sufficiently
steady stream of runners along what by then was not treacherous terrain to
ensure that, had he fallen, someone would take care of him. A couple of miles
before the checkpoint he did catch up with me, having overcome cramp that had
earlier slowed him down. I was relieved but also reassured that here I was, in
the company of running greatness, and even he was struggling a little. As does
everyone: and, whatever the distance, it helps to remind yourself of that. It’s
not just use who’s hurting out there…
…Andrew
and I chatted for a couple of miles, not least about our recent rock-climbing
experience, and reached the checkpoint together, five minutes after Mike and a
staggering quarter of an hour after Martin – and I tucked into my last two
slices of pizza…
4. Bein Glas Farm to Tyndrum
(Finish): 12.1mi in 3:07’26” @ 15’29”/mi
(total:
53mi in 11:52’15” @ 13’26”/mi)
Again, we left together. Again, I soon found myself fairly alone.
Mike
had organised an unofficial stop three miles from the end. Only I misheard the
location as we left Bein Glas – at least I heard a “five”. Couldn’t fathom why
we’d stop again just five miles down the road… but did refrain from drinking or
ShotBloking three miles or so expecting another proper stop. Eventually gave in
and took in most of the fluids I had left. There were plenty of fresh streams
to refill from if need be.
Now
I couldn’t give you place names or details, but some of what followed Bein Glas
is as clear in my mind as any of the sections. Because I was alone but not
lonely, exchanging a few words with other runners. Because I was suddenly
checking my watch every few minutes and working out the pace I had to achieve
to hit sub-12h, nevertheless fully aware that it was never going to be a
homogenous pace due to the terrain and the climbs… Ned from Preston’s thinking
of some cycling challenge next, you know. Me…
…I
was just enjoying the quiet. I felt the job was all but done, and I could now
aim for the time I’d hoped for. I still wasn’t bursting into any sprint: my
quads were aching, acting like brakes on the descents, but in my mind all was
good. Just keep going. Don’t do owt daft, Lad.
At
the last checkpoint we’d said our final farewell to Loch Lomond. Now don’t get
me wrong: it was beautiful. But, knowing that mile 41 would be the last time
we’d see it, it was uplifting to see the back of it and know there was less
than half a marathon to go. As I told the guys as we left the Bein Glas
checkpoint, I always know I can manage a half marathon – it’s a distance I
understand. I say that having run
a hundred of the darn things last year: a feat of highly dubious value and
one which I have no intention of ever repeating, yet one that does give me
confidence in my ability to sneak in another 13.1 miles when required. My
self-belief was still in good shape, but a boost never does any harm.
Didn’t
take long for a descent to separate me from Mike and Martin, with Andrew behind
me. As a result, I found myself running through forest and along cow-poo alley
in solo mode. The forest was beautiful, so much so that it inspired me to sing
the odd line of ‘Will Ye Go’, a.k.a. ‘Wild Mountain Thyme’ – the Billy Connolly
/ Ralph McTell version, obviously (don’t worry, perfectly traditional!). And cow-poo
alley wasn’t as bad as I’d allowed for. This is where my glances at my Garmin
intensified, sub-12hr in grasp but with the major caveat of a lack of knowledge
of exactly what the last few miles held in store. Yes, I’d read the blogs and
the e-mails over and over again: but that doesn’t mean much with me!
As
I reached a dip in the forest, a marshal gleefully told me the climb ahead
would be the next one and that I only had four miles to go. I told her
“everyone says that” about the next climb being the final one, regardless of
the race – Chester
being what I had specifically in mind – but she was adamant! I also glanced at
my Garmin to see I’d covered almost exactly 49 miles, thereby questioning the
four miles left bit…
…I
ended up convincing myself it was a 52-mi race, because (26 x 2 = 52),
wondering where I’d got 53 from… and kept going!
The
disappearance of a mile at this stage meant that sub-12 was now likely rather than
possible. Now, as it turns out my Garmin reckons I did indeed run 52mi (OK,
51.99): and Mike’s, Martin’s and Andrew’s hold similar views about their runs…
but I checked at the end, it is a 53-mi race! Or it’s meant to be, anyway!
Early
on there had been a change from last year’s route. However, last year had been
the exception, due to roadworks: this was a return to the norm. So it was
surprising to have lost a mile in the process. Still, fifty-three,
schwifty-three… it was a blinkin’ long way!
With
three miles to go, I caught up with Mike and Martin at the unofficial stop.
Left my rucksack with Sarah and Sue, decided not to bother carting any fluids
around me – and off we went, Mike his usual ebullient self whilst I kept a safe
distance behind him… Trevor’s advice of leaving a ten-yard gap when he gets all
chirpy truly front of mind!
I’d
given Mike and Martin freedom to leave me trailing but they insisted on reaching
the finish line all together. I say ‘all’… we’d agreed Andrew was big enough to
look after himself and besides, the ladies would be able to ensure he was. On
the one hand, I thought that was beautiful: we’d shared the build-up and the
first 20mi or so, we’d met at every checkpoint, set off from every checkpoint
together… On the other, I was happy for them to go and finish without me. By
that point I knew I had time to spare to hit my goal, and indeed energy in
reserve to do so should it, for whatever reason, prove tighter than it
imagined. And I was happy to enjoy a little time alone with my thoughts, with
my gratitude for all that had got me there and with a level of fitness to
complete the race. And sure, by that stage I had my brothers firmly in my
heart, too. I was happy for a little quiet time with them in my heart,
occasionally thinking about my two boys back home and whilst still having Mike
and Martin within sight. They made for three special sets of lads for me to be
with. Even if one of them did keep trying to ‘encourage’ me…
Within
the last mile or so we approached a final wee incline, which I felt
duty-obliged to run up – heck, one out of 53 miles’ worth doesn’t seem
unreasonable. And, with what I guess must have been two hundred yards to go, shortly
after passing the Lone Piper I did put on some semblance of a sprint finish to
overtake Mike and Martin. I planned on stopping just before the finishing line
to let them pass me or at least cross it together. Misjudging things, I slowed
down a bit too soon: but that was great, that allowed them to finish two full
seconds before me.
 | |
| Together at the end. If with differing expressions! © Stuart Macfarlane |
In
terms of moving time, as calculated by Strava by excluding times when GPS
records suggest no movement (as opposed to being based on any manual time
pausing/starting, which I don’t bother with in races), I was on the move for 10:37:54. So a significant bit more than Mike
(10:14:59) and even longer than Martin (10:04:38), whereas marginally less than
Andrew (10:46:38). This meant I was still for 1:14’22”, Mike for 1’37’16”,
Martin for 1:47’37” and Andrew for 1:19’16”. So aye, not the quickest runner,
but boy did I have to gob that food down fast! Given that the bog roll I carted
with me for 53mi never came out of the rucksack, that’s got to be a tribute to
the ease of digestion of cold ham & pineapple pizza!
Mike’s 2013 moving time
was 10:49’, with a chip time of 11:35’. It was a beautiful day last year:
better for sightseeing, but this year’s cool shade made for perfect running
conditions. And it’s pointless comparing performances, not least over such a
distance. But to know that that I was eleven minutes within Mike’s 2013 moving
time helps me rationalise that I did OK…
…now,
if I were reading this from where you’re sat I’d be shouting at the screen by
now. I ran 53 blinkin’ miles – of course I did OK! But… I’m allowed to be tough
on myself. It’s my prerogative. And truth is, ultimately I know I did more than
OK, and did give it my all. But that’s no reason for me not to wonder whether I
could have upped a gear on those descents. Truth is, descents ain’t my strong
point. I can’t let myself go the way Martin and Mike did. Even Andrew couldn’t
match their controlled carelessness, as per a conversation we had on the way up
somewhere early doors. But that’s not to say I can’t give myself a little
grief, right?
Oh
– and no, I didn’t ‘run’ 53 miles. Have we not got this out of the way yet?
Right: let’s…
Only
the elite run an entire ultra. The rest of us will generally walk the climbs:
there’s not a huge difference in speed, whereas the difference in energy levels
is more marked, especially when you need to dip into those reserves in the
latter stages. So yes, some walking was involved: indeed, a fair deal of it.
‘Fair’ being the critical word here. As for ‘walking’… hmmm, you could almost
replace that with ‘hiking’. Reminds me of a conversation I had with Karen
almost a decade ago, after we’d walked from Vernazza to Monterosso in the
Cinque Terre. She’s still adamant it was a ‘hike’. I may finally have to
concede that one…
Na
then… How do I feel?
. . .
I
have mixed feelings. There’s pride, yes. There’s wondering about whether I
could have done more, safe in the knowledge that I felt bloody knackered when I
crossed that line: and the reality is that I could not, as my legs have
reminded me on my three runs since. And there is some guilt at holding back
Mike and Martin, much as they wouldn’t want it.
Now,
you know and I know that running 53 (I’m sticking with it!) miles is a decent
challenge. OK: you might not, so please trust me. You also know I’m not one for
doing things by half, so whatever shot I gave it was my best one. All of which
is perfectly logical. But then you also probably know I like to give myself a
hard time sometimes, if only to avoid complacency.
So
those were the thoughts I was grappling with earlier. And then…
…then
I stumbled across (OK, found) this photo
as I approached the finishing line. Photographers popped up around the
course from time to time, as they do. What they rarely do is what Stuart Macfarlane has done: spend the entire day taking photos and then posting them on
Facebook for you to access, download and use for free! Thanks Stuart! And this one… this one’s my favourite:
 |
| Because it mattered...
© Stuart Macfarlane
|
I’d
forgotten I’d beaten my heart. It’s how I often (but never enough) acknowledge
marshals and spectators, who give up their time so that I can go and do what I
enjoy and make it all the more enjoyable. And this would have been for those
lining up the finishing line in Tyndrum, too. But also for all those who’d got me
there. Because it’s never just about the running.
So
yes, I found I had summat in me eye as I looked at this one. When chasing down
the clock on a half or a marathon, I keep any non-race related thoughts till
I’ve firmly crossed the line and time has come to a halt – for me, anyway. But
on Saturday… it was nice to be running at a pace that allowed me to do a little
quiet contemplating. Even if it did entail me sticking my fingers in my ears
when Mike was having a go at me… lovingly and supportingly, of course!
Oh,
as for the after-race bit…
. . .
 |
| Massage O'Clock! © Susan Hookway |
…firstly,
it’s always a pleasure to be served soup, a roll, a cuppatea and a beer within
seconds of a medal and a goody bag containing champagne and other nice stuff. I
say ‘always’… it’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure and I’m not expecting a
repeat any time soon! Martin, Mike and I sipped, supped and souped with Sue and
Sarah, awaiting Andrew’s arrival – which was not a long time coming. I
eventually joined the queue for a massage, making it twice in three weeks that
I found myself lying horizontal in a tent near the finishing line – only this
time it was of my choosing! I figured anything that reduced the risk of my
quads hurting like hell was worth a punt… as much as anything, it was nice to
lie down, in the absence of anywhere to sit! The queue moved slower than I
anticipated as I eventually found myself gesticulating to Mike to just dump my
bags and head for The Real Food Café,
where I later joined them. My masseuse was sufficiently concerned about my well-being
to call a medic…
…look,
I was fine, OK? Yes, I was shivering. I’d run 53mi in shorts and short sleeves
and had been waiting longer than anticipated outside the tent. But I did
appreciate the concern, which I duly alleviated when a doctor did come round
and realised I was “with it”. By then I’d also apologised to the masseuse for
not showering beforehand, telling her that my Mother would be ashamed of me.
What I really wanted to say was that my Dad would be furious, for I wasn’t even
allowed to walk the five minutes from the local tennis courts back to home when
I were a lad. And rightly so! But on Saturday a shower had to wait…
 |
| Linin' them up in the Real Food Cafe..! |
…food
came first: fish & chips with two cans of IrnBru lined up beforehand! Mike
had long vaunted them as “the best fish & chips in the world”: I’d probably
award them a bronze medal, with Two
Steps (Sheffield) in second and Squires (North Devon) on the
top step. But still blinkin’ good!
Sarah
and Mike then dropped me off by my hotel
in Crianlarich. I’d found it on’t’internet and booked it primarily because
a) it didn’t have a review on TripAdvisor saying “you wouldn’t want to die
here”, as per my original selection and b) it was close to a bus stop whence I
could get back to Glasgow. The hotel wasn’t great as such… but it was, in a
quaint kinda way…
 |
| The bathroom door. (No, really!) |
…perfect.
A throwback to the 70’s, the room wasn’t huge, what seemed like a cupboard door led to the bathroom… only a bath-less bathroom, which on this particular evening wasn’t great… but the hotel just worked for me. I was out in the Highlands, alone with my thoughts and my sense of achievement. It took me about an hour to unpack and repack, ensuring some sort of logic in terms of what was in which bag ahead of the flight home, at which point I finally did treat myself to that long-overdue shower. I then had a sudden urge for a latte or a cappuccino, so headed down to the hotel bar…
…and
duly ordered a pint of real ale.
The
barman offered me a taster, on the basis that one should be satisfied he’s
going to like a pint of Orkney IPA before spending £5.30 on it. I’d left my
wallet in the room and headed down with a fiver, so had to head back to 234 – I
didn’t realise you could spend more than a fiver on a drink north of Watford
Gap! But then this was a hotel bar in an area where watering holes were in
short supply… unlike thirsty ramblers, let alone runners… and besides, it were
a good’un.
Some of my fellow patrons had taken part or supported the race. Some, obviously, not. I’ll let you guess to which category the guy who asked me whether I’d enjoyed by cycling race belonged. I really enjoyed that… even if I didn’t get a chance to put him right, as his wife beat me to it!
Having
resisted the temptation of a Jameson (don’t know why) (why I resisted, that
is!), I went back to my room and read a little. A couple of nights before
heading up I’d started Dean Karnazes’ “Ultramarathon Man”:
ignored by Santa for two Christmases running, it had received glowing reviews
by Ira Rainey and I figured it really
was high time I added it to my collection. Turned off the lights only to hear
someone snoring in a nearby room for a while… I had nothing but admiration for
them, making a racket I could hear from afar! Was awake before six on Sunday
morning, which was just as well given the old bedside radio alarm went off at
that time. I was up and getting ready by then – ready for my daily run…
 |
| Saturday's pre-race 4am breakfast: granola in a... ...portabowl! (OK - Nesquik bowl) |
As
I awaited Marco in the reception area, I got chatting to a fellow runner. This
was Milngavie on the eve of an Ultra: runners stood out a mile! Turns out she
ran By The Way, the campsite (on
the West Highland Way – get it?) where The Fling finishes! So she would “just
be running home”, as she put it… put my 26.2mi chippierun from
last year’s Longest Day Run into perspective!!!
I
then headed up to the Burnbrae Pub
to collect my number and chip and to meet up with Mike and Sarah. They’d
already eaten, whereas I still needed my last dose of carbloading – which
eventually came in the shape of quinoa with ‘stuff’. Peppers, broccoli… I can’t really
remember, it was just nice to have quinoa in anything but its raw form! We had
a lovely chat, all the longer for the wait for a table that preceded it. They
were staying in the adjoining Bearsden
Premier Inn, all of a quarter of a mile from mine… we said our goodbyes and
scheduled to meet in the Tesco car park at 5:30 the following morning. Oh the
glamour of the ultramarathon world…
…although,
to be fair, that pales into comparison compared to Martin’s arrangements. He’d
driven up with Sue and slept on a mattress in their estate. That’s ‘estate’
in the vehicular sense, not the Hookways’ version of Bal… Bal… Balamory! Where
better to sleep the night before running 53mi?
I’d
flown up on the same flight as Ira, ‘Bear’ and Paul. I’d recently read Ira’s
award-winning “From
Fat Man To Green Man” book and it was nice to put a face and a voice to
chapters and tweets. We had a brief chat at Bristol Airport and inevitably
bumped into each other at Glasgow Airport, with a handshake at the start of the
race in between. I hope to bump into them again at some point, and hopefully
chat a little more… disturbing unduly a bunch of blokes who’ve focused
together, trained together and committed together for a 53-mi race is both
insensitive and… well, difficult. There I go with group dynamics again…
I
was initially scheduled to catch a bus back to Glasgow Airport that would have
got me there 63’ before my 14:45 flight. However, the day after the
Fling I doubted I could pull off one of my sprint-to-the-gate runs… and had no
idea as to the likelihood of my bus being on time…
 |
| Wanderin' around Glasgow... |
…so
I travelled into Glasgow city centre on an earlier bus, dumped by bags at Left
Luggage and just wandered aimlessly around for a couple of hours. Good for
leg-stretching, presumably… I ventured into a Waterstone’s and gave in to the
temptation of a Costa latte, shortbread an’all – Rob would have been proud! I can’t
recall the last time I bought a book in a bookstore but it’s always nice to nip
in…
…less
than a hundred yards down the road I treated myself to a Burger King strawberry
milkshake (the McDonald’s in between didn’t do milkshakes!) and headed back to
the bus station. It had been a nice couple of hours kicking around Glasgow,
although nothing comparable to the beauty of the scenery on the way back from
Crianlarich. I’d usually read on a coach, but not on Sunday. We came down along
the opposite side of Loch Lomond: having been glad to see the back of it, I was
delighted to be reacquainted with it. And under something else’s steam, too!
Would
I do anything differently?
Minor
tweaks I guess, yes. But, on the whole, I was happy with how things worked out.
The drop-bags were adequate, my rucksack not too heavy… although I do need to
get myself one allowing me to access the water bottles without having to remove
it. Mine has a bladder but I prefer bottles, as do most runners. So, should I
ever run an Ultra again… that’s one thing to consider. Mainly because runners’
rucksacks have to be strapped on fairly snugly to avoid bouncing and chafeage,
making the taking off / putting back all the more cumbersome!
Shortly
after the race, Mike asked me if it had been my ‘hardest’ and/or ‘best’ run ever. Not the sort of question I like to rush into answering, I’ve now given
it some thought. So, Mike:
1)
‘Hardest’: Probably not. The quads were hurting on Saturday, but not as much as
during HP40. Which is a half marathon shorter, but at its most gruelling more
challenging. There were times last September when I wanted to stop and walk a
little. Other than where allowed under “thou shalt walk the climbs” rules, I
didn’t feel that way on Saturday. Maybe because I’d done enough walking over
rocks by then, who knows… or maybe, quite simply, because it wasn’t my maiden
ultra. The first one’s always the toughest.
2)
‘Best’: It’s up there! For all my love of neat stats and tables, I can’t put my
favourite runs in order. But it’s definitely part of an elite group, alongside Nice, HP40 and Montallegro. All very,
very special – for different reasons.
 |
| Any race where you get a bottle of Prosecco is alright with me! |
Last
but not least… yes, any achievement engenders the quest for a new challenge.
Greater, different… we’ll see. Certainly a new one.
Two
years ago I had just started running and was wondering whether I could manage a
10k. Since then I’ve moved up through to 13.1mi, 26.2, 40 and now 53, gradually
feeding and satisfying a desire to stretch myself and see how far I can go. But
it’s not just about distance: time matters, too. I’ve yet to do myself justice
on that front. And yes, I have a few ideas in mind for 2015. But I’m still in
that hazy post-race state right now, so I’m keeping them to myself. For now,
for what’s left of 2014 (he says before the end of April), the goals remain those
I set myself at the start of the year:
a)
a sub-3:30’ marathon
b)
a sub-1:30’ half marathon
c)
to complete The Highland Fling
When
I clocked 1:32’ in Bath and shut down in Manchester, I didn’t expect a) and b)
to be on the cards any longer for this year, even though there are still eight
months to go. I always expected a sub-90’ half to prove the hardest challenge:
having now run the Fling and having reached mile 20 of Manchester in 2:25’55”
before you-know-what,
that’s still the case in my mind. Don’t go kidding yourself that there is a
simple correlation between distance and toughness: on that basis, Usain Bolt
wouldn’t be a runner… and Roger Bannister’s 4’-mile wouldn’t be the
awe-inspiring landmark it remains to this day. Trust me, a sub-90’ Half is up
there with a 12hr Ultra. For me, with my genes, anyway.
I
have no other halves scheduled, and any local ones I might enter (e.g. one on my own doorstep – well,
.2mi away…) won’t be on PB courses. I do have two marathons scheduled, but
they’re two and three weeks after The
High Peak 40 Challenge, the 40-miler in the Peak District. So speedy times
ain’t gonna happen. Unless… unless…
…unless I don’t run HP40 this year and spend the next five months improving my pace over 13.1 and 26.2 (maybe even 3.1) – and run Bristol HM instead on the same weekend for which HP40 is scheduled? That would be a perfect build-up race to Chester, and then I can always take it easy (and test recovery) in York, maybe wear a tutu and run alongside Mike…
…that
would allow greater focus in my training, to run a half marathon on my doorstep
a fortnight prior to traveling up to Chester, to see some other local runners I
do actually know and to allow me to get these two boxes ticked and therefore
look to 2015 as a new year for completely new goals?
Yeah…
when I put it like that, it sounds pseudo-logical. And I could always squeeze
in an ultra for Longest Day Run… pretty much in the same neck of the woods as
HP40, just “unofficial” – but with friends nonetheless…
…hmmm.
I’ll sleep on it. But… I think you can see which way my mind’s heading for the
winter season. In particular, post-Manchester Chester now matters an awful lot
more. I’ll run owt from a mile-long streaksaver to a 53-mile ultra, me: but,
ultimately, I still regard the marathon distance as the benchmark for
long-distance runners. Your marathon PB time is the nearest thing to a running
ID there is. And the competitor in me, conscious of the effort he puts into
this lark, longs for a better ID than 33103. I don’t envisage making any
decision between now and October 5 without that at its core.
As
for which way my mind’s heading for 2015…
…hey,
it’s still Tuesday. My thoughts need at least four days to fall into place
post-race. So just leave them with me. In fact…
sod
that! Sod “it’s still Tuesday”! It’s still blinkin’ April!!! Check back in the
Autumn, why don’t you!!!
Oh - and, whatever
you kindly post on social media sites or text me, I ain’t no hero. Is that understood?
I’m just a guy who likes to get his money’s worth out of his running shoes. A
guy who has the good fortune of being able to run (a lot), safe in the
knowledge he’ll come home to fresh water for a drink and a shower, food in the
fridge… and electricity and an Internet connection to go on about it! I’m
delighted that some people consider me an ‘inspiration’, as I do so many who
took to the roads and trails before me as well as, albeit never frequently
enough, alongside me. But… seriously, I ain’t no hero. Just a fat lad from
Sheffield.
Sarah, Susan: thanks for being there and helping us along the West Highland Way! You deserve a medal as much as we do! With race gear now on sale, no doubt Mike and Martin will at least you get a hoodie...
(c'mon, Guys! Hey - I'll chip in!!!)
 |
| Why we do this..!
© Susan Hookway
|
…Colin(s):
thanks for continually popping up during the race! For all the planning and
strategising, there’s always stuff you can’t predict. Your company, least its
frequency, was a highly welcome surprise!
Last (no, really), but by no means least…
Last (no, really), but by no means least…
By
being very lucky, that’s how. Lucky to know you, to learn from you, to count
you as friends… and lucky to run with you. Thanks, Guys. It was a blast.
Right,
Andrew, Martin, Mike… before we retire behind those curtains… and Colin, you
need to lead us… altogether now:
Oh, the summer time
is coming,
And the leaves are sweetly blooming,
 |
| Replaced Big Country just before the race... ...still to come off the CD player!!! |
And the wild mountain
thyme
Grows around the
blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie,
go?
I will build my love
a bower
By yon pure, crystal fountain,
And around it I will place
All the flowers from the mountain.
All the flowers from the mountain.
Will ye go, lassie,
go?
And we'll all go
together
To pull wild mountain
thyme
All around the
blooming heather,
Will ye go, lassie,
go?
...
With Faith, Hope and Love, and yours, in running
Gia(como)
