I am more awesome! (Longmynd Hike 2018)

Time, they say, is a great healer and so it would appear when reflecting on last week’s blog post Longmynd Hike.  Now, one day following my latest effort, I sit here with legs that feel like tenderised steak and a left ankle that wouldn’t look out of place on the leg of a full sized snooker table and my musings are a little less romantic.

After three previous attempts I finally nailed being organised with a bag for life (where would we be without them?) adequately stocked with requisite food, clothing and assorted goods to get me through the first and most harrowing element of the whole endeavour, the kit check.  The overnight rain had put a dampener on spirits, but the forecast looked reasonable for the hike itself and for the first time I had company at the start, in the form of friends Jason and Matt.

I went through the usual round of kit envy seeing sleek packs on sleek backs and comparing them to my mark I Montane Dragon 20, with its slightly awkward closure, lack of frontal storage and bottles that protrude like tuns, seated on my less than sleek frame.  That said it’s been a long term companion and the vest fits like a glove so I’ve rolled it over for another year.

The start line was its usual mix of primed runners, jovial well stocked walkers and an array of carefully selected outdoor gear. On gear, I had finally got over myself and gone with poles for the first time.  My experiences in the summer on the Offa’s Dyke Path with a partner who swore by the extra drive and stability they afforded him coupled with the availability of near weightless carbon fibre options had tipped the scales in my mind (more of this later).

My stock response to any question about goals is always ‘I just want to get round’.  This is a blatant lie as I had become focused on the fact I had come in a few minutes over 13 hours the previous two events and a sub 13 hour time had become a slight obsession. To paraphrase a previous piece I wanted to be more awesome.  Of course, at the start I felt anything but awesome as every nerve twitch and joint sensation resonated like a punch from Anthony Joshua.

From the start I was able pitch myself against a few familiar faces from previous events which gave me an idea of progress and with the help of the poles I felt fairly strong ascending the twin beasts of Caer Caradoc and The Lawley, later borne out by PB badges on Strava.  Descending still gives me problems and typically I Iose a few places on the way down of each going into the next, and my least favourite, bit of this trek.  The run of stiles from The Lawley to Gogbatch always does plenty to temper the excitement and serves to aggravate an ankle niggle, a legacy of a flatter race a couple of weeks ago.  Thankfully the visibility is good up to Pole Bank and I make fairly good progress as a solo runner, even on some of the uphill sections after the High Park checkpoint.

A quick clock check tells me I’m ahead of where I have been before despite the burgeoning pain in my left ankle and this sustains me through the drag up to Stiperstones which, to the uninitiated is like traversing a demolition site.  I’m in awe of those I observe skipping through as I bumble and stumble though in the sudden downpour.  Despite my technical issues and physical limitations I come out unscathed and make good progress off.  I note that the good summer has left the course much drier in the places where previously I’d sunk to my ankles.

I made light work of Earls Hill, but again lost time on the descent, and arrived at Bank Farm well ahead of grouping and warm enough to carry on without changing into my night clothes.  I complete the next section, again in isolation around the wood and road through Stiperstones village.  I count myself incredibly lucky, when at Shelve checkpoint, with grouping afoot, I bump into the incredible father and son team I finished with last year and they kindly accept my offer of forming a three to complete.  I think being in a three is the safest option, but you are conscious of the consequences of ever needing to quit, causing a problem for all.  I accepted at this point that any damage to my ankle was done and any pain temporary, set against the responsibility to the group and I genuinely believe this set me up to see it out in good time.

Despite it being less than two-thirds of the way in I’ve come to see Corndon Hill as the last major barrier to success and I always think time and space changes for the better as night falls.  My fondest memories of this event are all after dark and my positive outlook (and the poles) delivers me to the top of this small corner of Powys 5 minutes faster than I’ve ever done it before.  As a team we continue to make hay and keep ahead of my previous best through Woodgate Farm, the slightly surreal checkpoint with the excitable ladies at Nind and the off-road route up to Black Rhadley Hill.  A technical issue, walking poles are great, but not when the hill you’re climbing is covered in dense heather.

By this time the night has fully descended and the sky cleared to reveal the Milky Way in all its glory, a bright red Mars and Orion creeping over the silhouette of distant hills.  This also meant it was starting to go cold, proper cold, and we expressed our admiration for those walkers who would be out through night and into a probably quite frosty morning.

The falling temperature had started to cause some concern in our group and attention soon turned to the rice pudding at Stiperstones car park.  As always a small pot with a dollop of jam had a profound restorative effect and we set of at a steady trot all the way down to Bridges in good spirits.  Running providing that quick uplift to body temperature that was required after leaving the confines of the relatively warm tent.  A word for the checkpoint staff who were taking music requests and we actually left the tent to the strains of Mr Blue Sky, somewhat ironic given the time of night.

It appears that each year I turn up at the Pole Cottage checkpoint at the point the  takeaway pizza has just arrived.  Not sure which I resented more, this or the range of malt whiskys at Woodgate Farm.  Either way I was offered neither!

The run across the top before the drop down to Minton is one of the standout features of the Hike for me. The lack of features in your immediate surrounds, losing the floor in the misty  darkness and the absolute quiet makes for an other worldly experience whilst providing providing fairly benign running conditions.  I gladly trotted along until the steep drop at which point Joe, the youngest member of our group, disappeared into the distance careering down a hill and throwing all my downhill deficiencies into relief.  At the self checkpoint we met Terry and Ang from the organising committee, who were changing the battery in the flashy light and their encouragement was welcome with Ragleth Hill looming in the near distance.

I was happy to share my positive experience of a recent Sunday lunch in The Green Dragon as we passed through Little Stretton. A lovely range of vegan options for my companions on that occasion. I on the other hand would recommend the pork belly. All of this of course was small talk intended to distract from the final hurdle, the unfortunately reviled Ragleth a smallish lump with a large kick for anyone who has taken a 47 miles round trip to get there.  I felt I tackled this quite well and took a few moments at the top to survey my achievement.  I later found out that I’d actually climbed it quicker in 2016, but in comparison to my complete blow out last year it felt a whole load more satisfying.  I now allowed myself to contemplate that barring disaster I was going to break 13 hours and with a little time to spare. It was only now I dared to actually believe it was going to happen.  It’s official, I am more awesome!

Ragleth also brought the added pleasure of bumping into my old pal James from 2015, who was manfully striding the ridge ready to do the graveyard shift on the checkpoint.  This was the first time I’d seen him since the Stiperstones car park checkpoint in 2015 and I’m glad to say he looked a whole load better than he did then.

We descended almost as quickly as the frost, taking the direct route down and using my poles to brake me now safe in the knowledge that even if they snapped I didn’t have to carry the litter too far before I’d encounter a bin.  As it happened the poles took all of my 14 stone (ish) time and time again and standing up to the beating.  Black Diamond Carbon Zs now come fully recommended by this rank amateur.

A finishing time of 12.44 made the welcome cooked breakfast and cup of tea all the more sweet. Knowing that Joe and I had done PBs was all the more sweet when I later discovered that Joe’s father Quentin had taken the Over the Hill prize for his age category. I’ve never paced anyone to any kind of victory before.

To add to the successes my compadres at the start both finished in fantastic times, with Matt breaking 10 in his first official attempt.

So a massive thanks to my overnight buddies Quentin and Joe for steering me around again and a huge shout out to the whole load of volunteers who keep us and the whole thing going.

Now for a lie down.