Category: Uncategorized

Making life difficult for ourselves (for fun)

James C

Yesterday a few running friends and I visited a pal, who due to a change in personal circumstances has moved into their own property. Their house sits in a new residential development built on an old hospital site. It is isolated and very much out of town.

Within minutes of our arrival, in a car, conversation turned to the most creative or interesting way to run there. How do you turn 5 miles along an A Road into 10 miles using whatever trails exist between us and it.

And that’s what we trail runners do, wilfully make life difficult for ourselves.

Epic Journeys

James C

The River Stour

There is no shortage of content across all media telling us that other people are doing lots of amazing and exciting things. Beautiful filmed, lavish presentations, inspirational people and spectacular places. Streaming has given us access like never before. Gone are the days when if you wanted this stuff relating to your special interest, you saved your pocket money and bought the VHS tape from a specialist shop or magazine advert.*

(*before you start sniggering at the back, I’m talking about skateboarding!)

This stuff is great, but does it serve to diminish our own experiences?

I often fail to see the wonder in my surroundings. The landscape, its history, its evolution and the human stories that fall out of it. Living in a cradle of the industrial revolution much of the countryside where I regularly is a relic of a past only recently gone. Places that are green and ‘wild’ conceal works and remnants of industrial endeavour and a past characterised by dirt and sweat.

A close friend recently embarked on a mission to plot a running route along our local river. The Stour gives its name to my hometown and run’s it’s course through the southern end of the urban Black Country in the Midlands of England.

It has been invisible in plain site to me for much of my life often appearing as a dreary course between nondescript commercial premises until it breaks out into the Staffordshire and Worcestershire countryside tracking Worcestershire canal until it empties into the mighty Severn at Stourport.

The source is in the Clent Hills – a well known local oasis of calm elevated above the Black Country and looking over the plain of the Birmingham conurbation. It sits behind St Kenelms, a historic church built on a Saxon worship ground and housing the legend of the murder of the child and king’s son Kenwulf (Kenelm) at the hand of his jealous and ambitious sister Quendryda and her lover Askobert.

The spring sprang forth when the Archbishop of Canterbury’s emissaries released the child’s body from the ground. If this 1000 year Games of Thrones doesn’t inspire you at the start of a 30 mile adventure nothing will. Thankfully the only victims on this journey in 2023 were the calves of some of the participants.

The nine pilgrims who set out from that venerable place followed the flow as near as possible and this took through a number of places that provide an oasis of natural life in and amongst the brutalism of the urban environ.

These places exist in full view of the inhabitants, but the points of access are often concealed in a way akin to Platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross station and similarly it’s only those who are really looking that discover.

The power of the natural world is never more evident than when you see how people have had to engineer solutions to claim their piece of the land. Tunnels, gullies, channels and bridges litter the route and although their scale is not comparable to the wonders of the world their presence is a constant reminder of our true place.

The ingenuity of our forebears is brilliantly exposed when travelling under and over some of the grander structures, most of which result from the explosion of civil engineering in the canal and railway ages.

But, it is the way in which nature has reclaimed so much of that which was spoiled by our legacy industries that gives the most joy. It was these places where the modern world lies in ruin at the mercy of rampant growth, a rewilding of sorts that gives hope to those of us who would like to see a restoration of the balance between men and the natural order.

A short route through a riverside oasis and an unexpected encounter with a horse soon gave way to a path alongside an industrial scale recycling plant and a pit stop at Greggs.  These stories don’t get told on Netflix.

This route didn’t take us over mountains or along grand national trails. There is no guidebook and it’s unlikely the Stourbridge Civic Amenities site features on any adventurers must do list. Despite this, this route along this most modest of waterways holds endless opportunities to be engaged, educated and thrilled.

One man’s ambition (cheers Col) and his nerdish cartographic tendencies have served up an Epic Journey by any measure.  All it took to turn this into an adventure was 8 other willing and somewhat unprepared runners (white trainers…really), a few willing drivers and a few of our favourite grocers who kept us going on route.

photos credit: Danny K

Down Through the Dark Streets

James C

I always wanted this blog to be a compendium of my thoughts on my main obsessions of running, the outdoors and music, which probably serves to explain my inactivity since my first few posts because its somewhat muddled concept. There is a symbiosis when I consider that my main outlet for long form music is my long run. It’s just about the only time I get to spend quality time with albums that I would otherwise chop into bitesize chunks onto highlight reel playlists. This has always been a marriage of convenience with the relationship defined by the simple placing of the two activities into the same available space, but more recently my trail meditations have revealed a deeper and more spiritual crossing of the paths.

As a mental health professional I’ve never been too far from the emerging world of mindfulness and it’s purported benefits to those experiencing a range of common mental health problems. Running always seemed to concord with its principle that life is to be lived and experienced in the moment, freeing you from the baggage of legacy and fear of what’s to come. Running trails, particular in twilight or dark gives you no space for your mind to wander as you react to the terrain and the challenge it presents.

Music is often just the passive soundtrack to this and sometime serves to take you away from from the beauty of silence and the ambience of night time nature. But on occasion the noise in your ears and the context of your run meld to deliver a piece of ‘in the moment’ magic that transcends both activities.

On one occasion during the early part of summer I was taking the longest and steepest path up a local landmark hill, at dusk, in a mist that sat below the summit, evoking the spirit of much grander climbs. My soundtrack was A Pagan Place by The Waterboys and I approached the top as the albums final track played. Down Through the Dark Streets is a stark piece built around a plaintive piano riff and pleading lyrics evoking images of time and place, in a first person narrative. Its dark tone and evocation of place connected totally with the physical toil of the climb and accorded even more when I noticed the secular monument that crowns the hill was itself crowned by a murder of carrion crows. It was as if they were waiting for sorry carcass and Mike Scott only served to soundtrack the drama playing out in my head. There would be worse ways and places to go.

A Murder at Four Stones

Doing your first ultra, some advice from no expert (no liability will be accepted by the author)

James C

A colleague recently mooted that they were considering running a local ultra running event and asked me for advice. The question of liability crossed my mind, but my excitement and ego quickly go me thinking about what advice could offer them. I’m rarely approached as an expert, but clearly rumours of my endeavours had caused someone to think I was worth asking.

So firstly what qualifies me. I’m not a qualified coach, running or otherwise, I am a registered health professional, but not in the muscles, bones, heart or pain field and I spent the first 15 years of my adult life avoiding running at all costs as anyone who had the misfortune to play football with me would attest.

I am someone, who is prone to agreeing to participate in ambitious escapades before ever considering,

  1. Whether I am able?
  2. What preparation will be required to get me to the the point of being able?

When I started running regularly, in my early 30s, I followed a fairly conventional path to half marathon glory. Did a 5k, then a 10k , then followed an 8 week plan, did the 13.1 miles (happy days), lost all impetus and stumbled along running infrequently for a couple of years afterwards.

A few years and changes of jobs later, I became aware whilst sat at my desk that colleagues were talking about having done various endurance type running events. I didn’t know these people particularly well and I couldn’t say they cut a particularly super human presence around the office. That aside, the fact I was hearing first hand about running 50 miles plus was enough for me to engineer the chance to agree with one such colleague to sign up for the next 40 miler that he was planning to do. I did this with an almost cavalier flourish suggesting a level of competence completely at odds with the reality.

I had 3 months to prepare and at that point was probably running an average of 10 miles per week. Shit

I started, as with any good project, and in the absence of an Ultra’s for Dummies book, with a thorough search of google. I suspect that over the subsequent three months, I read every single related article on the World Wide Web, mostly in lieu of actual training.

My takeaways were:

  1. I need at least 170 hours a week to fit in the requisite running
  2. The calorific requirements require me to adjust to a 10000 kcal/day diet and if I don’t I’m bound to either vomit or soil myself on the day.
  3. The navigational skill and kit requirements demand that I spend 6 months on a mountain guide course and do further research on getting away with larceny.

None of the above appealed to my half-arsed approach to most things, but a couple of nuggets therein did stick and prove to be the difference. Added to my own experiences here is a list of things that me through my first 40 mile ultra race in one piece and in good time.

  1. Accept walking as part of your training – I started to consciously walk hills I used to run up. I haven’t necessarily maintained this principle most of the time, but for the first time this permission was incredible. I noticed the time difference for equivalent runs was not massive and as I became more adept at switching to a fast hike on up hills I probably actually gained from the restorative effect. I live in a fairly hilly area and my training sessions became interval sessions, where both my tolerance and running speed increased.
  2. The above had a secondary benefit of enabling me to eat and drink more effectively on the move. The permission to eat for ultras is one of the great joys, but I always had difficulty taking even clear fluids whilst running. This usually ended with a roadside choking fit, water eyes and snot bubbles, but eating and drinking during a walk is far more doable.
  3. Make yourself as comfortable as possible – It’s gonna hurt. Reduce every possible additional problem before it becomes one. Lube, wipe, eat, drink, do your bag up properly, tighten your straps, shake it properly when you have wee….you get the drift. You’re out there a long time, so allow yourself the few seconds you never have when doing a 10k or half marathon.
  4. Find stuff you like to eat – I’ve always used gels and never had a problem, once I found a couple that didn’t taste like a cross between children’s penicillin and hair gel. But some people don’t get on with them, so find something you do. You will crave salt later in a race and although I love tucking into the communal crisp bowl (pre-Covid) at aid stations, I find that this craving is abated by chucking an electrolyte tablet in your water bottle.
  5. Have clothes and a bag with access pockets at the front – there is nothing more demoralising than realising the one thing you really want is buried deep at the back and you have to strand yourself at the roadside for what will seem like a lifetime to retrieve it.
  6. Keep it light – the google will tell you you require so many calories per mile etc etc., but consider what will be at each aid station, you don’t need to pack a Sunday Lunch. Keep an eye on the weather forecast, if its not going to be -6C you don’t need the 3 extra Merino sweaters in your bag. Know the route, the available support the weather, the time of day and pack what is necessary. Every gram counts once you go into the red zone. (I need to stress you must always follow the minimum kit requirements for any event and id certainly be more cautious in winter or overnight, but apply some thought to what you will really need).
  7. Poles – Scott Jurek uses them, so why shouldn’t we. If it’s hilly consider learning to use them. Once I got over myself and started to use them for lumpy runs I found minutes coming of my ascent times. Just be careful not to poke anybody’s eye out when you go over a stile.
  8. Buddy up – I do nearly every event on my own and I’m quite happy to exist in my own space, but I’ve learned that to spend some time in someone else’s company for at least some of an event is massively helpful and I’ve even made some friends out of it.

And finally. How much training did I actually do? I really struggled to get even close to having the time to run the miles required in any plan I found. What I did do, was get out as often as possible and even when runs were only 30 minutes to an hour ensure that I added some additional resistance, aim for steep climbs, carry a bag and get off road. When I could go out for a few hours I stopped worrying about pace, I ate, drank and walked on occasion, kept mixing it up. And in the end this far from superhuman managed to achieve something pretty super out there with the other weirdos out in the Worcestershire countryside.

Note: my colleague completed their first ultra and I had shared the above thoughts with her so I’m claiming full credit for their achievement.

Trail snobs

James C

Last week I wore a new pair of road running shoes for the first time. Exciting times, as any runner knows, nothing fires the synapses like gear. So, why is this worthy of my (and hopefully your) attentions? It’s notable because said new shoes, Altra Torun 4, have been in my cupboard since May. Stowed away because in that time I have not once ventured out for a run exclusively on the road.

I live in the urban Black Country, but have on my doorstep the bucolic South Staffordshire countryside, trails linked by an extensive canal network, woods and the wonderful Clent Hills. I regularly traverse three counties in 5-10 mile runs taking in a mix of road, bridal path, gnarly trails and wonderful hills with panoramic views of Birmingham, Worcestershire and the Shropshire Hills. Why would I want to run anywhere else?

But, the fact is I rarely see anybody when I’m out. Lockdown exercise certainly increased footfall (much to my chagrin), but I run in blissful isolation or in select company.

Conversely, when I drive about the streets are full of the gamut of the running community. The serious pace merchants, the plodders, the couch to 5kers, the groups and the being dragged by a dog..ers.

I love to see people running, it warms my heart. They’re actively trying to improve something, their mental health, waistline, life expectancy, a charities coffers or a personal best. It’s beyond reproach, they’re doing it, other aren’t, its dead cool.

But, I’ve assumed a position of superiority on the basis that they spend their precious time flogging tarmac and breathing fumes. They don’t experience the pleasure of absolute forest silence with a blinkered view enabled only by the beam of a head torch. They know nothing of being ankle deep in mud and animal shit. They’ve never known the exhilaration of being chased by a cow.

I’m a trail snob.

Why? What is the psychopathology of being such a thing?

  1. We think we’re more hardcore. Obviously running 5 miles on a bridal path in Worcestershire puts me in the same ‘Outdoorsman’ category of those legends of the outdoors like Killian Journet, Alan Quartermain et al.
  2. We think the gear is cooler. We turn our nose up at those brand that could just as easily be seen on the body of a footballer or tennis player. I don’t want to pay £20 for a t-shirt when I can spend £40 because the same brand makes walking boots! I need the protection, obviously.
  3. We can qualify our slowness. Extra points for when you make it quite clear in the description on Strava that the run you were on was a ‘Trail’, a hill or really shitty! GOP is all that matters.
  4. If a runner falls over in the woods and there was no one there to hear them shout ‘F*@!king bastard’ did they make a sound? You don’t get that kind of action running passed Aldi.

In truth I enjoyed my road run, in fact I’ve done a few more recently. Not all the time, for the reasons listed above, but its amazing what actually reveals itself in your urban space, particularly at night when the traffic has died down and you don’t feel as much like an dispensable extra from The Running Man. It challenges me physiologically and psychologically in that the movement is relentless and time/pace becomes more of a factor, its a great barometer of where I’m at.

So although outwardly I shall always be a trail snob, a little part of me does have a place for the tarmac and street furniture.

Making Time

James C

Christmas EveA couple of years ago I made the somewhat arbitrary decision to run 1000 miles in a calendar year.  It seemed a reasonable target given at this point I’d been running fairly regularly for a while and had already completed two ultra-distance events the previous year.  If I can run 100 miles in two days then managing 900 in the other 363 days should be a (brisk) walk in the park.  I was also now equipped and fairly competent with the means to accurately record my achievement using GPS.

So, broken down I would need to do,

2.74 miles per day or,

19.23 miles per week or,

83.3 miles per month.

Easy right?

January went something like this…

Week 1 – still fairly bloated and hungover from Christmas/New Year so a week off won’t hurt.  Dead easy to catch up 2.74 miles a day and 83 miles I can virtually do in a day so no worry.

Week 2 – Better get out and do a 10k that’s virtually a week’s worth…right?

Week 3 – Bloody hell it’s miserable outside, better to make hay whilst the sun shines.

Week 4 – Oh shit…I’ve only managed 20 miles…never mind I’ll make it up in February.

February – for some reason this poxy month is two days shy of a full one, so not really worth bothering with.

March/April – not really sure what happened, but I know I spent most of the Easter bank holidays doing family stuff, yeah them!

May – 19th – my 40th birthday.  Thanks to my wonderful soon to be wife I spent much of this period drunk or hungover.  At my actually surprise 40th birthday party I chatted with a pal, who is a talented and capable club runner and confidently reasserted my yearly ambition,  neglecting to mention I was barely up to 200 miles at this point.  When he said, glibly, that he he’d passed that mark somewhere in April I did feel slightly crestfallen.  When he offered me a birthday drink I didn’t hesitate to accept despite being half way down my fifth pint and a whisky was suggested as a logical accompaniment.  Unsurprisingly I didn’t do much running in the subsequent week.

June – got married.  Took running shoes on honeymoon in Las Vegas.  Did 0.0 miles running.  Too hot.

And so it went on.  As it happened I did knuckle down in September and produce a somewhat miraculous result by going 3 hours quicker in the 50 miles Longmynd Hike from the year previously and although satisfied with the achievement I couldn’t help but wonder what might have been had I been able to get the 19.23 miles in each week.

Anyhoo.

Following the Londmynd Hike in October I started running with a bunch of lads who were pals of colleague and who lived local to me.  This had a couple of significant effects.  Up to this point I had never, other than in one particular event bothered with running too much off road and certainly I rarely ran after 7pm at night.  As a 9-5 worker with a younger child I was invariable unable to run early in the morning (don’t like getting up to be honest) and most evenings I would be ferrying offspring or doing other stuff.  Running with a group opened up a whole world of nocturnal opportunity, particular on the local hills, tracks and bridal paths that surround where I live.  The fact these group excursions often ended up in the pub was all the motivation I needed.  Places that were literally 10 minutes from my door suddenly became familiar, having never been.

My end of year total scraped to around the 500 mile mark I think, despite the fact it felt like I had run quite a bit.  So I started the new year with vigour. 2.74 miles a day..2.74 miles a day..2.74 mi…you get the picture. 3 miles on the 1st of January and I’m in business.

One thing I knew was that I couldn’t leave this to chance. Not planning to run was planning to fail, but this didn’t change my responsibilities to family or the demands on my time from work.  I knew I had to make certain commitments.

No.1 – if child is doing something I don’t have the option to sit and wait for her to finish.  I run instead.  One hour at Tuesday gymnastics became the Earl’s Loop weekly 10k. Saturday squash stopped being aimlessly mess about in the gym or drink coffee in the club bar, it became weekly 4 miles around the woods at the back.

No. 2 – commutes.  This presented a bit of a problem because my job, sometimes randomly requires me to use my car.  But, on reflection, a few of my colleagues didn’t have cars and appeared to manage their demands.  Again this required planning.  Change of clothes in situ, towel at work, mindful diary management, trying not to look like a dickhead walking out of the building in Lycra etc.

No.3 – sign up for stuff.  Fear failure.  I know my ability and it’s limited, but I need to know that someone won’t be pasting me off the floor or putting me in a meat wagon, bereft of the cut off time.  My ego wouldn’t allow it.  This did lead to a couple of, ‘Love, I’ve signed up for this on Saturday the 12th’ conversations, quite often leading to, ‘no, you’re not’ responses!.

This all helped, but still it was incredibly demanding to commit to the required time to achieve the arbitrary goal I had set myself.  The down side to all of this was that at times I was wedded to quantity not quality, cramming  3 milers here and there and probably not resting where my body could have done with a day or two.  In a year I managed to run 3 ultras, two trail marathons and get off on a couple of all day adventures with pals, that probably accounted for a quarter of the annual requirements in total, but also a couple of stints of recovery thanks to being a bit bashed up.

In the end I ran a 40 mile last week of the year saving the final 3 miles for New Years Eve and a sense of enormous well-being.  Perhaps it is about those joggers going round and round?

 

I am more awesome! (Longmynd Hike 2018)

James C

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.

LMH 3

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.

LMH 2

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.

Longmynd Hike

James C

 

This week I shall be attempting to complete the 50 mile Longmynd Hike for the fourth consecutive year.  I intend to discuss my journey to middle of the pack ultra-running greatness from avowed non-runner in future posts, so I won’t waste your time with it here, but that journey is somewhat summed up by my participation (again) in this hefty undertaking.

When I completed last year’s, in a fairly respectable joint 53rd place in a time of 13 hours and 8 minutes I vowed that was it, it could get no better than this.  I’d repeated almost to the minute my achievement from the previous year what possibly could be gained from doing it again.  Then the ‘what ifs’ kicked in.  Nagging doubts about time spent in checkpoints, missing a gate by 10 metres and the five minutes wasted standing dumbfounded on top of the Stiperstones convinced I’d gone the wrong way.

This all adds up, surely sub 13 is possible, I could be more awesome!

So there I was a Sunday morning in July 2018, lying in bed waiting for entries to open, panicked at the thought I might miss out, wife despairing whilst she lay there sensing the palpable anxiety.

You see it’s got me, the atmosphere at the start, all hope and expectation.  The realisation within 10 minutes that Shropshire has hills, maybe not big ones in global terms, but steep, brutal, ancient lumps that serves to expose every inch of your probable lack of training.

The camaraderie, I’ve started each of my three previous runs on my own, struggling to find anyone foolish and/or available to share the adventure with me, but never finished alone.  The design dictates that you are grouped after dark, but on each occasion you’ve formed your relationships that are going to carry you through the night.  By nightfall competition has gone out of the window and you strike up conversations as a means of sustaining the effort and distraction from the horrors going on in your lower limbs.  The shuffle through a deserted Church Stretton in the wee small hours to your wonderfully understated final check in and bacon sandwich is the most glorious way to finish.  You feel exclusive, only a few people are there to share it, but you are part of a club.

So this is for James, Henry, Phil, Andrew, Kathryn, Quentin, Joe and Matt .  Those people who suffered my company while they suffered and with whom my experience of this unique event is indelibly linked.

This year I’m starting with friends, which will be a new way to experience it and although we’ve all got different ambitions for the day, I’m looking forward to be able to finally share reflections over a pint.  Oh yeah and this is definitely….I mean definitely…..my last year.

See you at Kit Check!