Lakeland 100 – July 29th 2011

I had my first battle with the Sleepmonsters while jogging along the old railway track and was hard pressed to resist the urge to stop and have a little lie down for 5 minutes or perhaps a day or two. Hitting the hill that lead up to the Old Coach Road was enough to keep me a wake and I caught and passed a few other runners on the way up. It’s not that I was interested in passing them or worried about my position – I just wanted to stay awake and this was the game at this point. I caught up with a chap who I then spent the last couple of miles into Dockray chatting to (a nice guy called Philip Musson, I later learnt). In and out of CP7 and onto the longest section. Philip, an ultra veteran who had run perhaps more ultras than I’ve had hot dinners (and I’ve eaten a lot of hot dinners I can tell you!) had already gone ahead and basically couldn’t be seen for dust. He was flying. (He eventually finished in 51st place in 32h44m – well done Philip!)

The run down into Dockray (accompanied by Nine Inch Nails’ “Somewhat Damaged”) felt great and I was running hard. The section around Golbarrow Fell was stunning and there was a spectacular view of Ullswater – so spectacular that it’s probably time for another photo, don’t you think?

Ullswater

Wasn’t happy about the steep bits around Golbarrow Fell mind you – don’t know why I do all these mountainy things when I don’t have a head for heights. I finally made it to the 60 mile point and CP8 at Dalemain at about 10:45 after a litle over 17 hours of running. Well, trekking and jogging at any rate. I’d covered the 26 miles from Braithwaite in 6hrs 45 minutes which I was more than happy with considering the terrain. Hey – little things!

This is the point when things started to go wrong.

I had my plan at Dalemain – change my gear and my shoes, dump anything I no longer needed, change torch batteries, replenish jelly babies, Nuun tablets, flapjacks (the best flapjacks ever, I might add!), switch to larger water bottles and so on. Oh yeah, and get yet another new map having dropped my first replacement somewhere at the Dockray CP! I decided to go and see the nice lady physios and get a little loosening/revitalizing massage. They were lovely (as were, I hasten to add, all the checkpoint crews without exception!), especially for putting up with my muddy and no doubt pongy feet. I’d give them more of a shout out but I can’t remember what physio company they were with so sorry about that. A quick call to my wife just to update her on how I was – she had been tracking my progress and informed me that I was in 100th place coming into Dalemain. Not something I needed to know but pleasing nevertheless and great to here her voice. Then I realised I’d been at the checkpoint for nearly an hour and it was time to leave – and I hadn’t eaten. I scoffed half a bowl of pasta down then left hastily.

Then doubled back and went the other direction.

Then came back and asked someone which way I needed to go because, quite frankly, the “turn right in front of the checkpoint” instruction in the roadbook made absolutely no sense because I had no idea which way I was meant to be facing when I turned right!

I’d picked up some trekking poles at Dalemain, reasoning that they’d be useful for getting me up some of the steep slopes still to come. I quickly realised that I had absolutely no idea how I was going to manage poles and my roadbook. I got through Pooley Bridge and headed up the road and track to The Cockpit and then started to bonk badly. I slowed right down, unable to jog because I couldn’t find a rhythm with my poles and feeling the heat from the midday sun. What is it the man said? Mad dogs and Englishmen? I carried on to Howtown, enjoying the view over Ullswater and trying not to scare any of the other random walkers out that day.

By the time I got to CP9 at Howtown, I was ready to call it a day. I knew that the next stage, up Wether Hill, across High Street and down to Haweswater, made up the largest ascent of any stages; about 2500 foot in total. We’d been discussing it the night before between Buttermere and Braithwaite. Right at that moment, I was dreading it. Another cup of tea and slice of fruit cake and I got to my feet and pushed on. Completing the next stage meant I had covered all the major climbs on the route.

Going up Fusedale and Wether Hill was pretty much as bad as I imagined. I pushed on because I knew I’d been up worse in mountain marathons I’d done previously (particularly the last LAMM I did in Kintail). Admittedly, I didn’t have 65 miles in my legs for those or been on the move for 20 hours. Anyway, got to the top, being passed constantly by the competitors on the 50 mile race and started to trek over to Haweswater. At one point, a very nice lady on the 50 turned around to me, both thumbs up and said “Really well done! Fantastic effort!” I immediately started crying, overcome with tiredness and emotion. I just wanted to shout “Stop being so fucking nice to me!” at her but that would have been rude and she was being lovely. I pulled myself together and headed on. Didn’t last for long though – on the way down to Haweswater I burst into tears again and another lovely person stopped, looking very concerned and offered me a jelly baby. I laughed and tried to explain it was something to do with being tired and, well, tired. Also, I had plenty of jelly babies.

It was down by Haweswater that I fully began to appreciate the benefit of the reccie weekends that I hadn’t gone to. If I had done, I’d have known that the path around Haweswater was not a pleasant jog along a pine needle strewn track in the cool, refreshing shade of a little section of forestry but was, in fact, a nightmarishly rocky piece of shit trail that was technical and challenging and on which I twisted my knee, aggravating an ITB related problem that had, so far, not caused me too much grief.

I want to take a moment to apologise to a lady also on the 100 who I had gone down Black Sail Pass with and who I saw lateron that arduous trek past Haweswater. She did her best to encourage me and I’m afraid I found myself sharing my negativity with her. It wasn’t intentional and I’m truly sorry – it’s something I can’t stand personally so I’m sorry to have inflicted it on you. (I think her name was Alison Brind and I’m happy to say she finished the course in 37h01 so whatever negativity I shared, it can’t have been that bad.)

Wincing and complaining, I finally made it to CP10 at Mardale Head. I had not really enjoyed the last section at all and I was parched, having run out of water half way across the top. I just kept thinking about how the first 30 miles of the course had been unrunnable and that, apart from the 27 miles between Braithwaite and Dalemain, the race so far hadn’t been that fun. Now I was tired, aching and my knee was hurting. I took one look at the near vertical hill out of Mardale Head and proclaimed, quite loudly, “You’re fucking having a laugh if you think I’m going up that!”, demanded the special dibber and retired.

Haweswater

A sense of relief washed over me. 75 miles in a little over 24 hours and doing all the major ascents was still a kind of achievement, even if I didn’t make it to the end. I mean hey, that’s like three consecutive marathons over very challenging terrain. And it’s only my second ultramarathon so, by rights, I probably shouldn’t even have been allowed to enter in the first place. I met up with another retiree who had pulled out with a twisted ankle. We secured a lift home where his wife had procured beer, pie and chips (with curry sauce!). We ate, drank, checked the progress of people we knew and watched the faster runners  as they came in and agreed that it had been tough and that we might consider doing the 50 next year but the 100 was a definite no-no. Wasn’t easy; wasn’t fun; wasn’t for us.

It took me less than 12 hours and one night’s sleep before I knew I’d be back again next year to sort out Unfinished Business.

Next post: Anatomy of a DNF – what was the real reason I pulled out?

7 thoughts on “Lakeland 100 – July 29th 2011

  1. nicola

    Just brilliant – despite the pain and the suffering – you are going back next yr – fantastic – im going to have a go at the 50! x

  2. Steve Mee

    Fantastic write up. I love “You’re fucking having a laugh if you think I’m going up that!”. I did the 50 and that was tough. When I got to the finish the first thing I said to my wife was “Just promise you won’t let me sign up to the 100 nest year”. It took 24hrs before I couldn’t wait to sign up to the big one. See you there!

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