Learning the hard way....

Cateran Trail Ultra - 55miles 15th May 2010

*WARNING - THIS BLOG ENTRY CONTAINS EVERY

KNOWN WORD FOR VOMIT*

Maybe the first signs of trouble came after I hurled the veggie burger I had in the hotel. I put it down to the journey - even as the driver, the road to Spittal of Glenshee makes me boak. By morning I felt fine though and managed a couple of bits of toast and 3 cups of tea.

I started the race conservatively but I wasn't quite ready yet to start walking the inclines so I ran them, picking folk off in the process. At the first drop-bag point (Dalnagair) I was already ahead of my best-case schedule by 10 minutes. I enjoyed half a banana and a slug of coke before making my way to Kirkton of Glenisla. By the time I arrived there I was 15minutes ahead and feeling fantastic. I ate half my crisp roll and enjoyed another large slug of coke. It was all going so well....

I struggled on towards Den of Alyth. The rubbery tasting water from my camelbak was making me feel ill so I had already stopped drinking it and at Den of Alyth I texted Sue, the best support crew you could wish for, to bring me a bottle of decent stuff at Blairgowrie. I knocked back about 300ml of coke and another half banana and made my way towards Blairgowrie now 13mins behind schedule but feeling okay.

I must have sprouted wings en-route to Blairgowrie. I know I battered my way down the downhills, not caring how trashed my quads might feel the next day. I met Sue who had tea and choccy digestives waiting - fantastic! I had 3 cups, 1 biscuit and about a third of a muller rice. I was surprised to see that by now I was about 5 minutes ahead again and after 31miles feeling good.

The route to Bridge of Cally was the only familiar thing about this race, having done it in the relay at last year's 23miler, other than the vomit that came shortly thereafter. I struggled along and felt queasy when I arrived at the checkpoint now 6mins behind. I bit a banana, sniffed at the rest of the contents of my drop bag and stropped on. By now I was finding running difficult but walking was tolerable. I met Sue up the track who insisted I chew on some crystalised ginger, whether I liked it or not! It was a distraction if nothing else but I was soon gagging and retching and with no visible results it was time for the bulimic approach which worked a treat. Sue left, I felt great, briefly, but it didn't last. From that point everything that hit my stomach promptly reappeared.

I got slower and slower with everyone now going past me and when I reached a fence about 80ft high (seriously) with no clear signs of how to get over it, I succumbed a rock to contemplate my next move. It was obvious really, I was in no position to continue. I texted Sue, who was waiting at Enochdhu, to meet me at Kirkmichael where I was bailing out - again.

Sophie with her dodgy knee and on-board pharmacy caught me up and she kindly walked with me until Sue arrived just outside Kirkmichael where the decision was made more or less for me that I wasn't going any further, having now gone 5 hours without fluid.

I only made Sue stop once so I could puke at the roadside on the journey back to the Spittal where, rather annoyingly, after a lie down, a shower and a bite to eat I felt just fine. At 9pm I contemplated getting someone to drive me down to Kirkmichael so I could finish, I still had 3 hours until the cut-off after all, but we schemed a plan instead to run the final section in the morning.

Sunday
I woke at 5am ravenous - a good sign! At breakfast I consumed more than I'd usually eat in a whole day and at 10am Angus drove me, Karen and George to Kirkmichael to run back to Spittal of Glenshee. It was a glorious morning, I had a fabulous time, great gossip and the final pelt down towards the hotel marked my finish, albeit 12 hours late. As an incredibly generous gesture by the wonderful Karen I was even awarded my race memento. Handy having the RD as a personal friend!!

Analysis
So what went wrong? Retrospectively it's obvious (isn't it always....). I didn't eat or drink nearly enough early on. Why? I was in a race, I didn't have time to eat. I had a target in mind and a schedule to follow and nothing was going to get in my way. Except it did, and it's a lesson I've learned the hard way.
Slapped wrists, onwards yet again......

Chumbawamba

You know the one, I get knocked down but I get up again.... So I did and I have. Not without a fight though. Post Fling was tough, much much tougher than I was letting on. I spent days hiding and moping and pretending I was feeling better than I actually was. Truth is I was ill all week but shhhh, don't tell anyone.

Then I got a message from Mrs RD of the Cateran Trail Ultra suggesting I swap my role as marshall for a place (at a price....) and ping, off I hop into frantic organisation mode again.

And so it was on the Tuesday, in a bid to scrape myself off the floor, I resumed training at the club much to the horror of those there. Why why why they asked? Why why not I said. Um, because you still look like death. Even after a pep talk from El Presidente, in which I agreed to take it easy all week doing nothing more strenuous than a brisk stroll, there I was on the Thursday lining up at the start for the Kinross 10k. I still had the shakes but there were cakes after and I was almost starting to feel human again.

going so fast at Kinross 10k I'm all a blur...

All things considered it wasn't a bad race, in fact, I did okay coming within a couple of seconds of my PB. Hmm, imagine what I could do healthy.....  I deluded myself just 36hours later that running strongly on the Thursday night meant I could bag a 5k PB at the Parkrun on the Saturday. Mistake. After a mere 1k running through treacle I pulled out with heavy legs and canny-be-arsedness. Gosh, 2 DNFs in a week.

On Sunday night I belted round 7.2miles along the unlit road and through the dark spooky woods to Limekilns to collect my car from the previous evening's piss-up. On Monday I really belted round 11miles after planning a week of training like a demon and then blasted through another 5 on Tuesday night. But now I'm strapped up tighter than a nun's chastity belt as my calf has twanged yet again. It's my own fault, I never got any pre-Fling niggles so the niggle gods have got their revenge.

Never mind though, a couple of days of obsessive icing, massaging and stretching and it'll be just fine for the Cateran Ultra. Yeah??

Highland Fling 24 April 2010

How NOT to run an ultra.....

Put the waves of nausea the day before and immediately prior to the race down to nerves. Arrive at the start of the race on an empty stomach and pray to whoever may be listening that a piece of banana will keep you right til Balmaha. Search for good bush cover for 10 miles and convince yourself that after a trip there you'll be fine. Repeat this at every (frequent) visit. Persuade yourself 20miles in at Balmaha that a fingernail piece of tattie and a slug of coke is plenty fuelling to get to Rowardenen 7 miles away. Ignore the fact that you've already puked and continue to put it all down to nerves.

Convince yourself as you approach Rowardenen that it's the jacket tied around your waist that's causing all the problems and plan to ditch it at the next checkpoint. At said checkpoint ignore the fact that everyone thinks you look like death and after enjoying a real toilet stop and ditching the jacket, soldier on having consumed 2 mini cheddars and a fruit pastill. Promptly hurl them back up once you get out of view, that way they won't haul your ass back and pull you out of the race.

Battle with yourself continually throughout the next section that as long as you can keep running, despite now puking every 2 minutes, you can still finish. Continue this train of thought when even running downhill becomes impossible and particularly when the walk becomes a shuffle. Arrive at Inversnaid and hope that once you open your drop bag everything will be fine. When it's not, inform the marshall that you're not a quitter but seriously ill and seeth too lifeless to knock his teeth out while he very loudly shouts to another marshall "we have a quitter".

Spend the next 2.5 hours debating your decision and contemplate withdrawing your withdrawal and carrying on to Bein Glas for purely logistical reasons before the sweeper arrives and it's no longer an option. Endure the car journey from hell to the finish, forcing the driver to stop every few miles for a puke break. Arrive at the finish a crumpled heap and watch in envy as everyone else celebrates.

Congratulations, you now know how NOT to run an ultra. To do it properly, you'll have to read someone else's blog.

these guys were creeping me out

Obsessing, Tapering and Number Crunching

I'm tapering. It sucks. I have far too much time on my hands and I don't like it. But it's part of the process so I have to do it. I thought that if I belted round a parkrun today it would make me feet better. It didn't. It only whet my appetite further. On a plus note, however, talking with David has made me feel almost sane. He's going through exactly the same emotions as I am.

Currently then I'm analysing previous years' results, reading every race report and blog I can and preparing list upon list upon list. I can recite the splits needed to finish in the various target times (which will not be repeated aloud) of best case, worse case and that'll do case.

I've done the training, I think. I've almost covered more miles this year than the whole of 2008 and it's only mid April. I've done several biggies - a 24, 33, 24, 22, 42, 27 a fair few 18-20s and oodles of everything else.  I hope it's enough, not too little and not too much.

I'm terrified. I'm excited. I just want to get on with it. I'm like a kid at Christmas wishing my life away just to get to that day. I'm grumpy, moody, and contemplative, more so than usual.

But all good flings come to those who wait they say. I hope they're right.

The Long Way Round

Balmaha-Drymen(ish)-Balmana Sunday 4 April 2010

I've done it. I've completed the last piece of the puzzle that is the Highland Fling route. Well, almost.....

It was a toss-up between Conic Hill and Norman's Law hill race on Sunday and even though Norman's Law came highly recommended, I wasn't sure I was in the right frame of mind for a race. And so it was a meander up Conic Hill starting from Balmaha with the intention of going out past Drymen a couple of miles to complete the section I did first but got lost at the end and find that missing link. By 10am I had reached the top of Conic Hill and briefly contempleted Norman's Law too but that would still leave me with a feeling of imcompleteness.

So onwards it was to Drymen where every bugger was out with their trekking poles. I think they're standard issue on coach trips. I hate the things. I don't see the point of them on something like that. It's like those folk training to walk a 5k with a full back-up crew while carrying a litre bottle of water. Why???? Sorry, I digress. A couple of nutters heading to Tyndrum passed by and I was glad to be seen running! At the end of the forest I stopped to check the various maps confident I knew where I was and where I was going, promptly turning left uphill on exit. Wrong.... I eventually turned around and headed down towards Drymen and failing to spot any further posts or signage I carred on through Drymen and out on the (A811) looking for my missing link. I didn't find it.

Having done 11 or so miles already and only really planning 16 for the day, I concluded I was lost again and turned around back to Drymen. I successfully found my way back to the forest, decidedly pissed off that I still had a bit missing. I had a great run through the forest and met Debs at the bottom of Conic Hill pausing for a few minutes chat. I started the climb up Conic and spotted another runner coming up behind me. She was storming up the hill while I was walking (wuss) so I let her get on with it. Towards the descent I could see she wasn't too far ahead so I blasted my way down through the mud, snow, slush and stones to catch up. It was working. I was definitely stronger on the downhill and confident I'd catch up. I nearly did but come the bottom of the hill and into the forest she was off like a rocket. I was pumped up by now and pelted past more walkers hoping to catch up in the car park. I never did, but it had been great fun and my own mini race.

But again something was missing. That tiny section of about a mile or so that I just cannot get. I more or less found it in the car afterwards, but it's just not the same. I think I feel another trip coming on.....

A New Hero?

Tyndrum - Inversnaid - Tyndrum Sunday 28 March 2010

I met a group of 3 guys at Inversnaid on Sunday who were walking the West Highland Way. We had arrived there at the same time: me from Tyndrum and them from Balmaha. I obliged by taking a few photos of them and paused for a welcome chat in what had sometimes been a lonely 5 hours. So impressed were they by my efforts that day they have dubbed me their new hero, their previous hero being Eddie Izzard. I don't know about that but it lifted my spirits.

It was perhaps not the best day for a long run on the WHW with the clocks going forward, David unable to make it at the last minute and the absence of my waterproof trousers (I sacrificed the space in my bag for food) but for the day's purposes I was going on GMT, BST can wait til later. Fortunately the Green Welly was operating on BST and I was able to buy some waterproof trousers. The weather had said fair - it lied.

I set off looking, not like an athelete, but rather, like I had borrowed my granda's old fishing gear. Someone ought to sex up waterproof running clobber. It was a bad start which wasn't going to get better when I went the wrong way. I crossed the railway and headed through the forest. Well I didn't see the sign so I thought I'd make up my own route. At least it brought me back onto the correct path after a 4 mile meander and by now I was well on my way towards Auchtertyre. I even know where that is!

I take ultra training seriously (no I do...). I train with the very best in ultra running and listen carefully to everything they say. They say to walk the hills so I do so without guilt. When climbing up Ewich Forest I'm glad these "rules" are in place. It's a trek. 2 smiling girls pass coming downhill - I'm jealous. I finally reach the top and head towards Crainlarich. From here to the road it's a mud bath with many a cow pat disguised as stones. Nice!


I passed through Bein Glas, found out what the crack yer heid tunnel was, and reached the edge of Loch Lomond in what seemed like record time. I fantasised about stopping at Inversnaid with a cup of tea and glass of coke, clearly underestimating how long it would take to negotiate my way round the rocks and gnarly trees. Inversnaid was beginning to look like a mirage. I arrived eventually but 10 minutes behind schedule. Well I had done an extra 4 miles! I got the coke but there was no time for tea. I ditched my granda's fishing breeks since the rain had been off a while and set off looking every bit the athelete pumped full of caffeine, sugar and banter. By the time I got to the Bothy it was teeming down. Back on with the breeks and by now I was glad to see the back of the loch. I headed towards Bein Glas where I stopped in a sheltered spot for some soggy-free grub. My useless garmin had by now run of off puff (lightweight) so it was on with the real watch so at least I knew the time of day if nothing else.

I was feeling good heading back towards Crainlarich despite various livestock issues along the way but as I slogged my way back through the cow crap and mud I came across about a hundred cows who had congregated on the path to terrorise me. It worked. Trying not to be outdone, I tricked them by climbing over the wall to bypass them. It was only pissing me off though as I trudged through bogs and clamboured back over the wall leaving me with more moss on my gloves than in a hanging basket. I was now in a pretty foul mood and heading towards my new nemisis, Ewich Forest. I climbed and climbed and struggled on resorting to music, with Guy Garvey helping through a rough patch, before finally reaching the road. It was becoming rather harder work that in should have been from here despite knowing Auchtertyre wasn't far away. I was out of food (well I had some mouldy tasting oatcakes left) and down at heart.

I passed through Auchtertyre and crossed the road to the community woodland, finding the actual real way back to Tyndrum. Ah, so that's where the By The Way is. I hadn't been able to run at all the last couple of miles because I was feeling so sick. I could keep a good pace walking but my stomach couldn't handle running. And even though it only took me an extra 5 minutes coming back the way (I blame the cows....) I felt as though I'd been out forever. Not because my feet or my legs were sore, but because I was absolutely ravenous. I shuffled around in the car to change before heading off to the Real Food Cafe for probably the most deserved fish & chips, tea and coke of anyone in there, maybe, before beginning the lonely dark journey home. Job done, down but not out.

Notes:
1.  Today's food was 1.5l watery juice, can of coke, lots of water slurps from waterfalls, piece of ginger cake, piece of fruit cake, 1 apple, wee tub boiled tatties, single twix, single time out bar. Not nearly enough! Oh and 4 paracetamol (with caffeine of course).
2.  Road shoes all the way today seemed to do the trick. Think I'll be wearing these come race day as my feet survived better than when I've used trail shoes.

An Idiot's Guide to Ultra Training........Part 2

At last, here it is, the eagerly anticipated follow-up to Part 1 coaches up and down the land have been waiting for....

So what's new in the Guide?  Well for starters, it has occured to me that as a person who struggles to get up in the morning quite why I have opted for an ultra starting at 6am is beyond me. To prove that this is something I can overcome with a few early sessions on Sunday I got up at 6am to run part of the Lomonds Regional Park route. I was armed with maps, compass, usual food and drink and with a bellyful of toast and weetabix I made my way to Lochore Meadows, today's starting point. It was a disaster. I got lost. Enough said....

Other than that, it's been a successful  few weeks. Lots of long runs, lots of short runs, the odd tempo run, though not necessarily at tempo pace, and an interval session or 2 again not at the intended pace. I've had a few sessions now on the Fling route (okay 2 but another planned for this coming weekend) and a few long road runs. These are hard because I've been feeling the pressure to keep the pace up more on the road than on the trails. Why? Who knows. I had a great afternoon up the snowy Lomonds and kept up the hill stuff on what's available nearby. I still can't climb a hill however and, as Sunday again proved, my sense of direction is staggeringly bad.

I've been partaking in the odd bit of cross training too. This is totally random and unscheduled of course and consists of cycling when Victor the Bus isn't quite feeling up to it (poor old bugger's heading to the scrapyard) and walking lots when my legs are feeling particularly trashed (e.g. after Carnethy).  I've also been hopping. I thought it might be a good ankle strengthening exercise. Whether or not it is is irrelevant, it's such fun. 20 hops one side, swap to the other, repeat until you drop. Easy. You can do it standing still, up and down a room, there are no rules. See? This is useful stuff.

Is it all working? Well so far so good. I survived, even enjoyed, Carnethy, I had a great race and PB at Smokies and I've been enjoyng the picnic pace of the biggies. The dramatic weight loss appears to have settled but surely less weight = more speed?!

And that about sums up the latest instalment and with a mere 4 and a bit weeks to go until the big day, after this weekends biggest, longest ever training run it will be a simple case of maintenance. I may even indulge in a pre-race massage. Now that's something even real athletes do...