After failing to make any updates regarding the training for this race I am finally getting around to writing about the race itself. This may end up being an exceptionally long and waffley series of reviews of what was undoubtedly the best race of my life so far, so strap in. And no offence will be taken if part way through the first paragraph you realise that this mindless ramble just isn't for you.
The omens leading up to this race were mixed. Shortly after arriving at the Seacote Hotel and checking in, I managed to get lost while trying to find my way out again. The day before a self-navigating race, this did not appear to be A Good Sign. However, having scoffed down a delicious jacket potato at the nearby café, I was presented with the last piece of millionaire shortbread as it was about to get chucked at the end of the day. I took this as A Very Good Sign. Further good signs included the weather being nice, the people at check in being lovely, the evening meal (veggie lasagne, garlic bread, soup, and crumble with custard) being delicious, and all the other runners I met being equally as unsure of themselves as I was. Bad signs mostly came down to my being unable to repack my running bag after kit check and being totally incapable at spinning SILVA's wheel of fortune.
It was a strange feeling, after years of waking up at 4am for 5am race starts in Thailand, to be getting up on race morning with plenty of time to scoff down a (veggie) full English AND then spend a good hour worrying about whether my stomach would regret it later (it didn't). I had plenty of time to worry that I was missing something important, despite having done a pretty impressive job of organising myself for this race even if I do say so myself (see the photos above for the packing photos, in particular I would like to highlight the snacks). Having dropped both my drop and finisher's bag off, I plodded down to the beach to dip my feet in the sea and choose a suitably tiny pebble to carry across the country. All that was left to do was to huddle behind a small building on the shore with everyone else to protect from the wind.
It's difficult to describe the feeling of anticipation on the start line. Having dedicated nearly two years to the build up for this adventure you would expect nerves. And while the train up to St Bees and the walk to kit check had been very nerve filled hours for me, once I had checked in everything and was there, finally ready to start, I felt oddly calm. I don't know that I'd describe myself as confident that it was about to go off without a hitch, but there was certainly a feeling of, "well it's too late now to change anything, might as well make the most of it". In a race of this length I guess that it is impossible to plan for every eventuality, anything could happen in the literal days it takes to complete, which somehow took the pressure off. That's not to say I wasn't excited, I definitely was very excited. A dream, a major goal was finally becoming a reality and I really had no idea what to expect. But I was surprised by how ready I felt and the lack of panic that less than 24 hours before had felt like too much to bear.
The first few kilometres of the race follow the coastpath north, towards Whitehaven. It was stunning. The weather was glorious - beautiful sunshine with enough of a breeze to keep the temperatures manageable. Because of the fairly small running field it did not take long to settle into a nice rhythm, and find people of a similar pace to chat to. About halfway along the coastpath I fell in with a lovely lady whose name I sadly don't remember (although I do know that she used to work for the World Mountain & Trail Running Championships, or something associated with them) as we talked about the Chiang Mai event for a while. She was significantly more experienced than I, and listening to her talk helped to ease any worries I had. I was increasingly feeling that this was going to be a great adventure. Also, maintaining conversation for a few kms probably really helped settle me into a good, sustainable pace, so thanks to her!
Having worked our way inland a bit I lost the small group I was running with when I decided it was time for a snack break. This happens to me a lot when running with groups. I love the company of others, but ultimately it seems I just love snacks more. In fairness, I think in the ultrarunning world this counts as quite a major strength. This section was following a cycle path that I remembered cycling along the previous year so I wasn't too concerned about getting lost and was happy to potter along at my own pace.
Unfortunately I can't describe every step of the journey. I would love to, but 1) I just don't remember it - ultra amnesia is definitely a thing, and 2) to be honest even I would probably find sections of it boring to read. However, I would like to mention one particular memory of an interaction with a lovely lady who was (if memory serves correctly, which it very well might not) out walking her dog. She was asking about the event and as I explained what I was doing she expressed surprise at how far I'd already come. It seems a small, insignificant thing, but the interaction was one of many I had over the subsequent days with members of the general public unaware of the presence of actual nutters nearby. Each of these conversations I treasured, and still do. Perhaps it is the length of time spent alone in landscapes quite empty of human life that ensures, no matter how much I profess to love "alone time", that each instance of human contact along the journey was a pleasure and a comfort.
I have to say I had been looking forward to reaching Ennerdale Water an enormous amount. Having dedicated the months prior to watching videos from runners and hikers talking about the route, this moment seemed to mark the start of the adventure proper. The path following the water clings to the edge, reasonably flat but quite technical in parts. And with every glance forward and up was the magnificent view of the Lake District hills rising up on the far side. Thick grey clouds cushioned overhead creating the most wonderful atmosphere, the first of many times when it felt like a real adventure into the wilderness. The main difference here was that I was surrounded by other runners and hikers, trotting or plodding around the lake towards the promise of the wilds on the other side. This was probably the "busiest" the journey was going to get.
After Ennerdale Water was the first big climb of the day. A steady ascent through golden brown moorland grasses with occasional leaps over (and sometimes into) boggy patches, led to the start of the steep climb up past Brandreth Peak, which towered over us to the right. I have a very distinct memory of eating Skips at this point. The path was rocky, slippy in places, and not the easiest to follow, but while steep it was also quite short. I remember feeling short of breath, I remember it not being easy. But I don't remember feeling that it was a struggle. In all seriousness, I was far too happy for that. Skips and a smile helped make that climb feel like an absolute breeze. The view from the top, glancing back over Ennerdale Water, the coastline far into the distance, helped to reinvigorate all enthusiasm even potentially lost after the climb.
And then came the downhill, down Honister Pass and into Rosthwaite. The descent was glorious. The details of it are fuzzy in my mind now, although I do remember there being an adorable dog and some navigation related confusion (unrelated to each other, although I guess being distracted by the dog may have been a contributing factor). The only real memory I have is an overwhelming feeling of, "this is absolutely blimin' brilliant". And then, before I knew it, there was the aid station in Rosthwaite and all the beautiful, wonderful people inside ready with steaming cups of tea, vegan pizza and all the traybakes you could ever wish to eat. Determined to keep my feet in the best possible shape I dutifully changed my socks and visited the toilet while waiting for my tea to cool. I stuffed my face with a ridiculous amount of food, something I was finding much easier to do in the cool British climate than I usually do in Thailand, and then filled my pockets with vegan sweeties and traybake before heading back out into the afternoon.
The following section between Rosthwaite and Patterdale, was the only part of the route that I'd actually been able to recce with Nicole the previous year. I remembered there being quite a challenging scramble towards the end of the first climb which I had been keen to get to before dark. Luckily, due to changing the start time that was not going to be a problem at all. Even more luckily I had managed to time leaving the check point with Steve and Chris (it is worth pointing out that my memory of exact timings are a bit vague, so I really do apologise if one of you wasn't actually there at this point!). This climb follows a valley, slowly working up before another short, sharp climb up onto the top. It was exactly as stunning as I remembered it being and while running wasn't much of an option (for me) for most of it, partly because I was cradling a cup of tea for the most of the more gradual ascent at the bottom, we were able to progress at a decent pace. In even better news, the scramble at the top was no where near as terrifying as I had remembered it. Once at the top big paving slabs paved the way across the exposed moor, which my memory told me had been mostly bog the last time. The descent back down towards Grasmere was also significantly easier than I remembered it being. I tried to channel Nicole's inner mountain goat the whole way which actually worked out to be quite a good technique.
The next climb out of Grasmere towards Grisdale Tarn took a slightly different route than the one we had used the previous year. It felt a lot longer than the previous climbs. Unsurprising perhaps, given that we had travelled upwards of 60km at this point. Still, it was an enjoyable mosey on up, arriving at the top just as dusk was starting to close in around us. It would have been nice to have made it down the trail to the road in Patterdale before dark finally fell, more to enjoy the beauty of it than anything else, but that was not to be. Around halfway down I had to give up any pretense of that happening and dig out my headlamp. At this point I was running on my own and enjoying every second. I quite like running in the dark anyway, but it was even more fun without having to worry about stepping on a snake the whole way.
Up until this point I had been fairly sure that I would put off trying to sleep until later in the race. However, as darkness fell a deep drowsiness started to settle in. I imagine the cold helped to push the craving for a cosy evening by a hot fire rather than a slow traipse up another climb. By the time I reached Patterdale, while still feeling remarkably good I had reached the conclusion that a proper break was in order. After all, enjoying the experience was the most important thing for me and I become a right grump when tired. While there wasn't a hot fire, there was heating. And tea. And chips (proper British chips, not the Lays variety). So having eaten a hot meal, drunk a mug of tea and changed my clothes I unpacked my sleeping bag and prepared myself for a big ole sleep.
And on that absolute, edge-of-your-seat cliffhanger, I shall leave you until the next installment. Bets are off as to which will be finished first, that or the next Game of Thrones book.
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