#cwultra

The big day soon approached and Sammy (my wife), Lenora (my daughter) and I set off from London just after rush hour; the drive was an extremely comfortable four and a half hours, with a quick stop for petrol. We had planned on meeting Matt, Tim (another team mate from our home town) and Laura (Matt’s girlfriend) at roughly the same time, but their journey turned out to be an ultra in itself, taking a hideous 8 hours from Portsmouth.  Sammy, Lenora and I had smugly already been to the local for a couple of pints and a meal.

Pre race nutrition strategy is key

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by John Lloyd the race organiser and a lovely chap. We had a good chat and Lenora spent the rest of our time there pointing out “John George Lloyd” as some sort of weird mantra on repeat.  The venue was fantastic and a hell of a lot more comfortable than we were expecting.

Camping pitches and caravan spots are right at the start line of the race, with a toilet and shower block attached to the Todmorden Cricket Club main building.  The town of Todmorden has some fantastic pubs within a couple of minutes’ walk (it’s a really lovely town, but with convenient shops, supermarkets and amenities) and the cricket club bar was extremely welcoming (a dangerous proposition the day before a 50 mile race).  All in all, we were pretty happy so far.

The compulsory race briefing from 7-7:30 pm was good, if a little brief.  It was more of a five minute briefing, but that was ok as it covered everything we needed.  

Following a comfortable night’s sleep, I got up at 4:50am for some breakfast and general morning routine stuff.  I won’t paint you a picture.

Matt, Tim and I were on a strictly complete not compete schedule.  Tim had the most experience having completed the MDS and a number of other ultras, Matt was the fittest having done an insane mileage since Christmas but had only recently got into running and I look like a fat cleric.  

Using the bathroom, I heard John Lloyd’s voice shouting something out, which I assumed was a 5/10 minute warning so I quickly rushed out…to find everyone legging it off the start line!  As I mentioned before, I’m used to running on other people’s schedules but this happened pretty quickly.

Sammy shouted at me to get my stuff and run; Lenora waggled her finger in a suitably disapproving and condescending manner.  Snatching up my new Inov8 Race Ultra 10 backpack, which I had painstakingly packed and repacked the previous night and again in the morning, I legged it past the ladies for a quick kiss and off down the road to catch up with Matt and Tim.

Turning left out of the golf course, I headed down the road and could see the bulk of the runners already half way up the hill through gaps in the trees – the route followed a zig-zag path ascending the first climb.  Not the best start to the day.  Spotting Matt tying his shoelaces (obviously pretending to do something while waiting for an idiotic friend) gave me a bit of relief, until I realised Tim wasn’t with him.  500 metres into the race and we’d already lost each other – this didn’t bode well.

Matt told me that Tim had gone to the toilet and then the race started.  He didn’t want to look like a complete plum, or like he had bottled it, so he decided to run around the corner and wait.  Sure enough, Tim came running down the road and I was relieved that I wasn’t the last one.  We put on a bit of speed to try and catch up with the pack and were confronted by a pretty steep climb up Stoney Royd Lane and through Well Wood.  

We passed a lady in her mid-50s who from what I understand, withdrew at Checkpoint 1 later.  I really don’t blame her, as the first section was pretty punishing in terms of elevation.  Seeing everyone go out so quickly was also quite disheartening, especially when viewed aurally from the toilet.  Up ahead we could see three ladies running together at roughly the same speed as us, one of which was the lovely Jill Lawson, who was staying just next to us in her camper van.  One of the first people to the site after us, we’d had a good chat the day before – it turns out that Jill was a walking guide in the Lake District, so she was certainly used to the hills, although this was her first ultra-race too.

Overtaking the three ladies gave us a bit of a boost and feeling a bit more buoyed up by this we proceeded to run…in completely the wrong direction.  “Boys! This way!” became one of the main consistencies up until checkpoint one, as we were repeatedly saved by Isobel Pollard and Jayne Booth who turned out to be from the local running club, the Todmorden Harriers (also responsible for the annual and much older Calderdale Way Relay).

Jill and Issy

Jane and Issy - our babysitters

Rather stupidly, we had been lulled into a false sense of security by the repeated assertions of the race staff that it was near impossible to get lost.  Despite both Matt and I having loaded the entire race route for navigation into my Suunto Ambit3 Run and Matt’s Garmin Fenix 3, as well as having a clearly written set of directions on the map, we had taken it for granted that it would just be a case of following a clearly marked trail.  After all, the race organisers had told us that they had spray painted sections that were less clear and it’d be a walk in the park.

We overtook the trio of ladies, only to run completely the wrong way, receive another “Boys!  This Way!” and to run past them again later with our tails between our legs.  Following a series of wrong turns, we finally hit a trail along a windswept hill top where we were able to open it up a bit, getting some real speed on flats and downhill which felt amazing.  As warned by Jill the night before, there certainly were 45 mile and hour wind speeds, although they were coming from behind us and were fantastically cooling.

Reaching check point 1, we were greeted by Laura, Sammy and a wind-swept, pretty pissed off Lenora.  The marshals were amazing, filling my bottles for me and reminding us repeatedly that we needed to get a move one; how we were right at the back. They all had a great sense of humour and really buoyed us up stuffing food in our faces and saving time on hydration. I’d forgotten a few things, including my race number when I had left, so Sammy had brought them for me which was great.

Refuelling at CP1

The girls pounded past us (again) at the checkpoint without even stopping.  We didn’t even have a wrong turn as an excuse this time.  To top things off, I’d pulled a muscle in my hip.

About a month before, I’d done a 32 mile training run which was fantastic.  It felt easy and I really enjoyed it.  10 days before the race, I had scheduled in a 50k training run at a slow pace before tapering, which went wrong at about 20km.  My hip felt tight and at about 35km was beginning to hurt, so I went home a little dejected.  My biggest fear was that this little niggle that I’d never had before, would flare up on race day. 

The section between checkpoint 1 and 2 was beautiful.  Tim had given me an ibuprofen (don’t judge me) and it made everything better.  I don’t usually take pain killers, but a one off isn’t so bad.  Also, navigation had become more natural since we had to decided to actually do some.

We flew down excitingly technical descents, ran parallel to some truly epic views and through beautiful wooded areas.  We even stopped for a few photos to capture the moment.

Somewhere on the way to checkpoint 2, we started to notice a group of lads approaching us, along with a load of people descending the hill we had just come down.  Assuming the marshals weren’t lying to us at check point one (which is entirely possible; they did have a cheeky sense of humour and were doing their best to motivate us) then it was likely that other people had found navigation difficult too.  This was a huge motivator and reminder to always trust in the long game.

Later on, we met up with three runners; a couple, Sam Blanchard and Andrea Taylor, with another runner, Steven Jones.  Sam and Andrea were roughly our age and both were annoyingly athletic and good looking, whilst Steven was in his early 50s and clearly extremely resilient.  Fantastic people who made the day so much more enjoyable.  We ended up running as a group for the rest of the race.

The crew - Tim, Matt, Andrea, Sam and Steve

At about 20 miles and just after check point 2 (18.97 miles), my hip started to hurt again.  I ran on for a bit but it got much worse, so Tim gave me some more ibuprofen.  This time, it only dulled the pain a bit and it started to become a bit of a concern.  I cracked on with the running, as if you obsess then it’s never going to help.  

Talking to our new friends really helped keep my mind off the slowly building pain and I was still really enjoying the day.  With Sam on the map and Matt and I on the GPS navigation, things were much more slick and we were chewing up the miles effortlessly.  We were flying through stunning scenery, laughing and joking with friends, old and new, my broken pelvis was remaining firmly at the back of my mind where it belonged, and everything was perfect.

Then disaster happened.

I had been using my Suunto Ambit3 Run for navigation, but hadn’t for one second looked at our mileage.  I decided to check.  I wished I hadn’t.  Having left the start line from the toilet in a mad panic, I must have double pressed the start button and not a single metre had been recorded.  I was about 25 miles in, with absolutely 0 miles to show for it!  The race officially hadn’t even happened.  I went into complete melt down.

Matt and Tim looked at me with the kind of pity you see in people’s eyes when you’ve lost a loved one or just seen your dog run over.  Taking deep breaths, I managed to avoid a full scale tantrum in front of our new friends (who were possibly already giving me a wide berth).  Sometimes you just have to take one for the team and get on with it.

Fortunately, I’ve got the attention span of a three year old on amphetamines, so managed to forget about it with the help of my old friend agony in my hip and the stunning fields covered in yellow buttercups we were running through.  For the sake of posterity, I’ll point out that my hip really was extremely painful.

I’d like to make it clear that the fault was entirely my own.  I’ve never had this happen before and it only happened due to my idiocy of not being ready at the start of the race.  I managed to focus on the positive side; I may not have recorded the run, but the navigation had been faultless.  Without the Suunto Ambit3 Run I know for sure that I would have been lost a hell of a lot more.  Following that little black line and arrow really does take an enormous stress out of navigation.  On a fastpacking trip, I’m not so concerned about stopping to check maps and compasses, but on a race with cutoffs, it was an enormous crutch.

Just over a third of the way past checkpoint 2 we ran through the entrance to Shelf Hall Park where we were joined by a bewildered ultra runner in sunglasses who looked at a loss as to where he should go and rather put out.  I’m pretty sure we didn’t get a single word out of him for the duration he joined us, but did poke and grunt at the map a bit.

We were confronted by a very steep ravine which we all finally decided to descend into, although we had totally lost an obvious trail.  Once we were next to the stream at the bottom, it was pretty clear we had lost our way and the climb on the other side was considerably worse than the descent.

Considerably steeper than it looks

Following the stream for 50 metres, we were confronted by a fallen tree and so decided to climb up the side.  It was extremely step and we had to dig our shoes into the mud and pull up using tree roots/branches, occasionally helping each other out with bunk ups.  I love getting lost - it usually leads to the most entertaining situations but our silent companion didn’t look so happy.  

When I got to the top, I began to run and something went ‘ping!’ in my hip.  The pain train had arrived on the platform and I was well and truly feeling it.  Something must have given on the steep climb and it didn’t feel good.

The rest of the race for me was constant agony.  I was still really enjoying the scenery and company, but hung back from everyone as I’d lost a lot of speed and preferred to shout expletives at myself where no one else could hear.

Turning a corner through some woods, I was confronted by some nightmarish sheep, which actually turned out to be llamas.  I wasn’t thinking straight.

Sam ran behind me at one point and said “you know that your left foot is turning in at the toes right?” which reminded me of the exact same comment my friend Elaine had said to me towards the end of a long hilly run a few months before, which I had automatically ignored.  He told me to try to run as if I was kicking a football to turn my foot out - his advice was an immediate improvement.  After a short distance, my knee started to hurt as I wasn’t used to running in this way, but it was clear where the problem was to be found now at least.

Hitting a wooded trail up a hill filled me with joy - I was suffering on the flat and downhill section, but the steep climbs were fine, comparably anyway.  Heading up a hill in what I think was Cromwell Wood, my friend Simon Green from team Ashmei came bounding past on the short ultra (28.5 miles), spotted me and ran back for a hug and a quick chat before bouncing off again.  I had been hoping to catch him at some point and it cheered me up.

Later, Andrea said she wasn’t enjoying the more frequent roads we were running on this section of the race and I tended to agree.  The harder surfaces certainly weren’t helping me either.

Passing a shop just after checkpoint three, Sam treated us all to an ice cream and a can of Coke.  Asking if anyone wanted anything else, Tim asked for a packet of B&H cigarettes.  They all laughed (not realising he was serious).  Andrea and I were running along eating our ice cream and I opened my Coke.  Suddenly everyone took off - Andrea laughed at my despondent look.  She ran off too.  No mercy.

The next 10 or so miles were eaten up in a haze of pain, canal paths and whining noises coming out of my mouth.  I was starting to feel guilty for holding our little team up who were kindly hanging back for me, which was actually worse than the pain in my hip.  I had promised myself that I would drag myself to the finish line, but I hadn’t counted on holding other people up by doing so.

On the run up to checkpoint 4, there was a 600m stretch of flat/gently ascending road.  Everyone else had bounded ahead due to hunger and I was hobbling along in tow.  Sammy, Lenora and Laura were due to meet us there and as I approached the checkpoint, Lenora came running down the road to me shouting daddy.  At that point, I knew it was time to throw in the towel.

Checkpoint 4 was at 36.65 miles and according to Matt’s GPS (which had actually been started at the beginning of the race) we had done just over 40 miles.  I made it there in 9 hours 40.

I told the marshals that I was out, spoke to the team who all understood entirely and gave them a high five, telling them to smash it for me.  Sam told me that if the painkiller he gave me didn’t work, then I’d be foolish to have continued.  I was disappointed to be dropping out so close to the end of the race but then I knew it was the right decision.  Ultras aren’t meant to be easy and if it wasn’t a challenge, I wouldn’t have been doing it.

I’m a big believer in the saying that you learn more from your failures than your successes.  The fact that I had learnt a lot really softened the blow of the DNF.  Here’s what I learnt.

1) My left foot turns inwards and when I’m pushing speed, distance and vertical gain (bearing in mind I don’t usually race), the problem is compounded.  I need to do some work on my running form.

2) I need to get up earlier and make sure I’m not on the toilet at the start of a race.

3) As a result of 2, I need to take time to make sure that I’m actually recording on my watch.  Although this isn’t essential to completing a race, it certainly is to avoiding a meltdown.

4) My mental game was strong and if I can run 20 miles in pretty tough terrain on an extremely painful hip injury, then I did ok.

5) I still had a load in the tank.  My legs were strong and if I hadn’t hurt my hip, I still had a hell of a lot more to give.

6) My nutrition and hydration was spot on.  No stomach issues, no cramping and no problems.

All in all, a success, despite the failure.  After a lie down and quick nap in the tent, Sammy, Laura, Lenora and I went to the finish line to cheer in the team.  Matt had texted Laura giving us a heads up and they came in exactly on time.

Tim, Matt, Sam, Andrea and Steve all came in together at 12 hours 48, to a proud and jealous in equal measure me.  

A few minutes later (6 to be exact), Jill, Isobel and Jayne crossed the finish line.  I cheered them, followed by a sudden realisation that the ladies who had both saved us and repeatedly overtaken us had in fact come in behind Matt and Tim.  It wasn’t a competitive thing at all; but a joyous outburst that at least two of us had clawed back a bit of dignity from their having to babysit us for at least 10 miles.  Sam looked embarrassed and I realised my outburst wasn’t good form.  Andrea realised she wasn’t the last woman and gave a similar outburst much to Sam’s now double embarrassment.  Still, our early saviours had made it in and I was pleased for them.

A highlight of the race for me was when Sam and Andrea saw Tim having a cigarette by the finish line with Laura.  I wish I had photographic evidence of the look on their faces before they cracked up laughing after realising that the request for B&H a few hours earlier was genuine.  I honestly have no idea how Tim does it.  He’s a positivity machine.

The full race results are available on this link so I won’t reel off who won, but I’d like to mention Jennifer and Paul Hopkinson, our camping neighbours and number 1 mixed couple on the race (who also gave me severe Bimobil envy).  Also to Martin Davies who came in joint second - a really nice fella who hopefully I’ll be seeing again.

All in all an amazing race, a lot learnt and a great weekend in beautiful scenery with my family.  Thank you very much John Lloyd, but I’ve got unfinished business - I’ll be back.