The Man Who Fell to Earth...With a Bump

It had to happen. There I was, far too pleased with myself for having survived my 50k, chuffed with my improving times on the road. It was about time someone, or something put me back in my place.

That thing, was Pendle Hill. I forgot how tough this thing is. Fell running is bloody hard!

Go back a couple of years, and I was knocking out a 3,000ft hill session every Sunday like it weren't no thang. Today, just over 2,000ft, over 7.7mi and I'm absolutely buggered! True, it might not have been sensible doing today after a very heavy leg session in the gym yesterday (walking tomorrow and Thursday will be, er, interesting...)

It was the climbs that did me in. Not surprising, nature of the beast and all, but I mean that it wasn't my lungs giving in. It was more like my calves initially, and I had to keep stopping to let the tension ease off. Later on, as I was running off Ogden Clough, I could just feel the energy leave my legs and moving them was a constant battle. I even felt a bit of a bonk come in towards the end of the run. Luckily I 

I started in Barley and was aiming to follow the Pendle Cloughs route from CP4 to CP8. In the end, after bludgeoning my way up from CP5, taking a direct line through the heather, I decided that I could see CP6 from where I crossed the wall on the path up from Deerstones - which was enough for me, so turned right to Ogden Clough. I also decided that it was sufficient to glance up to my right as I crossed Boar Clough to where CP7 would be, and I know where CP8 is, so buggered off home. I suppose that's the good thing with these runs: even when you want to give up, you've still got to run 3 miles back to the car, with a bloody big hill (or two) in between.

Now I'm sat feeling the creaks and aches seep into my knees and ankles, and rediscovering bits of my feet I'd long forgotten about: all the tendons and ligaments feeling very tender.

But I loved it. I saw only 2 people while I was out, the sun was shining, the evening air was cooling... I'd also forgotten how much I enjoyed this. 

And from here on in, I can only get better. Every turned ankle tonight means my ligaments will be stronger next time; every misplaced footstep means quicker thinking in future; every wrong line means better judgement. And of course, my hill fitness will improve.

But for today at least, it's Hills 1, Gary 0.

Streak in the Peak

Blogs, eh? None for months, then two in a matter of days. Don't know how I forgot to mention this in my last post; this is perfect blog-fodder (blodder?).

Yup, this was pretty much as it says on the tin. A streak, in the Peak District. A fell run, sans kecks.

Not that we need an excuse, but there was a reason behind it. Jan - fellow forumite, Dark Peak Fell Runner, book swapper extraordinaire - was due to emigrate to Enza (and at time of writing, has). He therefore decided that now was the perfect time to do something the DPFR crew had threatened for a while: to trod their regular stomping ground as the Good Lord intended.

The crowd in the mist

As a result, the night before, there were 19 brave souls, ready to battle the elements in the nip. However, as dawn broke, 8 men realised what they'd signed up for. And then there were 11.

We rendezvoused at Snailsden Reservoir with a worryingly large number of spectators about (amazing what these Dark Peakers think constitutes a wholesome family day out!). Jan also invited a mate, Lee (who's own thoughts on this escapade can be found here) who put a report in to Roch Valley Radio Sports Breakfast show. The weather was grim: 4 degrees, misty, & drizzle. But I'd left home after having scraped the car in -3 degrees, so I thought it positively tropical. And besides, the mist might be best for all concerned!

The route was out to the second trig due SW from there and back. In the spirit of SITP I ran unencumbered by Garmin (just plain forgot it) but from others' I think it was 4-5mi: 2-2.5mi each way. Due to the cold, we agreed to do the outward leg fully clothed to warm up. Trig, strip, and run back. So we did.

The moment of truth, far from being awkward, was surprisingly easy to do. Resigned to it as condemned men, committed as we were? Though it did render the handshakes that we greeted each other with at the start as introductions were made unnecessarily formal. We took some pictures - just for proof, you understand; we're not weirdos or anything - and headed back.

Before

After

Can't stop the bumrush

The 'end' in sight (note dog looking at my danglies - a scary moment!)

And it was quite a nice feeling! Running along with nothing between you and the air. Now I'm not saying I'll take to this on a permanent basis (er, or at all, actually*), but I'd recommend if ever you get a chance to: give it a go. No? Oh well, each to their own...

We got back to cheers and whistles and minimal milling about before getting our clothes on again. Jan made a nice presentation to each of us: a certificate & keyring with 'I streaked the Peak' on them, a bottle of Rescue Ale, a Peperami, and a Tunnocks. Then it was all back to Holmfirth for a few restorative beers and some grub. Obviously someone ordered the jumbo hotdog, though under the circumstances a Walnut Whip might have been more appropriate...

Oh! The irony

All in all, a great day out, and a great send off for a thoroughly decent bloke.

To Jan!

Jan, resplendent

And if that weren't enough for you, there's a video, here. This is heavily edited. Only those who were there get the unedited, director's cut. What goes on the Streak...

*After this, my better half was told at work that there are reports of a bloke who furtively runs Pendle in the buff on a regular basis. She's not convinced that this person isn't me!

Radio Silence is Broken

All been a bit quiet my way, hasn't it? In my last post it mentioned I got a new job, and this has unfortunately left me with less time to do stuff like this (I don't get to 'work' from home as much).

Quick run-down of goings on at chez UFM.

- Pendle Monster completed
- Forgot about Tour of Pendle
- Not making it back in time for runs with Clayton

So not too great. Running has mainly been fast, flat 4mi+ runs before work in York, then hitting Pendle for some major hill sessions of a weekend.

Plans for 2011? HPM if I can get on a team, Fellsman would be nice, a late BGR (if my knee survives the former). I've got an eye on a 2012 Spartathlon, so may need to do other events, as it has got strict qualification criteria regarding 100km & 200km experience.

Also just about to start my own business with a friend in the next few weeks, so no let up.

Watch this space. Assuming I get the time to write about it!

I'm Going Outside...I May Be Sometime

Route details: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/25619170 

I hadn't particularly intended to write anything special about the High Peak Marathon recce beforehand. However, the 18 or so miles from Cutthroat Bridge to Snake Pass was such an epic adventure it deserves its own little slice of the blogosphere.

The plan was just a run around the top half of the HPM route, trying to get a feel for the tricky Bleaklow section. There were warning signs from the start that things might get interesting when we first met up at Snake Pass, the we being Team Traversers - myself, Brian, Emma and Andy - Dave the dog, and Clare from Pussycat Trolls (which definitely trumps our team name, but hey, I had no input into that). At this point Snake Pass was open, but the snow was falling quite heavily and beginning to settle on the ground. For this reason, of the 3 cars there, we decided to leave Clare's Land Rover Defender as this would stand the best chance of getting back down the hill, so we chucked our warm, dry gear in the back of the Landy, and off we went. This was a good call, as I could only just get my car off the layby and back onto the road at this stage. We then carried on to Cutthroat Bridge, where we met the Ray Mears of the area, Mountain Rescue member, and all round good-egg, Ian of the Dark Peak Fell Runners.

We got into our waterproof gear straightaway, as it was clear it was going to be pretty wet: at this lower level there was a fairly heavy sleet. So off we headed up Derwent Moors and had quite an enjoyable, uneventful run for the most part, until we reached Howden Edge.

The photo on the left is of me running down Sheepfold Clough, if only to offer proof that despite the poor time we completed this recce in, we did try to run.

At the bottom of Sheepfold Clough; some fairly fast moving water, which was wider than it looks on here. We crossed using a one-in-one-out human chain. This really put my GoreTex trousers to the test, and they passed with flying colours. Apart from the chill from the water - which went in the first 20m or so of the hill-climb out of the Clough - I was completely dry (apart from my feet, which took a bit longer to thaw).

At Howden Edge you are completely exposed and it was at this point we felt the full force of the wind that would give us a good indication of what was to come. The wind was hitting us hard (from the west?) and driving the snow right into our faces. I was still feeling this sensation later that night when I closed my eyes in bed: a tingling right across my eyes, nose and cheeks, exactly like the snow and wind earlier that day.

We did find a sheltered spot before getting onto Bleaklow though to bivvy and get some food inside us. A very sensible decision as it turned out, as there was no real opportunity to do this at all later on. 

Navigation at this point started to get harder as the horizon – nearer by some considerable margin due to the blizzard - blurred with the sky. Picking out landmarks was nigh on impossible. As we hit Bleaklow it got even worse. This is a notorious section to run across at the best of times. A mixture of featureless wilderness; maze-like groughs; and energy-sapping bogs. However tiring the bogs are though it would surely have been easier than the reality we faced. Snow drifts that very often came above the knee, hidden hollows that you would get lost in up to the waist and have to be hauled out of…all made running tricky. The fact that the last four miles were taken at about 1mph should illustrate this.

The intrepid crew in the relative shelter of a huge drift on Bleaklow. Note the smiles.

L-R: Clare, Dave, Emma, Ian, Andy, Brian

Even our local guide ended up getting lost, and finding what should have been an easy run out of Bleaklow via the slabbed Pennine Way took numerous wrong diversions (you’ll see from the route we took we don’t follow the HPM course exactly), and required crossing a fairly steep clough. This wouldn’t have been so tricky at any other time, but with the heavy snow, it had steepened the sides, and made finding a footing difficult. When we finally did find the Pennine Way, it wasn’t the slabbed path we’d been expecting, but a 2ft layer of snow. So no easy run out. We did eventually slog our way through it to find our way back to the Landy, 7h10m later, exhausted and frozen. (A compass that had been flapping loose round Brian’s neck on the way round was encased in a solid block of ice.)

Job done: back at the Land Rover at Snake Pass
C/wise from top: Me, looking spaced out; Brian, looking, er, reflective; and Andy looking chuffed, and well he might.
 

As we drove back down from Snake Pass, a couple of our number started getting very cold, and by the time we got back to the rest of the cars at Cutthroat Bridge, we nearly had a hypothermia case on our hands. Not even Clare's stash of Bakewell tarts coud help with this! Luckily, with Ian - Mountain Rescue, remember - on hand we were able to take the appropriate steps to look after our comrade, and in a matter of minutes we were sat in the warmth of Ladybower Inn in lots of dry layers, sipping hot chocolate and eating crisps. In conversation with some nearby diners, we explained what we had just done and were met with a mixture of awe and bemusement. When we told them we were doing the same again, only longer, and at night...

Well done to my fellow 'runners' on that day, good luck to the High Peak Marathon-ers on Friday, and to the rest: you just had to be there!

P.S. 

Back home after these type of escapades I get very little sympathy - it's all seen as self-inflicted and very much avoidable. A question I was asked after this particular run, was "why didn't you just turn back?" This got me thinking about why we do this, and why, despite everything, I ended our jaunt with a grin on my face and looking forward to more of the same this coming Friday. I remembered reading this article (below) about the infamous 2008 OMM, and thought it goes part way to explaining it, so I have shared this here for you: 

http://www.independent.co.uk/sport/general/others/the-extreme-world-of-mountain-marathons-975372.html

Viknee Vidi Vici: Tour of Pendle 2009

16.88mi/4,269ft

So, the plan was to get around uninjured? Mission accomplished. Target time of 3h30? Not quite. Here's the full story...

The night-time race the Wednesday before the Tour, you know, the one I said I was only going to sweep for, to save my niggly knee? Yup, that one. Well, rocked up and as soon as my feet were in my (still wet) shoes, I was overcome by the urge. Went at it at a decent pace. Not quite full tilt, but probably 80-85%. Still didn't stop me being beaten back by a pair of nippers (12 & 13 I think). The fact that they were brothers from a good fell-running bloodline - I forget who, but a previous Tour winner - and that one was the current BOFRA champion did little to salve my injured pride.

Anyway, I woke up the next morning facing a long drive and a very tender knee. On the Thursday I was in Birmingham entertaining clients with work and was in a hotel overnight. Got some funny looks checking in with my scaffolding pole and foam roller for some hardcore ITB stretching that evening. At this point I was in two minds about starting the race given last year's fun and games. I started 2008's Tour with a similar niggle and ended up out of action for 9 months. I did resolve though, that if my knee did start playing up, I would sensibly drop out and save my knee.

Overslept on the day, so my slow, easy preparation that I'd planned, as well as tracking down some forumites, went out the window. Did get to the start though, drew my number (250) and found that there'd been a couple of diversions to the usual route due to soil erosion. Post race estimates reckon this added 0.3-0.5mi to the route. Kind of anticipated this from my numerous recces of the route: it was getting very bad underfoot. Diversions were to a new CP1, and from CP3-CP4.

From the start it was the usual melee along the track past the village hall and the lower Ogden Clough reservoir. As the climb started up towards the trig the field started thinning out so we were only 3-4 abreast! (see left). There wasn't any rain at this stage, but there was a mist which reduced visibility and slowly seeped into my clothes. I was soon past the trig and on to where CP1 is usually located to pick up the first diversion. Instead of hitting the wall and turning left,  it was over the wall, and follow a path W to a gate where the new CP1 was. Through the gate it was turn S along the wall until hitting the fence at Ogden Clough and picking up the usual route to CP2. The ground after CP1 was very boggy (if you stuck to the path) or very tussocky (if you didn't want to get dirty).

My plan was to hold back some pace during this first half of the race to keep strong for the more demanding second half. The Tour is a route which is very easy to go at too fast, too soon. It almost invites you to. Despite this, I was able to pick up a few places along this stretch before making a conscious effort to reel it in again after CP2.


A gentler run down to CP3 then. At this point I picked up the second diversion. After the checkpoint where the route would normally climb NW to the path to Geronimo we had to take a less-direct N route to hit the path further down. This was a back-breaker of a climb now. Not because of the difficulty, but because it ran right under the overhanging branches of the edge of the woods. According to plan I took on my first bit of food on this climb and had my water bottle out. Took this climb at a modest pace and kept this up until crossing the ladder stile after which I picked the pace up again for the short dash to the joy that is Geronimo.

Geronimo seems to have acquired a bit of legend in fell-running circles. Personally I love it, but as a descent I'm sure there are longer/steeper/faster... Who knows why? All I know is I found myself at the top in good form, having taken the locals' line far to the right (as you approach) to avoid the muddy diagonal path that most others use. Go far enough right and there's a lovely steep bank of grass and bracken back down into Ogden Clough. My technique was perfected during my recces and having hit the top exactly where I needed to be, I went for it. After cutting in front of another runner, I jumped into the air, landed on my upper thigh...and just slid. In that one slide (about 15m) I took about 4 places. As I neared the bracken - now virtually all dead - I got my studs up ready. I planted them firmly into the mud and it took very little leverage to get upright: a combination of momentum and the steepness of the hill. In this stuff, with the bracken roots holding the mud together you can take sure, steady strides without fear of your feet disappearing out from under you. I then came across the next strip of grass and jumped into the air again, this time landing on my other leg to spread the grass burns. I repeated this all the way down, and by the bottom of the hill I'd taken about a dozen places and had some nicely bloodied knees and thighs to show for it. Great fun!! Despite all the spectators at the bottom of the hill, no-one's caught me in full flight. But it did happen.

I got a drink from the stream, rolled down my under shorts which had ridden up (a must on anything 5mi+ to prevent chafage) and followed the Clough up the hill towards CP5 (see right - climbing out the Clough). The first half out the way I was beginning to feel the benefits of pacing the first half, as I was feeling really good. As we descended down into CP5 I noticed the line of runners in front curving to the left as they followed the trod, only to end up directly in front of me. I just decided to go for it and took the brakes off to fly over the tussocks. This was the best I felt in this race: I was running fast, feeling strong, overtaking runners, a wind in the face...brilliant. Should have known it couldn't last long.

After chucking my tag in at CP5 I carried on down to the stream, got another drink, and a bit more food. Started the first of the 3 really big climbs up Pendle which make up the back half of the course, at this point still feeling really good, sharing a joke or two with a couple of runners on the way up (as I passed them!). Then, about halfway up, I felt a twinge in my knee. Bugger. I eased off a bit and at the top I had a bit of a poke about and decided to continue, but to reign it in on the climbs. I trotted off slowly towards CP6. Took on a bit more food before descending down to CP7. Did this sat down to rest my knee, which drew a few enquiries from a couple of runners. I assured them I was okay, just nibbling and moments later I was passing them on the way down.

The second climb was okay. Could feel the knee making noises each time I pushed off on my right leg, but it was manageable. It was only really on the third climb that I struggled, but this is a much steeper scramble. I was beginning to tire at this point too so I did pause a couple of times. At the top a Clayton supporter told me I was on for a 3h30 - my target, but I knew my knee would hinder this. I got it to CP10 and got some flapjack from the 'Trig Hotel'. Bloody impossible to eat running, so lost a couple of places as I struggled to get this down my neck. Once gone though, yet again I was able to pass them over the rough stuff. The recces paid off here as at this height the mist was still down which meant visibility was very poor. After flying down the descent - it still felt quick despite holding back - I got to CP11 and bumped into another runner and forumite who I'd recced the route with beforehand. We'd started together until he took off up the first climb on his own. I'd caught him again and in my mind I was going to beat him back to the finish. Whilst offering every encouragement, of course!

For the last run in I'd decided to deviate onto the reservoir path round the lower reservoir. The balls of my feet were hurting, and this was softer ground. It was also flatter so I was gambling on it being faster. I'm not too sure how this worked out as there were a couple of heads bobbing up and down on the other side of the wall and they seemed to be moving ahead of me, albeit slowly. When I rejoined the track I was able to take them again on the final 200m or so dash to the line. And as it turned out I'd beaten my mate by a minute or two!

A wash in the stream, quick dry and change in the boot of the car, and it was into the cabin for a soup, bread roll, bacon butty, and a sweet tea. I milled around for a while to see the presentation. Swapped a few stories with the my clubmates and a couple of other forumites and walked off with my t-shirt; a couple of bottles of rescue ale; 9mins off last year's time - despite deviations; head held high; and a sore knee.

This last souvenier would have to wait for the next day or so for a full assessment, but that evening I was still moving it, and it was still flexible the next day. After last year's race it wouldn't bend, so this was great news.

So I missed out on my secondary target of a sub 3h30 time, but I'm still running which was always the priority.

Next year? Sub 3h15!



Postscript: Someone did capture all the action from the bottom of Geronimo. You can see the results here. I'm on it at 6:04 (orange cag). Unfortunately, this isn't my genius descent, just the gate at the checkpoint.