Rewind five months - my Lakeland 50 report from July 2011

I thought it might be useful, bearing in mind I started this blog to follow mine and Benny's preparation for the Lakeland 50 2012, to post up a copy of my report for this year; to better put into context what it is that we are letting ourselves in for.
It's a bit of an epic read, so I'll put it up over a few days!

The background:

It seems to be the case this year that none of my training schedules or races have run to plan; life, work, family and a healthy dose of injury and illness have just got in the way one too many times resulting in ever slowing paces, weight gain, disappointment and frustration.

When I missed the Osmotherley Phoenix because of a family crisis, I was ready to throw in the towel and not even turn up at the start line for the Lakeland 50; why put myself in the position of starting such an awesome challenge, under trained and over weight? To further compound my misery, I fell ill with a cold two weeks before race day and then tweaked my knee badly just walking up the stairs. I just felt it would be better to give up on the L50 dream, and begin again to rebuild for my autumn marathon plans. But something in me just wouldn’t let go. What had I to lose by turning up and seeing how far I could get? As long as I could make sure I wasn’t putting myself, or anyone else, in danger, that I wasn’t going to completely annoy the organisers, maybe I should just go and treat it as my LSR for that weekend?

So, that was the frame of mind at the outset – give it a go, stop if I couldn’t continue or was going to do myself damage. Simple plan.

Before the off:

After some last minute kit purchases at Decathlon the day before, (I had decided I needed extra storage capacity on my rucksack, as I wanted to carry more food than I had initially planned for as I knew I would be slower than originally anticipated, so I bought a couple of add on pockets that turned out to be lifesavers later), we arrived at Coniston mid-afternoon on Friday in brilliant sunshine. The registration for the 50 had just closed to allow for the organisers to prepare for the start of the 100, so we busied ourselves setting up camp and then pottered to the pub for a sneaky pint of Bluebird.  

We returned to cheer on the nutters running 100 miles, before I queued for my registration.

The process involves weighing in before emptying packs to show we are carrying the specified safety equipment; compass, first aid kit, emergency food, complete spare base layer (top and bottom), waterproof layer (top and bottom), hat and gloves, head torch, spare batteries, fully charged mobile. And in return we were given a t-shirt (very nice tech top), map and road book. The weigh-in guys were providing their own entertainment; collecting unusual and extreme numbers (for example, 66.6kg, 99.9kg and round numbers 50.0kg, 100.0kg, and heaviest and lightest competitors etc). The poor guy in front of me had the ignominious label of being heaviest to date at 122.9kg.

At a loss for what else to do, and while it was still obscenely light and sunny, we went back to the pub for another pint.

The night was cooler than expected and I swear I ran the race three or four times in my dreams (each ending in disaster) and every time I awoke in the tent, I thought of the 100 runners out there, somewhere.

The morning dawned bright and clear. I munched on some brioche and supped coffee. My wonderful husband did a little breakfast run for me, so I also had a sausage bap and some fresh orange before heading to the hall for our safety briefing and encouraging words from Joss Naylor.

I cannot describe the warmth and anticipation and friendliness of everyone there; all united in a common cause and yet each alone in their own thoughts. I can’t rightly remember much of that briefing, but before we knew it, it was time to catch the coaches to the start. We had already decided to drive up separately from the coaches in an effort to off-set travel sickness and buy a bit of extra time at the start before everyone arrived. We were there in plenty of time to make use of the portaloos, queue free, and cheer some 100 runners coming through the checkpoint.

The coaches were indeed late, meaning a delayed start, and at the time it felt as if every minute was dragging by, each lasting an hour, but in retrospect, time flew and suddenly I was amongst the hoards, waiting for the sound of a claxon, squeezed in by a lovely fellow running with his husky, Otto, I at least had a furry hound to fuss and distract myself. 

To come... the race itself! And who knows, if I hadn't stood at the start line for those few minutes with Otto and Jonathan, maybe the idea to take on a second dog as my running partner would never have entered my head. Funny how things work out, isn't it?