A first DNF and decision time

I kind of give it away in the title here, but this weekend did not pan out as any of us would have wanted. This time we made it to Ambleside with plenty of time and I was able to go to the evening talks which were about nutrition (food for thought - my diet is a bit tragic at present) and two accounts from experienced UTLD runners - one from a middle pack runner and one from last year's 100 winner. It was all good, interesting stuff and I left feeling inspired and back in-touch with my own summer experiences of the 50. I didn't have the best night's sleep, but then I rarely do before a big event/run.

In the morning, we made it to the coach in good time (clearly all this punctuality should have given me the heads up that this wasn't a normal weekend for us!). And it was great to take Benny on to the bus (a completely alien, and potentially stressful, environment to him) and see him take to it like a seasoned traveller; he hopped up on to the window seat and sat, looking proudly at all the other runners as they got on, earning himself lots of compliments and fuss (he's such a tart sometimes). During the journey, he soon settled into a snooze across my lap and only became fidgety after about 45 minutes (which I made worse by trying to put his Paw Wax on - not his favourite thing).

We arrived in Pooley Bridge shortly after 9am and pretty much headed straight out on to the course. It was such a glorious spring day - bright sunshine, clear blue skies and a cool breeze. The scenery was, as ever, beautiful and breathtaking and we couldn't have asked for better running conditions. As we pottered up the first incline another runner called me by my RW forum name and came up alongside me. We ran together for a while and were soon joined by fellow forumite and blogger, Collie Dave (with his running partner, a stunning collie called Charlie). Charlie can be a bit uneasy around other dogs, so Benny and I went ahead a bit and began to find a comfortable stride. On reflection, though we were moving at a great pace (around 10-11 minute miles) I could already feel bits that weren't quite right; my foot was a bit sore, my legs felt a little stiff - but I thought I'd just run these niggles off as this is often the case when the training miles have been lacking.

It was quite a moment to emerge by Howtown (the first checkpoint on the 50 course, which wasn't in use for the recce); I remembered so clearly my feelings at reaching it back in July, hot, sweaty and a bit bemused, unsure whether I was going to make it round the course. This April morning I felt so much more alive and strong and it felt good to turn away from it and head towards the mighty Fusedale - the climb that had so nearly broken me last year.

As we headed up the first part of the hill, I began to feel the soreness in my heel worsen (where I had taken the full impact of the mobile bookcase, two weeks earlier, and where I still have a rather uncomfortable lumpy bruise). I guess the change in incline meant that gravity was having a greater effect on that part of my foot. We also encountered our first loose sheep. To give him his due, Benny was responsive to my calls to "leave" and I did a good deal of food-based distraction training.
In the midst of our sheep experiences, Dave and Charlie caught us up and passed us after a brief chat; the difference in the two dogs and their interest in the livestock, was apparent. But once we had negotiated the sheep-shaped obstacles, the climb intensified and we slowed to a stilted, heavy potter. I could see that Dave had let Charlie off-lead up ahead, making it easier for them both to navigate the challenging terrain, but I knew I couldn't do the same with Benny; he would just turn tail and return to the sheep at the bottom of the hill. So we soldiered, slowly on.
At the plateau, I showed Benny a small beck where he could drink and cool down and I looked back down the valley, remembering clearly my feelings back in the summer - this had been my breaking point, my moment of biggest doubt. Then, I had taken a good few minutes before deciding to at least reach the top before possibly giving up, but this time, I was already keen to march on to the summit of High Kop (where I knew there was a good resting point where we could take on a bit of food and admire the views).
Once there, I sat in the exact same spot I had sat in the summer, my turning point then (which ironically, became my turning point this time too). As I sat, I felt something in my lower back and right hip wasn't right; it was tight and sore and on the edge of going into spasm as I tried to stand up. But I pushed the worry to the back of my mind and started off across the moor.

A group of runners had caught up with me that I knew from the last recce and the summer; one of them, Andy, had been our tent neighbour in the school field in Coniston, and it was good to have someone to chat with for a while. We exchanged news and talked of our plans for the future as we walked while recovering from the climb. When Andy decided it was time for him to run on, I tried a few steps and knew then I really was in trouble. I waved him on and tried stretching my right-side out as my hip flexors began to spasm in earnest. I tried to maintain a slow jog that kept me in touch with the group ahead, but I could feel that things were not settling down at all and even Benny's gentle nudges and enthusiasm were not making it better.

It was the descent alongside Fusedale Beck towards Haweswater that really broke me; steep, rocky and twisting (partly because I had missed the proper track and was having to make use of sheep trails to pick up the right course - oops). But even when on the right path, Benny and I were just not working well together - he needed to go faster than I could manage, not just because I was sore, but to descend safely I was going slower than normal to counteract his pulling. I think this finished my back and hips for good, pulling my pelvis out of alignment and making my quads work harder than necessary. I took a few jarring slips too, all on my right side and that set my right knee off (which to add to the joy is my weakest leg joint, since it took the full force of a motorcycle crash when I was a foolish seventeen year old).

By the time we reached the (flattish) trail around Haweswater, I knew I was done in - we had slowed to 20-30 minute miles and I couldn't pick up the speed in any shape or form. Walkers and runners were catching us and overtaking us and I could barely manage a smile or hello as they yomped past.
The Haweswater section is a bit of a pig; it is five times longer than you imagine! When you reach the lake, mentally you are at the checkpoint, but you have to keep going over a rocky, undulating trail for another 5-6K, eventually seeing the checkpoint van, only to have to turn away from it and dog-leg round the head of the lake to double back on yourself to actually reach it - such cruel torture.

Stumbling towards the minibus at Mardale, giving my name and then having to admit I thought I might have to drop out to the organiser was awful; I was embarrassed, angry and in pain - not a good combination. I took a couple of ibuprofen, stretched bits that hurt and contemplated carrying on. But what would that have achieved? The climbs I thought I could cope with, but the idea of trying to manage Benny pulling on the harness down the boulder path descents I knew would be awful for both of us. It took over two hours for us to be shipped back to Ambleside. I cannot thank the organisers and my fellow drop-out (an exhausted and ill runner from a local club) enough for being so kind, supportive and getting us back in relatively good spirits.
But I already knew where this experience was leading me; Benny and I can't do the 50 together. It would not be wise to head out on such an awesome challenge when the very fact we are tethered together would make us unsafe; the descents are too technical for us at this point of our partnership, and I cannot trust him to be safe around livestock.

As for what we can do together, in fact, what I should be doing myself as a runner - well that is not known at this point in time. I'm deflated and sore - I need to recover, rethink and reorganise. Meanwhile, I need to embrace the positives; we have a healthy, happy dog who is full of energy and very loving. He's come a long way, (maybe not in miles!), but we're very lucky to have found him and have him in our lives.

Make or break time...

The good news is that over the last few days I've been able to get a couple of runs in, both with Benny. Of course, there was a distinct lack of speed involved, but it was fun to be back out there, especially with my four-pawed companion.

So, in half an hour we are heading back to the Lakes (and yes, I have packed my trainers this time) and tomorrow, Benny and I will be attempting the first 30 miles of the 50 course.

I have absolutely no idea how we are going to fare. Benny has become far too interested in livestock recently, and if I cannot keep him on task, then I'm afraid our ultra running partnership will be over before it's really begun. And that is before we add in the previous unknowns of coping with terrain, distance...

Wonderful husband will be driving to each checkpoint tomorrow, so if I need to hand over Benny (or even drop out myself) then we can do so without inconveniencing the organisers. So all that is left to do is check over the kit (again) and keep everything crossed for a successful day tomorrow... :o)

Three Months and how the wheels (legs?) fell off...

So, January was when I last blogged. Oops. What has happened in three months? Literally everything and nothing; I gained my coach and began to run with the speed I had talked about, but then I had to go away with the school ski trip (over half term) and in one foul swoop denied myself rest and got ill. I picked up a cold on the trip, that led to a secondary infection and then a chest infection, then just as I was finding my feet again a couple of weeks ago I managed to injure my foot with a mobile bookcase (don’t ask).

And now I find myself on the verge of so much soul searching...

What is right for me and my running? What is right for me and Benny? Where do I go from here?

I am struggling to reconcile one too many things and feeling the pressure. Time to have a rethink.

A house full of winners

There comes a point in most ventures where you just have to know when to quit. With running the temptation to give up is never far from your mind, that little voice that whispers in your ear, "You've done enough or this is too hard or this hurts or stop now and it'll all be over..."
I've not yet had that voice convince me that that is the correct course of action during a race, though I've been close. However, the voice has persuaded me not to turn up on the start line several times, and that is usually when it is the voice of reason and all-round sensibleness (when competing would be putting me at risk of longer term injury). And it has persuaded me not to step out the front door on a training run, but that is when it is the voice of sloth and general laziness more than anything else.
But I hear the voice at other times, in relation to things other than running too, and today was one of those occasions.
The RSPCA competition for Rescue Animal of the Year ran for much longer than anticipated due to website issues at their end. At the original closing date, Benny was well in the lead. There had been a strong challenge for votes from a lovely little rabbit called Ken, but when I had put the call out in the Runnersworld virtual world, where I chat to many like-minded souls who had been following our story with interest for several months, they had joined the voting cause. However, on the eve of the extended closing date there was a sudden surge of overnight voting for Ben the cat and then the RSPCA site went offline again. Over the weekend, the runners rallied and spread the word to restore Bear's lead, but there was one final overnight voting deluge that took Ben into first place this morning.
I knew I could ask the runners for a third time to push Benny back into first place, but we decided enough was enough; the time had come to quit.

However, the Runnersworld community were to surprise us again this evening. Every year the parent magazine of the online forums, Runners World, run a competition to win a place in a spring marathon (it had been London, but they had changed to Paris for the last couple of years) where the winners gain goodies from the sponsors, travel and accommodation to the event and online coaching with occasional training weekends from respected coaches and support teams. Last year, the regular forum contributors decided to run an unofficial, parallel competition for peer-to-peer mentoring (there were lots of political reasons for this, which I won't go into here) and the six forum winners, though they didn't get any branded goodies, met with considerable success with their training and marathon running last season. So, like last year, when the forum competition opened, I entered. And tonight, I found out that I had won!

I am yet to make official contact with my mentor/coach, but it means I'm going to have a "proper" training plan! I will finally have to confront my lazy approach to long, slow miles and, as I have said several times already, get my bottom out the door to face up to some speed work.
The great thing is that this plan should be tailored to my off road running and mine and Benny's challenge events this year.
It looks like Team Benny just gained a new member  - I wonder if he has any idea what he has let himself in for by taking us on?

The Lakeland 50 - 30th -31st July 2011

I signed up and paid for my entry a year ago this weekend in a New Year's Eve beery haze. And this is why I can't wait to get back there:

First Leg – Dalemain to Howtown (11.2miles)

We started with a little four mile loop around the country house estate of Dalemain. In many ways this is a blessing and a curse; it gets the legs moving, gets four relatively easy miles under the belt, but it was crowded (with long waits at stiles) and the heat was already beastly on the exposed hillside. Personally, it felt tough and the nagging thoughts were all ready to leap to the forefront of my mind; if you find this hard, how on earth will you cope with the remaining 46miles, you were foolish to even think you could do this, etc. But my husband had driven on to the first village, Pooley Bridge and seeing him cheering me on 6 miles in meant I banished these thoughts, almost for good, and got on with enjoying myself. 

Leaving Dalemain and Pooley Bridge, the path is quite good to the CP at Howtown – a steady ascent and descent, most manageable, it is probably one of the easiest sections. However, the sun was merciless and I felt the need to take on a gel even at this early stage and drank about a litre of water before pottering into Howtown. The first checkpoint was a quick stop to fill up with water, go to the loo and wash a very sweaty face, down a cup of squash, nibble a corner of ginger cake and get on the move again. This was to be my plan at most checkpoints, keep it brief, keep it moving. In retrospect this is a very good strategy for me, and I think I could even afford to loiter a little less next time to save some minutes.

Second Leg – Howtown to Mardale Head (9.4miles)

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss and this was the case here; I had no idea what was waiting for me in this section and had I known, after those troublesome early miles, I may have given up before I even started. The climb up alongside Wether Hill to High Kop was brutal. I mean really horrible. I started it, confident enough, only slightly concerned at the sight of a couple of 50-ers and an 100 competitor turning around to return to Howtown and retire. I remember as a child, walking the hills in the Lakes with my parents, moaning, as children sometimes do, “Are we nearly there yet?” (meaning the summit) and my Lakeland mother would always say, “It’s just there,” pointing at the upcoming ridge, and every time we reached the ridge, there would be another looming above it. Well, that was what this climb was like, so many false summits, full sun beating down, boulder strewn path, nigh on 2,000ft of climb in less than a mile. Little waves of panic welled within me; my HR was through the roof, I was dripping sweat off every inch of skin, I genuinely didn’t think I could replace the fluid at the rate it was leaking out of me. Thinking back to my car crash of a race at the Paris Marathon in April I did not know if I could cope with the heat ruining yet another event. The one saving grace in this was that I was still sweating, when I had collapsed with heat stroke at Easter, I had stopped perspiring, so I felt as long as I could see the water coming off me, I could hope I was going to be OK (sorry if that is a little TMI).

At the true summit, a group of about 20 of us sat, mostly in silence, and gathered our thoughts. But soon enough, someone cracked a joke, I wish I could remember what, and most of us set off again. 

I ended up by myself for a few miles, alone with my thoughts, and I realised I was quite at peace and happy. I had climbed High Kop and survived. If there were anymore ascents like that, I just knew I could cope. I ran a little systems check; legs – fine, feet – fine, heels – sore as I’d made a sock choice error, back – a little sore from damp clothes and rubbage,  knees – OK for now. So onwards and into Mardale, with the sun lower in the sky and the temperature more bearable.

Third Leg – Mardale Head to Kentmere (6.5miles)

At Mardale I had a couple of cups of Coke (can’t stand the stuff normally, but knew it was rocket fuel in this situation – and it tasted amazing) with a few jelly beans. I changed from my 1000 mile socks, which sit very low around the ankle and had meant little bits of debris had collected around the top and given me some irritating blisters, so I put on some that covered my ankle and couldn’t care less how school-girlish it made me look. I set out with another fairly quick turnaround just behind a mixed pair and a group of four guys who were running as a team entry.

The route is well designed to challenge, especially straight after checkpoints, and the ascent up the Gatescarth Pass was another tough climb. With the cooler air and my new found serenity, I took it slow and steady and overtook a fair number of folks that were struggling, including the mixed pair, the lady of which had been trying to jolly me on.

The descent, however, was almost the worst of the whole event (just wait for the quarry, later); steep, boulder path – impossible to run, quad fighting, feet bashing and long (a good couple of miles worth, plus). This is where I began a game of leapfrog with the team of four (The Carlisle 4); they were faster on the steep bits, but couldn’t run anymore, whereas I was cautious on the steep bits and happily ran the less severe descents. Every time we passed each other, we’d have a little chat. By the time we were nearing Kentmere, our speed was pretty much equal so we were able to talk for longer. It turned out two of them were pretty accomplished endurance athletes, the other two were their long-time friends attempting their first event and those two were beginning to flag a bit. There was also a lass in Vibrams (now that is lunacy IMHO on that terrain – ouch!) around and about us, and she overtook us as we approached the small road section before Kentmere. I saw her miss the stile and path to the CP and tried to call after her, but I wasn’t prepared to run faster to catch her, and fretted all the way to Kentmere that she would be wandering the hills, lost.

Kentmere CP is the most wonderful of all CPs; a village party, fairy lights, music blaring, countless volunteers offering table service!

Here I had a few spoonfuls of pasta and sauce, a fruit smoothie and a cup of tea and restocked my water supply. I also put on my knee supports and a vest under my still damp top, swapped my cap for a fleecy beanie and readied my head torch for use; the light would be gone within an hour or so, and I didn’t want to be rummaging in my bag on the hillside. I think this was my longest stop and the only time I genuinely faffed – a good ten minutes could have been saved if I were a little more time aware.

Just before I left, the Vibrams girl arrived, I chatted to her briefly and was happier setting off knowing she was OK.

Fourth Leg – Kentmere to Ambleside (7.3miles)

I left Kentmere full of energy and renewed; the knee supports made my legs feel twice as strong and my mobile had suddenly lurched into life, after being reception free since Howtown, it was leaking messages of support from my friends and family. I was finally able to call my husband and had a lovely chat. I told him not to bother coming to meet me at Ambleside, but to get an earlyish night as I hope to be back before sunrise. (I was also able to get the cricket scores – I can’t believe I missed Broad’s hat-trick!).

The Garburn Pass felt like a more manageable climb than the previous two biggies, but the descent worried me as we were heading into torch territory.

With the head torch on it became more difficult to spot the larger boulders and I found myself becoming fatigued with the constantly shifting, rocky terrain. I was mentally pleading for some grass or tarmac or even gravelly pathways. As the Garburn Road finally delivered some more forgiving surfaces, two of the Carlisle 4 caught up with me and we stayed together, chatting all the way to Ambleside. They knew they would have to spend the remainder of the route cajoling their less experienced friends to the finish and just wanted to spend a little more time moving more freely. With their company I hardly noticed that we were upping the pace, still running wherever possible, and we picked up a couple of ladies who were very familiar with the course so we didn’t need to navigate either (lucky, moi?)

Coming through Troutbeck I was able to touch the home of my Great Grandmother and that made me feel all warm inside. And my Mum had been texting on messages from my Auntie Jean to me (a seasoned fell runner with a BGR under her belt) and I felt all the good genetics coursing around my bones as we trundled into Ambleside at pub closing time (lots of beery cheers!)

Fifth Leg - Ambleside to Chapel Stile (5miles)

More Coke was downed at Ambleside. I looked at the other offerings and just wasn’t interested; I had munched the odd bit of my own malt loaf over the last few hours, and whenever my calves felt twitchy I had eaten a few salted cashews (all of which were stored in those life-saving extra pockets that I had bought at the last minute).

I sat outside the shop for a moment and found myself surrounded by the family of one of the ladies we had “collected” on the last stretch after Troutbeck. She was not in a good place. Her husband was about to complete the 100 and her sister, who she had actually been completing the event with as a pair had had to drop out. They kindly let me check the progress of some of the other L50/100 Runners World forumites on one of their phones. She was wondering whether to continue or not, when I couldn’t help myself but pipe up, “Well, it’s only five miles to Langdale – how often have you set out from home on a little five mile run?” which made them all laugh. I guess it goes to testify for the friendliness and camaraderie of these kind of events, I’m actually quite shy in real life and those words had popped out of my mouth without me thinking twice about it, while surrounded by strangers in the middle of their own torments. However, intruding into their conversation made my mind up to get up and get going.

After the cheats’ way of picking up people who knew the course, I was curious to know whether I could cope alone with only my Road Book and Map for company. 

So I set out solo from Ambleside, bullishly confident in the knowledge that Chapel Stile was ‘only’ five miles away and I should try and get there under my own steam.

I soon overtook a pair doing the 100, while still under Ambleside’s street lights – they looked like they were really, really suffering, one in particular waddling worse than John Wayne, and headed into the darkness. Using the book and map, my progress was slower than before, my confidence soon evaporating as a magical third gate took forever to appear along the track I was following. I kept plodding on, putting my faith in the words of the all powerful road book and made it three of the five miles to Langdale before the lady I had encouraged and one of the 100 pair I had passed caught up with me (his partner had, sadly, had to retire). Both knowing the course from recces, they were moving more confidently, so having proved to myself that I could do it alone, I swallowed my pride and happily fell into step behind them. 

We were to stay together as a motley crew of three all the way to the final checkpoint.

But first we made it, incident free to Chapel Stile, where I ate a little stew and searched out my calf guards to get me through the final few miles.

Sixth Leg – Chapel Stile to Tilberthwaite (7.1miles)

It wouldn’t be the Lakeland 50 if they didn’t find a new challenge to throw at you as you leave a checkpoint and this time it was the lack of paths and bogs. Again, luck was on my side, and as well as putting on my calfguards at Langdale, I had also put on my Sealskinz socks. I’d heard warnings of upcoming bogs, but also the balls of my feet were feeling more than a bit tender and I thought the extra padding may help ease the discomfort. I could not have navigated this section without Cynthia and Ian knowing the course – it was tough going and I saw my pre-dawn estimated finish time dwindling away. I will certainly return and recce this section a couple of times before next year. Also, shortly after leaving the CP my Garmin finally died too and I’m sure I let the pace drop without its reassuring feedback.

Somewhere around Castle Howe, I felt two large blisters from the soles of my feet rupture through my toes. A most unpleasant experience and I was unsure as to just how much damage had been done; in some ways there was a relief of pressure, but the sudden presence of liquid was unnerving, blister juice or blood? Also, to then hit the foot on the floor at the wrong angle was awful; I imagined the skin shearing away (all greatly exaggerated and dramatic from the actuality as I discovered when removing my socks after finishing – I guess all those pictures of mashed feet make you think of the worse possible scenario).

However, as we approached the final little ascent before Tilberthwaite, we caught up with a load more guys, so while I was disappointed with out decrease in pace, I suppose many more were slowing more than we were.

At Tilberthwaite, I had the obligatory cup of Coke, but was unwilling to stop, the sooner I move, the sooner I’m home and I felt I was still within a shot of getting in before the next hour marker passed, so I bade farewell and gave great thanks to Cynthia and Ian and headed off up “the steps”.

Seventh Leg – Tilberthwaite to Coniston (3.5miles)

In my head, I’d kind of discounted this leg as having any worth – three and a half miles? Well, that’s less than going around the block at home! Oh, what a mistake! People had been muttering warnings about the steps up from Tilberthwaite, but I honestly found them fine – at least they were solid rock, no shifting or changing surfaces, a steep climb, but a known and measureable quantity in my book. There was then a nice section, a bit boggy but flat and open following a brook where I caught up with a pair from Worcester and we spent a good half hour talking about nothing before we hit the descent down The Blue Quarry.

Oh. My. Word.

This hurt me a lot – my knees and quads were finally struggling with all I had asked of them, which is remarkable considering how under trained I was and a steady stream of people overtook me as I inched my way down, including my new/old friend Cynthia, who flew past me! I have never been so relieved to hit the road and there, at Miners Bridge, I suddenly found that I was capable of running still, so I overtook the pair and ran the last half mile into Coniston, holding on to the idea I could sneak in under that next hour marker…

But I didn’t. It was hard to know where I was, time-wise with the death of the Garmin and the late start, meaning we weren’t measuring to o’clock hours anymore.

So I crossed the line at 18.06hrs, nearly 6.30am, ecstatic at the achievement yet still disappointed not to be quicker… but next time, I know I will be – this was just a recce, after all. 

At the finish

Weighed again (3.5kg loss), presented with a medal and sat for a check over by a very nice man who was also a doctor. We were told that they had to see me eat and drink something and wait about 20 minutes before disappearing so they knew we were OK. I shuffled through to the canteen and took my meal ticket for a cup of tea and some lasagne (I couldn’t face the crumble and cream). However, though the lasagne was made with penne pasta (?!) it was probably the best thing I have ever eaten in my life – really!

A quick look at the showers had told me everything I needed to know – I still hadn’t dared remove my socks and was still imagining inches of raw skin, so I couldn’t face stripping and balancing in porta-showers that had already been used by a couple of hundred people. So my wonderful husband literally un-pegged the tent, throwing it into the car still half-constructed, bundled me in the front seat with a blanket and I fell asleep before we left Coniston.

I awoke as we hit the M60 in Manchester, hobbled into the house, straight to the shower and made myself squeaky clean – such a wonderful feeling.

My feet were miles better than I had dared to hope, so I applied a couple of blister plasters to my heels (after the erroneous sock decision) and just rested the soles on ice packs, which was one of the most blissful sensations I’ve ever had, post-race!

I emailed Test Match Special as they were collecting reasons for missing the Broad hat-trick and they read it out – it led to a five minute discussion as to what an ultra marathon might be! I spent the remainder of the day with my ice packs, a few beers, watching the F1 and listening to the cricket.

A perfect weekend.

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? 

Benny the Superstar- shortlisted for an RSPCA award!

A letter dropped through the door yesterday from the RSPCA informing us that Benny had been shortlisted for the Rescue Animal of the Year 2011 award. Now, I may have already mentioned once or twice (*ahem*) of just how proud we are of the Little Bear, but the recognition from elsewhere really touched us. 

The competition opened this morning for voting, and one of our friends was already posting the link on her Facebook page before we were even aware the voting site had gone live! 

I recognise that I have a tiny competitive streak running through me (*ahem ahem*) so we have spread the word on the old tinterweb about the award, with a small 'Vote Benny' campaign; but there are so many deserving animals that have been nominated, I can live with not winning, if that is the final outcome, as they are all lovely creatures that have well-earned their second chances. 

Truth is, (cheesy-schmultz alert!) we've won already - we have the Bear living with us and enriching our lives. And I couldn't ask for anything more this Christmas :o)