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.