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)

Running without Benny - Stockport 10

Last year I was suckered into entering the Stockport 10 after becoming hooked on their advertising campaign, "It's the goody bag at the Stockport 10" on YouTube; a drip-feed release of videos featuring cryptic clues as to the contents of said goody bag, accompanied by the most irritating ear-worm of a theme tune. Go on, Google it - I dare you, and you'll be singing it forever...
In all seriousness, it is a favourite event of many around here and I had only ever heard good things about it, so I popped along in December 2010 as my first proper run after a prolonged period of recovery with an achilles problem. With that history in mind, I was fairly confident of running a better race this year; though I was still undertrained, I was fitter and more prepared for the event this weekend and really was looking forward to having another go at it, running with a bit more pace. However, the luck fairy was not smiling on me this weekend (or maybe I was visited by her evil twin, the f*ck-up fairy, as she is known by my friends) and while cycling to work on Saturday morning, I took a rather heavy tumble on a patch of ice. My right knee bore the brunt of the fall, closely supported by left shin, left elbow and right shoulder (surprisingly well distributed, I thought). Once at work, I was able to rest and ice the effected bits, but for the remainder of the day I really was unsure whether racing the following day was going to happen or not. However, by the evening I was pretty confident that the damage was more cosmetic than structural, so as long as I could cope with the discomfort caused by the vibrations of running, the act of running itself was going to be alright.

Sunday dawned wet, cold and miserable. Typical Manchester weather. And after a rather indulgent lie-in (oh, the joy of local events) we found ourselves running late, as ever, so mobilised the hounds and headed round the M60 to Stockport. A fair number of fellow RunnersWorld (internet forum) runners and triathletes were also out for the jolly, getting damp and cold, at the start but due to our perennial tardiness, we barely got to say hello before we were pottering off to the back of the pack on the start track.

I didn't hear the claxon, but we trotted for a bit, then stopped and then started in earnest (which is when I started my Garmin, so the recorded time and my Garmin time are quite a way out from each other) and as we crossed the official start, we really were only pottering at 10m/m. The course begins with two laps of the athletics track and before we had even reached the 200m mark on the first circuit, the lead guys were lapping us! (Oh, the shame!) I didn't really mind, it gave me a proper chance to assess how the bruises felt as I ran and warmed us up nicely. However, as we left the track and headed out into the park for the course proper, I did up the pace, leaving my virtual running friends behind; though I wasn't going full pelt, I did, at least, want to better last year's time.

The first five miles were a real joy (despite the miserable wind and rain) as I felt strong and powerful; a rare and beautiful feeling in a race situation, probably because I wasn't really properly racing. I comfortably held 8.5-9m/m and began to target a sub 90 minute finish, which would have been a real result under the circumstances. The course has some fairly interesting upflats and descents, bearing in mind it is essentially a town road-race, and I was really pleased to pass more people than ever before on the way down. Once upon a time I used to overtake loads of runners on the ups, only to see them speed past me on the downs. I used to think it was because I was quite little and a low centre of gravity helped on the way up while their long legs had the advantage on the way down. However, over the last couple of years I've learnt that it is all about technique and I've really worked on running downhill with more confidence (think running like Phoebe from Friends - just relax and go with it!). Now I need to get my fitness back to work on getting better at the uphills again.

I knew the second half of the course was more challenging and I expected to run a positive split, with the last 5 miles being around 9-9.5m/m and the sub-90 finish was my carrot to make sure I didn't get lazy and let the pace drop (it's a real failing of mine, since I started running long distances, is that I tend to sit back at a comfortable pace rather than push on like I used to). As ever, there were moments in the last couple of miles where pushing on was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do, especially up the hills, but the motivation to get the 90 surprised me. However, over the intervening twelve months I had forgotten that the last hill was a real beggar of a long, slow leg sapper and as I entered the park to head back to the track I thought I'd blown it and began to allow the sit-back trot to take over.

Coming into the track area, I saw my husband, totally sodden and looking frozen and I knew I had to buck up my ideas - the sooner I finished, the sooner we were all home and dry and I found a bit of energy to pick it up for the last 400m. The clock at the finish ticked on to 1.31, but a quick glance at my Garmin told me I could make a personal time of under 1.30; for that last lap of the track I rediscovered what sub-7m/m felt like! Final result - 1.30 and a little bit, Garmin has me dead-on for an average of 9m/m (race results record me at 1.31xx)

On reflection it was a really good race, despite the hiccups. It may be a long way from my 10 mile PB, but it's the best result I've had in a while and things look more promising for some upcoming events if I can get some proper speed training in.
I did miss having Benny's company, but I didn't miss the extra faffage of keeping him on task. I guess it's just reinforced the things I need to work on; Bear and I need more time out together, I need to do more up-hill running and, as I keep reminding myself, more time running fast.
(If I say it enough times, I might actually man-up and do the proper interval training!)

Our first race - Manchester Christmas Pudding 5 miler

Picture the scene; it was twelve months ago, we'd already had the first significant snowfall of winter and the temperature was below freezing, my husband, greyhound and I were slipping across the car park of a motorway service station in a hunt for hot food. We had just run our first ever 5K together as a team. The achievement for my husband (who was still recovering from knee surgery and had been on crutches for five the first five months of the year) and our middle-aged greyhound (who's idea of running ended at anything longer than a 30 second sprint) was pretty impressive. We were attracting some pretty odd looks in KFC at 11am that Sunday morning, I can tell you. Which may, or may not, have had little to do with the fact we were a bit grubby after running and something more to do with the fact that we both dressed as Father Christmas and the greyhound was sporting a rather fine white nylon beard.

Fast forward a year and my husband is fully recovered and back to playing football (his brief flirtation with running as an independent sport, more or less over), the greyhound is most definitely fully-retired from all running events and we have this little scrap of a second dog who is very much keener to run with me than either of my previous team mates. And up and down the country it is the weekend of the festive fun run; all across the land, people were donning felt santa suits and highly flammable beards, ready to potter around various courses on the promise of a mince pie or Christmas pudding (or if you are really lucky, some mulled wine) at the finish line. But this year, the day is not bright and clear with fresh winter snowfall and frost, it is grey and wet and windy and pretty miserable. It was enough of a challenge just to get from under the duvet and out of bed this morning, let alone run 5 muddy, off-road miles in the wind and rain. However, the Bear does not recognise bad weather as any kind of limiting factor, so off in the car the four of us went. There are few events that are within a ten minute drive from your front door, so I guess I shouldn't really complain.

(Though Benny might complain at the indignity of his outfit)

The Manchester Christmas Pudding 5 mile run is a new race this year, and the company running it, I think, had only taken it on as a management project very recently. Therefore it was a small field of entrants on an untested course and I've already heard reports that they will be using a different location next year. I hope they do as it was pretty uninspiring stuff on a repeating figure of eight around part of Wythenshawe Park, but the organisers were fantastic and lovely and deserve to be successful and have a larger number of entrants next year.
We were the only person+dog competitors, and the man with the starter claxon did ask us to go to the back of the field at the start, which we did, but within 50 yards of the start we were in the middle of the pack, so I don't know what good waiting at the back was supposed to do.

In many ways, the race was the perfect next step for Benny and I; where we have been running on out own, or in small groups, or in beautiful, isolated terrain this was the complete off-road opposite. The fields were packed with Sunday league football matches with a full compliment of subs, referees, linesman, managers and spectators, and a healthy dose of early morning dog walkers too, just to add to the mix of distractions. We were less than a minute into the race when I found myself longing for the sheep and ladder stiles of last weekend! To be fair to the pup, he kept his mind on running a good 70% of the time. However, the remaining 30% of the time we were locked in a battle; he, desperately interested in what we had just run past or were about to run past, or the marshalls, or the other runners, or what was on the opposite side of the field and me, just trying to put one foot in front of the other with a bit of pace and trying not to fall over in the mud.

Because of the repeating loop nature of the course (which seemed to measure significantly longer than 5 miles on all of our Garmins), we met some of the faster runners coming back at various points and I have to say the eventually winner of the race showed himself to be a complete @rse; shouting at marshalls and swearing, totally against the nature of what is, essentially, a fun run. But on the whole, fast runners, slower runners and marshalls, rose above the miserable conditions and it was just that, a real fun cross-country run. Fifty minutes later (much slower than I had anticipated, slower than my off-road 10K PB!) and we were drying off with mince pies and mulled wine and catching up with friends, old and new, from the running community, all quarrels forgotten and happy to succumb to soggy, damp-dog cuddles.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been thinking long and hard begun to rationalise what I need to do in both my own and Benny's training. And today only served to reinforce the realisation that I must do loads more speedwork (Benny will be fine with speed!) while we build him up to longer distances. Over the last year, while I've been working at the silly long distances, I have lost any speed that I once had; where once I could trot out a good couple of hours of 8 minute miles, now anything less than 10 minute miles feels like sprinting! So bring on the shorter, faster runs - I know Benny is up for them, and we'll worry about the higher mileage runs when the weather is better (oh, and we'll be avoiding running around football matches in the near future).

Resting by the fire - still muddy but happy. 

What a weekend! (part two - we survived)

After a pretty shocking night's sleep, (due in part to the general fretting, waiting for the trainers to materialise, then just not being able to shut off), we staggered down to breakfast. The B and B only started serving food at 8.30am on a Sunday morning, so I was torn as to whether to enjoy the luxury of a cooked breakfast, or keep things relatively light as we were meant to start running at 9am. In the end, I couldn't resist and made a poor attempt at compromise by not having the full works, but having scrambled egg, sausage and mushrooms with a side of yoghurt and fruit. It was delicious.

You might notice there is a bit of a recurring theme with lateness and me and my husband's attempts to get anywhere together; left to our own devices, we're pretty good time keepers, but as a pair we are next to useless! So it will come as little surprise that we ended up jogging from the hotel to Lakes Runner for the recce start a little after 9am.

It was great to see that the coach too was late, so we were able to loiter nonchalantly like nothing was wrong and it also gave us a chance to catch up with some of the runners we had met at the event in the summer. There were a few other runners with dogs, but Benny seemed unconcerned by them, so I was pleased. A little after 9.15 we were off...

We kept with the group for the first mile or so. This was the part of the course in the summer that I had decided to tackle solo in the dark after being in a group with people that had known better than I where we were supposed to be running. When I had last been at Lake Runner on that night in July I had actually felt like a bit of a fraud having run 35 odd miles or so without having to navigate once, so had set off into the night alone, armed only with my head torch, map and road book on the way to Chapel Stile. Back then, all had gone well for a couple of miles, but then I had begun to panic when a supposed third gate seemingly failed to appear on the path I was following, and in my dithering other runners had caught up with me and I fell back into following. This was one of the other reasons I really wanted to recce the course; next year, I want to know where I'm going, and maybe help others who are in the situation I was this summer.

I cannot tell you how unbelievably different it all looked in daylight! I recognised the key features that had allowed me to follow the instructions in the road book, but the rest of the surroundings, which were invisible in the light of a head torch, were totally unlike anything I had imagined. The bubble of light I had run in then was expanded to show the most beautiful scenery (well, it is the Lakes after all).

However, back to the recce. Benny was coping well with the terrain, the company, the other dogs. But there was one thing that I hadn't anticipated...sheep! As a collie-x raised in a city, it appears the little Bear had never seen a sheep before and to say he was keen to get closer and find out more is a bit of an understatement. So started a dispute that was to last for the whole of the run; whenever we encountered sheep, I would have to battle to keep him on course and on task, but to give him his due, he did respond when asked. By the time we reached the first checkpoint, the runners on the recce were fairly spaced out and we were among the tail-enders, but I had never intended to run at pace - pottering was order of the day.

The stretch between Chapel Stile and Tilberthwaite I need to keep revisiting if I am to crack the route past Blea Tarn - it is indistinct and boggy in daylight, at night it is a proper mystery. It also has two ladder stiles, which I suspect will become Benny and mine nemeses. The first one we encountered, I lifted Benny onto the platform, then encouraged him to make a leap off on to the other side. Which he did. And he landed in two foot of bog, sank, rolled over a boulder and certainly did not enjoy the experience. So when we reached the second (less than 100 yards further on) he was, understandably, less than keen to repeat the leap. I lifted him on to the platform, clambered over and tried to lift him down and here we came unstuck again. There is a reason there are ladder stiles over these obstacles, the walls are very high, but I am not very tall. To keep my balance I had to try and lift Benny while keeping either a foot on the floor or the first step, meaning Benny ended up above my head. Now, I can see this from his point of view, but I was less than amused at the time, as he decided the best way down was actually to hitch a lift off the top by sitting on my head. May I remind you that he had just waded through deep bogs? He then proceeded to slide down my face, onto my shoulder, chest, waist and down to the floor. You can only imagine the mess I ended up in. To compound the situation, the faff-age over the stile had held us up considerably and I could see the rest of the back-of-the-pack runners disappearing into the distance. It looked like my navigation was about to be properly tested.

However, I was rescued (again) by the arrival of a fellow runner, and double L50 veteran who knew the course well. She was, unfortunately, having a bit of a bad day and had found herself unable to run comfortably. I took the decision we were better off sticking together; it would give me more time to set the course in my head, it wouldn't push Benny too hard and it would give our new friend some company, which I hope was appreciated - I always find it's nice to have someone to chat to when you feel a bit lousy as it takes your mind off things. So we pottered off, chatting and walking the rest of the way to the Tilberthwaite checkpoint.

The final stretch takes you up the Tilberthwaite quarry and down in to Coniston. Many runners seemed to have taken various cakes and snacks from the checkpoint to nibble as they climbed the rocky steps, however, they must have had some hand-mouth coordination issues and spread tidbits of food all the way to the summit. I think Benny hoovered up every crumb! It is not easy to climb a rocky path while attached to a scavenging hound, trust me. It is a mere three miles to the decent and home to Coniston, but it is the most brutal decent of the whole course. I took the decision to let Benny off-harness for safety. I did wonder whether he would be a little fatigued after fifteen miles, but he set off, revelling in the freedom, running ahead of me, behind me, having a whale of a time, while I staggered down. The recent rain had made the path pretty treacherous in patches and I did slip and land on my bottom at several points. But soon enough, we were on the road home and staggering into Coniston and toward the beautiful sight of the end.

Well, what did I learn from running with Benny on the recce? We need to work on our harnessed descents. We need to practise getting over stiles. We need to help Benny become desensitised to sheep. I need to buy some knee-high waterproof socks for getting through bogs. We need to revisit this section of the course and go over it again and again.
Oh, and I need to pack my own kit in the car before we leave.

But most of all, I learnt that we have every chance of completing this awesome event this summer, together. I learnt that we have adopted a fantastic little dog that has a boundless spirit  (a love of jam sandwiches) and enthusiasm for all I ask of him. I think it's going to be a fun year :o)