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Perkins Great Eastern Run – Sunday 14th October 2018

I left Peterborough at around midday on Sunday 14th October and drove home, cold wet and pretty miserable, caring for little other than a warm shower and to try and move on from what had just taken place over the past one hour and fifteen minutes or so. I should have been close to euphoric. I’d just my second fastest ever half marathon (fastest if you go by what Power of 10 reckons I’ve raced…) and claimed my best ever age grade race result by pretty much one whole percent yet all I could think about was what could and should have been the best race of my life.

The Perkins Great Eastern Run (GER) had been my target race for the autumn pretty much as soon as I’d self inflicted a prolonged summer break from racing with injury at the Woodhall Spa 10K. This half marathon in Peterborough has a reputation for being the fastest in the region; what it lacks in beautiful scenery and rolling countryside it makes up in near pancake flat roads as it takes you through a sometimes dizzying tour out of central Peterborough and to the outskirts of the north of the city and back.

The summer holiday 21 10 mile+ runs had seen me in great shape and ever since I’d clocked a surprise 17:00 at Belton House parkrun it had been a case of trying to just do enough training to prolong the form. As the race approached I felt perhaps I’d lost perhaps just the tiniest amount of pace (Not helped by some tough weekends of F1 work) but still in decent enough shape to be looking to at least crack 75 minutes at the GER and hopefully beat my HM PB (set at Grunty Fen) of 1:14:46.

Given that 2018 has been undoubtedly the year of racing (or not being able to race) in extreme weather conditions, it should have come as no surprise that the GER would be struck with some pretty inclement conditions. Driving down the A1 not long after 7am with the rain battering my windscreen did not fill my heart with joy, especially as the forecast had predicted this weather and was very confident indeed that it would remain wet, at times very wet, all through the morning and well into the early afternoon.

Some people would rejoice at some conditions – the rain after all does do a great job in keeping the body cool so if you are a runner prone to overheating then if you can live with the discomfort of being wet then these conditions could be seen as close to ideal. The wind, although not still and at times noticeable in the race, was barely a factor and the official temperature was 14C, although it was most likely around 10C when the rain fell at its strongest.

History has suggested that I don’t race that well in very wet conditions. I don’t necessarily mind running in the rain – a bit of light drizzle is perfect in my eyes (not literally though, that is a bit of a nightmare). It’s when I am racing and I am struggling to stay warm in heavy rain that I feel I am losing out to the weather, especially when it is cold. The worst case was the Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon of 2017, so cold and wet it was that my quads all but locked and led to me now always racing in my compression shorts. Even the race I won in the rain (the Stilton Stumble 10K) I suffered badly from quad cramps, and it actually stopped raining not long after the start.

I arrived at the race venue two hours ahead of the race start. The car parks were already starting to fill. I had a little panic over which car park I was allowed to be in having booked it online. I don’t think it made a difference but the little panic as I moved car parks hoping I wouldn’t violate obscure T&Cs kept my mind occupied for longer than it should have. Walking to the the race village it soon became clear that the race wasn’t really geared up for preparations in heavy rain. There were no official changing facilities, people huddled under any place they could. I, and many others, sought sanctuary in the information tent, where far too many people in too small a space tried to keep warm and / or get changed into their race kit.

Kit changed and the first trip to the portaloos done, I returned to the car to sit around for a bit. I hadn’t seen any of the 40+ Grantham Running Club members taking part in the race, I can only assume that they, like me, and many others, were waiting in their cars until the last possible minute before making their way to the start or a queue for the toilets.

An hour before the start I went for a one and a half mile warm up which did little to warm me up, especially when I was soaked to the bone by a large car that went through a very large puddle at undiminished speed, putting my already questionable mood into a state of near gutter level gloom – gutters that were struggling to contain the volume of water that was falling. Back at the car I stripped out of the soaked tracksuit bottoms and top, deciding as it was still not actually that cold to go with the GRC T-shirt, rather than long-sleeved top, and gloves. I also opted to keep on the racing cap I’d worn during the warm up. The last time I race in this I think it was the last really warm London Marathon (Not this year’s the one before, years ago). I think it was a smart move, although I did struggle to keep it on at times!

I returned to the race village and queued again for the portaloos, shivering quite uncontrollably, spending longer on the toilet than I needed to just because it was somewhere warmer and drier. I then returned to the car (again!) as I’d decided that the gloves I was wearing, now soaked as though they had been in a washing machine that had forgotten to spin, were as useless at keeping my hands warm as no gloves at all. The car park was now fairly flooded, I made my way carefully to avoid the worst of the puddles, which was fairly pointless really as my trainers were already saturated.

I made one very last trip to the toilets, making my way to the start line around ten minutes before the start. I got myself pretty close to the front, not with the elites, who had their own pen to warm up in, but up and close with runners who looked pretty serious in their club vests and very flat racing flats. Me in my Hokas, t-shirt, shivering uncontrollably, could not have looked more out of place, frankly.

Five minutes before the off we were walked to the start line, trying our best to skirt the small pool that covered the road. The start should have been at 10:30 but it was delayed by five interminably long minutes as I assume they were ensuring the roads were closed and cleared. I seem to recall some small talk with a fellow runner who also appeared to be suffering a bit with the cold. I think we said the usual cliche of we’ll soon warm up once we get running, before we were finally called to our starting orders.

I think I made a terrible start, one of the worst I’ve made in recent years. It was terrible in that it was tardy, very slow to pick up the pace, feeling so cold and stiff, then having to work really hard to get into a decent rhythm. Looking back with the benefit of a few weeks’ hindsight, it may have actually been quite a good start, easing myself gently into the race rather than trying to hit race pace from the off. The mile split was 5:48, but given that I was well over six minute mile pace for the opening minute or two it showed I had to run a fair bit quicker than that in the latter part of the mile to bring the split time down.

Mile two was a little better (5:44), but still the HR struggled to get up to what I’d expect it to in a half marathon. I did though benefit from some advice to hug the inside of the road on a never ending left hand bend around Central Park, which saved me several seconds over those who were taking the go-kart line (that’s the outside of the bend) perhaps because it was so wet and rainy.  Mile three I began to get into the race. I’d got into a group of around eight runners, one of whom (Portuguese I think) was keen to get a rapport going between the runners, very eager to have the pack share the pace making, but annoyingly appearing to slow down in front of me when he took the pace.

Mile three was 5:35 and I felt warmed up and ready to race. Not enjoying tripping over the runners in front of me, as we hit a little rise crossing over the A47 (probably the biggest climb in the race), I pushed on the pace to see who would go with me.  Around four did, none of whom were willing to help share the pace. So, having run a 5:34 mile four I deliberately eased up to force someone else to take the pace on. This they did and for another mile or so I continued to run well, strangely enjoying the numerous twists and turns as we ran from one housing development to another.

Mile 5 was 5:39, mile 6 slowed to 5:47, but it was the most uphill mile of the race (Barely uphill though to be honest) and I recall we faced the worst of the headwind as we went along the seemingly never ending Lincoln Road, with the rain falling heavier than ever. As we went through halfway I seem to recall the official clock had us going through just ahead of schedule to break 75 minutes, but a few moments later a runner I was with asked me the question ‘are we on to break 75 minutes?’ My watch (Again running the awesome Peter’s Race Pacer app) said we were due to finish in 1:15:20.

He seemed to heed this warning for as we turned right into David’s Lane (Which felt more like a footpath, covered with fallen leaves) he pushed on the pace a touch, taking with him most of the remainder of the group (including the Portuguese runner). Had I been in a more fighting mood I think I would have gone with them. But I was cold. I was wet. I was looking at my heart rate. The average had barely gone above 168, which is right at the lower end of what I’d expect in a half marathon. It was beginning to drop. Mile 7 averaged 166, then miles 8 through to 12 averaged 165. That’s my marathon heart rate. I can only assume that the cold weather was seeing my body divert resources from the act of running fast to the act of trying to keep warm. As the rain continued to fall hard, there was little I could do but try as best I could and ignore the fact that I was feeling really cold, my trainers were dying, and I was still on target to finish just outside 75 minutes.

Mile 7 was 5:41, miles 8 and 9 5:37 and 5:42. In hindsight these aren’t bad miles but I felt like I should have been running quicker. By now I was more or less running alone, just one guy who I traded places with on a few occasions without actually helping pace one another, who I remember because he was wearing a lurid fluro pink t-shirt for a charity which appeared to have a lot of local support.

Mile 10 was 5:44, mile 11 5:43 – it was here we ran back on the roads we went out on at miles 3 and 4 although I can’t say I really recognised them – there are very few memorable features on this course. The only reason I knew we had run on them was because there were backmarkers heading in the opposite direction, culminating with the sweep vehicles, one of whom almost literally did sweep me up as I took a right hand turn into the path of a street cleaning vehicle.

It was at around this stage that I caught what I believe is the second placed woman, who I quickly made the effort to pass and pull clear of, not because I have any sense of needing to beat a female, but because she had an awkward running style that appeared to have her knees twisting at all sorts of funny angles and given that I’m pretty screamish about knees, I knew I couldn’t stick behind her.

With her passed I set about making it to the finish, constantly looking at my watch which resolutely predicted that I was going to finish in 1:15:20. Mile 12 was 5:40, the final mile appeared to last an eternity as we sploshed through near flooded roads. I latched onto the back of a runner who, wearing a black and white striped vest, I assumed, wrongly, ran for Shaftsbury Barnet Harriers (The colours of the pacers at the London Marathon). He carried me from mile 12 almost to the end, except he was able to put a sprint on from the 400 meters to go sign and I simply wasn’t able to, the problems this time were feet that were beginning to go numb from the cold and a stomach that really didn’t like the cereal that for some unfathomable reason (I have a bad history with cereal and racing) I’d decided to have for breakfast.

I crossed the line in 1:15:17, I made three seconds up on the time my watch had predicted I would finish in since halfway. I must have been annoyed/cold as I totally forgot to stop my watch for around half a minute after I crossed the finish line – the first time I can ever recall doing this (It’s an action more autonomous than breathing). Annoyingly the Portuguese runner crossed the finish line in 1:14:57, I think all the other runners I was with at halfway broke 75 minutes – if only I’d just been able to keep with them at mile 7. I think I would have stayed with them to the end.

I picked up my medal, bag, and other bits and bobs then hot-footed it as quick as possible to the nearest portaloo. From there it was straight to the car and home. I had left before 1:24 finishers had crossed the finish line. I felt bad that I wasn’t around to cheer home the 35+ GRC runners, but I was very cold, very miserable, and wasn’t willing to stand around in the rain for a second longer than I had to. I think I made the right choice to head home – my lips were still purple two hours after I had got home….

A few weeks to reflect has eased the disappointment a touch, but I am still full of what if?  and if only? The fact it was my highest ever age grade (83.92%) eased the disappointment a little but if I’d run what I think I was capable of I think 85% was on the cards. It was my second quickest half marathon but I’ve waited years to be able to run the quickest half in the region and I am still a bit gutted that I couldn’t quite perform to the level I think I was at, possibly because, once again in 2018, the weather has consigned to be against me.

I didn’t have too long to feel down because my next race was in two weeks time – and it was one of my favourites!

 

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The ‘2018 Tour of Britain’ Leg Five – Bunree (Onich)

 

Bunree Caravan Club Site – probably the best backdrop we’ve stayed at (And the poorest weather!)

Bunree lies just north of Onich on the eastern shore of Loch Linhe and consists of little more than a few houses and a Caravan Site. With the A82 nearby however it is only a few miles from Glencoe and Fort William – which is the main town in this part of the Scottish Highlands and just a few miles from Ben Nevis.

Glen Nevis before the rain again came down!

While the views are undoubtedly spectacular, poor weather for the majority of out three day stay meant our tourist exploits were limited to an afternoon in Fort William, a very wet walk in Glen Nevis, and an enjoyable short walk up to Inchree Falls – just a mile or so away from where we were staying – where we were also able to spot some red squirrels!

Day 13 – Tuesday 14th August 2018 – Lost the woodland trail so played it safe on the A82…

Not long after arriving at the spectacular Bunree Caravan Site I was reading the welcome brochure over lunch and it soon became clear that the place to head to for my first run was the nearby Glen Righ Forest, which promised miles of paths and tracks – ideal for walking and mountain biking. They didn’t specify running per se but I knew that this could be a runner’s playground!

It was a wet and wild afternoon in the Highlands so I was a little delayed heading out as the caravan’s awning was doing it’s best impression of being a sail as we struggled to attach it to the caravan and peg it down before it blew away.  Finally at 3:40 pm I was on my way – thankfully the rain had stopped and the wind began to die down, the sun even threatened to make an appearance!

Half a mile of single track road later and I was on the busy A82, but it was just a case of crossing it and heading onto a small road that took me through the small village of Inchree and on to the Glen Righ Forest car park. There was an information board which offered up two circular walks – one was to the Inchree Falls, the other called Wades Road Walk, named after the Military Road.

I wanted to save the waterfalls experience as a family one so I opted for the Wades Road Walk, which was advertised as 3.8 km long. I set off along a trail which was narrow but very well maintained and not that technical as it made it’s way rapidly deep into the heart of the forest.

The photo doesn’t do justice to the colours in this forest (and the severity of the climb!)

The trail may not have been technical, but boy was it steep! My first mile, that took me to the car park, was a 7:34, my second mile 9:01, but Strava GAP rates it as a 6:12, having climbed 440 feet in just over 3/4s mile at an average of 9%, with a savage section of just 0.13 mile which averages 17% on the Strava Segment. I’m not sure the steepest bit of it is 72.7% as Strava claims, but I reckon it was around 33% for around 20 seconds of running. Given that I did this section at 10:47 per mile pace, yet sit third in the Strava segment gives an idea of its severity. The amusingly spoonerised segment for the entire climb Hairway to Steven has me second, a minute off the leader, which would have been less had I not stopped to take the photo above!

Arguably the most scenic half mile of running on my Tour in Glen Righ Forest.

Just as I felt like my legs would give up completely, thankfully the climb fizzled out as I presumably joined the Old Military Road. Following the coloured post I took a left turn or two and began to drop back down the hill I had just risen. It was probably a combination of the adrenaline still coursing through me after the hill as I began to hurtle downhill, the sun just attempting to break through after four days of thick cloud cover and the stunning scenery, with views of the forest, the mountains and the Loch below, but this half mile of running (as shown in the photo above) was perhaps the most enjoyable and scenic of the entire Tour.

Alas the views were not to last forever as the descent got steeper and steeper and dropped back into the forest, round some pretty tight alpine style hairpin bends. I think I missed the turning back to the car park for I continued to drop, quite quickly (a 6:22 third mile) past some holiday lodges and suddenly onto the A82. I had to rely on Google Maps to advise me that I had popped out around a third of a mile north from where I had last seen the popular A road.

Luckily for me, although the overwhelming majority of the A82 has no pavement and is wholly unsuitable for running on, this section did in the form of a shared cycle path. Even more fortunate was the presence of an information board just a little way along the road which explained that this cycle path ran from North Ballachulish to Fort William, using the Corran Ferry and the continuation of the path on the A861 to offer cyclists especially an alternative route to Fort William, avoiding the busy A82.

The Corran Ferry – one of the few remaining ferry services in the Highlands – taking passengers from the A82 to the A861.

With less than four miles covered I knew that I would have to do plenty of exploring to make up the ten miles. I had wanted to spend longer on the forest tracks, but didn’t really fancy another long climb up. Instead I first turned right onto the A82 and headed down to the Corran Ferry crossing, which had a boat just about to depart. Free to foot passengers, I briefly considered taking the short journey across the water but, thought the better of it given that my stomach was giving a few distress signals.

I decided I would instead head back initially to the caravan site to use the toilet facilities before using the cycle path on the A82 towards North Ballachulish to make up the distance. Relieved of stomach cramps I was soon back on the main A82, enjoying a cycle path that was, at that time, used by no-one other than myself.

There was around a mile of running to take me from Bunree to the more populated village of Onich, which sits mostly on the A82 and features a large number of B&Bs, which offer splendid views of, and easy access to the shores of Loch Linhee, which when I dived briefly off the road to take a photo, felt and smelled far more like a sea beach than the side of a lake.

I ran along a bit further, the cycle path looking a lot more like a pavement and barely suitable as a means of taking bikes along. I got to within 3/4s mile or so of Ballachulish Bridge – fortunately for me as someone who really does not like crossing bridges, it was time to turn around and head back to keep the run at 10 miles. The pace had picked up by itself almost without effort, the final three miles 6:21, 6:22, and 6:11 as I enjoyed the relatively flat terrain and good surface underneath me.

All that was required once returning to the Caravan Park was a quick lap of the site to ensure the run came in at over 10 miles, taking in the fine views around us and making it over to the laundry room to deposit my well worn running clothing!

Split Summary
===
1) 1m – 7:35(7:35/m) 121/139bpm 81cal 7.92/8.75mph
2) 1m – 9:01(9:01/m) 149/162bpm 134cal 6.65/8.87mph
3) 1m – 6:22(6:22/m) 131/144bpm 68cal 9.43/9.87mph
4) 1m – 6:56(6:56/m) 126/147bpm 63cal 8.66/9.29mph
5) 1m – 6:51(6:51/m) 135/143bpm 81cal 8.76/9.54mph
6) 1m – 6:37(6:37/m) 144/147bpm 92cal 9.07/9.48mph
7) 1m – 6:31(6:31/m) 140/147bpm 81cal 9.2/9.73mph
8) 1m – 6:20(6:20/m) 148/155bpm 90cal 9.47/10.21mph
9) 1m – 6:23(6:23/m) 153/159bpm 96cal 9.41/11mph
10) 1m – 6:10(6:10/m) 153/158bpm 92cal 9.72/10.4mph
11) 0.18m – 1:09(6:29/m) 132/153bpm 9cal 9.26/9.89mph

Best Strava Segment Performances: Hairway to Steven – 2nd/90; Onich to Keppanach – 2nd/51.

Day 14 – Wednesday 15th August 2018 – More time in Glen Righ Forest

With road based options limited, unless I wanted to catch a ferry, the nearby Glen Righ Forest with the promise of miles and miles of forest tracks and footpaths was bound to be the spot at which I would spend the vast majority of my time at Bunree running. After a wet and wild night that made sleep difficult in the caravan, it was a fairly tardy 8:40 am before I set off for the Day 14 in the 21 day run challenge.

I decided I would head initially on the forest track I exited the forest from the afternoon before and carry on running to see where it would take me. This route up to the quarry was not as severe as how I made my way up to the same place the day before, but it was still a mile and a half or so of climbing at an average of 6% which, with legs that had not fully woken up, was something of a challenge. It was surprising to see on my return that I had bagged the existing Strava segment for the climb as I didn’t think I was running particularly fluidly and had clocked a 8:15 mile after an initial 8:13 mile. The devil was in the detail though as I had climbed nearly 600 feet.

Following a brief plateau there was a choice of paths to take. I consulted Google Maps and took the one that appeared to go on for the longest distance.  On I climbed for another mile and a half or so, still heading uphill, but not quite so slowly now the gradient had eased to a more manageable 4% average.

Loch Linhe from Glen Righ Forest – mountains obscured by pesky low cloud.

Once again the views were quite spectacular and I couldn’t help but stop two or three times to take some pictures and just take in the splendour, which would have been even greater were it not for the low cloud that continued to plague our stay in the Highlands.

Just one of many small waterfalls in Glen Righ Forest.

As I climbed the views were typical to those above – scenic Loch to the left of me, forest and numerous small waterfalls to the right. I didn’t want it to end but when the Garmin clicked to around 3.5 miles there was the tell tail signs that this track was not going to last for ever. The road levelled out for a little while followed by what I presume is a large turning circle for quarry vehicles cut into the rock face. Then the gravel track gradually faded to grass, not long after coming to a halt as forest untouched by humans stopped me in my path.

The end of the Road in Glen Righ Forest.

With no alternative but to turn around and head back, it was a more or less a case of relaxing and let gravity do its stuff as I began a long three mile plus descent back down to the A82:  6:26 for mile 5, then 5:49 and 5:38 for miles 6 and 7. As the gradient was not too severe it was an enjoyable descent as I took in the glorious scenery one final time – for I knew that tomorrow I would explore a different part of the forest.

Back on the A82 and with three miles left to fill I decided to do a bit of research for the next day’s run trying to find the forest path on Google Maps that went on much further than any of the other paths. First I headed back to the forest car park where I’d headed to the previous day and began to run towards the Inchree Falls before noting that the map didn’t think this was the right path. Going back on myself it then appeared to show the path cutting through a set of private holiday chalets which most definitely did not have a large track running through it.

Fortunately all this ultimately pointless exploring meant that once I’d returned to the caravan site and done a lap, or maybe two, the ten miles was covered – barely – just 0.03 miles over the required amount. A slightly frustrating end to a run that had begun so beautifully, but I knew there was always tomorrow and hopefully a run along the elusive path deep into the forest!

Split Summary
===
1) 1m – 8:14(8:14/m) 125/146bpm 94cal 7.29/8.41mph
2) 1m – 8:15(8:15/m) 149/155bpm 125cal 7.27/8.01mph
3) 1m – 7:41(7:41/m) 143/157bpm 103cal 7.82/8.66mph
4) 1m – 7:14(7:14/m) 139/156bpm 88cal 8.3/8.58mph
5) 1m – 6:26(6:26/m) 133/142bpm 66cal 9.33/10.29mph
6) 1m – 5:49(5:49/m) 143/150bpm 77cal 10.32/11.37mph
7) 1m – 5:38(5:38/m) 142/149bpm 72cal 10.64/12.06mph
8) 1m – 6:45(6:45/m) 143/152bpm 84cal 8.89/10.48mph
9) 1m – 6:48(6:48/m) 134/148bpm 60cal 8.83/10.14mph
10) 1m – 6:19(6:19/m) 140/150bpm 72cal 9.5/10.08mph
11) 0.04m – 15(6:18/m) 140/140bpm 2cal 9.52/9.58mph

Best Strava Segment Performances: Gate to Quarry – 1st/21; To the end – 1st/11; From top to bottom – 1st/1(!); From A82 to Inchree Carpark – 1st/77.

Day 15 – Thursday 16th August 2018 – As far as I could go without a hard hat.

Our last day in the Highlands brought a slight change to the now conventional timetable where I would run in the morning before heading off somewhere with the family on my return. Because of the poor weather forecast we decided to head off early for our planned walk at Glen Nevis before returning in the afternoon for a run while the kids would be entertained with a film or two we promised they could watch as a reward for their walking efforts.

This plan backfired somewhat when the weather, as we drove to the Ben Nevis Visitor Centre, deteriorated rapidly with a heavy storm only abating 20 minutes or so after we had parked. We managed to enjoy a family walk where we only got quite wet. That was until the last mile or so when the heavens, once again, opened in quite spectacular fashion, leaving us all soaked to the bone and me heading off back to the car to rescue the others huddling under an inadequate tree!

After returning back to the caravan for lunch and a chance to dry off, I set off on my run at just after 4pm. Unlike the past two runs I knew exactly where I was heading. The previous afternoon we had enjoyed a short walk to the Inchree Falls back in Glen Righ Forest. On that circular walk I noted that at a junction in the forest tracks there was a road to the right that matched the long track on Google Maps I had failed to find on my run earlier that morning.

Inchree Falls – well worth another brief stop.

Heading once again to the Inchree car park and setting off on the relatively steep but not too technical path up to the Inchree Falls I had planned to carry on past them as I’d taken the liberty of photographing them the previous day to include on my Strava photos for the run. However, on reaching them with the skies partly cloudy but definitely with some sunshine, the waterfalls were far more photogenic than the day before, so there was an unplanned brief stop to capture their splendour once again.

The path from the waterfalls climbed a little further before reaching the junction, where I turned right and headed along the track to who knew where.  From the walk the previous day I knew that it must lead to something for we were passed by a car or two heading from somewhere. The forest track, although unpaved was in good condition to be driven on and a cattle grid gave more clues that this was not exactly a relic from the past.

Heading to where? In Glen Righ Forest.

As I climbed as far as the road wanted to go I was presented with the view above – the hills and mountains mostly clear to see for the first time since arriving in the Highlands. To the right of me were wild Highland cattle enjoying the pastures. In the distance on the bend I could see a building or two which looked like it served an industrial purpose. As I passed this an LPG lorry squeezed past me. It was quite strange to experience traffic on a road which appeared to be heading deep into nowhere.

I continued running for another couple of miles, the pace very comfortable at around 6:40 a mile, the road twisting and turning gently, a parked car where a moderately sized river (presumably heading to Inchree Falls) hugged the track, a house or two – one long since derelict, the other clearly currently lived in. Then some noise of construction – off the track and in the forest covered hills a small hut and machinery seemingly clearing the trees from the hill and smoothing the ground on the hill itself.

The path took me away from this work for another mile or so when I approached a small bridge and a warning sign telling me in no uncertain terms that entry was forbidden by law unless you were wearing a hard hat. Quite what was beyond the bridge and sign I wasn’t totally sure, but I wasn’t going to risk life and limb to find out, especially as the Garmin had very conveniently just clicked over the five mile mark, making it very conveniently a ten mile out and back run in total if I retraced my steps to the letter.

Heading back to base after reaching as far as I could legally go in Glen Righ Forest.

Just as the photo above was taken the heavens opened once again that day and I was soon pretty wet, but with the legs feeling really good – perhaps the best they’d felt all holiday, and the scenery continuing to delight with every twist and turn, I didn’t mind the rain at all. The return miles back to the A82 were a 6:34, 6:24, 6:13, 6:21 and 6:02 – speeding up as the road began to head downhill for the final mile where I missed the waterfall path and continued on the main track back to the car park. It wasn’t all running however as it  included a brief spell of enforced walking. The ten or so Highland cattle who were on the pastures had settled on the road and although the signs said they were fairly tolerant with humans, I didn’t want to stress them or have them testing their sizeable horns by running towards them in a speedy manner!

Crossing the A82 it was just a case of returning to the Caravan Park. Feeling great still the pace effortless gravitated towards 6 minute miles, but felt as if I was almost jogging. This run may have just have edged it as the most enjoyable on my Tour of Britain: very nearly road and traffic free but on a surface that was easy to run on; some stunning views with a the waterfalls, mountains and forests all looking amazing when the sun peeked through the clouds for the first time in days; an out and back run that forced a turnaround at just at the right moment; and legs that felt as if they were coming into some kind of good form rather than feeling exhausted like they should have been.

With the run done it was time to say goodbye to the Highlands and prepare for the long journey back into England!

Split Summary
===
1) 1m – 7:15(7:15/m) 127/141bpm 86cal 8.27/9.6mph
2) 1m – 7:57(7:57/m) 143/159bpm 110cal 7.55/9.77mph
3) 1m – 6:39(6:39/m) 138/150bpm 84cal 9.03/9.71mph
4) 1m – 6:43(6:43/m) 141/147bpm 89cal 8.94/9.33mph
5) 1m – 6:36(6:36/m) 144/149bpm 91cal 9.08/9.52mph
6) 1m – 6:33(6:33/m) 137/149bpm 74cal 9.15/10.6mph
7) 1m – 6:24(6:24/m) 144/147bpm 85cal 9.37/9.77mph
8) 1m – 6:13(6:13/m) 145/150bpm 81cal 9.65/10.12mph
9) 1m – 6:20(6:20/m) 145/156bpm 79cal 9.47/10.35mph
10) 1m – 6:02(6:02/m) 141/154bpm 67cal 9.93/10.73mph
11) 0.45m – 2:47(6:13/m) 147/152bpm 36cal 9.64/10.5mph

Best Strava Segment Performances (all created by me post run – there were no segments at the time of running):  From A82 to Inchree Carpark – 1st/77; To the Waterfall 1st/1 (bit surprised by this); Random Segment #1 – 1st/29; Back from the warning sign back – 1st/14; Drop back to the car park – 1st/49.

Leg Five Summary

Distance Run: 30.7 miles. Average Pace: 6:48 per mile. Accumulated Time: 3:28:47. Average HR: 140; Total Ascent: 727 meters.

 

 

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Belton House parkrun fun!

Wondering what the ‘paparazzi’ is doing this morning! Me & Pasky. Picture c/o Richard Hall.

During the winter I get plenty of opportunity to take part in Belton House parkrun. I very often run it as part of a long run, so rarely get to run it full gas – at best it’s half marathon HR. I wasn’t expecting to take part in Belton House parkrun #111 as it was a Grand Prix Saturday, but Friday afternoon practice at Baku made me aware that the timetable was a little different from regular European races, meaning I had a crucial extra hour in the morning, meaning I could take get in a quick parkrun before hot footing it back home to begin work.

The weather could not be much different from six days earlier at the London Marathon – light rain, a light to steady breeze and temperatures maxing out at around 7C. It could have been near perfect for Marathon running: in around ten years I may get over the injustice of the unseasonably warm weather we were subjected to for 26.2 miles. In near full winter gear I made the very late decision to add a t-shirt to the thermal top I was already wearing – chance would have it it was the 2018 London Marathon finishers’ t-shirt I’d put in the top of my running drawer.

The shortest distance to run to parkrun for me is just over two miles, I decided to loop a bit longer making it nearer four by the time I lined up the start. More than plenty who were there, but compared to some of my long runs over the winter, where I had 15 or more miles already clocked up, I felt like I’d barely run at all.

Changing the playlist – unaware of the shock I was about to get! Picture c/o Richard Hall.

Running with music pumping into my headphones, like I regularly do, I changed from a Prince playlist (Fantastic, but trying to smash a 5:30 mile to Do Me Baby is kind of tricky!) to my running/spinning playlist, reserved for events where some pumping tunes are required to help keep a good tempo. I kept the earphones out to hear the pre-run briefing before hitting play as the short countdown commenced and we were on our way.

The start. Picture c/o Shaun Parkes.

I often find myself outside the top 15 for the opening km or so of parkrun, but the legs must have felt reasonable (Or the field was a little lethargic) as I was soon into third place, already miles behind the rapidly improving junior runner William Tucker, but closer than usual to the regular man being pulled along by dog combo, who often starts quick before fading a touch.

A swifter than usual start. Picture c/o Richard Hall.

Neither were of much concern to me – I genuinely care little what position I am in a parkrun as it’s not a race. What was concerning me was that the Tiny Tempah track that had began my parkrun had been abruptly replaced by something quite awful which I had to pause for fear of corrupting my mind. I later found to be Michael Buble, accidentally put on by my wife back at home using Spotify on Alexa. To correct this heinous mistake would have meant getting my phone out which, while running comfortably below six minute miles, was not practicable. So I had to make do with the relative sound of silence.

Persistent rain meant the gravel track out to the Lion Gates was a bit of a splash fest, although it has been worse. The same could be said for the rest of the grass 2.5km loop, which was wet, but not as slippy and muddy as it has been this winter. Leaving the gravel path and onto the grass, Chris Limmer came onto my shoulder. He is training for a 100 mile race this Saturday, but his diet of long runs seems to be paying dividends for his 5K pace, as he has had some good runs in recent weeks.

His presence must have seen me pick up the pace for we soon caught and passed man with dog as we ran alongside the golf course. Along the ‘back straight’ where the mole hills make running a bit of a nightmare. Chris pulled past me. Tucking into his slipstream I had visions of this being New Years Eve v2, where Greg Southern and I paced each other around to my course PB of 17:00.

Beginning lap 2 and feeling good – for now. Picture c/o Shaun Parkes.

Letting Chris take the pace for a minute or so I pulled back past him and just increased the pace slightly. Unfortunately for the benefit of a quicker time, Chris was just unable to stick to my tail and I eased slowly ahead. We had clocked 5:38 for the first mile, but heading off the gravel path on the second lap back towards the golf course, Garmin flashed a 5:25 mile.

The second lap – leading Chris and legs beginning to burn! Picture c/o Richard Hall.

On a good day I’d be able to maintain that pace for the rest of the parkrun. At that moment I just began to feel the marathon in my legs and also in my mind and I just had to let the pace slip a touch. It wasn’t a killer final mile but it was certainly a bit of an effort to get to the finish. 5:38 was the third mile split with barely any sprint finish to speak of. William finished first in a cracking course PB of 17:01, I came home second in 17:27, with Chris third in 17:41.

Coming into the finish – P2! Picture c/o Shaun Parkes.

I didn’t have long to recover for I had a couple of miles to run to get home so I could begin work. I was able to correct the Spotify issue and had the pumped up running tracks to help me home. The final run stats came in at 9.5 miles at 6:19 average, with the parkrun the fastest at Belton House since January 2017. So much for taking it easy after the marathon! In all seriousness, hopefully it bodes well for a good summer of racing. I think I am in fairly good shape and if I can avoid injury and illness some good things are possible.

 

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Race Report – Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon – Sunday 5th March 2017

Returning to the scene of my best ever race (I finished second in 2016), the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon was an eagerly anticipated affair. Looking at the entry list beforehand I knew the chances of going one better or even equaling my performance were slim as the 2016 winner Adam Holland was back to defend his title, as was 2015 victor Ian Bailey. Still, on occasion, I allowed myself to dream what if they didn’t turn up? what if they had a bad race? Could I possibly win?!

Pre race training was a mixed bag. Beset by a succession of colds and a lingering chest infection that may or may not have been caused or aggravated or prolonged by possible over training, there was a nagging knowing that I went into the race just a touch below 100%. The long runs had been really good, many interspersed with a mid run parkrun, the longest being 24 miles. The marathon paced runs had been reasonable, but they and many of the bike rides I went on felt as though there wasn’t much more to give beyond the Zone 3 HR limits these efforts entailed. Running up hills and cycling up them at any great effort felt particularly arduous.

At least I wasn’t going into the race injured, even if I did try my best slipping on an icy bridge while on an early morning run earlier in the week. The right hip was a bit bruised and sore but didn’t appear to affect my running. I enjoyed something of an easy week, resting up completely the day before the race.

Race day dawned cloudy but the fear was that the weather would take a turn for the worse some time around the planned start time of 10:30am. I enjoyed the luxury of living within a warm up from the race HQ, warming up at home and jogging the two miles to the start. That jog felt easy enough but the heart rate was really high – nerves perhaps. I took that as a positive, proof that I was up for this race. Still dry, if breezy, it felt fairly warm. I opted to jettison the tights, going for shorts, long socks, long sleeved top and gloves combo.

Then, around 45 minutes before the start, the rain began to fall. Icy cold rain. Buckets of it. Relentlessly, driven in by a cold stiff wind. People did their best to seek shelter. It all got quite crowded, so I popped over to the leisure center where I could finish getting changed in the comfort of not that many people being around. I made a last minute decision to add a hat to the apparel. Unfortunately I chose not to put on the tights, a decision I think I came to regret.

Grandstand makes for refuge shelter. Picture c/o Gordon Geach.

Ten minutes before the start and there was no eagerness from anyone to head to the start line, the same with five minutes to go. I opted to run around the track and seek shelter in the grandstand, an option that soon became quite popular. The start time came and went, no sign of the starter, runners making their way in dribs and drabs to the grandstand. As I stood shivering with the rain showing no sign of abating, any pre-race nerves were replaced with apathy, a distinct lack of desire to subject myself to a freezing cold soaking. The only solace was that it appeared that no-one else seemed that determined to race, as no-one volunteered themselves to head to the start line until they were ushered to do so by the race starter.

No enthusiasm to join the start line as heavy rain falls. Picture c/o Gordon Geach.

Despite lack of enthusiasm I was one of the first onto the race track for the start, lining up on the inside of lane one. The pre-race formalities was mercifully brief save for a countdown that the starter insisted on being from ten to zero, much to the mirth of the drowning rats in lycra.

The start of the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon. Picture c/o Gordon Geach
The start of the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon. Picture c/o Graeme Jones

Finally off,  I made a brisk start and, thanks to being on the inside of the bend, briefly led as we exited the stadium, thankful that the rain that had been lashing into our faces on the start line, was now pushing us along as a tail wind.

The start of the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon. Picture c/o Gordon Geach

That brief moment of euphoria leading the race, as I did in 2016 was even briefer than 12 months earlier and ended in farce. Exiting the stadium we were confronted by two young boys wandering across our paths. In a split second decision, I and a few others chose to veer to the right, while the majority veered to the left. Those who veered left thankfully told those who veered right were heading in the wrong direction! I only lost four or five seconds but it cost me precious momentum and several places.

I didn’t have time to rue the lack of marshaling to prevent such an occurrence, I put my head down and tried to make up the places I had lost. The first mile heading to Barrowby was 5:39 which was pretty much bang on what I was hoping for, but already the first two – Adam and Ian, were well out of sight. A quick count up the road saw that I was sixth. On the second mile heading down the Drift towards the canal I passed the fifth place runner. Into the headwind he latched onto my heels and stuck to them. Into the headwind I was a bit perturbed by this but as we headed to the canal path and enjoyed a tail wind and a lessening of the rain, I was not upset that he didn’t want to help with the pace. The canal path was probably the wettest it has ever been when I’ve run along it, more puddles than solid ground it seemed, and I was grateful to have clear line of sight as I attempted to keep the fourth placed runner in check.

Splashing along the canal path. Picture c/o organisers.
Splashing along the canal path. Picture c/o organisers.

What was obvious to me now was that my heart rate was some way short of where I’d expect it during a half marathon, seeming to settle at or ever so slightly above my marathon heart rate. I was struggling to keep warm – my quads especially cold, I was struggling to maintain enthusiasm for the race and, moreover, the signs in recent training that the colds and chest infection were affecting the top 1% of my fitness were being borne out. The splits was between 5:40 and 5:50, which was okay given the conditions, but a little slower than perhaps I would have liked and certainly much slower than in 2016, when I was edging towards 5:30 on the canal path.

After three miles of canal path we exited at the Dirty Duck pub in Woolsthorpe. This was a key moment as the guy who had stuck to my heels failed to negotiate the treacherously slippery muddy exit around the style. I had learnt my lesson from the icy bridge on Wednesday and took extreme care. He went into the corner a little more aggressively and paid the price – a loud groan and soft thud I heard as he went down – thankfully without damage and without too much time lost. I pressed on, knowing that the first of the course’s main challenges – Woolsthorpe Hill lay just ahead.

Knowing the hill and its profile well I adopted a steady pace and went about getting up it with as little energy expended as possible. As in 2016 I didn’t think I was particularly effective up the hill, but I was able to close down the 15 or so second gap on the fourth placed runner and passed him two thirds of the way up the hill. I also managed to aggravate my left hip flexor, which loosened off a touch on the resultant downhill but never felt great for the remainder of the race.

As in 2016, the normal prevailing wind which blows you most of the way from Woolsthorpe to home was blowing in a near opposite direction, which meant that the normally quick run down to Denton was made much tougher, especially as there was little prospect of sheltering behind another runner. The third placed man was someway up the road, All I had to do was consolidate my fourth place with some steady running, which I did with a set of sub 5:50 miles through to mile ten and the approach to the stiffest challenge on the course – Casthorpe Hill.

Not quite as comfortably fourth as I thought. Picture c/o race organisers.

Before the climb itself there was a large ford to navigate as the road had flooded. I managed to get through unscathed, but the feet once again got a good soaking. I had a quick look back at the base of the hill and realised that the gap from me to those behind was far less than I had expected. Given that the climb of the hill felt truly horrible and an effort to even remain running as I neared the top, I felt sure that I would be caught. As it turned out, however bad I felt, it wasn’t as bad as those behind me for I would end up with the fastest time of the day on the Strava segment for the entire hill (most of the top ten are on Strava).

As I topped the hill and knew it was pretty much downhill all the way from Barrowby back to the Meres Leisure Centre, it was simply a case of ignoring the headwind and keeping things steady to the finish. The climbing of the hill had doubled my gap to the fifth placed runner, there was no chance of him catching me barring disaster. Last year when I entered the stadium I was also fourth, but the closeness of the race meant a sprint finish saw me come home second just behind Adam the winner. This year Adam had long since finished victorious in a big new PB of 1:12, Ian Bailey second in almost exactly the same time I ran in 2016, and David Greenwood was third forty seconds clear of myself, who finished in 1:18:01, a sub 78 clocking missed perhaps courtesy of waving and smiling a bit too much at my family who I spotted at the finish.

Coming into the finish, not really trying too hard! Picture c/o Gordon Geach.
Coming into the finish, not really trying too hard! Picture c/o Graeme Jones.

So it was not a podium finish, fourth and the solace of another V40 prize courtesy of the real first V40 finishing third. The race was something of a disappointment, it left some questions regarding my form which I hope are just a temporary blip caused by illness. The 2017 Fraction will not live as long in the memory as the 2016 edition, but, in reality third was probably the best I could have hoped for so it wasn’t a disaster by any means. I’m also feeling a lot fresher than I did after the 2016 race which I hope will see me in better shape come the London Marathon, which is the next target.

 

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Race Report – Stilton Stumble 24K – Sunday 16th October 2016

It’s fair to say this race wasn’t on the radar a couple of weeks ago when I finished racing at Nottingham. Indeed it was only when I was compiling a list of local races for the forthcoming week for the Grantham Running Club Facebook page seven days before the 16th October that I stumbled upon the Stilton Stumble. I’d not previously heard of it, but It comes in two shapes, the 10K and the 24K. Being local (A village called Cropwell Bishop, around 15 miles from Grantham) and fairly small it looked an ideal low key race to try and flex my competitive muscles. I went to enter the 10K but it was full. The 24K had spaces, but entries closed at 23:59 on the Sunday night, and it was already around 21:00 BST.

Instinctively and without really thinking about the Achilles injury that persists nor the wisdom of taking part in a race that is the best part of a couple of miles longer than a half marathon, I signed up. Part of the lure was the unashamed prospect of perhaps bagging my first ever road race victory at what I believe would be approximately the 147th attempt. I’d looked at the past winners of the previous three editions, and with one exception – my nemesis at the Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon – Adam Holland, who ran a frankly untouchable 1:23 in 2015, I reckoned I would have had a good chance of beating the other two winners.

The biggest issue was that, since the Robin Hood Half, I hadn’t actually run, planning to take three weeks off in an attempt to rest the sore left Achilles. That had to become two and a half weeks rest as I tested the bugger with a 5k post elliptical trainer and turbo trainer brick run. That was a big success with hardly any discomfort and the fastest time for my fairly oft run 5k loop. I gave it one more test with a Thursday night club run. That was a less happy affair, the Achilles grumbled a bit more as did the left hip and groin.

By Saturday I’d wondered why on earth I’d made the hasty decision to enter, with Achilles grumpy, right calf tight, left hip aching and fighting a cold passed on by the youngest of the bug ridden daughters. Still, I’d paid my money to enter and there was no way I wasn’t going to try and race.

It was fairly dry when I arrived at 8:30, Sunday morning, at Cropwell Bishop. I went to the registration desk – being one of the first to arrive, it wasn’t busy, so I had the opportunity to scan the entry list. I looked for one name – Holland…. It wasn’t there. The helpers on the desk said that he’d turned up on the day last year and won, but there was no entry on the day this year, and he hadn’t entered. Without knowing any of the other names I felt my prospects were instantly good. I told the helpers pretty much that. “Maybe we’ll see you first back at the finish then?” one of them asked. “Maybe you will.” I replied.

Things turned for the worse when the promised rain fell. Steady at first, but progressively harder as the 10 am race start approached. I had managed a fairly miserable warm up where everything ached and nothing wanted to work. Somehow I still reckoned everything would be all right on the night. Back at race HQ and the small hall was full of runners and spectators attempting to shelter from the rain. I managed to find a small alcove outside near the four portaloos, where I could stay relatively dry. Twenty minutes before the off I changed into my race kit. With my space gone I queued inside for the men’s toilets. I had no real need to do anything once it was my turn, but I got to spend ten minutes by a warm radiator, which felt lovely.

At 9:50 I headed out into the wet and cold for perhaps the most uncomfortable pre-race briefing ever hold. Chilled to the bone at its conclusion, we were instructed to walk to the start where there was an interminable two or three minute wait for ten am to come. This start was pure old school: roads closed with 30 seconds to spare, race start banner hauled across the line, a brief countdown from 5 to 1 and we were off.

I didn’t want to take the lead right from the start but with no-one willing to do so I kind of found myself at the front by default after around ten seconds of running. As we turned the corner and headed south after less than two minutes running I’d found myself ten to fifteen meters clear in the lead without really doing anything other than setting off at what felt a very comfortable pace.

While the pace felt comfortable and the niggles put to the back of the mind, the weather was pretty appalling. The race photographer had taken shelter in his car as the rain lashed down onto roads that were beginning to flood in places. Mercifully it wasn’t that cold and I’d taken the precaution of wearing gloves to keep the fingers warm, but my kit was saturated and my shorts beginning to suffer something of a malfunction as the weight of the rainwater caused them to sit somewhat uncomfortably.

I knew the odds of victory were good when I passed the first mile in 6:11 (Worth a 6:00 on Strava GAP), yet had a 10 second or so lead over the second and placed runners. Making a determined attempt to keep the effort steady, the heart rate settled a couple of beats above marathon HR, and a few below half marathon. Ideally I would have preferred it to be a bit less but not only did we have the rain to contend with, the first half or so of the race was into a fairly stiff breeze.

Mile 2 was a 6:03, mile 3 a 6:01. The next three miles were similarly paced and I passed through 10k in 38:03. The sixth and seventh miles were the slowest in the race (6:13 and 6:22) as I climbed steadily uphill, Strava GAP has them at 5:59 and 6:02. As I approached Long Clawson the weather deteriorated, if it were an F1 race it would have been stopped. As it was I was all alone with just the lead car and sometimes a man on his bicycle to keep me company. I glanced back occasionally but saw nothing.

Long Clawson was holding the area’s annual Conker Championships. They invited me to stop and play. I politely declined. I passed through halfway in 45:46 and not long after turned direction to head North back to the finish. The wind was at my back and mercifully the rain stopped, even a bit of blue began to reveal itself from what had 20 minutes earlier been the most leaden of skies. I felt I had two choices – either ease off loads and allow others to come into sight before pushing on again or to try and maintain the pace, keeping or extending the gap to allow for any potential late race dramas like a touch of cramp or a ruptured Achilles….

Miles 8, 9 and 10 were the quickest of the race (6:00, 5:59, and 5:57) I was still feeling very comfortable and it was only a tight right calf and a bit of discomfort in the Achilles that concerned me. The next two miles were a touch slower but everything felt in control as I passed through a very flooded Colston Basset and took on some more roads I am now very familiar with on bike rides.

It was here as the roads began to climb a bit that I began to flag. I went through on my watch the half marathon distance in a smidge under 1:20. The right quad began to ache quite a bit, as if it could cramp at any moment and the legs in general just felt a little tired. A mental penalty was that I’d calculated 24K to be 14.3 miles, it transpired at around 13 miles that it was actually pretty much spot on 15 miles. Only an extra 0.7 of a mile to cover, but at the time it felt like a lot.

I should really by now have eased up and slowed to take a comfortable victory but the instinct to always give an honest effort that runners in the lead of races inevitably display kicked in with myself, with the fourteenth mile a 5:59 GAP mile and the fifteenth a real 6:02. It was now I came to the finish to a smattering of applause – many unaware that I was a 24K runner and a straggler from the 10K race which had began 10 minutes after the 24K but had mostly seen all its runners come in. I nearly came a cropper around the final right bend, the tightness of it sending the aching right calf into a cramp like spasm that saw me tread rather gently pass the finish line.

The official time of 1:31:35 was fairly pleasing given the lack of running in previous weeks. On analysing the run back home I was also really pleased with how consistent the splits were, especially when Strava uses its GAP tool – all miles were within 12 seconds of each other. I was soon congratulated by the race organisers and quickly presented with my winners’ medal and with my prize – a large slab of the locally produced Stilton. While happy to receive the spoils of victory, I couldn’t help but express a little disappointment that Stilton is, in my opinion, utterly inedible. To their credit the lovely hosts of the race offered a raffle prize, but I declined – there are plenty of family members who will enjoy a bit of blue mould at Christmas time.

Presented with my prize after winning the Stilton Stumble 24k. Picture c/o Stilton Stumble.
Presented with my prize after winning the Stilton Stumble 24k.
Picture c/o Stilton Stumble.

A quick photograph and that was pretty much that. I had to get back to do some World Endurance Championship work, so, I took advantage of finishing first by over four minutes to be one of the first out of a car park that was rapidly looking a lot like a quagmire. I put my race sunglasses on – unworn during the race, put on some loud music and drove home.

It was an odd sensation winning my first road race. It was pleasing but hardly overwhelming, probably because I was never really pushed and, for the most part, it felt very much like a very wet and somewhat lonely hard training run. Still I hope that it won’t be the last win, I hope that the Achilles recovers quickly and I hope to be running again soon.

Stilton Splits