The Ultra Dream ft Chicken Nuggets and Rainbow Tape
And with that, the first step on the road to the Jungle is complete!
Saturday saw the arrival of the ever-so-slightly daunting 50 mile ultra-marathon over the Scottish hills from Stirling to Perth. This race (importantly more than 65km and classed as a 'trail' race) was necessary to be able to at least enter the ballot in November for the West Highland Way Ultra next year. There's no saying whether a runner will be picked even with the necessary experience, but the WHW would be a massive step towards that all-important ability to run a marathon or more every day for five days across the Amazon in 2020.
I had mixed feelings as this 50 mile ultra approached. I had trained in the style the last three years has taught me to train, rather than the way many other long-distance runners train, and this had paid off with less injury time and more successful long runs. Helpful cross-training (rather than some of the fannying around I used to do) and spending enough time actually doing the exercises my physio gave me also went a long way to making me feel ready.
And that was just the thing: I felt ready. Ish. Was this 'ready'? I was prepared and felt good - did that mean I was ready? My longest single run had been almost 40 miles, and my back-to-backs had equated to the same. But those had been on undulating hills; my steep hill training had all been short distances, no more than 11 miles. Obviously needing something to worry about, I started fretting over the fact none of my long stuff had been in the hills...
Sitting in my hotel room on Friday night, the night before the race, I couldn't help but find it funny how the start of this faintly crazy journey to get to the jungle was almost the mirror image of the first race on the road to Everest: sitting in a hotel room, alone with my thoughts, taping up my legs and considering an on-foot journey between two cities the very next morning.
It was then I realised how different things actually are now. For one: my tape was rainbow coloured. RAINBOW coloured! And for another: aside from a lingering thought my hill runs may not have been long enough, the gnawing, crippling doubt I'd had two and a half years ago as I shakily applied the last strip of tape to my shin, wasn't there now!
Oh my God, I thought to myself. I'm an ultra-runner! An actual proper one! Whether I had a good or bad run tomorrow, I was going to finish it. That was a certainty in my mind; and not just one I was forcing myself to think through gritted teeth. This was how I'd imagined proper ultra-runners felt before races, and now it was how I felt.
I slept soundly without too much panicking I might sleep in, and got up to severely talc myself at 3.30am, ready for the bus at 5am. With enough porridge, caffeine and green tea down me to power a small ship, I heaved my bag full of checkpoint bags to the park we would be picked up from. The brilliant race organisers were allowing a checkpoint bag at every station. EVERY STATION! So I was making full use and keeping my running pack as light as possible.
Despite leaving the hotel at 25 minutes to 5 and the park only being a 10 minute walk away, I was convinced I was going to miss the damn thing. It was public transport and it was me. The two are renownedly at odds.
Of course, I didn't miss the bus. They tend not to leave at 4.45 when the advertised departure is 5...funnily enough. The old bus driver took a good look at us, before making up his mind what we must be and remarking on our day of "hill walking" ahead. Nobody corrected him...probably in an attempt to make the day of racing seem a little less brutal in each of our heads.
Reaching Stirling University with only one fraught discussion about directions between driver and previous race participant, we piled into the warmth of the building to sort out our bags and final details. As far as races go, Ochil must be one of the friendliest and most laid back. Not once did I feel hurried, stressed or uneasy and, without too much hanging around in the cold outside, we were set off without delay.
Amongst the 50 milers, there were also team members of the relay teams who were to run the first of the five legs which meant there was a nice mix of ultra people and slightly more sane people! The atmosphere was full of excited anticipation as we set off through the Uni grounds and up into the trees, the sun just starting to rise.
With more of a hill and tricky descent in the first leg than I'd expected, a part of me began to wonder if I'd underestimated the hilly-ness of this race (even though I was good and had looked at a map!).
The second leg was arguably the toughest of the race and, being fairly early into the run at just 10 to 20 miles, it did cruel things to the mind. However, I had a friend join me on the last two or three miles of this stretch which helped me along. A few chicken nuggets and half a Mars bar later (Yeah yeah, not an athlete's diet...whatever) and I was kindly but forceably nudged into leg 3 by my friend who waved me off onto the remaining 30 miles. It started to climb again almost immediately.
Well shit. Was I actually going to manage this? Maybe I'd mistaken ignorance for confidence before this race?!
However, as is always the case in ultra running, if you're beginning to flag a bit in your mind, so is the person just ahead or just behind. I passed a man a couple of miles into the leg, who then passed me a half mile later, and so it went on until we eventually joined forces and chatted whilst keeping up a decent run together. This and a change of trainers at checkpoint 3 (sorry Mizuno, but we just weren't getting on) got my head back in the game and powered me through the rest of leg 3 and the whole of leg 4. During which we did a spot of cow herding and wind turbine watching:
It was at checkpoint 4 my wonderful parents met me to cheer me on, only slightly concerned for the mental state of their daughter. They kept me going right through Bridge of Earn and from there I could tell myself it was less than ten miles to the finish. Less than!!
However, before that beautiful wonderful finish line there was one b****rd of a hill to get up and over. We won't even delve into the list of things I called the race planner during those 45 minutes.
Met by my awesome parents, friends and physio at the finish line, back in the park we'd left at 5am this morning, I didn't know whether to cry or laugh or do both. It was done! The first step on the road to the jungle was done: and in 11 hours 44 minutes which I hadn't even dreamed of doing it in!!
And so now, with race number 1 out of the way, it's all systems go to get as many veterans on board with this crazy idea as possible.
For now, over and out, the runner sporting the Zimmer frame and Voltarol.
Saturday saw the arrival of the ever-so-slightly daunting 50 mile ultra-marathon over the Scottish hills from Stirling to Perth. This race (importantly more than 65km and classed as a 'trail' race) was necessary to be able to at least enter the ballot in November for the West Highland Way Ultra next year. There's no saying whether a runner will be picked even with the necessary experience, but the WHW would be a massive step towards that all-important ability to run a marathon or more every day for five days across the Amazon in 2020.
I had mixed feelings as this 50 mile ultra approached. I had trained in the style the last three years has taught me to train, rather than the way many other long-distance runners train, and this had paid off with less injury time and more successful long runs. Helpful cross-training (rather than some of the fannying around I used to do) and spending enough time actually doing the exercises my physio gave me also went a long way to making me feel ready.
And that was just the thing: I felt ready. Ish. Was this 'ready'? I was prepared and felt good - did that mean I was ready? My longest single run had been almost 40 miles, and my back-to-backs had equated to the same. But those had been on undulating hills; my steep hill training had all been short distances, no more than 11 miles. Obviously needing something to worry about, I started fretting over the fact none of my long stuff had been in the hills...
Sitting in my hotel room on Friday night, the night before the race, I couldn't help but find it funny how the start of this faintly crazy journey to get to the jungle was almost the mirror image of the first race on the road to Everest: sitting in a hotel room, alone with my thoughts, taping up my legs and considering an on-foot journey between two cities the very next morning.
It was then I realised how different things actually are now. For one: my tape was rainbow coloured. RAINBOW coloured! And for another: aside from a lingering thought my hill runs may not have been long enough, the gnawing, crippling doubt I'd had two and a half years ago as I shakily applied the last strip of tape to my shin, wasn't there now!
So proud of my stripy legs
Oh my God, I thought to myself. I'm an ultra-runner! An actual proper one! Whether I had a good or bad run tomorrow, I was going to finish it. That was a certainty in my mind; and not just one I was forcing myself to think through gritted teeth. This was how I'd imagined proper ultra-runners felt before races, and now it was how I felt.
I slept soundly without too much panicking I might sleep in, and got up to severely talc myself at 3.30am, ready for the bus at 5am. With enough porridge, caffeine and green tea down me to power a small ship, I heaved my bag full of checkpoint bags to the park we would be picked up from. The brilliant race organisers were allowing a checkpoint bag at every station. EVERY STATION! So I was making full use and keeping my running pack as light as possible.
Despite leaving the hotel at 25 minutes to 5 and the park only being a 10 minute walk away, I was convinced I was going to miss the damn thing. It was public transport and it was me. The two are renownedly at odds.
Of course, I didn't miss the bus. They tend not to leave at 4.45 when the advertised departure is 5...funnily enough. The old bus driver took a good look at us, before making up his mind what we must be and remarking on our day of "hill walking" ahead. Nobody corrected him...probably in an attempt to make the day of racing seem a little less brutal in each of our heads.
Reaching Stirling University with only one fraught discussion about directions between driver and previous race participant, we piled into the warmth of the building to sort out our bags and final details. As far as races go, Ochil must be one of the friendliest and most laid back. Not once did I feel hurried, stressed or uneasy and, without too much hanging around in the cold outside, we were set off without delay.
Amongst the 50 milers, there were also team members of the relay teams who were to run the first of the five legs which meant there was a nice mix of ultra people and slightly more sane people! The atmosphere was full of excited anticipation as we set off through the Uni grounds and up into the trees, the sun just starting to rise.
One extremely confused cow during the first leg (the one in front of the camera for the avoidance of doubt)
With more of a hill and tricky descent in the first leg than I'd expected, a part of me began to wonder if I'd underestimated the hilly-ness of this race (even though I was good and had looked at a map!).
The second leg was arguably the toughest of the race and, being fairly early into the run at just 10 to 20 miles, it did cruel things to the mind. However, I had a friend join me on the last two or three miles of this stretch which helped me along. A few chicken nuggets and half a Mars bar later (Yeah yeah, not an athlete's diet...whatever) and I was kindly but forceably nudged into leg 3 by my friend who waved me off onto the remaining 30 miles. It started to climb again almost immediately.
Well shit. Was I actually going to manage this? Maybe I'd mistaken ignorance for confidence before this race?!
The hills at the start of leg 2; easier to appreciate when not faced with them in the middle of a race
However, as is always the case in ultra running, if you're beginning to flag a bit in your mind, so is the person just ahead or just behind. I passed a man a couple of miles into the leg, who then passed me a half mile later, and so it went on until we eventually joined forces and chatted whilst keeping up a decent run together. This and a change of trainers at checkpoint 3 (sorry Mizuno, but we just weren't getting on) got my head back in the game and powered me through the rest of leg 3 and the whole of leg 4. During which we did a spot of cow herding and wind turbine watching:
I like to take pictures of cows
People to scale in front of this one...terribly uninteresting in a photograph unfortunately
It was at checkpoint 4 my wonderful parents met me to cheer me on, only slightly concerned for the mental state of their daughter. They kept me going right through Bridge of Earn and from there I could tell myself it was less than ten miles to the finish. Less than!!
Ultra-running: The glorious sight of an actual person up ahead to assure you you haven't travelled 10 miles in the wrong direction
However, before that beautiful wonderful finish line there was one b****rd of a hill to get up and over. We won't even delve into the list of things I called the race planner during those 45 minutes.
Met by my awesome parents, friends and physio at the finish line, back in the park we'd left at 5am this morning, I didn't know whether to cry or laugh or do both. It was done! The first step on the road to the jungle was done: and in 11 hours 44 minutes which I hadn't even dreamed of doing it in!!
Back into country boots at the finish
And so now, with race number 1 out of the way, it's all systems go to get as many veterans on board with this crazy idea as possible.
For now, over and out, the runner sporting the Zimmer frame and Voltarol.
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