My Deadwater 2018 report

or

"How do you eat an elephant?"

Deadwater day 4....

 https://www.strava.com/activities/1817497971 

It's after midnight and having heard the cheery news at the last checkpoint near Hebden Bridge that I've only got 11.5 miles to go, I'm beginning to believe that this god-awful stage will end eventurally.

This stage was "the long one" at 59 miles and 11.5 miles sounds like such a small fraction so I set off up to Stoodley Pike with renewed determination.  Things hadn't been going well or according to "plan", but if I'm honest there never had been a plan other than "left foot, right foot" and repeat.
I had recced none of the course, studied none of the maps and can honestly say that I was unfamiliar with all bar the first 15km from Deadwater to the lower end of Keider which I had run a couple of years ago as part of the North Tyne trail ultra.  This might seem a crazy approach considering that navigation was an integral part of the challenge but I was enjoying the "freshness" of seeing the route for the first time ever and my Fenix 5X was doing a good job of keeping me right.

What I didn't know of course was the section beyond Stoodley Pike was going to be a total miseryfest with paths that were barely visible in the dark or multiple paths going off in all directions.  There was no question of running, for me at least.  Running had finished shortly after the start of this stage when an ankle strain acquired two days before (as I though at the time) became progressively more painful quickly precluding any running.  I had woken tired that morning in Horton, the first time I'd felt that way since the start but the previous day had been a hard 46 miles over Wild Boar Fell and I put it down to that.  If I walked the pain was tolerable but running caused the pain to rapidly ramp up. As I said, in real terms, 11.5 miles isn't that far but when you've been forced to walk the previous 45 miles it felt like forever.

It was somewhere around 7am before I finally stumbled across the stage finish and threw myself into my sleeping bag, trying hard not to think about having to be ready to cross next day's start line at 9 am...

But let's go back to the beginning...

Why did I want to enter this race?  I've been tiptoeing around the edge of doing something like this for years.  When you done many single stage ultra races you start to get curious as to how you would manage a multiday event. It's hard to find events that qualify as "shallow water" so you more or less have to go "in at the deep end".  Given that, it was then a question of which "deep end" I wanted to jump in at.  The Marathon Des Sable is the one multi-day ultra that everyone has heard of but it has a waiting list of years, is hugely expensive and is a bit of a circus.  Deadwater on the other hand is as cheap as chips in comparison, takes place within our own fair shores, involves navigation, has longer stages (every one an ultra) and had only been completed by 12 people before the start of this year's race (which was, admittedly only the second time the race had been run).

The event promised a mostly off-road route down through the Keilder forests, the Penine way, canal towpaths and other long off-road trails, all totally new to me.  After years of racing mostly in Scotland the prospect of following new paths strongly appealed.  A couple of my friends had run it in atrocious weather last year and had been forced to stop on the third day so I was keen to see if I could do better.  There'd also not been any V60 finishers last year so I was very keen to be the first V60 finisher.

"Deadwater" also has a fantastic name that conjures up all sorts of images. Call it morbid fascination perhaps but it sucked me in.  It's actually the name of an old railway station and farm very close to the Scottish border near the origin of the North Tyne river.

Myself on the left and Andy Cole on the right. 

You can read about the old railway station here.

The race

Well it's a stage race, which means that the clock stops every day when you reach the end of that day's stage and you get the luxury of a lie down and some sleep between each stage.  Yeah, right....

The race has six stages and the stage lengths were 33, 36, 45, 60, 31 and 30 miles totalling 235 miles in all.  No cut off times on any day, you just had to be ready to start the next day's stage each morning.

 

Some of you may have spotted a slight similarity to the Marathon des Sable (MdS) race which has a similar variation in distances through the event, but all shorter. Also in common with the MdS is a "self sufficiency" requirement meaning that you carry all your clothes (bar one alternate pair of shoes and a pair of socks), your sleeping bag, sleeping mat, enough food to get you to day three (minimum 2000 kcal/day) when you're allowed to resupply yourself from your own ration pack carried by the organisers. You also carry a phone, navigation gear, essential safety gear, head torch, back-up torch, spare batteries, water storage systems and any "luxuries" that you feel are essential.

So, there you go, a six day stage race over 235 miles ending in, um, Chester, by the Welsh border.

Training wise, I could have done a lot better.  I was totally unused to running with anything more that a few pounds in a backpack so I did load up a pack to six kg (which was lighter than my bag actually weighed at the start of the race) and ran a grand total of 8 miles.  That was enough to demonstrate that firstly the pack that I'd been lent was comfortable, but it was still darned hard work!

I'd run Transvulcania, the West Highland Way race and followed this with a holiday in France where  I had 5 days in Chamonix and spent the time cycling, walking and a bit of running.  This was followed by the Lakeland 50.  After that though, I was a bit like a deer caught in the headlights and regular training rather went out the window.  I did have a cunning plan though.  Shiny new walking poles!

Leki Micro Trail Pro poles

 I convinced myself that armed with my new poles, I could do this.  Sure, training would have helped but you can't beat some sexy new kit. ;-)

Stage 0

The first stage of any multistage race is frantic packing and unpacking of your pack wondering how in the hell you're going to fit in all you essential gear and food. Then you have to get to the race start.  For me this meant catching a train from Kilmarnock to Carlisle and then to Hexham where a minibus and taxi was arranged to take us to the first campsite in Keilder village.  I arrived with over an hour to spare in Hexham and the other runners were arriving in dribs and drabs on various trains. I decided that the condemned man might as well enjoy a pub lunch and wanderd across the road for a final bit of "training".

At the appointed time a minibus and taxi arrived to ferry us all to the the campsite by Keilder castle where we would get out first taste of the balmy Keilder weather and meet Richard Weremiuk, the event organiser and his band of helpers.

First job for the evening after unpacking our sleeping bags etc was a trip to the local pub for dinner and this was followed by the first "pre-stage briefing". We all retired to bed pretty early knoing that we'd have and early start the nest moring but sleep didn't come easily, if at all, thanks to the plummeting overnight temperature.  A "two seasons" sleeping bag starts to reveal it's limitations when the temperature drops to freezing!

Somehow during the night the GPS on my watch had got turned on and by the morning, the battery had significantly drained.  I put it on charge in the buildinging being used as "race HQ" that day and repeated to myself "I must not forget my watch!".  No prizes for guessing what I did when we got bussed to the race start on the border....

Ho hum...  Fortunately the race starts just 2 miles north of the campsite and passes right through it on its way south so it was no problem to pick it up on the way through.

Waiting for the start

Stage 1 The Forest. Deadwater to Haltwhistle 33 miles

From Deadwater to Herding Hill campsite (near Haltwhistle)

https://www.strava.com/activities/1796598734

 Ultimately there were just 18 of us at the race start, down from an original 40-odd applicants (or should that be "40 odd applicants"?).  Many legitimate reasons no doubt why so many didn't make it to the start line but I think Richard is a little too generous in his refunds and deferment policy.  All I'm going to say is that they missed out on an amazing experience.

It feels kind of surreal starting a 235 mile race.  You really can't think about the enormity of the journey.  Instead, all you worry about is running that day's stage.  This is where the "How do you eat an elephant" riddle is apt.  The answer is "one bite at a time".  It's exactly the same for multi-stage races.  You do need to keep in mind what lies ahead and you use that information to temper your pace but you just dont want to dwell on it.

This stage consisted largely of rolling forest roads with some nice views over Kielder reservoir early on.  Although we all had nice plasticised maps, compasses and GPS devices Richard had marked some of the course with chalk paint and bananas.

"Bananas?" Yep, biodegradable course markers, and potential food. ;-)  Of course eating one would violate the "self-sufficiency" rule but that didn't stop at least one banana getting scoffed.  I'm gonna assume that whoever did eat the banana was so consumed by guilt that they retired from the race. (In all 8 had retired by the end of the 3rd day. One retiral chose to carry on though (non-competitively) for the experience).

Ever conscious of the days ahead, an also strugging more than a bit with the weight of my pack, I took the first 33 miles steadily, just aiming to get to the finish feeling like I'd had a good day out walking rather than racing.  It was already pretty clear that the runners were pretty well divided into two packs, racing snakes and then us. ;-)

The weather had been good and we'd all kept our feet dry right up to near the finish when the path took a diversion across some fields. Unlike at any point prior to this we were suddenly navigating "free-hand" across open fields and bogs.  Given that we were only 1km from the camp this was a bit frustrating but we found our way across without getting wet feet eventually which was a bonus.  The campsite was well equiped but we were sited a long way from the amenities.  I shouldn't grumble really as I wasn't really expecting any but when they're there, you want them handy. ;-)
I finished the stage feeling that it had been a bit harder than it ought to have been but perhaps that's what you get for not doing any training with a backpack. It was also a very "runnable" stage so there was probably significantly more running than on later stages.

After some food and a shower it was off to an early bed to try and catch up on the minimal sleep that I'd had in Keilder.

Stage 2 The Pennine Way. 36 miles Haltwhistle to Dufton

https://www.strava.com/activities/1799282974

The stage started of with "railway hell", so called largely because it was flat and eminently runnable but all uphill for the first 19 miles.  I teamed up with some of the others in a "walk/run" cycle which helped enormously to pass the time and to just get the distance done.  I was gloriously ignorant of what lay ahead that day other than the words "Cross Fell" and "900 metres high".  Didn't sound too bad to me so when we go to the Garrigill checkpoint and started climbing, it was just a huge relief to be off the flat stuff.

We'd been warned about bad weather ahead so I'd pre-emptively donned my overtrousers.  Sure enough, the rain got heavier, the wind stronger, the cloud lower and the landscape ever bleaker.

The track up was easy to follow but had been recently been resurfaced with new rock that wasn't bedded down.  Consequently it was actually much more awkward that the un-restored sections to negotiate and I think we were all very relieved as when we eventually "ran out of" resorted road and got back to the old track to Greg's Hut.  I'm not sure what I expected from a mountain bothy but it sure as hell didn't have any hot pies or sausage rolls which I would have killed for at that stage.  There was at least a race helper there who had boiled up some water for anyone wanting to make up a hot drink.

I wasted about 10 minutes trying to get on my gloves for the last bit across Cross Fell and Great Dun fell but was totally defeated by swollen fingers and wet hands.  Thankfully it wasn't *that* cold. Had it been I could have been in some trouble.

Visibility was down to about 50 metres and without my garmin navigation would have been a real challenge. It was impossible to see more than one cairn at a time and I was very thankful for the assistance of my watch.  Having done some orienteeingr I like to think that I could have done it with map and compass but I was very glad that I didn't have to.

Up on Cross Fell the Pennine way has some slabbed sections that start and stop for no apparent reason. On minute you've jogging alone a great length of "pavement", the next you're looking at a trackless expanse disappearing into the low cloud.  Still, I made my way across to Great Dun Fell where we'd been told to expect a huge radar dome.  Well, if I hadn't known it was there I would have completely missed it.  The path skirts closely round the perimeter fence and it was only by peering hard that I was able to discern the dimmest outline of the dome from no more than 50 metres away.

This marked the start of our descent to Dufton and I made good use of my poles to make a "relatively" speedy descent.  Unfortunately the descent concealed many patches of grass with all the grip of greased banana skins and on one of my many slips and slides I managed to over-stretch the ligaments at the from of my ankle.  This was to come back and haunt me later on.

Still, I felt like I had run/walked well and felt surprisingly good after my exertions. That night's camp was in a farmer's field but we did have the use of showers in a nearby campsite.

Stage 3 The Wild Boar. Dufton to Horton 46 miles

https://www.strava.com/activities/1816414008

My ankle seemed to have improved with a night's rest and despite the exersions of the day before my legs felt good.  Mentally, the challenge was beginning to get a but serious now.  The distances were increasing every day and it was going to get "worse" before it got better.  I did my best to put it out of my mind however and just concentrated one getting the day done.  From Duftown we headed to Appleby-in-Westmoreland and then on to Great Asby via paths and bridleways.  Some of the paths were more "nominal" than actual and looked like they hadn't seen much traffic since the race last year.  My walking poles came in handy to beat back the nettles at times!

From Great Asby it was off through more remote wilderness to Ravenstonedale via Newbiggin on Lune. The road sections felt odd after so much wilderness but it didn't seem long before we were striking up into the hills again to ascent Wild Boar Fell.  Abysmal weather last year meant that Wild Boar Fell was cut from last year's race.  I'm not sure whether we were "lucky" or not, but we certainly weren't short changed. ;-)

From the top of Wild Boar Fell it should have been a fairly straightforward descent towards Swarf Fell and thence to Garsdale.  It was here that I rather paid the price for my over-reliance on my GPX trace and it didn't seem to follow the best local paths accurately and more than once I found myself slavishly following the trace through bogs and marshes.  Despite this, my spirits were good. My ankle hadn't really bothered me so far and what's the fun of a navigational challenge if you aren't challenged now and again?  If I'd bothered to pull out the supplied maps I could have avoided quite a lot of bother and that's a lesson I'll remember for my next multi-day adventure.

From Garsdale to the end of that day's section was another 16 miles, most of which was fairly straightforward but now my ankle was getting sore again.  I could still manage to walk and run though, it was just uncomfortable.  During the last 5-6 km darkness fell and it was on with my headtorch.  I found the navigation of this last section tricky, particularly as the GPX trace seemed at odds with structures on the ground.  A bit of back-tracking and wall climbing ensued that was probably unnecessary.  I dare say if I'd got there in daylight it would have been obvious.  For reasons that no doubt made sense at the time I ended up running a lot of the downhill parts into Horton, for no other reason than "because I could" probably.  I was going to regret that extra effort the next morning...

Stage 4 The Long Day. Horton to Hollingworth lake 59 miles

https://www.strava.com/activities/1817497971

For the first time in the race I awoke feeling tired and lethagic, my legs were heavy and my ankle/shin hurt.  There was some discolouration over my lower leg and I took this to be a reaction to possible tendinitis.  We were up packing our stuff and getting our breakfast down from 6am for a 7am start.  Right from the beginning my legs just didn't want to know but I tried to run the easy downhill and the flat bits that weren't too long.  Unfortunately the pain in my shin was becoming really quite bothersome now and I realised that as long as I walked, it was tolerable.  The route took us through some amazing landscape, Malham Cove obviously standing out in my memory. I'd not seen the limestone pavement before and felt it was on a par with the Giants Causeway in terms of grandeur.

 

From Malham it was south to Gargrave and then... well, just a long fecking way, especially if you're limited to walking.  There were some tricky bits of navigation, particularly at Colden where we crossed a river valley.  We were supposedly "just following the Pennine Way" signposts today but the signposting is very inconsistent in its frequency.  Some sections are well signposted, others are nearly invisible.  It didn't help that I thought I was near Charlestown, our next checkpoint and had mixed my river valleys up.  At last Charlestown/Hebden Bridge hove into view and it was an opportunity for some hot food before tackling the last 11.5 miles.  You know the rest about day 4...

Day 5 Canal Hell. Hollingworth lake to Rixton 31 miles

https://www.strava.com/activities/1817521454

After finishing the previous section at around 7 am I had lain down for a bit but couldnt sleep.  Just too much going on and runners were still arriving after me!

My shin was decidedly sore and red looking so after crossing the start line at 9am, I returned to sit down and have a bit of first aid from the race paramedics.  An icepack provided a bit of comfort and this was followed with topical voltarol.  There was the beginnings of a "red line" appearing on my skin and it was now looking like my initial diagnosis of a tendinitis was either wrong or now being surpassed by a new problem, namely cellulitis.

This happens when stapphalococci get into the skin and start multiplying rapidly.  Not just uncomfortable but also potentially dangerous.  There were no antibiotics available in the camp so we marked the limit of the spread of the redness and checked it at the first checkpoint about 10 miles down the road.  Running was out of the question and now I had blisters too that were making progress uncomfortable but heck, only 31 miles today! How hard could it be?

At thenext checkpoint it was clear that the red line was advancing up my leg and getting some antibiotics was now becoming an issue of some urgency.  I was also getting more than a bit worried that if I couldn't get antibiotics and see some regression there might be a real risk of being pulled from the race.  After 185 miles this was a very upsetting thought.


I exchanged a few ideas with the paramedics about how best to get some antibiotics and we decided that they would contact my GP for a prescription that could be emailed through to a surgery near the next checkpoint so that I could hopefully pick up some antibiotics.  The plan however came unstuck over an apparently problem twist Scottish prescriptions and English ones.  A new plan had been formulated however and after discussion with Richard, the race organiser, I turned off my tracker and was driven to a nearby walk-in centre/A&E unit.

My heart sank when I saw the crowds in the waiting room but fortunately I was seen by the triage nurse within 30 minutes and she was able to issue me with a prescription for some Flucloxacillin.  Oh joy!  Never have I been happier to have had a prescription.
I necked a gram of fluclox straight away and we drove back to the canal where I turned on my tracker again and resumed the last 10 miles of that day's trip.  I must have been running on adrenaline because although I couldn't run, I did some very serious stomping making full use of my poles to get me to the finish. I hadn't slept since 6 am the previous day and more than anything, I wanted to crawl inside my sleeping bag (after swallowing another gram of fluclox).

Once again darkness fell long before I finished the short "fun run" day. The last 10K felt never ending, but in the end I made it. Can't remember the time but well after dark.  At last, time for a lie down and hope that the antibiotics would do their trick.  At least I had a 9am start to look forward to...

Day 6 Rush for the Castle. Rixton to Chester 30 miles

 https://www.strava.com/activities/1808451601

It's 4 am and I'm visiting the loos for a call of nature that just won't wait.  I limped and hobbled my way over to the toilets on blistered beet and after finish peeing I realised that my ankle was much less painful. next thing I know there are tears running down my cheeks as  the nightmare of possibly being pulled from the race receeded.  Maybe the risk wasn't as high as I imagined but it had being weighing heavily on my mind and I felt a huge sense of relief.

I never got my lie-in though. As some of us had for various reasons been rather tardy the day before the start time for us slowcoaches was brought forward to 7am with a 6 am wake up (to ensure that we'd all finish in time for the post race dinner and prizegiving).  Still, it was a good time to follow up with a 3rd gram of flucox and then stump along to wave my improved leg in front of Richard.  I knew he wouldn't pull me from the race without a damn good reason but I still needed to hear it from him that I was okay to go.

With my blisters Compeeded up and a leg full of antibiotics I could run again! After two days of walking over 90 mile that just felt so good, if a bit painful.  We passed through Frodsham and then over Foxhill on our way to Chester.  A few minor roads were involved but by and large, the vast majority of the journey was done on public footpaths across and between fields.

In my haste I made a couple of minor navigational errors, at one point having to clamber down into and up out of a deep nettle infested ditch.  By now I was long past caring about nettles and just wanted to get to the end.  Eventually three of us reached the outskirts of Chester and we walk/jogged the last few miles, finishing off with a run down the High Street and under its famous clock, through rather bemused crowds and then to the Abode hotel by Chester Castle where the race finished.

Myself, Jo Kilkenny and Any Cole

It was a wonderful feeling to finish this race, having been tested physically and mentally like never before.  It was an incredible journey that I shared with some incredible people and I learned so much. Richard had ordered some pizzas which were devoured at great speed.  The odd beer might have been drunk too. ;-)

In the end just 10 of the 18 starters finished and I was hugely pleased to be one of them.  For about 15 seconds I was the oldest ever person (61) to finish Deadwater but then my friend Andy Cole (70) crossed the line and stole that crown from me. ;-)

I had achieved what I had set out to do, overcoming the odd problem along the way. I'm hugely grateful to Beyond Marathon for creating an event that had tested me so thoroughly.  It had been eveything I had hoped for and then some. I sincelely hope that this race has a great future and that many more ultra runners will have the chance to test themselves over this route.

I don't think I'll be back however.  I think I've ticked that box now and whilst part of me is curious how I might have done without my bout of cellulitis and with better foot care, I'm not that curious, yet. Gimme a year or two and who knows. I might change my mind.    Even if I don't come back to run it I'd love to be part of the support team next time.

If I've piqued your interest in the event don't forget to visit the Deadwater race website (and click on the "easy option"link for a laugh). 

Equipment.

A couple of folk have asked about equipment for multi-day events.  I'm happy to share what kit I used but these shouldn't necessairly be considered as reccomendations. I'm still learning by my mistakes.

Shoes. 

Hoka Speedgoats for stages 1 to 4, Hoka Cliftons for 5 and 6.  With hindsight I would have worn my Cliftons for stage 1 as well as it was nearly all smooth paths or forest roads.

Socks.

Two pairs of waterproof socks, one carried, one in my day three drop bag, two pairs coolmax socks and one pair of smartwool ones.  I wish I had spent a bit more time trying different socks but I'm not sure it would have helped.  I've run the West HIghland Way race many times now with no or at least minimal blistering but the demands of a multi-day stage race are very different and whilst I had no problems for the first three days, I started blistering on the 4th.  Next time I'm definitely taking some lightweight fluffy bed socks though.  Warm feet make such a difference!

Tops.

I wore a Kalenji sun protection top for all but the last day.  This is a very soft material and I had no problem with abrasion from my pack straps which is pretty remarkable considering my lack of training.  I would definitely use it again.

Backpack

The backpack that I used was very kindly lent to my by Andy O'Grady who had been unfortunate enough to have to pull out of the race last year. It was a WAA 20L Ultrabag with bottle holders on the chest straps.  I couldn't fault the bag on the grounds of comfort and my lack of abrasions is testimony to that.  I was less keen on the number of zips, which never actually failed but always worried me and the bottle storage.  when using standardard bottles they tended to flop from side to side annoyingly so like Andy, I switched to using soft flasks which were a lot more comfortable.  The holders arent designed to hold softflasks however so this was a cause of irritation at times when a flask would occasionaly launch itself out of the holder into the mud.  Volume wise I struggled to get all my kit into it and ended up slinging my sleeping bag underneath it in a waterproof bag.  This worked well and freed up a lot of internal storage space.  It's not a bag I would recommend but as they say, beggars can't be choosers and I've learnt a lot about what to look out for in my next backpack.

Sleeping bag.

Depending on how seriously you want to get into multi-day racing you can spend a huge about on sleeping bags.  As this was my first, and possibly last, I went for a price/performance compromise that I was comfortable with.  To this end, I bought an AEGISMAX Ultra-compactable sleeping bag that weighed just over 400g.  It's only a two-season bag and there's no doubt that without extra clothing there is no way it would keep you warm in cold weather but a combination of hat, duvet jacket, long pant and socks made like quite tolerable.  I was happy with the bag and will use it again.  If I do enough multi-day events I will consider upgrading but it'll do me for the moment.

Sleeping mat.

Possibly went a bit too minimalist with this bit of kit. I bought the Klymit Inertia X-frame mat. Light but a bit fiddly and not that comfortable.  If you lie on you back in the right position it is actually surprisingly comfortably but of course you don't. You wriggle around in the night and because it's so narrow you almost inevitably end up half on, half off it during the night.  Not sure it any other mat is better in this respect though.

Soft flasks

I hate sloshing bottles and like the comfort of soft flasks.  Unfortunately I also hate the taste imparted to the water by 99% of the soft flasks on the market which are all made of the same Hydrapak material. Fortunately Camelbak make their own flasks from their own plastics and these are vastly better than any of the hydrapak models.  Unfortunatly the bite valve isn't as well designed and is annoyingly directional.  You have to rotate the flask to the right orientation to suck though the valve, unlike the Salomon ones which work in any orientation.

Watch

Garmin Fenix 5X.  I used this thoughout for navigation and in this mode, battery life isn't great.  I think the most I got was about 9 hours but I was able to top up on the go with a small rechargable battery stick.  More battery life would have been nice and I dare say that if I hadn't been using it for navigation it would have lasted a lot longer but having maps and the course on my wrist made navigation easy on the whole.

Foot lube 

I've always relied on a good slathering of vaseline over and between my toes and a good dollops under the balls of my feet.  This regime wasn't enough to stop problems though and it was very notable that Andy Cole, the oldest finisher wasn't crippled with blisters at the end.  He very liberally coats the entire sole of his foot in Sudocrem and that seemed to work for him to prevent the skin getting waterlogged.  When you only have a limited time at night for your feet to dry out and socks to dry (if at all), preventing waterlogging/maceration becomes your number one priority.  Without a doubt I shall be trying this next time.

My Lakeland 50 report, or, "What I did at the weekend"

I've tended to be a "stay at home boy" when it comes to choosing races to run.  The vast majority have been in Scotland but I'm trying to cast my net a little wider and sample some of the classic races south of the border.  Consequently, on the 1st of September 2017 I was hovering with my finger on my mouse waiting for entry to open at 9 am.  If you want to run this race this is what you have to do!

Now, having successfully entered, I seriously considered not running this event after Transvulcania followed by a rather poor West Highland Way race.  Transvulcania was great but combined with the WHW race it all left me a bit mentally drained.  We went to France for three weeks following the WHW and I knew that I probably wouldn't get too much training in.  I was just getting a bit of that "Have I bitten off more than I can chew?" feeling, aggravated by knowing that 4 weeks after the Lakeland 50 I was going to be doing Deadwater, a six day 235 mile stage race.   I also knew though that if I didn't at least "give it a go", I'd very probably regret it.  The Lakeland 50 and 100 mile races have a huge following and rave reviews and both fill within minutes of entry opening so in the end, I knew that I just had to go.

Well, I am so glad that I did.  The weather was terrible, the course was tough but the whole experience was all the more rewarding for that.  It's not just an ultra race, it's a party with some running involved. By "party" I mean that each checkpoint is run by groups of insanely enthusiastic marshals in fancy dress all falling over backwards to help you. 

The race starts near Penrith at a place called Dalemain which is at the 59 mile mark of the "100".  I say "100" but it's actually 105, which is just one of the many reasons why the full "100" race is tougher than the WHW race.

Race registration was on Friday and I arrived in time to see the LL100 runners setting off.  Luckily I went straight to the registration tent after this and avoided the huge queue that quickly formed.  Registration is a rather prolonged process where you get weighed, get your "bus pass" wrist band, your "dibber" wrist band and your "weight" wrist band.  There's also a full kit check where every last item on the extensive kit list is checked.  This included hat, gloves, long sleeve top, full leggings, waterproof jacket and trousers (with taped seams), mobile phone, space blanket, emergency food (not to be eaten except in a real dropping out of the race emergency, first aid kit, blister plasters, head torch, spare batteries, compass, race map and route book (provided), whistle and a plastic cup suitable for hot drinks.

This might sound like a bit of overkill for a race in July where you're never more than 10 miles from a checkpoint, but having experienced the weather that we had on Saturday, I wouldn't quibble with any of it!

Race briefing for the 50 happened at about 9:30 I think the next morning.  Arrive early if you want to hear it though.  The school gym hall just isn't big enough for everyone and even with a PA system I struggled a bit to hear what was said.  Having read all the runners' instructions though it didn't really matter and everything you need to know more or less is contained in it.

Then it was on to the buses for the 1 hour drive to the start.


Dalemain is about 46 miles from the finish for the "100" runners so before you start on the route properly you run a 4 mile loop.  After the usual nervous waiting around and multiple nervous widdles we were dibbed into the starting pen and then after a countdown from 10, we were started on our way.

One of the joys of doing a new event is being able to run without expectations (if you so choose).  Of course this choice is always open to anyone but I find it hard not to look back on my past times and then judge my present run against those.  I had semi-deliberately not looked at previous results, recced the course or even studied the map too intently which gave me the freedom to run how I wanted in the moment, not based on any targets or sense of how I "ought" to be doing it.

Having blown up a bit in the WHW race this year I cautiously kept to the back of the pack and tried to stick to the "run easy to half way and then see what you have left in the tank" plan.  This early slow pace was somewhat enforced or encouraged by a recurrence of low back pain (caused by a strain whilst on holiday) that had me fearing the worst and that I might have to DNF at the first checkpoint.  Luckily though I think it was just a bit of muscle spasm and it soon faded away completely on the way to the first checkpoint 11 miles along the route at Howtown.

At Howtown I dibbed it, got some coke, scoffed some fruit and doritos and found a large bowl of cold cooked baby new potatoes and salt.  Heaven!  If I ever have to make up drop bags again, these are definitely going in!  Speaking of drop bags, feed stations beat them hands down.  Sure, you might not find exactly what you want but there was always variety which helps greatly with the digestion.  I just wish more of the Scottish ultras provided them.

After Howton the sky was getting darker and then it started raining lightly.  As usual, we were all trying to guess whether it was just a shower or whether it was going to get worse.  Stopping to put on waterproofs and then having to take them off again minutes later is always annoying but it was soon clear that the rain was going to get worse, a lot worse in fact.

Coat on, head down and it was a long slog up Fusedale Beck towards High Kop on Wether hill.  As we climbed in a slow crocodile the wind built up and it wasn't long before we were head on into horizontal icy rain.  It was at this point that I began to wish that I'd donned my over-trousers too but now I was too cold to risk stopping even for a couple of minute to don them without getting much colder.  The crocodile was just moving too slowly for me to generate enough body heat so I decided that I just had to go faster.  This involved quite a lot of ducking and weaving and if I'm honest, a bit of forcing my way through into the queue at times but I really felt like I was fighting for my survival.  Going slow in icy wet windy conditions just wasn't an option.

Fortunately once we reached the top the weather abated and there was a lovely section of easy running across High Kop down towards Hawsewater reservoir.  Once we hit the shore at Hawsewater we followed the water down to the second checkpoint at Mardale Head, so named apparently after a village that was flooded by the construction of the reservoir.  Bits of it are currently visible as the water level is so low just now.

At Mardale (20 miles) there was hot soup available which was very welcome, the Stilton and broccoli more so than the carrot and corriander (I had both).  From the checkpoint the path climbs steeply up to Gatescarth pass but before I had finished my soup, there was a huge clap of thunder followed by the heavens opening again and a wild wind picked up that threatened to uproot the checkpoint tent.

I had been planning to remove my jacket at this checkpoint prior to this but I took the hint from the heavens this time and donned my "I don't want to die!" over-trousers.  These are my relatively heavyweight Berghaus lined trousers that I had swapped in my kit to replace my "race legal but relatively useless" Salomon ones.

By now the tent was heaving with new arrivals so I huddled as best I could in the lee side of the tent outside in the lashing rain to put on my trousers.  I had removed my pack and bumbag to do this and placed them beside me on the ground.  Just as I was finishing getting my trousers on the canvas on the roof on the tent was lifted by the wind sending a deluge of water down over both of them.  Ho hum, these things are sent to try us...

Although I felt like I had missed a lot of "proper" training this year, what I had done pre-WHW and on holiday stood me in good stead.  Once you've "run" up to Brevent by Chamonix, no Lakeland climb is ever going to feel as intimidating and it didn't seem to take long to get to the top of the pass.  The evil weather had blown past almost as quickly as it had arrived so I had to repack my trousers (which I didn't need again)  With hindsight, my lightweight ones would probably have done but I've no regrets about taking the heavy ones.  Had the weather stayed as bad the whole way they would definitely have made the difference between a DNF and a finish.

 

Gatescarth pass

After Gatescarth Pass and on to the next checkpoint I had plenty of time to improve my downhilling with poles technique.  It wasn't long before I was passing lots of runners (with and without poles) and I realised that very few runners seem to know how to use poles effectively.  Such a waste as they can be a fantastic aid.  It almost started to feel like a "superpower" that I alone had!

Now I'm sure that there are plenty of runners who do uses pole well downhill, but I didn't see any.

 (Shamelessly pinched from Rupert Binington's facebook post.)

Checkpoint 11 in Kentmere comes up at 27 miles and I was feeling good.  Happy stomach, happy legs = happy ultra runner.  I'm sure my legs were being "preserved" by the use of my poles despite my downhill speed.  My stomach though was a slightly unexpected bonus.  There were two main factors that I think helped.  Firstly, I took drugs.  A few runners recently on facebook have commented on how acidity regulating drugs have abolished their nausea problems during races.  Well, I already had some Ranitidine that I'd bought but scarcely used a year ago for heartburn so I took 150mg pre-race (and another dose 12 hours later).  Secondly there was all the "real food" available rather than the usual stuff I rely on.  Which of those two factors had the greater influence I can't say but I shall definitely be using Ranitidine and real food  again in future ultras.

Can't remember what I had in Kentmere (its all a bit of a blur now) but whatever it was, it was very welcome. ;-)  After Kentmere there was a climb over Garburn pass and another long descent where I could gallop past other runners.

It's maybe an indication of just how good I was feeling that I just don't remember much of the course.  When you're running well, the miles fly by as you daydream.  When your stomach is rebelling and your energy is in your boots, you remember every last obstacle.

Running in to Ambleside (checkpoint 12, 34 miles) was fun with crowds outside pubs cheering all the runners on and when I got to the checkpoint I was surprised to see so many familiar faces from the "Highland Fling extended family" who were running the checkpoint.  It was great to see everyone and lots of hugs and kisses were exchanged.  I was told I was looking well and indeed I was still feeling good.

 (Thank you Noanie for the "loan" of this photo)

I tried not to linger and then it was off to Chapel Stile (40 miles) for checkpoint 13.

I've not mentioned navigation so far which is an integral part of the Lakeland races.  Apart from near checkpoints there're no course markers.  I had my map, road book and compass but I never needed any of them mostly because I there were nearly always other runners in sight but also because I have maps and the course on my watch which made it easy to check that I was going the right way.

"A miracle of modern technology" you might say, but it does have a bit of a "learning curve" and one thing I hadn't reliably worked out how to do during the race (and indeed, truth be told had rather avoided working out) was how to tell the time with my watch whilst it was in navigation mode.  This was actually quite liberating and stopped me fretting about times. As long as I felt good and was continuing to pass runners the time was pretty irrelevant for me.

There's a long flat section for the second half of the route to Chapel Stile.  A bit of a shock to the system to have to run on the flat for a bit but it's not too long and I managed it without any walking.

The Chapel Stile CP was manned by yet more wildly enthusiatic (and wildly dressed) marshals and I stopped for some tea, soup and bread. By now it was getting dark (is it that time already?) so it was out with the headtorch.

Only 10 miles to go now and if I have any regrets about not recceing the course now, it would be that it would have been good (not nice, but good) to know just how challenging some of the terrain over this last stretch was.  Really quite gnarly and technical in bits and in poor light, just following a stoney path was getting tricky.  Although there were still other runners around to follow, I had to rely more on my watch which annoyingly decided that it was getting tired.  Fortunatlely I was prepared for this and although I can't wear my watch whilst it's charging, I can still use it.  Just a bit inconvenient for the next half hour or so.

Between CP13 and CP 14 there is an unmanned dibbing point (just to keep everyone honest and thwart potential "short-cutters").  We'd all been told about it at the start and I'd been worrying slightly about missing it but it wasn't a problem in the end.  Not long afterwards it was the last checkpoint at Tilberthwaite (46.5 miles).  The marshals were great (as they were at all the CPs) but I didn't bother them for long. Just over one parkrun to go!

There's a steep climb up steps initially, all marked out with glow sticks that was quite magical in the dark.  This was called "Jacob's ladder" named (for the duration of the race maybe) after the son of a runner undergoing gruelling cancer treatment at the moment.  There was an opportunity to make a donation at the checkpoint but I just couldn't find my money that I'd carried all the way in the dark! (I've since righted this wrong via Justgiving).  You can read about Jacob here if you want.

The race profile doesn't really give any clues to ground conditions and although it was now "just a parkrun to go", it was slow and technical going.  In the last kilometer though it's on to dirt roads and time to stretch the legs out for the last time.  A runner tried to go past me at this point but that just wasn't gonna happen!

I re-took him and flew through Coniston to the finish line whilst he followed shortly afterwards.  I was held briefly at the line which puzzled me until the two of us were escorted into the finishers tent and loudly annouce to much cheering and clapping.  It's touches like this that make the Lakeland races so special.

I finished in a time of 12:58:32 and 255th position (out of 756 finishers, 826 starters).  The race is a very "inclusive" event with a generous 24 hours allowed for the 50 miles making it within the scope of good walkers.

My position from the first checkpoint to the finish had moved progressively up from 439, 361, 326, 280, 269, 259 to 255th.  Just wish I could run every race like this!

Having thought at the prizegiving that I wouldn't consider the LL100, I now can't wait for the 1st of September to get my entry in.

I'm under no illusion that it's just going to be twice as hard as the LL50.  It had a 49% DNF rate this year and I know it's going to be a very serious challenge. This time, I really do think I'm going to recce some of the course. ;-)

Others have said it, and now I'll say it.  This race is one that every ultra runner should do.  Excellently organised, outstandingly supported by hoards of volunteers and through some great scenery.  I you do decide to try it, just don't question the kit list.  You might be very glad of all of it.

Transvulcania 2018 (or "Tales from a very lucky man")

When I turned 60 I thought it was time to set myself some new goals. One of those was to run another sub-23 hr West Highland Way race (or PB if possible), be first V60 in that race and to get my 5K time back under 20 minutes.

Well foul weather on the day put paid to my sub-23 hr WHW but I still achieved a sub-24 and managed first V60 so it wasn't a complete failure.  In November of last year I finally manage a sub-20 5K at our club time trial which I think in some ways I was more pleased with than my WHW finish!

Anyhow, when I started planning my races for 2018 I wanted to challenge myself again with some new goals and take myself out of my comfort zone.  To this end I applied for Transvulcania, the West Highland Way Race (partly because my daughters were keen to act as support and perhaps foolishly, I still think there's a chance of a PB), Lakeland 50 and most scarily of all, Deadwater (a 235 mile 6 day stage race from the Scottish border to the Welsh border)

Training-wise, my year started badly. An early trip  on a cruise ship up Norway resulted in inevitable weight gain and missed running opportunities.  My wife and I also succumbed to a dreadful hacking cough/flu that was doing the rounds on the ship and this resulted in nearly 5 weeks of lost training.  I had been due to go to Donnie Campbell's Spanish training camp shortly after our return from our cruise but I was far too unwell to travel.

As a knock-on effect of the above I also withdrew from my first planned "training ultra" of the year, the John Muir Way 50K.  I did this last year and I felt it gave me an excellent start to the year.  So, all in all, not a good start, overweight and under-trained.

So, that made Transvulcania my first ultra of the year, one that I had chosen to pit myself against elevation, altitude and temperature, only now I was facing it without the benefit of a large chunk of training that I'd hoped to have under my belt by this time.

I had been working hard on my local hills and been concentrating on short races and speed but long training runs were very few and far between. One 20 mile run just before I was flattened with the flu and a 15 mile trail race up at Balmoral, that was more or less it for long runs.  How this was going to prepare me for 74 km of mountainous trail, at up to 2,400 metres of altitude with the possibility of extreme heat thrown in I was just going to have to find out on the day.

For those who know nothing about the race, Transvulcania takes place in the Canarian island of La Palma, the western-most island in the group.  It's a bit less easy to get to than the other islands but well worth the effort.  Main industries are bananas and tourism but it's also an important place for astronomy with a plethora of large telescopes at the highest point of the island

As the name implies, the race runs across the volcano(s) that make up this island.  Starting from the youngest in the south of the island (which last erupted in 1971) the route takes you up the "spine" of the island and around the brim of the ancient Caldera de Taburiente which was formed  three to four million years ago.

Its a route that is just fantastically inviting and promises stunning views en route.  I've always prefered "A to B" races and this perfect for anyone who feels likewise.

Whilst not the highest of the Canarian mountains you do spend a significant time working hard at over 1,800 metres and either I was getting old very quickly or I was feeling the effects of the altitude at that level.








We chose to stay in the T10 Taburiente Playa hotel just south of Santa Cruz which is the race HQ for the duration of the events.  It has the advantage of being in the very centre of things with althletes everywhere (including elites if you're into stalking). It's a big package holiday sort of place with buffet meals which were okay if a bit tiresome after a bit. 

We had chosen to go out nine days before the race to give us time to explore some of the island and the race route and if you've not done the race before I would reccommend this. Why nine days?  Well for us the easiest way to get out there was flying with Thomson/TUI from Manchester which only goes once a week so the choice was going out two days pre-race or nine days.   It was very comforting during the race to come across the few parts that we had walked before and feel like I was running in familar territory.

Race registration took place in the hotel which made life very simple and you get a nice jacket, a technical T-shirt and a small rucksack that many folk recycled as their drop-bag.

Anyhow, enough of that, on to the race!

Breakfast is served from 2 am in the hotel and at 3:30 the coaches start to leave from nearby to take us to the very south of the island.  Well not actually the very south, they chucked us out with about half a mile to go but with the clear skies at that time of night and stars, it was a magical walk.

Although the sky was clear it was very windy which was whipping the volcanic sand and dust everywhere and it was hard to find shelter from the wind whilst we waited for the 6am start.  During this time I agonised over what to wear, what to carry and what to leave in my drop bag to be taken to the finish.
The air temperature wasn't particularly low but the chilling effect of the wind made it feel positiely parky.  In the end I chose to just wear everything until 15 minutes before the start when I ditched my water-proof and lightest jacket and carried my "intermediate" light-weight jacket in my pack.

To reach the start line everyone had to undergo a kit-check.  The list of compulsory kit is small however; a mobile phone, a space blanket, a head-torch and 1L of water carrying capacity. Anything else is up to you.  In addition to the compusory kit I had my folding walking poles, emergency "toilet kit", a sun protection hat and a few nibbles.  There's no need to carry too much in the way of calories as there are feed stations en-route.

I had read about the importance of not starting too far back due to the bottlenecks early on in the course but once I got through the kit check I discovered that the only way of joining the 1600 or so runners already there was to walk right to the back of the starting pen. Oops!  Ah well, I didn't want to go off too fast anyway, did I?

Having accepted the situation I was able to improve upon it a bit by wriggling forward but if you want to be near the front, you have to get into the starting pen early.  I would have done that but was just too busy sheltering from the wind and making last minute kit decisions.

The race clock is projected on to an adjacent rock face providing a giant screen so that everyone can see the countdown.  At 00:00:00 race time fireworks and hooters go off and we were away at last!

In a change from last year the runners run up the winding road from the lighthouse for the first mile or so.  This was changed in an attempt to reduce the congestion at the start as the paths are relatively narrow.  It's impossible for me to know whether this helped or not as I know some runners had to queue for some time at "pinch points".  Personally, I never had to stop for more than 5 or 10 seconds on two occasions during the climb to the first town of Los Canarios at 7 km and 700 metres above sea level.  The path is across a lava field and the rocks are sharp so you want to be careful how you fall.  I had two stumbles on the way up followed by one fall in the dark which cost me a very small amount of skin.

 Pleased to see more than a few runners behind me at this stage.

 

It was at Los Canarios where we had our first major encounter with the fantastically enthusiastic Canarians who were out in huge numbers to cheer us on.  You have to bear in mind that it wasn't long after 7:20 am and cold when I got there and people were everywhere, including small children, some bundled up in sleeping bags by the side of the route.  So, despite the stiff climb it was impossible NOT to run uphill through the town and high-five the kids who had their hands outstretched.  Drinks were available here but due to the cool temperatures I hadn't drunk anything yet.

From this point onwards the use of poles were permitted.  It had been decided that the combination of narrow congested paths and walking poles was a dangerous and I think it was a good decision by the organisers.  Somewhat surprisingly I didn't see anyone flouting the rule although there were plently of places where one could have made good use of poles before then.

From Los Canarios the route changes suddenly in nature and you're in Canarian pine forests.

 Las Deseadas checkpoint 16.5K 1,800 m alt.

Looking north towards the ridge of the Caldera. Finish line in the town in the lower left

 

The ground underfoot was pretty loose and soft however and whilst not as soft as true sand say, it was relatively sapping to run on.  From 700 metres altitude we slogged up to 1,900 metres on our way to the first major check-point (and cut-off point) of El Pilar.  It was now sunny and the skies were blue but the temperature was staying relatively low due to the wind so the anticipated heat wasn't a problem, yet.  After what felt like a never ending series of ups and downs we had to lose altitude to drop down to 1,450 metres at El Pilar (24 km).  As we descended we dropped into low cloud that frequently covers the "saddle" of this island.  Out in the open, the cloud was fine but if you were any where near trees the pine needles trapped the water and produce low level "rain" that could be quite heavy at times if you were downwind.

 Getting a bit misty and wet in the low cloud that covered the saddle in the ridge on the way to El Pilar

The El Pilar cut-off was 5 hours race time.  I knew this pre-race but if you've not done the race before you have no conception of how hard this is going to be to achieve. As it was I arrived here at 4:31 (race time) so I was in no trouble but I was very aware that there were a *lot* of people behind me and I had felt like I was pushing on fairly hard the whole way.  As it turned out a lot of folk did fall at this first hurdle.

There was a large feed station here.  I can't honestly remember what was available but I really enjoyed lots of fresh melon, some orange slices and some banana here.  This is also the point where the "half marathon" finishes and the "marathon" starts.  Both distances are approximate and generous.

 (The clock time is for the half marathon that started at 7:30)

Muriel had managed to get herself to El Pinar using the free buses put on by the organisers.  It is the only way to access this point and is quite a faff to do so I was very appreciative of her effort, even though I was keen to keep moving.

After El Pilar the route flattens out for a long, and dare I say, slightly boring stretch.  This runs right along the ridge but this part of the ridge always seemed to be enveloped in low cloud whilst we were on the island.  Consequently plant growth is lush, rain-forest like and the views, for a while, non-existent.  Still, we were steadily if slowing climbing again and eventually we popped out of the cloud and were able to enjoy the fantastice views right across the caldera and even down to the finish line.  It looked tantalisingly close but I think we were no more than a third of the way around the course at this point.  Despite this it was hugely encouraging to see most of what lay ahead of us and the finish line.

From now on the temperature was steadily climbing and the sun was strong.  I was very glad of my "cap with curtain" to protect my head, neck and ears.  I was also wearing a lightweight solar protection long sleeve top that I'm convinced helped me in keep cool.  Not only does it reflect more sunlight than skin I think it's a more effective evaporator of sweat.

I rather lost count of the intermediate check points but the next major landmark that we were heading towards was Pico de la Nieve (2,200 metres, 42 km).  This was memorable for the cruel way that with the peak almost within your grasp the path plunges from 2,130 metres down to the checkpoint at 2,020 metres.  Now 110 metres of drop might sound like small beer but climbing out of the checkpoint to regain that altitude was so so hard.  The path runs almost straight up a small ridge and it had me gasping for breath.  It was at this point that I really felt the effect of the altitude.  The heat was continuing to build and from Pico de la Nieve onwards I was taking advantage of the head and hat soaking services that were provided at all the check points.

 Stunning views from the high point of the island.

From here to Roque de los Muchachos (the rock of the boys) was just 9 km but felt far longer.  On the level or very mild inclines I could still run but any significant slope or uneven ground slowed me right down.  It was hard, very hard at times, but when the views are so stunning the pain of the running was easy to ignore, or at least "set aside".  I was finding that I seemed to recover my breath more quickly than many others though and could resume running quickly after a steep climb so I got plenty of opportunities to call out "paso" to slower runners.

RdlM marks the highest point of the course and there is another major checkpoint here with a cut-off time of 11 hours.  Lots of fruit, nuts and hot food!  I grabbed a plate of tuna pasta here and it went down without touching the sides and I felt great after it.  Now it was just a small matter of shedding 2,400 metres of altitude over the next 18K! 

Mana from heaven

 

The conditions underfoot are treacherous and technical so you've got to concentrate hard virtually the whole way.  On the few occasions when the was the odd moment of smooth path it felt absolutely fantastic to blast along but those opportunities were few and far between.  It wasn't long though before were were descending into pine forests again but this time we were on the sunny side of the island and no low cloud.  Low cloud would have been welcome now as the trees were doing a poor job of keeping the sun off of us and the heat was still pretty intense.  Nevertheless, with the occasional head and hat soaking, the heat never became a real problem for me.

During my descent I came across a runner being airlifted off the course.  Not too badly injured or ill I assumed as they were lifted in a sling rather than a stretcher.

Eventually I reached El Time, the last check point before descending the "Vertical Kilometer" course. Once again the checkpoint was well supplied with food and drink.

The Vertical Km is a bit of a misnomer.  It's more that a vertical km to the bottom and officially "too long" and a bit over 7 km in length.  Apparently Vertical Kms should all happen within 5 km but maybe that accounts for it being nearer 1,140 metres absolute climb/drop and I think near 1,600 metres cumulative.

I had heard a lot about the final descent and how awful some people found it but remarkably, my legs still seemed to be bearing up well and the only part that really made my knees protest was a short steep section of concrete road through a banana plantation.  I was actually better on uneven paths hopping around than on a straight smooth surface.  Fortunately there was lots more of the former.

 View down to Puerto del Tazacorte

It was on this section that we again came across the enthusiastic locals.  Not in such number as back at Los Canarios but the field was obviously a lot more spread out so not surprising.  I took advantage of a road-side "shower" rigged up by a local for another session of cooling.  It really did feel fantastic.  Worth getting over-heated for!

After much zigging and zagging the end was getting ever closer and at Tazacorte port you pass through cheering crowds and a finishing arch.  The only problem is, this isnt the ultra finish!  It's the marathon finish and I still had another 5 km and 300 odd metres of climbing to do to reach the ultra finishing line.

I knew that this was coming however and with a goal of "just finishing" I could relax and enjoy this last 5 km, about 3 km up a stretch of river bed and then 2 more km with 300 metres of climbing. 

Police were on hand to stop all the traffic at points were we had to cross any roads which was nice. It's very evident how much all the emergency services are involved in the race with police, fire, ambulance, red cross and helicopter rescue services. 

The final climb came to an end and I entered what looks to be an enormously long finishing straight.  It's pretty flat however and after plodding and poling my way up the hill it was actually a relief to start running again so that's what I did, I ran the whole finishing straight.  Rather cruelly they have 5 or 6 arches over the road and from afar you can't work out where the finish line is and it only becomes obvious in the last few hundered metres.

 I finished in 14:37:22, a mere 7 hours after the winner. 1,051st out of 1,368 finishers (1618 starters).

As I mentioned earlier, the cut-offs seemed pretty tight for many runners and of the 250 non-finishers, only 5 are listed as "DNF"s, the other 245 as "DQ"s.

I thought this was a fantastic race and I would love to do it again sometime.  That said, there are just so many great races to have a go at but I'd heartily recommend this to anyone who enjoys hill and volcanic islands.  I'm currently agonising over whether to do the Blue Trail Ultra over Mount Tiede (in Tenerife) next year, the Transvulcania, or maybe even both. The Canarians really seem to know how to put on a big race and they do it so well it feels like it would be hugely disrepectful not to finish.

Although I know I've trained to do these sorts of races I will never stop feeling incredibly lucky that I have the health and fitness to do them and a long suffering wife who puts up with me running them.