Old County Tops 2023

 It's the one event that gets booked into the diary a year ahead. The Old County Tops. 38 miles of fun with a bit over 3000m of ascent. My race calendar doesn't exactly revolve around this race... my race calendar now is this race. This was the 7th year of running it for me, and the 4th with Chris. We won the V80 award last year, so this year was going to be an interesting one. We knew it wasn't going to be easy, mainly because Chris has just come off the back of a 2:42 marathon. Now this might appear to be a good thing, but he ran it a fornight ago, and for the past 5 months he has just been road training. His aerobic capacity is huge, but his time in the hills has been rather curtailed. Alongside this, his 80k+ weeks have been matched in equal measure by my 20- 30k weeks- with no real consistency. I'm not putting excuses in early, just setting the scene.... I haven't run this distance since this time last year, and haven't raced since last June, so let's just say we were going into this somewhat undercooked in terms of fell fitness. 

Beautiful day. It's about get get ugly(er)

As ever, it was a day long smash and grab. Up at 4am for coffee and breakfast before heading across to pick Chris up, and the 2 hour drive to Langdale. We hit the carpark at the optimal time, and zoomed through kitcheck, finishing up just as the hordes of other racers descended on the tents. 

Despite having had breakfast at 4, I had another bite to eat, but wasn't feeling all that awake, which was a bit strange. We kitted up, going with t-shirts over long sleeves- it looked like being a hot and sunny day, and slathered on the sunscreen. A bit of a jog down the road and back to loosen up the legs, check to make sure we had everything and got back to the start with about 5 mins before it all kicked off. 

It's ALWAYS the same. I get to a race and look around and think... wow, all these people look really serious and fit. How are we going to measure up against this lot? We're total amateurs in comparison. Still, Chris Lloyd gave his starting speech and set us all off at 8 on the dot, and we mooched off down the bridleway in 3rd. 

It's always nice to start with a bit of a flat jog, and the OCT is no exception. There were no insanely fast guys here today, so the opening few kilometres weren't at a ridiculously frantic pace as they have been the last few times, however we still found ourselves near the front. The issue is that when you remember the OCT, it's always the big names- the Helvellyns, the Scafell Pikes etc. that you remember... but you have to get over Silver Howe first, and the first 5k can be a bit of a handful, to be honest. You still feel good as it is the very beginning, but you can't go out too hard. 

Over and down into Grasmere, and up the road to the turning that takes you up the grand valley to the col below Fairfield and I started to feel a bit odd. Nothing specific, but more of a general overall systemic fatigue. My heartrate was bouncing around at the high 160's which is not a good thing. That is where I should be for a race lasting maybe an hour or 2, not one that is going to be at least 7.5 hours long. 

Chris and I were communicating well, making sure that we were generally ok with the tempo, and being very aware of just how hot it was. We didn't want to be one of the teams that blew up later in the day from overdoing it too early, so we backed off a little. Teams overtook us, but still my Heartrate remained far too high. Up over towards the climb up Dollywagon, I was starting to struggle- remembering back to the 2014 OCT with Alastair where he was unprepared for it, and he was struggling at that point. I remember remarking to Chris that I felt very much like a statue- not a pigeon and today was not going well. And this is before we even got to the first real summit. 

The great thing about this race is that even if you ARE having an awful time of it, it is still such an amazing day out in the Lakes. You see so much of the place- and today was no different. The views were spectacular, the air was clear- a genuinely astonishing day in a beautiful place. 

Onward and upward, and still an elevated HR. Not great. Certainly not great when coupled with feeling systemically off. Chris remarked about how in cycling, people have days when the legs are "good" and days when they are bad- yet in running, we're almost expected to have good legs *all* the time. Today was not a good day at all. Food wasn't really going well- it was too hot for Clif bars- they turned to grit in your mouth, but I battled on with them. I had 5 gels and a bag of Tangfastics... if I was to get through the day they would need to be used very strategically indeed. 

We slowed the pace a fair bit to the top of Helvellyn, hitting the checkpoint in our slowest time as a pair- about 1:50. The descent wasn't bad, but it wasn't great and I was feeling pretty ropey by the time we hit the feed station at the bottom. The day wasn't just hot- it was going to be *really* hot, and so along with how I was feeling, the idea of a fast time kind of evaporated. We had a conversation about how the day was panning out and decided to settle into just ticking along, trying not to be the ones who ended up quitting due to over exertion or heat exhaustion rather than worrying about position or time. No more attempts at anything other than walking or "ultra shuffling". Which was good news as I was still feeling pretty bad. To be honest, there were a few times on the previous ascent where I just felt like sitting down and stopping, but realised that wasn't going to help things at all. However, the next bit was Wythburne. 

Even on the best of days, the ascent of Wythburne is a long slog. On a good year we manage to run some of it. This was not a good year and walking was, at times, almost too much for me. Chris was being his normal jovial and encouraging self, and to my credit, not once did I try to throw him in the river. A gel was taken, and the water bottles were filled a number of times. It was turning into one of those days where you HAVE to drink a lot, but there is a careful balancing act- because if you drink too much, then you end up with stomach cramps and stitch. With the ascent going on in a deep and hot valley, spreading into a bog there were, again numerous times where just sitting down seemed like a good option. Thoughts of stopping at Angle Tarn went through my head- but then... I'd recced a pretty decent line off Scafell Pike. If I quit at the Tarn I wouldn't have a chance to use the knowledge....

Onward and upward through the bog, along with another team who we were playing tag with. The next nearest teams ahead of us were so far away as to be out of sight. The traverse around and down to Stakes Pass went well, and we ended up getting to Angle Tarn ever so slightly ahead of the other team. Heads dunked in water for refreshment, a glass of water, and onward... except that team had now overtaken us and we were the "chasers". I use inverted commas here as I was not in any way, shape or form chasing anyone. However, the pace over to Angle Tarn had been such that my Heart Rate had finally dropped to something like normal- 140 or so- for this kind of effort, and I was finally beginning to feel something approaching normal- for 15 miles and 1500m of ascent. 

The slog up Esk Hause and onto Scafell was nothing if not purgatory. Watching the other team ahead of us slowly pull away, knowing that if I went any faster, everything would fall apart- so keeping the same pace was simply the best way. There were a simply incredible amount of people on the mountain, and we were dodging and shifting around hordes of people up to the top. Running out of water- we hit the summit- but knowing that at the bottom of the mountain lay a river, and over the hill from there, another- where we could dunk and drink, so we turned and headed for the direct line. To be honest, the moment I had been waiting for. 

I came up in March and recced this line about 6 times in an afternoon, and hoped that I would remember the route and sequence to get off. It was a surprise to see one of the teams that had been so far ahead as to be out of sight still very high on the mountain. I led Chris down, and we nailed the line to pretty much perfection (well... it was slightly out, but missing the entrance to the scree path by 4 metres ended up being neither here nor there), and by the time we had dropped down the mountain we were ahead of 3 teams, 2 of which we hadn't seen in miles. 

Although we were ahead, there was still a long long way to go, and the maximum speed I was moving at was "ultra shuffle". Normally, the next section would be quite fun and runnable, but not today. Still feeling iffy- but slowly getting better, we took stock and figured that it was going to get hotter still, and going any faster than I was currently coping with would have been silly. More food in, heads dunked in rivers, we got on with the slow progress. The 2 teams directly behind us caught and overtook us pretty quickly- and made good on their speed. Distances grew, but there was never going to be a chase. Up and over the next hill, through the bog (with a rather unexpectedly deep bit that I discovered at some speed), and down to Cockley Beck. The checkpoint of legend, tea and egg butties. 

We came into Cockley Beck, me feeling fairly ruined, 2 gels left and with the closest 2 teams having come, been and gone. We were in 7th place. We've been in that position before. The top 6 get a mug to take home, 7th doesn't. Damn. 

Cheese and Pickle sarnies and a gulp of squash, I moaned a bit to the Achilli Ratti crew that I knew from the club before Chris hit me with a metaphorical wet fish and told me to get on with it- and so we started the climb up Grey Friars. 

Grey Friars- like most of this race- on it's own is a pretty decent climb. When you've already got 2500m of up and down in your legs, it takes on a completely different feel. It is a monster. You can see people ahead of you, but they never get any closer. The air is still, the heat is baking- and you're in this effective hot house putting one foot in front of the other, feeling horrendous, for about half an hour. But it feels like a week. 

Ahead of us, one of the guys from the team closest to us starts walking like John Wayne. He's been hit with cramp pretty hard. He stops and stretches, and carrys on. Although our pace never slows, again, it feels like we make no progress on catching them at all. On and on we climb. I take a gel- one left. I've had 5 already and have no idea how this is all going to affect me and my guts- but right now it's the only thing (apart from the severely diminished stock of Tangfastics) that is keeping me going.

Finally, after about a week of climbing we get to the top, get onto the trod and resume the "ultra shuffle". Again, this should be a run, but- no. That isn't happening today. But the guys ahead of us are walking, and we slowly catch them- cramp having overtaken them significantly. Into 6th. No way. 

A few hours ago I was thinking of sitting down and crying and then walking off the hill feeling utterly horrendous. Now, I'm feeling a little less horrendous- and we're in 6th? No way. Chris and I chat about maintaining the effort, just tapping out the pace as we have been since Angle Tarn. No words are spoken about our place in the race- only casual conversation, and check ins to make sure each is ok. 

(an interesting aside here- a lot of the teams on OCT do this- you hear a lot of "you ok?" "yeah".... but very rarely do you hear someone reply "no". Unless, of course, you are Chris who basically spent the entire day listening to my very honest replies to his well meaning "how are you doing?" enquiries. Sorry Chris). 

We're on the out and back now- and a couple of the leading teams come past us on their way to getting off the Old Man. We plod on, measuring our output. Techincally, it isn't far to go now- not in the grand scheme of things, but if you forget to eat, or think that it's all over then things can still come crashing down. Across the tops to the Old Man there is no shade and no water source, so we dilligently just kept on going, trying to keep the other team behind us. To the peak, a gulp of water, and then turn around and head back. To my surprise the other team had been moving well, despite the cramp... crikey. I know we can't move much faster than that which we have been... but we're hanging onto 6th by our teeth. I resolved to just not look back. If I can imagine someone just behind us, it'll push me faster than anything that might be real. 

Top of Coniston

Finally, I'm feeling semi-ok. The main ascents are all out of the way, it's only really descents now... but EVERYTHING hurts. We can't go too fast, or risk the same cramping fate as those behind... I'd already felt- but staved off calf and hamstring cramp in the last mile. My abs were hurting, quads were killing, and nothing really wanted to go. Grit teeth and carry on- at least we're not going up Helvellyn again.

Direct north and then down the line and off the end to 3 shires stone. A slight miscalculation took us off the line at the beginning of the descent, losing us potentially precious seconds. The downhill was punishing, and we were looking forward to the water at that final checkpoint. Still not looking behind, all I could envisage was the other team bearing down on us- and so it was head down, and get down. 

3 shires stone- water! And the knowledge that we really weren't that far from home, the final gel was taken and the hot run down wrynose pass was commenced. Far in the distance we could see the team ahead of us- certainly not going to try to catch them- again, all about the measured effort. None of the fast crazy endings here. Down and across the odd patch of land that takes you to Blea tarn and the blessed shady bit around the western side, and then back to the scorched landscape to the final road crossing. No-one behind us? Chris doesn't think there is- and we take the descent to the final path nice and steady. 

Along the path down through Langdale, and we appreciate the fact that we are finally here.... just about ready to be finished, thankyou very much. The final 800 metres, and my energy levels are rapidly dipping. I'm out of gels, I'm out of haribo and the bonk is on the doorstep. Thankfully, this is it, we have no further to run and I hold on to the end. 

8:15. Our slowest OCT to date- and, no doubt, the hardest. We came through a lot of really tough places, managed the pace incredibly well, got the effort right and came through. There were genuinely a few times where I was close to throwing up, sitting down and generally calling it a day (though I don;t think Chris would have accepted anything less than sunstroke/heat exhaustion/ broken leg as a valid "we're not finishing  today" excuse. 

No, we didn't retain the V80 trophy- but were only about 10 mins off- And flipping heck. We still got a mug. Unbelievable. 

So I drove us back down south, and as Chris gets out of the van to get his car, he turns to me and says "same again next year?". 

"yup". 

Post script:

Lynne said this morning "I have a confession". Oh yes? "The coffee you made yesterday- it was the first scoop from the new pot wasn't it?" Yes. 

That's decaf. 

Ah.