So my place in the English Champs has already been assured. It isn't great, but having done a short, 2 mediums and a long means that whatever it is, it is. Considering that the current plan is to train up for the Trans-Pyrenees race on the bike, I thought it might be "fun" to cycle to Wasdale on Friday, race the race and then cycle home again. To Glossop.
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| All set and ready to rock. |
Any hopes that Lynne would tell me not to be silly and what a crazy idea that would be were dashed, and she packed me off with a smile and a wave on Friday morning. The original intention was to do it with just bikepacking gear, but carrying fellrunning kit and a sleeping bag etc. meant that I ended up with panniers on a pannier rack instead, which made the whole thing somewhat hard going.
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| Oh great, THIS is what you need after 100miles. |
Suffice to say I was worrying about wrynose and hardnott for about 100 miles, and still managed to get over them. Happy days. Got to the Achillie Ratti club hut in Wasdale for about 7, made some food and fairly swiftly went to bed, having made what I hope was some kind of sensible conversation with Jonny and family and Donnie who were also staying at the hut.
In the morning, my legs felt somewhat ok, but I was most certainly, systemically tired. The ride down to the start was not the most spritely, and while everyone else seemed to be bouncing around, doing warm ups and jogging about, I was standing in a warm jacket (which I was about to carry around the whole thing), whilst wondering if *just* a vest was going to be warm enough- there was quite a stiff breeze coming down the valley.
Thankfully Colin B had a spare short sleeved helly that he let me borrow (I carried 10kg of the lightest kit I own to this race, and not a single helly!) which made me feel a little better. Wasdale is a bit of a beast. This is my first time on the race, and it really is a legend in it's own lunch time. What is hard is that although it is long and has insane amounts of height gain and loss, you are never actually all that far from the valley- it is VERY easy just to quit- because it's just a jog downhill.
My plan for the day was to start slowly. And then, probably get even more slow as time went on. To be honest, I definitely stuck the plan! Fast running was not going to be a part of this race for me. The initial hill is classed as a "gentle climb"- over Illgill head. If you're Finlay Wilde at the front of the race, it is very runnable indeed. If you're at the back of the race, it is *maybe* runnable, but you know that you're going to regret it later in the day. As they say, many people go out too fast at the beginning and really regret it by hour 2/3/4. So I went slowly. No running until we got to the top. Funnily enough the breeze that had be very present in the start field had completely gone away and I was cursing my choice of borrowing a helly from Colin- but was fairly sure it was going to come in useful later in the race as I started slowing down and chilling off.
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| The Ladies (and MV60) start |
Over the top of Illgill head, off to Whin Rigg, and a mass of runners was in front of me. No worries about getting lost here. Checkpoint on the top of the Rigg and then a steep drop to the Southern end of Wast Water and a steady run through the flagged section of the course to Greendale. All conversation had ceased by this stage as the running takes a bit more concentration than just stumbling up a hill.
Water stop at Greendale and then up Middle fell a ways, cut around the back, over Greendale Gill and a Long Long climb up to Seatallan. My left heel was starting to rub, so a stop to re-tighten the laces was necessary- it seemed ok after that. This certainly isn't a race which is going to have a huge difference for me if I'm a couple of minutes slower... so being bothered to maintain comfort is fairly necessary.
Some misty rain kept threatening to come in as we climbed, and was certainly coming in a bit more on the journey down through Pots of Ashness. The route taken across here was a fair bit higher than that which I anticipated having looked at the map previously, but it meant that coming above Little Lad Crag meant significantly less climb to get to the col between Little Scoat fell and Red Pike.
Waterproof gloves had made an appearance along here, as my hands were getting cold. We'd started to catch up with the runners who had started off 30 mins prior to the Open start- though I felt like I was moving pretty slowly to have only really started getting to those people at this stage of the race.
Round the bottome of Black crag, and I was having a conversation with a guy from Clayton-le-moors who mentioned the cut off at Great Gable was at 2:30. ... 2:30?! We weren't even at Pillar yet and it was coming up to 1:50. Certainly there was no way I was going to get to Gable for that time.... and if *I* wasn't going to get there, there were a LOT of people behind me who were also going to get timed out. This made me reflect on being in a race where you're fighting cut offs... I wasn't particularly enthralled about the idea of pushing as hard as possible just to get to a time cut, to then be one of the slowest around. I'd just keep going at whatever speed I could, and see what happened.
Down off Pillar following what is most likely the Bob Graham route, down to Black Sail Pass and then a really quite horrible traverse under Kirk Fell to make the short but very steep ascent to Gable. The Clayton-le-Moors guy who I was bouncing back and forward with took a superb fall into and through a bog at this point, pretty much covering his entire front half in mud. Quite an impressive fall. He didn't want to go back and re-create it for a camera though.
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| The view from the side of Gable back into Wasdale |
By the time I was cresting the summit of Great Gable it was 2:45 and I was resigned to being told "well done, but we're afraid you're past cut off- please make your way back to Wasdale". In fact, I was almost delerious with delight that I wouldn't have to make a choice as to whether to carry on or not. The decision would be out of my hands and I'd HAVE to take the short route home.
Imagine my state of mind when I was greeted with a cheery "hello. Well done!". Nothing about cut offs. Hmmm. "What time is the cut off?" I asked.... "half past" came the answer.... "Half past what?".
Three.
Damn. Looks like the race is continuing then.... From this point on for the majority of the route, mudclaws (which until... well, Pillar had been fine) were basically a liability. Wet, slick rock. Great if you have irocs, but not mudclaws. A couple of hours of teetering around then- and the descent of Gable was the first point where my legs REALLY started to let me know that cycling 220km the day before might not have been a great idea. My descent was not one for the legends of history, but was a rather ginger affair and took a considerably longer time than I would have liked... however, better to get down well and intelligently than too fast and in a crumpled mess. A quick stop at the Stretcher box at Sty head to tighten the OTHER shoe and then a stumble walk/run up the path to Sprinklin tarn, and then upward still to Esk Hause.... from the bottom of Gable, it's essentially uphill ALL the way to Scafell summit.
Just prior to the Hause, the Clayton runner started to pull away from me and was disappearing into the mist as we ascended. I wasn't too bothered about that as the route is the same as the Old County Tops. My concern was at the top of the Pike, although the route takes the tourist path to begin with- I've never actually been that way off the hill.... it'd be nice to have someone else to look out for, rather than rely on map and compass work at the tired end of 5 hours of running.
So I downed some more food and got my head down across the rocks and dodgy ground across to Scafell Pike. Last hill. I gained some time on the final ascent and reached the peak at the same time as the Clayton chap and another runner. We turned and took the tourist route- dodging tourists as much as possible on the way down the massive path to Lingmell col, picking up another couple of runners in th process- while the Clayton guy had another tumble- this time onto rock and stone rather than bog, so we took a few moments to make sure he was ok- and ran on together to the col.
A final run down a hill. By this time my legs were well and truely cooked. Running as a concept had been shuffling for about 5 hours, and there was going to be no sudden turn of speed, just a contiuous move in a downhill direction. As we hit the steeper part of the descent I stifled a groan and some profanities, and noticed that a female Todmorden runner was making much better progress just to the right of us- evidently a well reccied individual, so I dropped down and followed what wasn't really a line, but was better than the path. A little further down the way, I spied a scree line and surfed down that, seemingly leaving those behind me by quite a way.
Then it was just a general "fall down a hill with some kind of style" at the end. I was NOT moving fast, but I was moving faster than those behind me, and finally came into the finish at a smidge over 5:30. 126th overall. Lower down in the results than I would normally expect to come, but perfectly happy with simply getting around.
According to Chris (who ended up coming first V40!) I looked a fair bit shellshocked... which really doesn't surprise me.
The bit that was worrying me now was getting back over Hardnott and Wrynose the following day!
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| Top of Wrynose |
So- a longer story cut short, I did indeed get over the passes, and got back to Glossop the next day despite snapping a gearcable 20k out and effectively having to jury rig a single speed to get home.
This morning, stairs are difficult.
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