Lakeland 50 Take 3

I had to do a personality test at work recently - one of those profiles where you’re assigned a colour. I’m yellow, apparently, which means I’m an extrovert who’s all about fun, enjoyment, and inspiring others. This won’t surprise regular readers (all three of them) who know I’m nothing if not a ray of fucking sunshine, always ready with motivational bullshit, and generally full of good vibes. I suppose I do prioritise my ‘enjoyment’ over many other aspects of my life, most notably housework and conscientious parenting, but I stopped short of asking the workshop facilitator (not writing that with a straight face, promise) whether it still counts as fun when it involves repeatedly shitting in bushes, bowking on your cheese and pickle sarnie, and getting your husband to do a thorough tick sweep when you’re done? Just because your mates are weirdos, etc.

So having established that my idea of fun is quite possibly a little different from what most people understand by the term, when I say my aim for this year’s Lakeland 50 was to enjoy myself, I’m not diminishing the difficulty of the event. Anyone who makes that mistake will have it bite them in the arse and quite possibly kick them in the teeth, then dish out a black eye for good measure. It might be relatively low level by Lake District standards, but it is unremittingly tough, especially when the inevitable weather is thrown into the mix, and for fuck’s sake, don’t call it a fun run!  But I had no aspirations or expectations in terms of time. I’d completed the 96 mile West Highland Way Race five weeks earlier so I knew I had the endurance, but wasn’t sure how recovered I was and what impact that would have on my day.

To be honest, the running bit was actually secondary to being involved in the Lakeland weekend. It is full throttle, balls out bonkersness from the second you arrive in Coniston and it doesn’t let up until the presentation ceremony is over on Sunday afternoon. Sleep is optional, and for many proves elusive, despite what they’ve put their bodies through. In fact, the event theme tune, as it were, is Nessun Dorma, which translates as none shall sleep, and is performed to send the 100 competitors on their mission to circumnavigate the Lake District on Friday night. The whole experience is completely immersive and a little bit insane, but it wins over even the most arch and cynical of people - trust me, I’m one of them (as well as being all about the fun, obvs). The Lakeland Family really is A Thing. 

Kick off  happens properly on Friday evening when the Lakeland 100 competitors leave Coniston at 6pm. The streets are lined with spectators ringing cowbells and cheering for friends and family, then there’s the aforementioned opera singer -  it’s a complete circus, there’s no getting away from it, and kind of incongruous in what is a pretty sleepy Lake District village on any other weekend of the year, but it’s impossible not to get swept up in the atmosphere and become a bit awestruck at the magnitude of what these guys are taking on. 

And if you think that’s a riot, things ramp up even more for the main event of the weekend - the Lakeland 1 kids’ race! I finally managed to persuade my son Rory, who is 9 and doesn’t see the point of running for running’s sake (so probably thinks his mam's a bit of a dick), to take part and he had an absolute blast. It’s a microcosm of the entire weekend, I think - there are some damn fast kids who obviously take it very seriously, but the emphasis is on the experience, it’s totally inclusive, and every finisher counts.

Rocking the main event.

And so to Dalemain, near Penrith where the Lakeland 50 gets underway at 11.30am on Saturday. The race starts with a lap of the fields to make the distance up to 50 miles. The general consensus is that this bit’s quite shit, but I don’t think it’s the run itself, just that you’re in a giant conga line of runners on a narrow track and it can feel like parkrun in Hades. I’m convinced it was even busier than usual this year so there was absolutely no danger of going off too fast. The rain was on from the off but there was no air so I didn’t entertain wearing a jacket, and I wouldn’t until Ambleside. 

Support on the course was fabulous this year. I’m from North Cumbria so it’s a relatively local race and I know loads of people taking part, many of whom had friends and family at various points along the route. Rory had enjoyed ringing his cowbell at Dalemain but Jim had taken him to the cinema immediately afterwards, given the shitty weather, so it was great to see familiar faces in Pooley Bridge and at Roehead. I hadn’t managed to fall into step with anyone who wanted to chat and, to be honest, my usual tactics for starting conversations in ultras weren’t working - either my crack was shit, or the vibe was just a bit different on this occasion. I don’t mind running on my own at all (and I would crave space before too long) but I’ve made some brilliant friends during races, so I’m generally open to a bit of chat.

If I was concerned about anything it was the longer climbs. I’ve done over 100.000 feet of ascent in 900 miles this year, but it had been quite specific to the WHW, rather than time in the fells, so I thought Fuesdale might batter me. The only sensible thing to do was to take it ridiculously easy, which I did, but it meant that, once again, I found myself in a train of runners. I’ll be honest, I did have a few moments where I wondered about the sanity of being in this usually peaceful valley with a bunch of weirdos who have paid £100 for the privilege (I include myself as one such weirdo, obviously), with someone’s arse in my face for the duration of the climb. I got lost in a bit of a reverie about a plan that had begun to hatch recently for a girls’ weekend away in gloriously wild Assynt which would involve kayaking and an ascent of Suilven, and I wondered if I would be happier sticking to those kinds of adventures, but I came to the conclusion that the two aren’t mutually exclusive and there’s no reason not to enjoy both. I wasn’t unhappy, just struck by the slightly surreal nature of the situation. I like weird though.

 People always regret asking me what I think about when I go running……..

I love the run over the Kops, and having taken it easy on the climb I was full of bounce at the top. My home turf is the edge of the North Pennines, so bog is bread and butter to me, and it wasn’t actually that wet on the high ground, despite what people may think. Once the clag began to clear the views down to Haweswater were ample reward for the arses in your face climb.

Much as I enjoy the grassy descent to Fordingdale Bottom, I was desperate for a poo, so I had to dive behind a rocky outcrop. I won’t dwell on toilet issues (much) because it’s gross, but at the same time, being an inspirational yellow person, I’d quite like to reassure other women that yep, your cycle will affect you at some point if you decide to have a go at running any kind of distance, but it’s manageable if you adjust your perception of what’s normal, i.e. rocks and bushes make perfectly adequate places to go to the toilet and no one will bat an eyelid. My period started on Sunday morning and one of the side effects of its imminent arrival is always the galloping shits. Sorry lads, but it’s one of the realities we have to face. A sensible woman who was thinking straight would have taken one of the Immodium tabs in her first aid kit - not quite sure what happened to my brain, but it didn’t make this connection. On the plus side, I had none of the debilitating pain I usually suffer with, so running 50 miles is clearly the preventative cure for menstrual cramps.

I love the path around Haweswater, it’s just technical enough to be interesting, while being mostly runnable. If you’ve ever run along the east side of Loch Lomond, you’ll appreciate the relative ease of this particular trail. It’s not so much fun when people don’t have any trail etiquette. I’ll forgive 100 runners anything (not that there’s any need - they all step aside and let you through), but fellow 50 people, if you’re walking on the easy stuff, not to mention sticking your poles in the air and risking your fellow competitors' eyesight, have a little word with yourself and move aside, please.

I did have some lovely chat with nice people on this section, but I bounced into the checkpoint by myself. I’d been fuelling on a combination of sweet potato falafels and Mountain Fuel jellies and my race plan had included soup at Mardale Head, but I was too hot. I probably spent about a minute tops in the checkpoint while I waited to get my bottles filled, then set off up Gatescarth munching on a Mountain Fuel bar. They don’t sponsor me or owt, I’m not fast enough, and to be honest I couldn’t afford to fuel my whole race on these, but they do taste nice and aren’t too chewy, so as a back up item in your toolkit, I’d certainly recommend.

More strategically easy climbing up Gatescarth. No one liked my joke about how this is my absolute favourite part of the course and wouldn’t it be amazing if it was all like this? (I do like it, to be honest, but not that much), that one was met with grunts and sinister looks - tough crowd! I ran the flat bit and was catching quite a few people, while thinking about how fucking awful and demoralised I’d felt here in 2017 and the fact that I started puking at the top. I did it in 29 minutes, which is the fastest I’ve ever gone up there during this race, even though I was deliberately holding back, so that was a real boost.

I’d taken my dog for an out and back run from Mardale to Sadgill the previous weekend and I’d been an utter fanny on the downhills. I’d made a last minute, instinctive decision to wear my Altras on race day - bit of a gamble as I’ve never run more than 10 miles in them -  but they were amazing, so comfy and responsive. I just kept saying ‘fast feet’ over and over in my head, or possibly out loud on occasion, and I may have exploded into the A Team theme tune at one point (don’t ask, I don’t know, but I always do it when I’m concentrating), much to the bemusement of the guy I ran past at the time. Poo stop #45, or thereabouts was required, but my mood was excellent, I love the view down Longsleddale, and the rain had stopped for a while, so I was in a real happy place - such a contrast to two years ago when I was puking relentlessly and hating every second.

I probably had my first dip just before Kentmere. I was drinking loads but not quenching my thirst, which is a sure fire sign that I’m starting to feel sick. Experience came into play here though, so rather than panicking I thought, ‘OK, heading into a rough patch, won’t last, solid, savoury food will help.’ It did, and the climb out of Kentmere was a chance to drop the intensity and let everything settle. I still felt a bit ropey at the top, but the run down to Sadgill had really lifted my confidence and I was determined to make the most of the downhill section. I’d read Andy Cole’s blog about his attempt to run a sub 35 hour hundred in which he talks about the descents being money for old rope if you can run them well, so I thought about that all the way down. I had no sense of competition with other people (it hardly matters at my pace), but seeing runners ahead of me being tentative on the loose surface spurred me on to prove to myself that I could do it better. My stomach wasn’t great by the time I got to the bottom, but my mood had lifted considerably. 

It was pouring down when I came into Ambleside but I was running well. Jim and Rory were there so that was a proper lift, even if I couldn’t help thinking Ror was soaked and we might not have brought enough clothes! Jim pretty much carried me to the car in Ambleside two years ago, so he was quite taken aback by how strong I was looking and made a point of telling me so while bravely accepting a sweaty, soggy kiss and not complaining about the fact that I only stopped for about 10 seconds. DH Runners from Carlisle were supporting outside the checkpoint and were also full of encouragement. Prior to the race my friend Sarah had given me instructions that there was to be no talk of floating toenails (2015), and under no circumstances was I to DNF on a tide of vomit (2017). She may have regretted this when I felt the need to update her by announcing that my feet were tip top, I hadn’t puked yet, but I couldn’t stop because I was desperate for a shit on a proper toilet. My mother will be so proud when she reads this.

Mission accomplished, I struggled with the idea of food at Ambleside. I hadn’t really enjoyed the pasta at Kentmere (in no way a criticism of anyone or anything to do with checkpoints, you were all beyond amazing, simply the way my taste buds were behaving on the day). I think I’d been completely spoiled by the West Highland Way and the fact I could make all my own food that I know I love beforehand, then have my support crew feed me at checkpoints. This was one of my errors - I should have packed more of my own savoury stuff because I can’t eat things I don’t fancy when I’m in that frame of mind and I am not someone who can pig out on cake when I’m running. Alternatively I need to learn to stop being such a fussy bastard - it’s the Ultra Tour of the Lake District, not Saturday bloody Kitchen.

I had to eat something so grabbed a cheese and pickle sandwich, which I reluctantly ate walking through the park, then did a massive retch and barely stopped myself being sick. I went from feeling ace, to being cold and really nauseous. Had a brief wobble when I started to let myself think this was going to be the beginning of the vomitous death march to the finish, but there’s a lot to be said for managing your reactions to how you’re feeling, so I stopped, put my coat on and started marching up the hill. Didn’t feel amazing, but I was OK and that was good enough. One of my main personal challenges for this race was to survive without crew and constant encouragement - I was hugely proud of what I’d achieved the previous month, and how well I’d coped, but there was a nagging doubt at the back of my mind that said I couldn’t have done it without my fabulous support crew, which made me wonder if I’d struggle next time I had to look after myself. I really wanted to prove to myself that I could do it without babysitters! And I was doing it, in shitty weather, despite feeling a bit crap.

There was a lot of step counting over Loughrigg; I made a deal with myself that if I could run for 20 strikes of my right foot then I could hike for the same, but after the first 20 I was OK to do another, then 20 more, and I actually ran all the way to the gate. I picked up a guy here (my husband loves my tales of ultras; he especially likes it when I go running in the hills with strange men I meet on the internet) who was unsure of the route, in fact he freely admitted he was winging it, That’s fair enough, I’m sure a lot of people do the same and I don’t particularly mind, but I wasn’t in the mood to chat as all my energy was focused on keeping my emotions on an even keel. Tip for people who fancy a crack at this race but for whom recces aren’t feasible: the road book is online all year round, read it. Then read it in conjunction with John Kynaston’s brilliant YouTube videos. Start doing this in September and do it regularly, I guarantee it will be invaluable and will save you a lot of uncertainty if you find yourself alone, or in the company of an uncommunicative grumpy woman on race day.

I was a bit gubbed at Chapel Stile so, despite being determined to fly through checkpoints I made the decision to stop and feed myself properly; it also occurred to me that, seeing as the light was starting to go, I might as well put my head torch on, rather than faffing about by the side of the trail in ten minutes time.

My adductors have a habit of cramping up when I’m tired and they’d been feeling really weird since about Elterwater. It was as though they’d gone into spasm and were poking out of my legs, rubbing against one another. It was a bizarre and fairly discomfiting sensation and I was beginning to feel a little bit concerned. Then, as I jogged along by Blea Tarn, my bluetooth headphones fell to the ground and my legs were miraculously cured. They’d slipped out of my pocket and had got wedged between my thighs - hence the sticky out sensation. It’s not quite up there with the WHW goblet incident, but it’s yet another example of my own special brand of twattery - wouldn’t be a race report without one.

I know my way across Blea Moss but I’d heard tales of the mystery man who puts out tape to guide runners safely to the dibber at Wrynose. I hadn’t met him as I was injured in 2016 when he first put in an appearance, and didn’t make it this far in 2017, so it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance. He was such a gent and really reminded me of my granda, so much so that I managed to filter my response when he asked how I was feeling so that I told him I had ‘a bit of a funny tummy but I’ve had a good day’ - I can do it when I try!

The vomiting very nearly started just before Tilberthwaite. I spent about 30 seconds with my head between my knees in a gateway, but it passed and I forced some food down. I’d been observant of time on and off all day, but never really bothered by it, so I was surprised to see I had the outside chance of a PB if I could just keep moving and save something for what my friend Paul calls the ‘glory mile’ at the end (incidentally, he ran that mile in 8 minutes and 23 seconds at the end of the hundred, which is just showing off).

I went straight through the checkpoint (but still remembered to drop my fiver in the bucket for Jacob), and made my way up the steps. Here’s another helpful hint for anyone contemplating this race: people will talk about Tilberthwaite Steps, The Stairway to Heaven, or Jacob’s Ladder, they’re all the same thing. They are also misnomers, designed to lull you into a false and cruel sense of security. The steps are over in a minute or so - maybe less - which might lead you to believe you’ve survived the final challenge and what the fuck was all the fuss about? I’m going to break it to you now, so you can make an informed decision: you’ve still got the best part of two miles of climbing to go, followed by a fairly technical descent on the other side, before you hit the very runnable track into Coniston. Think of this as a public service announcement.

I was tired, and a bit bored as I’d had virtually no company all day, but it’s always nice to reflect towards the end. I was in much better shape than in 2015, I’d looked after myself well despite not feeling brilliant, and barring disaster on the final downhill, I was going to finish my third ultra since May, a mere five weeks after my longest race to date. I had around 17 minutes to get my PB when I hit the road and I managed my fastest mile of the day to make it comfortably with 8 minutes to spare, a far stronger and wiser runner than the one who finished her first 50 mile race on the same spot 4 years ago. I still haven’t got this one right, I think I have a much better Lakeland 50 in me, but this time was never about trashing myself, just soaking up the fabulous Lakeland experience.

Did anyone notice that it rained?

There were no new friendships made for me this year, but plenty of old ones cemented. Paul smashed his 5th Lakeland 100 in a time of 27:49, which is kind of mind boggling, and I was thrilled, but not surprised to hear that Jess had bagged third lady in the 50. I was more than just a little bit emotional to be there when Jeni crossed the line in the 100 on Sunday morning. She dragged me out of an absolute pit during the Cateran 55 in May where we made the kind of friendship that usually takes years to build in the space of ten miles, a shot of Talisker, and me threatening to shit my pants repeatedly (no change there then). She does an excellent line in far more articulate and poetic race reports than I do, so you should definitely check them out. 

I shall be bound for Applecross at the weekend for some relaxed running with my dog and much needed family time. Recover well everyone - same time next year….?