Cateran Trail Ultra 2019

‘It never always gets worse’ David Horton*

I am sat on my arse by the side of a trail, somewhere in Perthshire, half-heartedly munching on Hula Hoops as I have the vague notion that eating something may improve my state of mind. Terminal boredom has set in; I cannot fathom how, if I feel this way after 46 miles, I can even begin to think of running another 50 in 6 weeks time; my knee hurts when I run, my legs have been aching for hours, and I’m about to cry because I suddenly, irrationally but desperately, really miss my husband.

Correct responses to this include:  ‘get a fucking grip’, ‘toughen the fuck up’, ‘no one made you do it’, and ‘suck it up, soft lass’. However, while I don’t know much about brain chemistry or psychology, I am familiar with the concept of Doublethink, and right now I am simultaneously aware of the fact that I need to stop with the negativity, while continuing to unabashedly wallow in self-pity.

Cue the appearance of a jazzy be-legginged lady who is staggering a little, but still smiling. She does not call me a twat or tell me to stop being such a baby; instead she offers kind words and a hug. I don’t do hugs IRL, I fold my arms and plaster on a rictus don’t-come-a-step-closer-now grin at the prospect, but this is ultra-land and the gesture is lovely. In view of the fact that I smell like a dead goat (there are unspeakable things in my pack, not to mention over 10 hours of sweat) it's also mildly heroic. She shuffles off. I sob. Twat.

This isn’t my first rodeo though. I might not be any good at running, but I do a bit of it, and am usually quite a resilient sort, so the knowledge that sitting on my arse isn’t going to get this over with any faster does eventually win out. Plus, I only brought a Petzl e-lite, so I’d better get a fucking move on if I’m walking to the finish.

My second crack at the Cateran had started so well. OK, I’d spent two days in bed earlier in the week with Kleenex shoved up my nose and feeling as though I’d been run over, but that had more or less passed. And sure, the monthly haemorrhage had arrived on Friday, together with the hip-grinding agony and attendant intestinal explosiveness, but at least that meant I wouldn’t have to endure it on ‘the big one’ in June. Running’s good for relieving the cramps anyway.

Before I turned into rentawimp. Photo credit Robbie Preece.

Minor setbacks aside, the weather was utterly glorious and showing off this magical country in its finest light. My bones are Cumbrian, but Scotland has my heart and, for a good seven hours, there was nowhere I would rather have been. I love the variety of the Cateran Trail and, even though it’s pretty well used (8,000 people per year walk it, apparently), it feels a bit undiscovered and secret somehow, especially in the wilder sections. The Caterans were bands of cattle thieves, in much the same tradition as the Border Reivers native to our corner of The Debatable Lands (the land’s so pish neither country wanted it). I won’t romanticise them, they were probably bastards, but imagining their marauding antics while you jog through the gorse/whin bushes/broom  - call it what you will - is a pretty good way to occupy your brain. When you’re not sobbing into your Hula Hoops.

The trail chat had been excellent too. Or the chat of those with whom I ran was excellent; spare a thought for poor Gavin who had to endure my potty mouth and inane banter for miles and did so with good humour, a proper gent. I very rarely have company when I run (other than Loki, Dog of Mischief, AKA that big numb fucker - but he doesn’t talk much) so I’m always amazed by the way miles fly by when there’s someone’s ear to chew off. Bizarrely I also bumped into the very lovely Pat Hampton, who just happened to be on holiday in the area. I met Pat at Keswick Mountain Festival in 2015 while we were both running the 50K as our first ultra. Turns out Pat and Gavin are former club mates- almost too weird to credit. This chance encounter delighted me; I think 'inspirational' is the most overused word in the English language, but it's richly deserved where Pat's concerned.

I lost Gavin at some point though, which is probably when I started to feel a bit sorry for myself. I’m not going to examine it too closely; I handled it really badly, which isn’t like me, and I made things unnecessarily difficult for myself, but other stuff went well. Most notably I ate well and didn’t throw up once. The last time I ran The Cateran in 2017 I spent most of the time between Cally Bridge and Enochdhu spewing my guts up - I distinctly remember trying to avoid projectile vomiting bile into someone’s garden. I do ultras for the glamour, don’t you know?

So there I am, cold, knackered, sore, pissed off, alone, walking pathetically along the trail when along came Jeni. I recognised her because we have a mutual friend and Facebook has made the world small. I also know she’s a bloody good runner so was a bit confused as to what she was doing this far back, but being starved of company and conversation at this point, while woefully lacking in anything to actually say to anyone, I decided I would abandon any reserve and introduce myself, in the hope she might stick around for a while. Stick around she did, with great conversation, a series of slightly bizarre coincidences (not least the fact that we both have family in Barrow-in-Furness!), matching skorts, and many common interests, it’s no exaggeration to say we were soon ripping up the trail. OK, it’s a massive exaggeration but we jogged a bit, and my knee was miraculously cured. We caught up with the lady of the jazzy tights, who I now know is the very lovely Susan, and on we went to Enochdhu.

Now, I fucking love whisky, but I’m generally of the opinion that it’s best left until after the race. On the other hand, when your race has turned into a shitshow and your new pals crack out the Talisker, it’s just plain rude not to partake. Fully expecting it to bounce back up, it rather magically had the opposite effect and we power-hiked and ran our way up the fire road, actually relishing the climb to come. I was a bit less relishy half way up, but the views were spectacular and, even though I was ready for it to be done, this is the kind of terrain I really love.

My Nana Hilda died on 3rd May 2017 (also my son Rory’s 7th birthday, he still hasn’t forgiven her); in fact, I left her funeral tea early to drive up to Glenshee the day before the race, so my mind has turned to her many times today. I have a distinct memory of watching Border News with her years ago, when there was a report of someone being killed in the Lake District fells. She sucked air in through her teeth, shook her head, and proffered the observation that “they will gan clammerin’ up these mountains.” Harsh perhaps, but a salient reminder that we do choose this madness; of course it hurts, but the pain is a privilege, along with that of being alive and in this awesome landscape.

Somebody remind me of this naval gazing bullshit at Bridge of Orchy on 22nd June, aye?

That last descent is pretty sadistic on tired legs, but I’d have got on a lot better if I wasn’t clenching my arse cheeks together quite so desperately - where’s the fecking broom to hide behind when you want it, eh? You know you’ve made a new pal for life when they’re skipping down a hill in front of you while you moan at them about the likelihood you’ll shit your pants before the end. Glamour, etc.

We managed to muster something below 10 minute mile pace for the final few metres and crossed the line in 13 hours and 21 minutes - exactly an hour slower than my last attempt. I could be disappointed, but the bonuses far outweigh the shit bits, so I’ll take it and be happy.

Marshals and kitchen crew, you were outstanding - no amount of thanks really does your efforts (or your outfits) justice. Delighted to have been a part of Karen and Dod’s final Cateran and looking forward to future adventures on the trail. Recover well everyone.

Congratulations if you made it this far - you must be an endurance athlete!

*Not Ann Trason, with whom I have been erroneously crediting this quote for years!