Dirty Dozen
Cumbria Way Ultra 30 14/09/2019
Short version: 9th woman; 18th overall; 6:10:06.
I am throwing up. This isn’t the first time I’ve vomited in Carlisle; Thursday nights in the Front Page during the late 1990s, where you could drink yourself blind on vodka for under a fiver, were more often than not to blame. There were a few sticky footed, tequila fuelled nights in Buskers that may have also ended in less than glamorous circumstances. I was not one of those clean living, athletic teenagers.
However, this particular puking episode is happening on a cycle path on the outskirts of the city and has been caused by a rather less hedonistic tipple - namely chocolate soya* milk. More accurately, the ill advised combination of that and cola flavoured gels, which I can no longer stomach because it’s been a warm day and they’ve become deeply unpleasant as a result. That, coupled with the fact that I set off from Keswick almost 6 hours and 28 miles ago, and I’m a bit fucked.
One last heave and I think it’s safe to say there are remnants of neither gels nor milk left in my guts. I’m still knackered, but I’m fairly sure I won’t be sick again, and I can hear people approaching from behind. I wouldn’t say I’m especially competitive, but I’ve been gaining places steadily for most of the day (apart from the bit where Ange made me start at the front to 'avoid the bottle neck' 😄) and I don’t really want to be caught, so I have a quiet word with myself and start to run.
This was the second running of the Cumbria Way 30, and also my second crack at the event. It follows the waymarked trail from Keswick to Carlisle and covers a variety of terrain, most of which I enjoy. I won’t lie, the last section from Dalston is tedious and more tarmac than I usually run in a week, but finishing at Carlisle Castle is novel, not to mention convenient for me as it’s only ten miles from home. It’s friendly and low key, which I love, and the organisation is tip top. It’s also affectionately known as ‘the fun run’ being the shorter of two races that take place on the same day. The Cumbria Way Ultra starts in Ulverston and is around 73 miles long. I had, very briefly, considered signing up for the longer race, but I’ve done enough this year. Common sense triumphed for a change and I plumped for the easier option.
I say easier, but that wasn't quite how it felt. I have been known to take the piss out of those people you see breathing out of their arse and sweating on their shoes in the first mile of a race. Well this time I was one of them. As I approached Latrigg car park, less than three miles in, I thought about ringing Jim, telling him I didn’t like running any more, and asking him to take me home. Knowing perfectly well that he would tell me to fuck off and stop being a wimp soon cured me of that notion, and reminded me that I’d probably feel better later if I could just dig in for a few miles.
The first of many photos of me looking at the ground.
Courtesy of Lindsay Graham.
To use a well known medical expression, my head’s been a bit of a shed lately. I’m not going to wax lyrical about mental health issues because, to be completely frank, I’m bored of hearing myself talk about it. I have great support from people I love and I’m fine with asking for help when I need to, so I won’t subject anyone who has read this far to the innermost workings of my sometimes dysfunctional brain. What I will say is that, although running is one of the tools I use to keep myself on an even keel, after a few weeks of feeling a bit grim, I’m physically as well as emotionally knackered. Your mind and body aren’t separate entities, they’re parts of one system, and when one of its component parts isn’t firing properly, the effect on that system as a whole can be profound. So while I always wang on about managing your emotions during a race and how vital that is to performance, it was fucking hard work on Saturday! I was guilty of letting small things become blown out of proportion for the first few miles and was pretty convinced I was in for a very bad day indeed. To coin yet another wanky phrase though, you have to trust the process: do the stuff that you know works; don’t get bogged down in negative self-talk; don’t waste energy by stressing about things you can’t change; concentrate on your own race; and keep putting one foot in front of the other. At the risk of sounding like a bit of a twat, it’s the best form of therapy I know, being a great way to practice mindfulness, gratitude, and living in the moment, but it’s definitely not easy.
Predictably enough, I did start to enjoy myself. I love the run through Glendereterra Valley (try saying that after a few 50p vodkas) between Lonscale Fell and Blencathra, and managed to relax into an easy jog. It’s a very runnable route for the most part and I could see a few competitors in the distance fairly shifting. I’d made peace with my unambitious pace though and settled into enjoying a few relaxed miles, only slightly hampered by the fact that I really needed a poo due to similar issues experienced on my day out at the Lakeland 50. I’m guessing the only people who read my blogs have probably done so in the past and will be familiar with what one of my friends termed my ‘brutal honesty’ so there’s a good chance you’ll be aware of my propensity for never holding back when it comes to all matters gastro and gynaecological. I’ll spare you the details this time, suffice to say I’m cursed with a short cycle, so am frequently plagued by visits from the shit fairy. Beautiful though the increasingly amber and golden bracken was, I wasn’t prepared to have any ticks attaching themselves to my intimate parts by dropping my pants and squatting amongst it. As such my arse cheeks remained firmly clenched until I got to Caldbeck.
The hike up Grainsgill Beck was a relief in some ways - when the movement is less intense there are fewer protestations from my belly. That said, I think most people would agree it’s a bit of a slog; it’s very wet underfoot, so much so that I landed in a bog up to my crotch, despite warnings from the guy in front, but I’m not averse to a bit of bog snorkelling - I’d be buggered if I was, living where I do. There was a group of people behind me who seemed to be enjoying a great chat and I was quite jealous, having run most of the way on my own so far. Their accents sounded fairly local and I knew there was a pretty sizeable contingent of DH Runners, one of the biggest clubs in Carlisle, taking part in the race, so I paused at the top of the beck in the hope that I might initiate a bit of crack.
Examining the floor in Glendereterra Valley. It's nice.
Photo courtesy of Wildman Media.
Approaching the summit of High Pike with Simon
and looking where I'm going for a change.
Photo courtesy of Cumbria Way Ultra.
They were a really lovely group and a little bit of company goes a long way so my mood had improved dramatically by the time we struck out on the last part of the climb up High Pike, the highest point on the course. I did feel a bit demoralised when everyone else seemed to charge ahead effortlessly - I used to be pretty good at going up hills - but I was resolute in my determination to keep the effort level low after feeling so rough in the early stages. Plus I was eating a Soreen bar. I felt vindicated at the top when I was able to pick up the pace and run the descent strongly. The fact that I was desperate for a crap by this point was also a great motivator.
There are only two checkpoints on the route, at Caldbeck and Dalston. Not only are you halfway by the time you get to checkpoint one, you’ve also done the vast majority of the climbing and the terrain is easy underfoot from this point. Or that’s the theory. In reality, flat tarmac cycle paths can bring a grown woman very close to tears!
If it hadn’t been for the necessity of the loo stop, I would have been in and out of the checkpoint inside a minute. My bottles were refilled in seconds (thanks Di and co! Marshals were fabulously efficient and unfailingly kind). As things stood I arrived at Caldbeck roughly ten minutes ahead of last year’s time and feeling in pretty good shape. DH support crew were out in force and in fine voice, as ever. Support on route was fantastic and being local is a definite advantage. You can’t help but feel buoyed up by a load of massively enthusiastic people wishing you well, even if you don’t really know most of them.
Things were fairly uneventful from this point onwards. The route between Caldbeck and Dalston is pleasant, follows the river Caldew, and is pretty flat, which, to the uninitiated might sound like a good thing. The trouble is that there aren’t many excuses to hike. I definitely need to start including a couple of road runs into my weekly training schedule!
I had resorted to fuelling on gels by now, which, as I’ve already mentioned had become really warm in the heat of the day and made me gag repeatedly, but my only other option was pork pies and I figured if my gels were that warm, I probably stood a good chance of contracting salmonella from anything meaty. Should’ve packed more crisps.
I was alone for the vast majority of the time but kept myself motivated by trying to catch up with people in front. It didn’t really have much to do with being competitive, rather it’s a way to keep my brain switched on and it’s definitely satisfying to feel as though you’ve paced something well enough to be gaining places in the final miles. This was my twelfth ultra marathon and I’m fairly sure I finished ahead of some far better runners, just by being a bit more efficient at managing myself. That’s what I love about long distance trail running - there are lots of elements to get right and every race teaches you something new. I don’t really care how I perform in relation to others because there’s fuck all I can do to control that; my only measure of progress is whether or not I’ve managed to build on past experience and, in some ways, I feel as though I’ve come on leaps and bounds this year. Then I mix cola gels and chocolate milk and you have to wonder….
The last five miles are something of a war of attrition. It should be easy but the lack of much in the way of scenery and the seemingly endless tarmac definitely take their toll. I had to laugh at the teenage girls sat by the path singing ’Keep on Running’ as I went by. I think they were taking the piss, rather than offering encouragement, but it made me smile anyway. I reckon I terrified the life out of another woman when I let out an involuntary growl as I ran up behind her. Poor lass threw a very concerned look over her shoulder and picked up her pace until she realised it was nothing more than a slightly delirious, very smelly woman out for a run. I don’t think the sight of me will have inspired her to take up jogging any time soon.
Finally the route joins Viaduct Estate Road and there’s a bit of a hill before you turn onto Castle Way. It’s enough of an incline that I could legitimately use it as an excuse to walk at this stage, and I’m pretty sure I did last year, but having managed to jog most of the last mile into Fort William at the end of the West Highland Way Race, I know there’s always more in the tank than you think you have left, so made myself run. Carlisle Castle has the, erm, distinction of having a dual carriageway for a ‘moat’ and there are several ways to get across. For the purposes of the race you use the Millennium Bridge and I managed to run up the steps only to hear my name being absolutely hollered from the Castle grounds.
I guessed (correctly) that this was Lindsay and Sarah who had been popping up along the course all day. I’m normally good for a sprint finish but have to admit to feeling absolutely gubbed this time, so their encouragement definitely helped me to dig in. Rory met me on the last section and had absolutely no trouble keeping up, although he very graciously didn’t attempt to out sprint me for a change.
Loads more shouts from supporters in the courtyard, over the line to be presented with my medal and local beer with a customised label, and a hug from race director Gaynor, who accused me of looking far too fresh. Rest assured I didn’t feel it! I’d had a great day though, far better than I expected, and finished 18 minutes quicker than last year. As is the norm with me I'm not really satisfied - sub 6 hours on that route should be well within my grasp, but I did what I could, as well as I was able on the day, which is good enough.
I really love this race. Part of that is because it’s very local and the logistics are easy, but it’s full of thoughtful touches, well organised, and a great route. While I don’t exactly enjoy the cycle path, I do think it’s an interesting challenge at the end of a fairly arduous run. It’s certainly spurred me on to get faster on the road so that when I come back next year I can finish strongly. And I will be back, it’s too much fun not to have another go. It will be the 30 again because, as I’m sure most people are sick of hearing, I’m doing the Lakeland 100 next year and they’re too close together for me to do the 73 mile event justice. It’s very close to my birthday though, and I’ll be 40 in 2021, so who knows? In the meantime I'll be practising running around in circles, in the dark, in preparation for my first (and very possibly last) 24 hour lap race in January. If you think this report was boring......
*Before anyone mentions the fact that my dad's a milkman and I'm married to a farmer, the reason I take chocolate soya milk in place of the dairy version is that it doesn't have to be in the fridge. I throw up quite enough without chugging on curdled milk!
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