It's Only Running...

There's a theme developing when it comes to writing up my runs on Scotland's most famous national trail. Much like the West Highland Way Race itself, back in the heady, pre-pandemic days of 2019, my first attempt at the Devil o' the Highlands Footrace (to give it its official title), offers very little in the way of opportunities for gratuitous toilet chat or instances of my habitual fecklessness. In short, it went quite well. In all likelihood, this account will descend into naval-gazing whimsy that has little to do with running. It might just be a bit tedious. It will definitely be far too long because I'm on holiday and the weather is crap. Strap in, or bail out while you still can. This year's main race was set to be Lakeland 100. Again. After last year's sub-optimal performance, in which I had a bit of strop and decided I just couldn't be arsed, I was keen to a) train a bit smarter and b) work on my mental game. The lack of preparation with regards to ...

I was born in the English city of Carlisle, despite my parents being resident in Dumfries and Galloway when I made my entrance into the world. I've lived the vast majority of my life in North East Cumbria, with a good chunk of my childhood spent in that furthest flung corner of the county known as the Debatable Lands. My immediate family still live there (I'm all of 12 miles down the road). My Phillips relatives haven't moved far beyond the parishes of Bewcastle and Stapleton since at least the 1600s, so you could argue we're not a very adventurous bunch. That said, there's a persistent rumour that my great granny Phillips (nee James) was related to the infamous outlaw Jesse. I've made no effort whatsoever to confirm the veracity of this claim, but I'm not inclined to let the truth get in the way of an amusing anecdote that I might be able to exploit for a blog post. So my bones are Cumbrian, I think of myself as British, but I've never made any secret o...

So you want to run an ultra? Glenmore is a quintessentially Scottish experience. I'm not referring to the fact that it's located in the Cairngorms National Park on the shores of Loch Morlich; nor am I talking about the ubiquitous Scottish midge which, however unwelcome, is an inevitable feature of most visits to the Highlands during the warmer months. And no, there wasn't a deep fried Mars Bar* or a macaroni pie in sight - although the goodie bag did contain a bottle of Irn Bru and a Tunnocks Caramel Wafer, which certainly gave it some Scottish specificity.  No, what I'm talking about is less tangible but is nonetheless deeply embedded in the national character, and that is the level of piss-taking and abuse to which participants will be subjected by marshals and crew. If at some point over the course of the weekend you haven't been called a fanny or a dickhead at least once, then were you even there? This isn't meant to cause offence; bear in mind that there...

 'Athletes build up a memory bank of all the bad patches they have successfully navigated that they can draw on when things are difficult. Mental toughness is not just the willingness to face a challenge but also the belief that you can come out the other side. Coming through a lot of bad patches turns athletes into optimists.' ( Michael Stocks, One Track Mind: What Running 150 Miles in a Day Can Teach You About Life ). 'The "ultrarunning is ninety per cent mental" trope is [...] on my list of things that are bullshit.' ( Ally Beaven, Broken 2020: The Year Running Records Were Rewritten ). I could save us all an awful lot of time here and give you the Cliff Notes on this one: I tried to run 105 miles. It was very hot. I was exceptionally miserable and incredibly tired, so I went home. The end, But we all know I'm not going to miss an opportunity to talk about myself at length. It may, or may not bear some relevance to the actual race. I don't really ...

Legendary foodstuff: Pre race fuel for serious athletes. I wasn't going to write this report. There's really not that much to say about my race. I could sum things up by telling you the route is beautiful, incredibly runnable, the people are absolute diamonds, and the organisation sport on. However, my run was very uneventful and, given that my race reports are primarily an opportunity to take cheap shots at myself, I'm going to struggle for material. But then I remembered the Chicken Tikka Hogi from Chilli Grillz in Dunoon that I had for my tea on Friday night, which quite frankly deserves a blog post all of its own, and my £2.50 dram of Talisker (OK, I had two at that price, I wasn't gonna win anyway) and I thought I should put something down on record, for the sake of my own memories, if nowt else. There might not be much actual running discussed. Never mind the write up, I wasn't even going do the race. As I've repeatedly told anyone prepared to liste...