Ultras. It's what I do.

Part of the preceding days were swept up in my logistics nightmare. I appear to live by the philosophy "why do things simply if you can massively confuse yourself and everyone else?", and I definitely did that. For reasons best known to themselves, the rest of my team opted to stay in Barrow, again, while I thought it would be more sensible to stay near Keswick, that being where the race starts and all. That said, last year I had a wonderful support crew in Irish Heather, and this year I had fellow runner and compadre, Jon, who opted to stay with me, because I booked the accommodation and didn't give him a choice. Come on, seriously, there is nothing "Happy" about a bus that leaves at 4 in the morning. That's the way I look at it. Anyway, I had a 2 day meeting in Cumbria on Wednesday and Thursday, which meant that on Thursday evening, I was car-less in Cockermouth. Sounds like the name of a film. You can have that one. Not, however, friendless, and I had a very enjoyable evening with friends, before making my way by bus and train to Barrow. Needless to say, this took approximately the same time as it did for Jon to drive up from Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk. There was a simple reason why I wanted to go to Barrow. Last year, I spent an uneasy half hour, out of telecommunications, at the start of the race with no tag. That wasn't happening again. However, the next part of the logistics were equally fun: we parked Jon's car (when he arrived) near the finish line, and got Chan, our fearless team-captain, to drive us to our B&B. We'd not gone more than 15 minutes when I realised I'd left my phone in Jon's car. So specially downloading an app that allows your facebook chums' comments to be read out to you, and spending hours choosing a suitably distracting playlist, and ordering a spare battery pack for the phone - that all turned out not to matter too much.

The B&B was on the A591, about 2 miles south of the start line. They were totally awesome people, when I'd emailed to ask if they knew the number of a local taxi company, she simply emailed me back and said that as they were working farmers, they'd be up at 4am anyway, and would happily drive us to the start of the race. HOW LOVELY!

This year on the team, we had me definitely running, Chan probably running, Ginny possibly running, Jon wishing he could run, and Dave, Nigel and Suzanne definitely not running. Dave and I were hoping to beat our times, and Chan was pretty confident of beating hers: she had stuck with her walking friends last year, and came in close on 15 hours. I set off on the 5:30 start, determined not to start behind a pack of several hundred walkers this year. I realised quite early on that it was a dangerous strategy: the fact was, those runners were going to easily outstrip me, and then I'd have no one to talk to. Now I also had no music, this seemed more of a threat.

The night before, the rain poured down. Jon and I tried to reassure ourselves that it would probably have rained out by morning, but I was fresh from a meeting where someone had made the comment "Sometimes when it starts to rain in Cumbria, it forgets to stop" and neither of us were optimistic. I also convinced myself that I'd left the lost phone in the pub, and despite there being nothing I could do about it, it was hard to focus on sleeping. 4am came around faster than was reasonable. It wasn't pouring with rain, but it was definitely raining. The traffic was miraculously non-existent, despite my qualms, and although the farmer dropped us off on the wrong side of the road, we escaped being shouted at by the marshals. I wished Jon best of luck, and went to take my place among the runners.

I think having the route in my head, and knowing what to expect, was both a blessing and a curse. In the run-up, it seemed awful to be doing it again, but now, as I saw and remembered, I knew what to expect, and I could plan out in my head how I'd be doing at different points. Again, with no phone, I had no camera, but I was struck once again by the ravaging, rugged beauty of my surroundings.

It was raining, but it didn't matter: I had my cagool on, and I had a peaked hat to keep the water from my eyes. Optimistically, I had my sunnies on top of the
hat. Well, there's no point in not being ready, is there! The running felt comfortable, and I quickly fell in with a young lad called Will who was in the Atkins team. I wittered away to him, and he didn't seem to mind too much. I told him about the flooded roads, and running through ankle height water, as I was pah-ing at the small amount of water we had to traipse through. I can't imagine it made much of an impact, not unless you'd run through it. Duncan Cooke, one of the photographers on the course, took some great pictures of the water from last year, I attach a modest example but if you want to see more (and they are quite funny), check out his flickr stream here. We had no such entertainment, and had to make do with a modest toe-wetting at most.

Will looked as though he didn't know how to let me down, so I released him and his youthful energy bounded off. However, on Dunmail Rise, I found him walking up the hill, chatting away to his team mate. "Come on, lad!" I muttered softly as I passed him. He apologised to the guy he was talking to and said "I'll never hear the end!" and caught me up. Made me giggle, I thought, I don't know him that well. His team-mate called "Is that Lizzie with you?" and I shouted back "No, I'm just a stranger!" I was glad to pass the support crew (a) before most of them had arrived, and (b) before they blimmin'-well started frying bacon, which is what they were doing last year. Let me tell you, Dunmail Rise happens at about 8 miles, so you've left at silly o'clock in the morning on a pitiful breakfast (well, it's pitiful if you share my view of porridge), you run for an hour, and then have to pass people cooking bacon. It's not right, and there should be rules about it! (Maybe there are - maybe that's why they weren't - but I think I was quite a bit later last year).

I was still feeling confident as I approached Grassmere, even though I knew about the Hill, and started trying to pass a guy in front of me, who had an annoyingly heavy tread, and had sped past me earlier but now seemed to be going much slower, even though he had embraced the run-walk method, he still seemed to be slowing up dangerously early on the course (to my, now obviously expert, eye). Despite my concerns about him, I was having difficulties passing him, because although he was walking at more frequent intervals, every time I neared him, he started running again. (He was plugged into some music, and I don't suppose he realised his impact on me). It was starting to irritate me, when an old guy leveled with me. One look at him told me I was dealing with a K2B pro here, notwithstanding his extremely uneven gait. I asked if he was speed-walking, because frankly, I couldn't really tell. He said, no, he had "an ulra-shuffle". Brilliant. He basically said he didn't pick his feet up at all. The unevenness was down to a pulled ligament, he didn't say whether that was a result of years of Ultras - I guess I was left to draw my own conclusions! I passed him at Grassmere, but I had no doubt which of us would be passing the finish-line first.

As I approached the Hill, I saw young Will again, and his team-mate, who I'd apparently passed on Dunmail Rise - "Hello Stranger" he said. I fell in talking with him, and I liked his style. No messing about on the Hill, he was walking it. "Everyone makes such a fuss of this one" he told me, "but it's not long. There's no point in running it - you can't go fast, and you burn too much energy". I, of course, knew this from my endless research last year, of course, (largely interviewing squaddies - look, someone's got to do it), but I didn't let on. He was enjoying imparting information, and I was enjoying not talking going up a hill, so everyone was a winner. We started running again as the steepness broke, but it was too much for my Peterborough physique (it was not entirely pointlessly that Chan had entitled our team "Flatlands #2") and I was panting and gasping like a fish out of water. "I don't think I can do this," I told my new-found sparring-partner. His response was instant. "Well, you know you can - you've already done it. But if you don't think you can run up this hill - that's simple. Don't. Make a decision, and do it." He seemed reasonably relaxed about his own pace, and walked for a bit longer with me. It made a lot of sense. Making a decision about it meant that I hadn't just failed to run up a hill - I'd simply decided to walk a bit further. It was altogether more positive.

I ascertained that Ben had done K2B 7 times previously, and although he'd done various different times, he'd vowed never to repeat his first experience. It emerged that he'd overdone it early on, and seized up towards the end - but not nearly near enough - he'd had 15 bitter miles of limping pain. "There may have been tears" he told me. (He didn't say whose). I was impressed he'd gone back for more, but here I was. He'd enjoyed it since then, but although he'd beaten his own time, he'd never pushed himself so hard again, and he had no desire to do so.

We talked a bit about our running experience, and he asked me if I was a road-girl or preferred off-road. "Oh no, I'm a road girl" I told him. "Me too" he said, then, laughing at himself, "definitely a road girl, me". He asked if I had deliberately chosen matching gear, which kind of made me laugh, because nothing I own matches, but I was sporting some 3/4 length shorts, a recent acquisition, that have a pink edge on them (I got them because of the pockets!). Now, if you were a girl, you'd have noticed that the pink edge on my running skirt was a totally different shade of pink, and the edge on my baseball cap was in fact, red, but obviously boys don't do shades of colour. I explained about the skirt being as a direct result of paranoia of wearing lycra around my colleagues in the office, and frankly preferring to keep my ass to myself. Although I also mentioned that my dad's take on this, and really, as a psychiatrist, you'd have thought he'd know better than to feed paranoia, was to comment "I think the pink border frames your bum rather nicely". In hindsight, I was inviting comment, although it hadn't been deliberate. "He's got a point" Ben said, then hastily "Not that I was looking".

We started up another hill, which I remembered, although again we walked up it, where I remember running. At about this point, we got onto politics. I was kind of nervous, because like most of us, I'm on safe ground among my own friends, and my left-wing views don't turn any heads, and I just didn't want to start defending my views while running 40 miles. I had, by this stage, divined an ex-army presence, and he clearly worked for a big corporation, so it could go any way really. Somewhat to my surprise, however, he hadn't voted Tory, although his Tory incumbent had retained his seat. He did respect his MP, and thought he did a good job, so he was pretty appalled when he heard of some of the antics of mine. He gave an in-depth analysis of all the reasons why one might vote Tory, followed by all his own for not having done so, during which I gathered he may be slightly more right-wing than me but not enough to matter. All-in-all, it was like tuning into the Politics Show, as I remarked to a marshal we passed. "It's brilliant!" I told him, "just like radio 4!". It took us nearly all the way to the 18 miles checkpoint. Just time to check out his homophobia ratings, I thought, and told him about the incident where my MP had ridiculously replied, rudely, to one of his constituents' letters about equal rights marriages. Again, he passed (my companion, not my MP) with flying colours, being completely appalled that someone in public office could be (a) so offensive and (b) so stupid.

Gang-ing agley

Ah, I should have kept this up. I'll give it another shot. I feel like I've let you all down, you've been and missed some of my key races. But some people said nice things about my write-ups and I thought I should put fingertip to keypad once again.

So, as if it weren't bad enough last time, I signed up for Keswick to Barrow again! Why? WHY?!! I couldn't work out en route last time why so many people had apparently voluntarily done it again, but the very next day, I looked at my splits on the old iphone, and I thought "I can do better than that". This was about something that a number of people told me I would probably die, and I couldn't disagree with them. This was something I mapped out, planned, and stuck to the plan, and a number of other people were incredulous (rightly so, in fact: I have no idea how I managed to stick to the race plan). But, and here's the nub: I felt superhuman for months after. Literally, there was no task you could throw at me that I didn't think was going to be a walk in the park compared to MY achievements. If I'm honest - I wanted that back.

While we tried to build our team up, I sent my blog to a couple of people so they could see what to expect. One of them dropped out immediately. (The other one later confessed that he hadn't read it.) I also read it myself. Frankly, it terrified me, but I tried not to think about it. My plan for training was that I'd signed up for a marathon a month earlier. All being well, I would have trained hard for that and bagged a pb on it - I'm seriously trying for a sub 4 hour, I've got to reverse last year's Year of the Personal Worst. I mean, personal worsts are not entirely bad, they give you something to beat, but actually, every race I ran was a PW last year. I also found out that now I'm officially old, I need a 3h50 to qualify for an automatic place in the London Marathon. I thought that was stepping it up a bit from my PB of 4h13, so I'd go for an intermediate step of sub 4h first. Anyway, back to the plan - I'd have done a good marathon, be in fully trained up condition, and I'd have a month to get in one or two long runs. I'd have run this marathon in 9m/m or thereabouts, so really, I'd be in full fighting form for this Ultra.

The world did not go according to plan, however. In January, I bought a new pair of shoes, in readiness for the new training schedule, and also joined the Nene Valley Harriers. This is a very fast running club in Peterborough. Sally said she didn't know who I was any more. I signed up for her 4 hour marathon training pack. Unfortunately, right off the bat, I realised I was stuffed, because I was supposed to already be able to run at 9 m/m, which I was a long way from. I still blame last year's personal worsts on the K2B, which mentally slowed me into a torpor. But anyway, there it is. I started running short, fast runs, and my knees started really hurting. Both of them. Moustachioed Chris gave me some advice, which I didn't take immediately: change the shoes. But after a couple of weeks, when people in the office were commenting on my hobbling gait, I cracked under the strain, and took the shoes back. The shop said they could look at replacing them, but they'd have to be sure it was the shoes that were the problem, after all, every runner gets knee problems from time to time. I booked into their physio, who spent an hour examining the bendiness of my knees, and finally professed that he couldn't find anything wrong with my knees, and my legs were, and I quote, "perfect". Needless to say, this made me extremely happy, and I told everyone, multiple times, including people I didn't know and had never met before, that I had perfect legs, in the professional opinion of a physiotherapist. One of my friends accused me of placing too much faith in this professional opinion, just because of this statement, but I don't think that's fair. Can there be "too much faith" in such a statement?

Well, the long and the short of it was that the shoe company replaced my trainers, back to the Brooks that I'd worn out, and I started running again. It was a slow process, and I followed advice that I read from a guy that Sally seemed to rate (in a passing comment she made once) called Matt Fitzgerald, who said if you had runner's knee, a good way to deal with it was to run slowly right up to the point that it hurt, and then stop immediately. Each time you run, you should be able to build on this. I got from 0.8 mile to 2.5 miles in this fashion, it took a while. I realised that I wasn't going to run the marathon I was booked into in a personal best. I wasn't going to run it at all, at least not injury-free. I deferred.

This meant that a week before the Connemara marathon took place, I realised I had 5 weeks to get up to 40 miles, from pretty much a 2 mile start. It  wasn't the position I wanted to be in. The best laid plans of Mice and Men aft gang agley, so I've heard, but I wasn't ganging anywhere. I stepped up to 6 miles, then a week later ran about 16 (at this juncture, my runkeeper went slightly bananas, so all distances were estimates), and got hugely bad groin strain (clearly from increasing my distance too quickly). Once again, terrified that a la Sally, I would stress-fracture my pelvis, which I really didn't want to happen. Notwithstanding the fear, I stepped up to 23 miles the following week. This time, it involved quite a bit of walking, but as I said at the time, I felt pretty strongly that stopping and starting had to be an integral part of my training. Furthermore, the longer I was on my feet was advantageous in training terms, for spending time on my feet on the course. Conversely, the faster I did it was also good training for speed, so I literally could not lose (unless I injured myself). The following week, I had a huge dilemma. Technically, a runner tapers for a fortnight, but I did feel quite strongly that you have to taper FROM something, and I was on poor ground there. I hadn't done enough training to taper. Also, I had gotten groin strain, but a bit less, from the 23 miles, and I thought I might be able to nail it on one more training run. Against advice, I did it. I ran 20 miles the weekend before K2B and I didn't stop and walk (hardly), and I didn't get groin strain, and furthermore, even more impressively, I didn't even feel the need to collapse on the sofa and not move for the next 5 hours (which is a not infrequent event post-running). I was READY!

Or not. I mean,  I'd failed to order any more gels, my phone was on its last legs in battery terms, I'd lost the lead to the battery pack/mobile charger, I hadn't planned my logistics, I wasn't sure about music or not, I didn't have comfortable headphones, and furthermore, I was terrified. I remembered pain, predominantly. I saw running Dave in the office, and he was in pretty much the same state - somewhere between denial and terror. Why? I mean, really, why?

Ultra!

I travelled up the night before, and stayed at the most amazing B&B outside of Keswick that I'd tell you the name of, but I never took it in. Heather booked it. She texted me on the train to say, did I want to eat at the B&B, they would cook steak or salmon. I asked if they'd cook it with spaghetti instead of potatoes, and they agreed, so i said go for Salmon. I wasn't expecting much. It was amazing - hidden away up the mountain (in the clouds), utterly beautiful, and the food was absolutely delicious - fresh, moist salmon (and heaps of it), in garlicky spaghetti with basil, served with the most amazing salads, couscous with tomatoes, cucumber and mint, coleslaw, and a green salad with 100 yummy things added. I did kind of wish we were just coming up to hole-up there for the weekend. Even more so when I saw the weather in the morning. We knew it was forecast, but it was still depressing seeing the rain bash down on the windscreen.

We turned into the layby at 5:26, Heather and I, and made our way, painfully slowly, to the front of the queue where I was allowed to get out. Heather had to pull out of the layby and leave me, so I made my way through to where I hoped to find the others. I couldn't see them, even though it was now nearly 5:30, and people were queuing up at the start-post. I went up and down the queue a couple of times, then went to queue in a different line - the port-a-loos. But then I panicked, abandonned that queue, and went back to find the rest of the team. I couldn't see any of them. The rain came down steadily. The starters went off, slightly late. They weren't there. I checked at the registration tent, which had no mobile signal. I texted half-way up the wet field, which did. I texted Heather - what could she do? The registration tent guy said he could give me a new tag - but that would mean abandonning the others without a word - they wouldn't know where I was. I wondered if it were all a vicious trick. At a few minutes before 6, peering out of the entrance to the quite small registration tent, through the rain, I spotted Chris, jogging along, grinning, impervious to the weather. Unsurprisingly, he'd been stuck in traffic for over half an hour. The road to the south was chocka because of the race.

We set out, cautiously because of all the walkers, and because Chris had hurt his calve muscle three weeks earlier. He'd only been on one short run, and it had still been nagging, but he was sure it was much better. But a couple of miles in, he called out "I'm going to have to walk. I can't run on this. Go ahead! You'll be fine". So that was me, flying solo. Luckily, we'd had time to discuss this the previous week, and I knew it might be a possibility. To be perfectly honest, Chris is remorselessly cheerful, and I had had visions of having to drown him in Lake Coniston if he was too optimistic. So perhaps running solo was my come-uppance!

The first few miles were good because they were downhill, bad because I needed the toilet, and bad because there were too many walkers, walking abreast with each other. Also, I spoke with a few runners who were running and walking, and I became concerned that this was a much better tactic, but it wasn't one I'd trained for, so I didn't know if it was a good idea to start now. I paused at a portaloo, but got bored with the queue, and carried on again. I had some idea of the race profile, because it was on the internet, but only vaguely that there were a couple of small bumps in the first half, then a massive, long hill, which I estimated as being about 4 miles ascent, at about 26 miles. I saw a couple of guys in combats who seemed to be walking and running, and I caught up with them on Dunmail Rise.  I didn't really count Dunmail Rise as a hill, because it was only like the road up to Marholm, quite a gentle rise. But they were walking it. I accosted them, and asked them if they were actually squaddies, or if they just liked combat gear. Turned out they were the real thing. They said the rest of their team was back "chatting up girls" but they were going to be mainly running. I asked them what their technique was, and they said they'd be walking up the hills. They told me that one of them had done it the year before, and the last hill was awful - at least 8 miles, and had false summits, so you thought you'd got there, but you hadn't.

I passed them, as we ran into a cloud, the rain still pelting down. Then on the downhill, they passed me again. This happened with a few folk, it was fun. You got to shout "Hello again" and grin as you passed each other. I finally ran into some port-a-loos without a queue, which was an enormous relief, as it meant I could carry on drinking water! I'm sure my pace picked up then. Not long after, I ran into a guy who said he'd done the K2B 13 times, and was now running with his daughter (who seemed to be walking). The idea of running it again seemed mad enough, never mind doing it as an annual event. I told him it was my first time. "You'll do it. You're looking great" he told me. It was early days, nearing the 10 mile checkpoint, but I was grateful. He must know what he was talking about, surely?

Heather was waiting at the checkpoint, just as well, I had no idea what I was doing. She pointed me to where I had to swipe the tag around my neck, and gave me a banana. I filled her in about leaving Chris behind, and not seeing any of the others at the starting point. She pointed me in the right direction, and I plodded off.  Next up was "The Hill". I didn't know it was "The Hill", I was talking to some Asian guy who was part of a large firm, they had 60 people entered. Then I saw another fella, with longish hair and a beard. He was looking pretty grim, and had headphones in. I didn't let this stop me. Participants were fair-game, until they ignored you. "How are you doing?" I shouted at him. He took his headphones off mournfully, and encouraged, I took up the thread "You don't look too happy?" "I'm not", he said, "I know this hill". "You've done it before?" I asked. "Yes, this is my third time" he told me. Looking for distractions, but now realising that this event had some pulling power among the locals, I asked him "How did you do before?". He told me that his best time was 7 hours 40, and I immediately ruled him out as someone I'd be sticking with. Although he then confessed that he'd done next to no training this year, so he wasn't expecting to get a PB. I asked him what he thought he'd do it in, and he said he wasn't sure - he'd know later. I was by this point getting quite interested in what sort of time I'd do it in. I was looking for bench-marks.

Then I saw the hill. My god. It kept going. It was really steep, 1:4, with warning signs to cars to use low gears. That sort of hill. I felt that the squaddies definitely had a good point. Running up here was clearly a waste of time. I'd probably got about half way up before I started to walk, which I felt was an advantage. As I neared the top, I was conscious that walking felt really easy next to running, but also really slow. I wasn't done yet. I pushed back into the run. I was having fun overtaking walkers and butting into their conversations, interjecting, and then carrying on, but I'd left most of the walkers behind now. I got confused over the checkpoints, and couldn't remember which ones Heather could stop at, and which she couldn't. I had a feeling I wasn't going to see her till mile 18, but I couldn't remember which number that was. And I had no idea where I really was, because my garmin had basically stopped working at mile 3 (probably broken-hearted about losing Chris). Worse than that, it was intermittently beeping in a quite annoying way.

The scenery, despite the hills, was getting more and more impressive. Thirlmere was the first lake we went past, and was a nice forest road, but mainly through conifer, with just bits and pieces of remnant broad leaf (quite possibly at least parts were ancient, I thought). Dunmail Rise, we were running on a big-ish road, we were being marshalled closely to stay to one side of it. It appeared to have potential for good scenery, but hard to really see through the rain. After that, we were on little roads again, and very pretty fields and sheep. We passed through more woods before we got to Grasmere, and after the hill, (The Hill) it went really stunning. Just beautiful. Clouds were rolling away, and mountains rolled in around us. Staggering, really, that I was able to run in such a place. Although I couldn't help thinking it would be nice to have some more time to appreciate it. Owing to the weather, I wasn't keen to get my phone out, so I have no pics. After the second (or thirds) checkpoint, there were glimpses of damp sunshine. I saw a girl whose hair was perfect. I was aware of my dripping locks stuck around my face, and asked her how, exactly, she'd managed that? She laughed. "No, really! How is your hair dry?" She didn't answer. She was probably thinking "Nutcase". I went on.

A little later, I met another dedicated runner-walker, just a young lad. Again, he passed me several times over the next few miles. I started to recognise the folks around me. This was my team, now. We were running at the same sort of pace. Soon I'd hit 18 miles, where Heather would be waiting with my food. I'd scheduled a stop here, learning from the Rutland experience. I kept craning forwards, around the next bend, I'd think... where are the other runners ahead of me? Is it soon? Marhsalls had us cross the road, and there was some sort of carpark, I thought it must be the checkpoint, but realised it was a first-aid tent. "Where are we?" I asked a St John's Ambulance first-aider. "You took a wrong turn a few miles back" he quipped, "Scotland's just five miles away now". Wag. I ran on, following some others, but to my surprise, the way seemed to be a pretty small footpath, and covered in shale and loose stones. "All my body wants to do is sit-down" I informed two well-turned-out girls behind me. "You're doing fine!" they said. They asked what time I'd set out, and when I said 6, they seemed duly impressed and said how well I was doing. I didn't ask them how many times they'd done it. They were clearly seasoned K2B-ers. We reached the top of the shale-pathway, where a Marshall was standing among 3 belted galloways. "Can I borrow your motorbike?" I asked him. "You chose to do this!" He responded, kindof friendly. I think.

I got to peg it down a longish hill, following a girl wearing insane, rainbow faux-fur legwarmers, which were drenched and mud-spattered, as were her legs and quite shapely arse. I remembered Chris saying that when he struggled, he found a girl with a nice arse and followed them. I tried it. Seemed to work. She was running (doing a fair pace) beside a man who could only be her boyfriend - he was, in any case, equally beautiful. I wasn't sure how she survived in what can only be described as "short-shorts"in the horrible rain, but my leggings were cold to the touch and soaking wet, and although I wasn't feeling cold, it surely couldn't be doing me any good to be losing heat like this... so maybe the shorts were better, as her legs must be losing less heat than mine.

I approached what must, now, be the 18 mile check point, and couldn't understand how there seemed to be additional hordes of people approaching from another direction. What were they doing? "Who are all those people?" I asked a fellow-runner. "I don't know" he said, seeming genuinly puzzled. I said, recalling that the 18 mile checkpoint was at lake Coniston" It must be because we're at Coniston". "Oh, of course" he said, "how stupid of me". I just meant that Lake Coniston was full of tourists, but after I'd lost him, I remembered that there was the shorter walk (of a mere 20 miles) joining the route at Coniston. They were wearing orange tags, as opposed to our blue ones. I went through the Checkpoint, but couldn't see Heather. Maybe she was further up the road. There didn't seem to be any obvious place for the supporters. I went on. Suddenly I felt crushed. She wasn't there. I imagined that she'd been held up, or lost, or couldn't get through somehow, but she wasn't there, and I didn't have any food. I pulled myself together, and had a chat with a guy about this and that, till he stopped to talk to a marshall he recognised. I went on, noticing how fresh and well all the orange-tags were looking. The age-demographic dropped considerably, and now some impressive hair-dos and painted faces were looking sulkily at the overcast sky. I noticed a lot of the kids walking by themselves with headphones on. Now, I can't be too precious about this, because I usually run with headphones, and although I wasn't today, it was largely because of setting out with the intention of being with Chris. But I didn't plug in deliberately, because I wanted to engage properly with this race. Now I wondered really why these kids didn't talk to each other. They could have listened to music anywhere. But that was probably hypocritical to a large degree.

There was another checkpoint, and when I got to the refreshment stand, I decided to see if they had any food. At a previous one, they'd had a massive box of peeled portions of banana, which were bruised and rapidly browning. They had looked unappetising, but I'd been less hungry. I decided I'd risk it. A very kindly lady walked towards me. I kind of hope she was one of those people who always sounds concerned, because the way she said "would you like some water" suggested that I looked like I really needed it. I had a camelpack on, though, so I really didn't. "No, but I'd love a banana if you have one" I said. "I'll get you one". She came back, and had peeled the banana and handed it to me so I just needed to lift it out of the skin "I've peeled it" she said, unnecessarily. As I took the banana, I realised how grateful I was that she'd done that. I didn't necessarily feel incapable of peeling a banana, but it made it very easy. "Thank you" I said, and ran on.

I didn't stop at the burger vans, which were offering free refreshments for the K2B people a little after 20 miles. I didn't want to risk the bread thing sitting on my stomach. But by now, my smell was hypersensitive. I could smell other people's sandwiches, and the wild garlic along the lake-edge. I decided I was probably hungry, and broke open the kendal-mint cake for a square or two. I started having lines from Doggs Hamlet pop unbidden into my head "Properly Buxtons - almost Leamington Spa" I repeated a few times. Odd really, as they weren't even my lines. I couldn't remember any of my own lines. I sang a bit, mainly in my head, but occasionally out loud. I ran passed a gaggle of teenage girls, one of whom was saying "I don't know why people wear these raincoats. They must be really hot and sweaty". I'd been analysing my own body situation just moments before, and realised that my top half was now quite cold. I've no reason to think that the fluorescent yellow cycle jacket wasn't waterproof, but I had 3 layers on underneath it, and there was no doubt they were all wet, but I didn't put that down to the rain. "You're right - but COLD and sweaty" I called. They giggled. It's what teenage girls do. I shouted howdy to Spiderman, and trotted on past, envious of a support vehicle that had pulled over on the road. How was it even there?

Some point around then, the guy with the beard, who I'd met at the hill (The Hill) bounded past me. It seemed like aeons ago that I'd spoken with him, and I thought he was ahead of me. Judging from how fresh and happy he looked, he'd just stopped for a burger. "Hello" he beamed, as he levelled with me. He'd been looking so gloomy before, and he was looking so happy now, it was hard to believe it was the same person. "I think I'll do it in eight and a half. Keep going, you can do it!" he called. Then he was gone. He looked so fresh, I felt a bit deflated. I'd wanted to do it in 8h 30, but there was no way I could keep up with him.

As I neared what I was sure was the 26 mile checkpoint - I could see an enormous number of vehicles backed up on a road ahead - I found myself praying that a wee gobby Irish girl would be there, hollaring my name. "C'mon Emma" she'd be shouting. She'd have food. She'd be there. She'd be there. Surely, she'd be..... "EMMMAAAAAA! YOU CAN DO IT EMMA" **ow** She was there! All was saved. Although she did let me run 100m in the wrong direction before telling me my food was in her car...

I risked walking off in the wrong direction (hoping this didn't disqualify me or anything), and sacrificing all of the people I'd overtaken in the last hour. I stripped my wet clothing off, and replaced with dry, which felt great. I took out the wet hat and gloves, and put a dry hat on my head. I ate cold spaghetti, and a slightly crunchy croissant (tasted good). I got Heather to refill my bottle with more energy gels. I towelled down my still-wet legs with a camping towel. I got out, without falling over, shouted thanks to Heather, and set off again.

The big hill, which I'd spent most of the time, both before and during the race, worrying about, especially after talking to the squaddies back at the beginning, didn't seem that bad. It was about the same as Dunmail Rise, OK, a bit worse in places, but it was longer. Maybe the fear of how bad it was going to be had built up in my head to a point where it couldn't possibly meet my expectations. Kind of like when people tell you a film is absolutely brilliant and unmissable, and you are really excited by it, and then find it's a massive let-down. And you kind of think, if they'd said "Yeah, you should see it, prob'ly, it's not bad really", then you'd have massively enjoyed it. But whatever, it worked on this hill. I wasn't massively "let down", I was excited that I didn't think I'd die. About 30 miles, I heard someone say "Hello again". It was a chap I'd been talking to before my food-break. "I thought you were miles ahead of me - where have you come from?" I told him about the stop, looked ahead and saw a pretty steep hill. I slowed to a walk. "Don't let me hold you up" he said. "Oh, you know what, I was thinking of taking a short break anyway" I laughed, as I took in the hill. We walked up, and I told him about my fears of missing my support crew on the second stop. He looked a bit mournful and said he'd not seen his support at all. He'd packed some snacks, but he'd finished them. "Do you want some Kendal mint cake?" I asked him. His face broke into relief and said "Oh do you have any?". I fished it out for him, and told him he should hang onto the packet. He looked very pleased. I felt guilty for the next 3 days that I didn't give him my flapjacks too. But I'm sure the kendal mint cake helped.

I jogged off when the incline stopped being so steep. After the 31 miles checkpoint, I remembered Rich's words. It's just my self-belief that'll get me through now. I realised that while I'd had several moments of wondering whether I'd be able to finish, I'd never had any moment of doubting that I'd cross the finish-line. I couldn't imagine now being unable to cross the finish line, although I couldn't visualise it. Then some bastard rain started again, really icy, stabby rain. I'd just been overtaken by a kid, who'd previously been looking quite sorry for himself, plodding along, who now passed us saying "I don't know what I've found, but I'm doing well on it!". I came over a bit maternal, because he was just in a t-shirt and shorts, and the rain was so horrible I'd had my eyes closed for about quarter of a mile (just opening alternate slits) - and I had the optimistic suncream running into my eyes as well - so I let him know that if he wanted a safety blanket, I had one. He said he was nearly home now, and he'd be OK. I think it was running on home ground that was encouraging him. I started following a girl with a woolly white had on, and blond hair, who I thought looked a bit like my cousin Ruth. I guess I must have had her in my sights for about 6 miles before I caught up with her. I had a chat with her, kind of relieved to finally find someone who hadn't ran the wretched thing before. She asked me about my training, and seemed relieved that we'd done similar sorts of distances. "It's in the bag now" I told here, "We're going to make it." We ran a long together for a while, and then all of a sudden she started walking, so I passed her.

I trotted past someone else who said "That's what I should be doing". He looked done-in, but walking determinedly. "What's that?" I said. "Running" he said. To be honest, I was relieved that it still looked like running. He was wearing a blue tag like mine. "You'll get there" I told him, "that's the important thing.". Afterwards I realised that he probably needed some telling. I should have said "Come on, then, come with me" and I bet he would have done. Like when I saw the smurf in my first half marathon, and he shouted "Come on, then!" so I did. Seems aeons ago.

I got to Barrow, or at least, somewhere I hoped was Barrow. I had no idea. It was a town, and surely this must be over by now? Someone shouted "2:15. That's a good time!". I thought, well, it would be if I'd finished. Barrow seemed to be mainly uphill. What was going on? Surely we got to Barrow, and it finished? I went along the high street, and now seemed to be going out of town. Maybe that wasn't Barrow (I think it was actually Dalton). I saw other runners slogging up a huge hill. It must be at the top of that? No. It wasn't. Eventually, I saw some police, who were shepherding runners across a road. I could see playing fields ahead. "Almost there" I heard someone say for the tenth time. It must be those playing fields, I was sure I could hear applause and shouts from over there. "Only one mile left - keep going!" said an enthusiastic and well-meaning passer-by. A MILE? Are you absolutely kidding me? This isn't happening. I ran on, kind of. It wasn't the end yet. Ran-walk-plod. Up a hill. Round a corner. This looked very suburban. It had to be near now. How far is a mile anyway? Across another road, with marshalls. "Nearly there!" SHUT UP. Round another ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY KIDDING ME? I'm NOT running UP any more oh yes you are. I ran up another road, thinking, this is the last one, when a lady driving a car hesitated on whether to pull out and in front of me. DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, I mentally told her, but she wasn't listening, because she decided to go anyway. I can only imagine that I was going much slower than I thought I was going, so she thought it probably wouldn't matter if I stopped, going at that speed. I didn't stop.There was a simple reason for that - I honestly wouldn't have started again. It was probably stupid, but it worked on this occasion.  She stopped.

Another marshal "Nearly ther-" "REALLY? HONESTLY? BECAUSE IF I HAVE ONE MORE..." oh look - it's the end. I saw two marshalls blocking the pavement, saw the entrance to the playing fields, saw the matting so we wouldn't totally wreck the joint and heard the jaunty Irish "COME ON EMMA! YOU DID IT" - my welcome committee!

I did it! I bloody did it!

And here's the only way I can best describe my mental state on finishing. Two girls took my tag, and handed me two pieces of paper. The scraps of paper said "Free Drink/Food Voucher" quite clearly on them. I looked at them, and I looked at the smiling faces of the two girls, and I said "What are these?". Without even giving me the special look (or possibly I didn't notice it), one of them said "You can get a free drink, or some free food, with them". I looked at her and said "Oh! How lovely! Thank you". Because although I had just read that, it meant absolutely nothing to me until she explained. And that about sums it up!

The only thing to add is that Dave, walking, came in only an hour later than me. He wasn't far behind me for the first half, apparently, but he found the second half a slog. Also that Chris and Dave had seen the time estimates I'd given to Heather, and had laughed and said I'd never stick to them - but I did, and actually shaved 15 minutes off my time, since I didn't make that first stop, finishing in 8 hours, 45 minutes. Chris was grateful for my text advice to ignore the kindly words of encouragement at the end, because you weren't "nearly there". And Chan, Kath and Jen, at a more sedate pace, finished at around 8:30 that evening, finishing in fifteen hours - more of an endurance trial than my effort, I think! Jen suffered the most, being helped off the course by the St John's Ambulance first aiders - but after a good sleep, she was fit and ready to go again in the morning... at least to the pub!

Warming Up

OK, I've almost forgotten how to write. I keep thinking of the good old days when I'd think of something entertaining to put in the blog. I tell people how much I got out of writing it. I check it occasionally to remind myself of something that happened back then. I've missed telling you about both my first marathon (Venice) and my SECOND marathon (Edinburgh), which I ran both in a time of 4 hours and 13 minutes. I missed telling you about running the Polar Nights Half Marathon, in Tromso, where I missed seeing the Northern Lights, but did see the entire BBC Stargazing crew on the morning we left, and THEY saw the most stunning display of Northern Lights ever. I've missed telling you about new running friends, and more events like the Hereward Relay.

But I can't help myself, I need to tell you about this one. An Ultra-marathon! 40 Miles!

Yes, I'm a little excited about it. So, here's how it started. When I ran the Edinburgh marathon, I met up with Chan, who ran her first. She did it faster than me, but we finished together (there was a staggered start). I'll lay money on us both having a slight competitive spirit that got us both to the end faster than we'd have achieved if we hadn't have spotted each other. But that's another story. Anyway, having noted that I'm an easy mark, very suggestible and slightly insane, she approached me when she needed help getting together a team.

Having a team of six was a necessary requirement to enter the Keswick to Barrow 40 mile event. I say event because it's open for walkers and runners. I thought I'd see how I did, but it turned out you had to say if you were going to run. I pulled in a couple of other likely suspects - Running Dave and moustachioed Chris - and Chris agreed to run with me, but everyone else in our team said they were going to walk. I thought about it, really I did, but the thing was - I didn't see how I could walk it in less than 12 hours, and probably more... and that's a long time to be on your feet! So I figured I could knock up to 4 hours off if I ran. Even, really really slowly. So that's what I decided to do.

It all tied in anyway. Another thing you missed - it was my 40th birthday just recently. So, 40 years, 40 miles. It all seemed to make sense.

I didn't really know much about training for an Ultra, but I have a friend who's run the Marathon de Sables, so I asked for his advice. He said, the important thing about training is to go out all day, doesn't matter if you run all day or not, just run and walk, but keep on your feet. He also said that the race was in the mind - you had to believe you could do it. After the first 20 miles, you've spent your physical strength, it's all about your belief in yourself that will get you over the finish-line.

So in training, I ran 24 miles around Rutland Water. I went with moustachioed Chris, and running Dave set off ahead of us, only he transformed to walking Dave, because he was practising walking. We figured we'd catch him up. We didn't. He walked 24 miles in 5 hours, which was the same time I ran it in. This made me very nervous that he'd actually beat me, walking. Also, by the end of that, my pelvis was bloody killing. I brought some peanut-butter and jam sandwiches for energy, and I ate them at some point, and they SAT on my stomach and made me feel uncomfortable. They were not the endurance running food I thought. After we'd finished, though, I sat and drank tea for 15 minutes, and did some stretches. Weirdly, I felt a lot better after the break than I had for the previous hour. But it wasn't the time to be running again!

After that, I ran around Ashdown Forest, which is a beautiful place to, er, get slightly lost in. And I ran around Castor Hanglands and Southey Woods. I couldn't get rid of the feeling that 18, 19 miles was really not comfortable. That forty miles sounded like a lot. That I really didn't know if I could do it or not. And that, like an idiot, I'd not planned work very well, and had a meeting in Norfolk the day before.

The last run I did was 18 miles round Castor. I walked quite a bit because it was a lovely day, and because I felt like it. I set off at 6:30 to help get used to the getting up early thing (The race started at 5:30). I planned to get back home before 10 because I was going to do 13 miles. But then I ended up doing 18, and taking 5 hours. I changed my goal to being a long time on my feet. My pelvis started to really hurt again before I got back. And I realised I didn't know what to eat, because it really wasn't going to be sandwiches... There was only one thing for it. I emailed Sal.

She recommended a can of cold spaghetti, or pastries. I packed bananas, flapjacks, spaghetti, kendal mint cake, and energy gels. I took 5 in my bottle, and put another heap in the spare bag. I picked up some croissant on the way up to Penrith. I had no idea if I'd be able to eat that stuff. I got told off by Sal for not trialling it first. All I knew is that I couldn't eat peanut butter sandwiches, and my pelvis was hurting on long runs.

Oh, and my ankle was hurting on short runs. The GP said it was tenosynovitis, which is a form of RSI (something I also get in my wrist).  I asked the GP if I shouldn't do the ultra (hopefully), but he said no, I should be fine. I should use voltarol gel on the ankle if it started hurting, and if necessary on events, take ibuprofen, but be sure to always take it on a full stomach and with plenty of water.

So basically, mostly what was going through my mind the week before was, I literally don't know if I can do this.

And that made it really exciting.

It's been a while

Right, well, yes, you're right. **looks at floor**. Should we talk about this? The thing is **looks at ceiling** while we had our break, I've kind of been... how should I say this? I've been seeing another blog. It was all very hush-hush, a members-only thing. It's OVER now, I swear it. Really. Well, no, I haven't exactly told them. No. Like you. Yeah, I just didn't show up and blog one day, that's the first they knew of it. I know, I know, I feel awful. It's just not the sort of thing I usually do, it's so out of character. God, I feel like a cliche. I just hope... I just thought... I thought you might forgive me, and agree to carry on reading again, you know... maybe we can get over this?

I guess, either I'm running and I have no time to blog, or I'm not running and then I - well, I just felt it would be stupid to blog when I wasn't running. I know, I kind of struck a bargain that I would, but it's the premise of the blog, really, isn't it? And then I started directing a play, and I kind of blogged a bit about that on the members-only part of Mask's website. (It was fun! You should become a member!). I mean, writing two blogs just felt - wrong.

I know, I know, I don't deserve a second chance. But I've been doing so much running, and I meant to tell you, and now... oh, it's like I'm a different person, we're going to have to get to know each other all over again. But you know, I know it'll take time to rebuild that trust, but... I've got a good feeling. I'll try really hard not to leave again, not without a word or explanation.

I'll start by telling you about the Venice marathon, it was a while ago now, but it's still fresh... that way it'll almost be like you didn't miss a thing...

Behind the times

I apologise that once again, I'm playing catch-up with events. Be not afeared, I haven't quit yet. I blame it on, you know, this blog being quite light-hearted in tone, and yet my sentiments not being that light-hearted as I'm carrying the sorrow of my friend dying, and all that surrounds that. Or, I'm just lazy. Either way.

So the pinnacle of Week 2 was undoubtedly the Sunday, which was running 19 miles. Let me tell you, nineteen miles is a long way. I speak from personal experience. I was a bit afraid, when I saw my splits (wanna see my splits? Go ahead. you can... Garmin link) that Sal would think I had been trying to be clever, and doing a negative split. This is where you deliberately try to run the first half of the run slower than the second half (or to put that another way, speed up during the second half). If you can achieve this, it basically shows that you balanced out your energy well during the race, and didn't tire yourself out too hard in the first half. For a fine example of this, just see my Great Eastern Run 2011 time, which was text book (tip - the splits are right at the end). Anyway, the point was that looking at my splits on the garmin, it appeared to me that I'd been going slower initially than later. This was entirely spurious. The fact of the matter was, I'd been listening to the Archers for the first hour and some. (Note to self: do not listen to the Archers when they are talking about Down's Syndrome babies: OK, I was listening to the Archers and crying). After it finished, I switched to music, and sped up.

Oh, and this guy on a bike high-fived me! That was probably the highlight of the run, actually. It was funny, one of those moments of understanding that he wanted to high-five me (why??) and the thud of his hand against mine (harder than I thought it would be), and then... just disappearing. That, and seeing running Dave going the other way when I was half way round Ferry Meadows. I shouted "At 14 miles", and he shouted back that he was also doing 14 miles. This prompted me to shout "No, I've DONE 14 miles", and I think he shouted, "Looking good" but it was hard to know for sure.

Week 2

Well, week 2 was scary, but not too bad. I think I found the sudden intensity of Sal-training quite a shock. I mean, yes, I have been running more than ever before (bar the pre-half marathon, when, er, Sal was training me) - but only in a leisurely way. I embraced the different exercises as a challenge, first up was some interval work, the instruction was "warm up ten mins easy then run 6 x 4 at TH with 2-3 mins recovs. Jog to finish." "TH" is Threshold. Threshold isn't flat-out, but it's faster than "steady". The instructions said, if I tried to speak, I'd only be able to say a few words. Now, all I can say is, thank the lord Moustachioed Chris was around this week. What I have discovered about myself, and part of the reason that I wanted Sal's help, is that I'm basically pretty lazy. I'd first of all have to overcome the "I don't really want to leave the sofa", and secondly overcome my brain, which basically looked at that instruction and laughed. The thing is, I knew I could do it, because I'd already done a similar thing with Dave and Jon. Would I have done it on my own? I'd have tried, sure, because otherwise I'd have had to tell Sal I hadn't. But having Chris there was genius. He is really, so encouraging. Who would have known that Sal could project herself on to a funny guy with a curly mustache? He really tried hard to distract me from my pain, when - brokenly - (I was only following instructions) I'd pant out something that sounded, indistinctly like "Got to - stop - the - pain... how much.... longer??" and Chris would chirp, "Oh, we're over half-way" (-my brain saying, "of the first one") as he'd continue "and isn't it a lovely day? I must say, we are lucky with this weather. Really beautiful..." which indicated to me that he was in no way running anywhere near HIS threshold pace.

Anyway, we finished my exercise, with my final interval Chris saying "come on, there's some weird old bloke with a mustache running along next to you - better speed up!" - and I was immensely proud of myself.

On Thursday we had an hour's jog, which Chris also accompanied me for, as handily, we were both going to see John Heggly that night at the Key, so it made a good filler in between work and the show. We saw a young woman jogging ahead of us, and I rashly said "That looks like Summer, but it can't be, she's running too fast", only to meet up with Summer later and have her airily say "I went for a jog around the rowing lake earlier...." Oops.

Also, among Chris's other idiosyncrasies, I happen to know that he plays a ukelele. So when John Heggley joked "some of you may be wondering what this instrument is called... well, it's called Steve", I felt that Chris would be in his element, but when I mentioned it the next day, I discovered new things about musical instruments that I didn't know (although in fairness, what I don't know about musical instruments is a fairly wide arena) - apparently John H wasn't playing a uke, it was a mandolin. I do a good line in not looking too surprised (I've found it covers up how incredibly ignorant I am) but Chris was good enough to expand on his subject without encouragement. "Ukeleles don't have that many strings" he explained, "so although it is an unusual shape for a mandolin, that's what it was". So. There you have it.

On Friday, I had some more track work, although as Sal had warned last time I opted to run round the rowing lake, she would be giving me different distances to run. This time i had to face my demons, and go to the track. I'll give it this... it's pretty boring. I was a little concerned about being thrown off, but the two blokes walking round with some surveying equipment didn't seem to mind. I saw a very heavily myxied rabbit on the track, who I was able to overtake successfully (several times). I didn't have any means of dispatching it, so I had to let it be. I wasn't sure about the exercise and whether I was doing it properly; and didn't have time to do the swim afterwards. I asked Sal if I should do it the next day, but she said no, it was better to have the rest day resting. Which made sense.

I don't mind admitting that my legs were starting to ache a little bit. I was hoping that at some point, they'd get used to, and accept, the fact that they had a fair way to go yet.