On reflection, could that 100km debut have gone better?
Tapering, the most hateful part of race prep. The lethargy, kit panic, taper flu. All things I warn coached athletes about but still had to get over. No, I don’t need new shoes, that’s a terrible idea. New waterproof trousers? No.
Buying new kit won’t make the race any easier at this stage.
Picking up the hire car, checking the journey time to Shap, 3hrs Easy.
A bit of kit repacking. Check the forecast again, windy windy with a chance of Storm Kathleen hooning down all weekend.
Re-check ETA, fuck 4hrs now. Need to go.
5hrs later arrived in Shap, the relief at getting there in time for the St Bees bus, tangible.
The bus journey? Full of mostly men looking either casually nonchalant or worried. I feel like I was trying to portray the former but the latter was more visible.
St Bees, into a sports hall with no lights due to the storm the night before. Like an alpine hut I was told. Everyone busy bee’ing to their own rhythm.
Registration and kit check. I’d been dreading this. The kit was all parcelled up ready to go in the big shopping bag. Mountain rescue lady was impressed, I was ecstatic. Registration was an absolute breeze full of bloody charming volunteers who couldn’t do enough to help.
“Would you like your t shirt now?”
“No thank you, I’ll wait until the finish”
To the sports hall and head to bed. The fella on the double airbed looks comfy. The phone alarms started going off. Usually in that scenario someone would have, at a minimum, tutted. Not a disparaging word was said. Ahh, the tension is still there then!
5:30
Breakfast
6:30
Kit faff.
Check forecast again
Kit faff.
6:55
Camp bag drop, feels a bit rich as I didn’t camp. And feel slightly happy that I didn’t go outside to set my tent up when the weapons grade snoring started at 23:00 whilst I watch a man walking into a building with his tent flailing behind him like sail.
I move to the start banner. It’s time. Quick race brief, I’m sure I hear low level diversion will be in place. I fiddle with my watch to get it setup with the appropriate GPX.
Holding back a dry retch.
3,2,1 we’re off. And the pace is quick. I go hard, heart rate soaring. I like to use it during longer races because I have a habit of starting too quick, I stop looking after two miles as even without any caffeine its sky high.
I can keep with this group, a few more guys pass me. I need to reel this in a bit I’m going too hard. We’re onto a short road section and for a minute I can settle. The coastal section was wet and treacherous, the road feels like bliss in comparison. I get into a rhythm, fine I’m good where I am. Keep eating and drinking.
The gels each with three motivational messages from friends, family and ETO.
“Zack says he could run this quicker than you!” the thought of a pre-schooler chasing me down brings a smile to my face.
“It’s just a stroll in the mountains mate” He’s not wrong, and I bloody love strolling around mountains.
We’re around Ennerdale now. I’d forgotten how technical the path is here and streaming with water in most places. Stick to the plan, keep pushing until I reach the end of the lake beneath High Crag.
I’ve hooked up with another runner at this stage and we chat for a good few miles without exchanging our names. Trading our run commutes, upcoming races and how we’re feeling. I feel like teetering between holding him back and pushing too hard and invite him to go on. I’m having to flit between a run walk, I’m feeling heavy legged. Finally we reach Black Sail hut where I nip in to get water, nobody follows me, how much am I drinking?!
This is what I’ve been waiting for. Up and down the hill behind my house every weekend morning for hours at a time, and I feel like I come into my own. Slowly picking off other runners walking up at this stage. I know I can keep this pace going for as long as I need to. I catch up with limited arm mover and stick behind him until we reach Honister. I’m still feeling heavy legged on the descent but very ready for the change of load on my legs. Down we go.
A group of us get to the aid station: refill, fuel, toilet, get overwhelmed with the food choice and only pickup ready salted crisps. In and out.
It’s bloody wet now, Greenup Gill has spread all over the path. Up we go, more technical than the last section with a few hand on rock sections, beautiful, I’m loving this. And so it goes like this for miles until we reach Mill Bridge, a group of us oscillating around each other. When we cross the road at Mill Bridge there are lots of supporters cheering. Food for the soul at that stage, as is cheery Scottish fella. We chat the pros and cons of orange Inov8’s for 5mins before I see a familiar face up the hill, he doesn’t know me but I know him and I can’t help but break out into a smile
“Gary Thwaites!!” I shout up the hill with genuine glee, the Tea and Trails co host offers his hand and offers a word of warning “the weather at Grisedale is filthy”. Ominous.
I see bus guy, we chat a bit, he leads the way up the climb to the Tarn but all I want to do is push on. I ask to pass, he obliges and I’m off. I see two more people, I’m a walking metronome passing them and then up on my own just before the tarn.
I can hear it before I can see it. The route next Tongue Gill had been relatively protected from the wind but as soon as I come out onto the Tarn it hits me, gusting and whirling like no wind I’ve ever experienced, forcing a 3 point stance when the gusts power through. The tarn whips into waves, the water rushing towards the path and engulfing it.
I want to be away from this.
It takes a long time, but as I close in and run with Liam. He’s just what I needed to get me into Patterdale. It takes so much longer than we hope but we’re met with event staff asking if we have the detour GPX. I’d put this onto my watch in the morning so I tell them I’m all set with it.
As we get into the aid station runners are getting ready to leave, Shane Ohly is there and discusses that they can still go over Kidsty Pike if they leave now. Liam hears the conversation, fills his bottles and get out after them at a trot. He was one of the last to take the high route.
I am not ready.
Both mentally and physically.
I’d regret this later.
David and Georgia are ready to leave at the same time as me, we head off. David knows this detour and the Ullswater way well. It’s a bloody good job because the GPX route isn’t snapped to any paths initially and we struggle a bit to find our way.
Cruisy downhill grass section looks incredible, I slip on the slick grass, pick myself up and carry on.
The three of us sticking together for a while, then I turn corner and I’m off.
Georgia catches me up and we stay within sight of each other for miles and miles, but never close enough to have conversation, until the sun starts to set.
Epic sunset, I shout to Georgia to look behind her. We both stop for a minute. It’s moments like these you don’t want to forget.
As we get off the high ground two things happen, Georgia cruises off down the road not to be seen again. A northern traverse runner catches me up and we run together for a time.
Long enough to see two signs, without feeling any closer to, Shap.
We both look at each other and shout “WHERE THE FUCK IS SHAP?!” laughing.
The next section is a blur or working with some traversers to nav into Shap.
I’m burnt off by another Lakes Traverse runner at the finish arch, good for him I was just happy to be there.
I sat down whilst a volunteer offered to get me tea and food, I accepted greedily. Whilst contemplating my finish position compared to the those who went over Kidsty Pike in front of me.
I felt like a bit of a fraud. Pleased at what I’d achieved, but with some unfinished business.
I’ll be back in April 25.
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