When I typed the
title it was autocorrected to Stuc a chronic, it felt somehow apt. The thing
was I thought I'd be OK at this. I'd been OK at what I thought was similar
stuff. It turns out I was wrong - this wasn't similar and I wasn't OK at it.
The first doubts
started to creep in at around mile 3. Still within the first section, the one that I'd
mentally labelled as the runnable warm up. The reality was a deeply unpleasant
transverse slope through intermittently boggy terrain. Suddenly my brain couldn't ignore the cognitive dissonance
anymore. I stopped and walked, I had to admit to myself that this was really
hard, and in the words of the carpenters "we'd only just begun".
But we're getting
ahead of ourselves, let's go back to the start. Actually before we do, let's
just cover a couple of points. Firstly you'll notice that I'm going to annoyingly keep switching between describing events in the past tense and an in the present. I'd appreciate it if we could think of this as an innovative writing style rather than grammatical ignorance. Secondly what you are going to read is going to sound a bit moany and negative
in places. To be clear the only thing I'm moaning and negative about is myself,
the race is well organised, the setting genuinely beautiful and the marshals
unstinting their dedication and encouragement. I do also fully appreciate that
I am very lucky to be able to have the social, political and economic freedom
to be able to be slightly unhappy about how I might have done in a low key
running race that it's not like I was every trying to win.
But lets explore my first world problems in more depth. Lets go back
to... perhaps sometime in January when buoyed by a solid performance in last years
Pentland skyline I decided that the Scottish Hill Racing Long Series would be a
good goal for the year. Nothing too serious mind, no trekking out to Jura or
Skye, just the more local ones.
I began to put these
paper dreams into effect. I'd did this by 1) failing to enter the Glenshee 9 as
I didn't have the qualifying races - this should have rung some alarm bells,
but in my hubris I was just frustrated. 2)
Running the Feel the Burns hill race - it was shortened to 7 miles, but the
deep snow meant this felt genuinely
challenging, and outside of my comfort zone. A good run confirms my view that
I'm a good hill runner who can handle the big tough stuff. 3) I run two
personal bests on the road, 10k around a flat course at Grangemouth and the
Chester half marathon. These deepen my confirmation bias that I am a good
runner. Which to be fair isn't unreasonable,
but I don't fully engage with the disconnect between running fastish on
a flat road and what I'm planning. 4) Recognising a slight lack of hill
training I run 15 miles in the Pentlands, including 5000ft of ascent, this goes
OK. This is all going to be fine.
I enter the Stuc a
Chroin race as soon as it opens. I'm slightly disappointed it's
only 12 miles and not longer. I've really enjoyed my long days out at the skyline and Ochil 2000s
I was hoping for something similar. Still a nice warm up to the hill running
season.
Fast forward a bit
and I'm sitting in a car park in Strathyre 90 minutes before the start. I'm
feeling pretty good, I've made it to the race, the organisers dire warnings
about traffic have got me here nice and early and I've found somewhere to park
no bother. I lack the imagination to invent parking spaces where they don't
actually exist (another hill racing skill I'm weak at) so it's always nice to find a proper
parking space. I've had a coffee and a brownie from the café, registered and
passed the kit check. There is little left to do but run the race.
The cloud is down
low it's not actually raining, but the world feels damp, the hills certainly
aren't visible. With hindsight I now wonder if I'd been able to see the actual
scale of the hills if I could have undergone the necessary mental correction to
my inflamed expectations. It was not to be, I was 2:30 into the race, with all
my illusions stripped away before I the cloud lifted and I could see the savage
beauty of the landscape I was actually in.
It feels quite warm,
almost muggy in the valley, however the mountain weather forecast was dire in
its view of conditions on the top. Deciding what to run in is therefore tricky,
a vest would be fine at the start, but would surely look foolhardy at the top.
By starting in a jacket will mean overheating as I run powerfully up the first
hill. I go for the compromise of vest over long sleeves with the jacket in my
bag.
I'm probably as
concerned with trying to look like I know what I'm doing, as I am with what is
actually right. There is a deeper anxiety reflected here about whether I
actually belong here, and whether I do actually know what I'm doing. But again
I miss the opportunity to recognise and acknowledge this, mentally smoothing
over the disconnect between the fact I expect to do well, and the fact I don't
know the appropriate kit to wear.
 |
| Looking good at the start |
To try and present a
logically coherent narrative I should explain something of the route.
Broadly we're to run up through the forest, down into Glen Ample, up to the top
of Beinn Each along the ridge to Stuc a' Chroin, halfway back along the ridge and
then down into Glen Ample, then back the way we came to the finish.
The opening section is a diversion from the normal route on good forestry roads. The normal
route is too waterlogged to be passable, it's only now, writing this that I
realise how bad this must actually have been to be deemed not OK. But the
forestry road allows deferral of the awareness of the horrors of the task at
hand. I'm actually quite ok at running up moderate climbs on a reasonable
track. I do this pretty well, the utter futility of
attaching any importance to a minute here or there in this section is not yet
apparent.
After a while (2
miles) we leave the road, and head off through the heather, this is a bit
tougher, but fine just holding position on the line. There is a short sharp
uphill, I overtake a couple of people. I'm good at this, it's going well.
Then we went through
a deer gate, the path traverses across a slope with a fence at the bottom. This
is uncomfortable running, the traversing is tough on the ankles, the terrain is
uneven and very boggy in places, there is no good line. The fence at the bottom
seems to exert a gravitational attraction, but once you're there it's an
encumbrance and any change of line involves going up.
The spark gradually
dies within me, I'm finding this hard. Very hard. In my head it was all
runnable until we hit Glen Ample. Struggling here does not match my
expectations and I am struggling, every step is an effort, by breathing is all over the place, fear and panic are starting to set in .Everyone else looks strong, they all look like they belong, but
the first bit of difficult ground has found me out as an imposter. The fire
inside me fizzles out extinguished by the bog and the mist. I walk for a bit,
and although I don't know it then I won't really get going again for another 3
hours.
The descent down to
Glen Ample offers a change, an opportunity to regroup perhaps I can get things
back on track. This is quite naïve as I'm not a great descender, I quickly
realise that even if there was track to get back onto I wouldn't be getting
back onto it. It's steep and pretty
rough and even on a dry day I'd have problems. But it's so wet underfoot it's
treacherous, really slippy. I'm not confident at all, I shuffle down
tentatively with the brakes on. Others fly by, I'm more ok with this, I know
I'm a relatively poorer descender. The other really sobering thought is that the race
comes back up this way.
After the slope
levels out there is massive bog, just to make sure we know the course isn't
going soft or anything. Marshalls offer drinks and sweets. Then comes the final
shot at redemption the ascent of Beinn Each, some good work here will put
everything back on track. The marshals point us off up a steep slope I can't
see very far up in the mist. I hope it's short, the rational part of my brain -
which has studied the course profile - knows that it is not, but the hope
screams louder in my brain.
 |
| A less steep bit |
The more immediate
problem is that I am in a line of people on a narrow 'track' the guy in front
is edging away and the guy behind is right behind. I need to hold my position
in this line while trying to breathe well enough to force down a gel without dying, stopping, throwing up or sliding back down. The other more
immediate problem is that the hill is very steep. Steps have been kind of worn
in, which is good, but they're quite slippy, which is bad. There is a very old
metal fence which you can pull on, which is good, but you never have total
confidence you're not going to uproot the fence and then plunge backwards down
the hill, which is bad. The slope is strewn with bones, hopefully from sheep
rather than runners, and with the swirling cloud it's not a warm and cuddly
place.
Obviously it goes on
for a long time, I gradually let people past me glad of the excuse to have a
break. About half way up the wind makes itself felt, I opt for caution (or
resting) and stop and put my jacket on, the last thing I want is to get cold.
I'm in a minority doing this, but then it's not like I'm generating a lot of heat by powering uphill.
The wind the vanishes, but I'm heading back out of glen ample on the way home
before I actually have the confidence to take the jacket off again.
I can't put my
finger on any specific memories until the summit of Beinn Each. According to
strava this was a 35 minute mile. I'm
not sure I've ever done a 35 minute mile before and I'm not sure I want to
again.
 |
| Somewhere on the way up |
The summit is a
bleak rock in the cloud, but mentally an oasis. The worst of the climb is done,
there are marshals with sweets. I take a sweet for the first time. The marshals want to see my number. Which
involves much faffing with the jacket.
I'm now past the point of thinking about getting back on track or any
such foolish thoughts but it's nice to feel some progress and to stop the
relentless ascent.
So another new set
of conditions to adjust to. Up and down, rock and mud, fear and focus. On a dry
day, or if you knew what you were doing, you could probably run quite happily
along here. There are some decent outcrops of rock to go both up and down, but
the rocks are greasy and you cannot rely on the grip. There is also a lot of
mud, which on the downhills is very slippy,
but there are also some runnable tracks.
Initially I feel
better just for he change in terrain, but the the fear kicks in. This is outside my comfort zone, the terrain
feels both remote and hostile, there is a lot that could go wrong and not all
of it would be easy to fix. This lack of confidence doesn't encourage me to
push, there is nothing left to push for, I just try to make steady progress
and concentrate on what I'm doing.
Concentrating is hard, as all the thoughts about how far there is to go
and how out of my depth I am are jostling for space in my head.
Again I find it hard
to bring any specifics of this section to my mind. There was a point the guy in
front let me past, this surprised me as in my head I was being exposed as a
fell running imposter, not the kind of guy who needed let past because he we going
well. He was back in front before too long.
The leader passed me
going the other way, I wasn't sure if he was the leader or just the first
runner I'd seen on the out and back stretch to the summit so he just got the
same muted "well done" that everyone else got. I didn't see anyone else for ages
- he was miles ahead.
Other than that it
went on for ages and gradually started going up more. The trickle of people
going the other way turned into a slightly bigger trickle, there simply weren't
that many of us. They started saying not long to go, but I took this with a pinch
of salt. Better not to get ones hopes up. Then there was snow.
I have never run in snow as much as I have this year, I had thought I was done
with it for the season, but no. It was only a small patch so I can't complain.
 |
| Snow |
After the snow was the final ascent to the top. From nowhere the wind picked
right up. Conditions were deeply unpleasant very cold and very windy - a tough
gig marshalling up there.
 |
| The top |
More faffing with
the jacket to get my number marked and a quick turn around the cairn and onto the return journey. I tell the runners before the snow they are nearly there, they
are. After the snow I revert to a
"well done, keep going" no point giving people false hope, and a good
number of these people will catch me on the descent.
Mentally the
pressure lifts a bit as a turn from the summit. The bulk of the ascent is done,
the high point is behind me. The wind is quickly gone as I drop down. Yep running down is more treacherous than going up but I'm taking it
steady. Sure there are a number of people handling it better and overtaking me
but it's all ok, that would happen on a good day too.
The route back
thankfully skips the summit of Beinn Each, it retraces some of the route up and
then turns and takes a more direct line down. This turn off takes ages to come,
I worry I've missed it, but the route is superbly marked and there are three marshals
at the turn when I get there.
 |
| Somewhere on the way down |
More steep downhill,
but more grassy and a bit more runnable, a few still come past me. I pass someone, but he's walking, along with
a clearly injured knee. I ask if there is anything I can do, he seems pretty
philosophical. The cloud has lifted a
bit so I can see some of the surroundings, I find a few stretches where I can push. We're heading back into the Glen,
both sides seem spectacularly steep, I know the climb up the other side isn't
going to be great.
 |
| Rare runnable downhill |
Another sweet from
the marshals at the bottom and back up the climb. I'm I a place of acceptance now, I know I'm
going to walk slowly up this climb, I know I'm going to struggle along the
boggy stretch by the fence. I know I'm going to run down the forest road nice
and fast, largely because the muscles in charge of actual running have had little to do since we left it. I know my finish time is going to be slower than I would have wanted
and further down the field. But I have now accepted all of this as fact, to
rail against it would be a Canute like effort in futility.
 |
| This doesn't really do justice to how steep it was |
 |
| Ok this does exaggerate the steepness - but not much |
I feel humbled, I
try to work out in my brain what I have been humbled by. In the midst of all of
this experience and beauty, I'm ashamed to admit I am wondering how I am going
to describe the humbling experience in a pithy strava run name.
At the root of this
is the key question of the day. There is a gap between how I thought the
experience would go and how it has turned out. And this gap has not been for
the better. Why is this…
Why? Because as wasn't as
good at running over the terrain I thought I was or the other people were
Why? I haven't had much
experience of this type of thing and found it hard
Why? This is different to
the landscape where I live so I lack opportunity to develop the physical skill
or the realistic expectations required.
Why? Well that's a bunch
of other reasons about life choices and the geological history of the regions
involved that probably don't tell us a lot of useful stuff.
I discounted a lot of stuff about God and higher powers and in the end I went for humbled by the giant mountain.
But on reflection this isn't right, the mountain didn't do anything to me - it simply was. It
remained indifferent to me or any of the others. The only person who did
anything to me was me, and the only place that was done was in my own
head.
The rest of the race
did indeed pan out as I expected. I caught a few people on the final runnable
miles which helped me to finish feeling a bit more positive. The juice at the
finish was delicious.
