Stuc a' Chroin race 2018

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

 A slightly elongated jog to the start serves as a warm up.  The race starts from behind the Munro Inn where there is a fenced in compound, inside which race hq has been assembled. I run up the first couple of hundred meters until it gets muddy. I turn back thinking that the mud can wait for the race, how true this turns out to be.

 

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…

 

Because I have not been able to run as competitively as I wanted

 

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.

West Highland Way Race 2017

The what and the why

 

One easy and one difficult question. The west highland way is a 95 mile long distance path from Milngavie (Glasgow) to Fort William. Taking in all of the scenic delights you'd expect of the Scottish highlands. The race is simple, run from Milngavie to Fort William in 35 hours. As a reference point most walkers would cover the route in 4/6 days depending on how hard they would want it. There are checkpoints, and you have to have a motorised crew meet you at each one. From mile 50 you are allowed a pacer. The prize for finishing – eternal glory and a crystal goblet.

 

The why was harder. After first learning of the concept of ultra running I was curious to learn more. Looking on the internet I quickly stumbled across stories of the race. It was hard not to be inspired. Caroline Mckay’s account her 2012 race is the one that sticks in my mind. It sounded brutal, it was in some ways prophetic that the story the sparked my imagination was one of rain and wind and weather.

 

I ran some other races. The West Highland way always seemed too hard. Even putting aside the distance, the logistics were tricky; how would I persuade anyone to give up their weekend to crew, the 1am start sounded unappealing, the entry requirements were understandably quite strict.

 

I ran other races, building up to running the St Oswald’s Way 100 in 2015. After this, I had no immediate desire to do anything as difficult again, but from that point on I knew that if I did do another it would be the West Highland Way.

 

It was talking to Benji about it that took it from vague idea to a solid form. Benji is a fellow Dunbar resident, and did the race a couple of years ago. He was talking about entering again, the seed began to germinate.

 

So my name went in the ballot, we would see if fate said yes or no.

 

It said maybe.

 

I didn't get a place, but I was on a reserve list in case anyone chose not to take up their place, this was an unexpected period of limbo. I started to train as if I had a place, Benji was in, I wasn't sure if I envied him or not.

 

It was Christmas when I got the email that project WHW was go. I was lucky enough to get offers of support from my running club, and I roped my dad in - it was taking shape.

 

I'd never seen the second half of the course so Benji and I went and ran it from Bridge of Orchy in February. It was spectacular a sunny day with snow lying at the top of the devil. I had a better idea of what I was up against, although at this point I never imagined I would be colder on race day. I managed two other runs on the route, and my best sustained block of training ever, averaging around 60 miles a week. If I'm honest prep couldn't have gone much better.

 

Friday

 

I had the day off work however I woke up at normal time 6am ish. I spent much of the morning sorting things out. It was nice to have the time to do this. I had a box of foods, all things that I'd used in races before, my plan was simply to dip in and out of this as I fancied. The weekend before the race was scorchio so I spent a lot of time worrying about how to keep things cool. How naïve this turned out to be. I also has a box of kit. Mostly just spare clothes, and two alternative pairs of shoes.

 

I tried to sleep in the afternoon without success, I didn't realise at the time, but I think even a quick power nap would have made a difference later. But you can't force yourself to sleep.

 

In the later afternoon crew no1 arrived. I was lucky enough to have two crew teams so as to spread the load. This seemed a nice solution to me as I wasn't asking anyone to be awake as I long as I was, so the people looking after me would always be less tired than I was. Crew no 1 was my dad and Diane. It was my dad’s 2^nd attendance at an endurance event in two weekends having spent the weekend before at Le Mans, this sounded like a good warm up for him.

 

We had some tea headed to the start.  If I'm honest I was there to early, we arrived just after 9 and I had no real purpose being there that early. Registration was easily accomplished. Haddington running club (Dunbar running club’s nearest neighbours, and local rivals) had two runners in the race Norrie and Martyn, I had a good chat with Neil from Martyn’s support crew, which calmed the nerves a bit. There was nothing for the crew to do so I sent them off to get some rest. They had a room at the oak tree, which was super handy for CP1, so there was a good opportunity for them to rest.

 

I went to Tesco and got myself a few bits to eat, and sat around soaking up the atmosphere. I had a good chat with someone who'd come over from Northern Ireland to support. Their journey including a ferry and massive drive, put my logistics into perspective.

 

It was good to see Norrie and Benji as they arrived and to chat to some other friends at the start. I never think I'm going to know anyone at these things and am then surprised when I do.

 

Relaxed at the start - credit Lee Curtis

The briefing was delivered at 12:30. This is usefully posed online earlier in the day as it wasn't always easy to hear.

 

About 10 minutes to go everyone began to assemble for the start. I was towards the back with Norrie and Benji. Everything felt pretty relaxed. There was little that could be done now and I was just keen to get going. This last few minutes passed in a blur of good lucks and tightening things.

 

Nearly ready to go

The plan

 

The plan was built around a 23 hour goal. I felt based on a 100 mile time of 25:15 two years ago, with better experience and better training this was ambitious but realistic. It was very much a gold target. Very aware I might fall short I had two additional targets 24 hours as a silver target and 25:37 which was the Dunbar running club record set in 2011 by Ian who would be supporting me later.

 

I'd worked out splits by looking at the split times of everyone who had finished between 22 and 24 hours in the past 10 years and averaging the time for each section. I then compared these against what I'd done in the fling and in training runs to check they were in the right ballpark. The variability of the terrain makes it difficult to just pick a pace as there are some really slow bits. The planned splits were

 

Checkpoint	Elapsed time
CP1 – Balmaha	3.26
Rowardennan	5.10
CP2 – Beinglas Farm	8.37
CP3 – Auchtertyre Farm	11.00
CP4 – Bridge of Orchy	13.17
CP5 – Glencoe Ski centre	16.00
CP6 – Kinlochleven	19.00
Finish	23.00

 

Food plan was to eat whatever I fancied from my food box. I'd planned to have some soup at Glencoe, but that was the only planned food. Stops were supposed to be quick in and out in 5 mins.

 

Kit plan was I wasn't planning to change anything during the race unless there was a need. I started in a t-shirt, shorts and my Hoka challenger ATRs.

 

Milngavie to Balmaha

 

I can't remember what the signal to move was, perhaps a hooter, but we were off. Everyone moved forwards, the sound echoed off the tunnel, then came the steps. These were walked, there was a drone hovering above, the whole thing felt quite surreal. Then down the high street, there were plenty of people cheering, Lee was filming. And then we turned onto the path, the cheering crowds vanished, and there was just a long stream of runners.

 

Milngavie High St

There was no point trying to push anything, the paths were narrow and full of people, I accepted my place in the line and the pace that was being run and just moved forward. Benji was just ahead for many of the early couple of miles but I never quite managed to catch him up and he gradually drifted ahead.

 

The few early hills were walked and progress was made, the pace was slower than I had imagined and planned, but I didn’t see it was worth getting stressed about.

 

I got minorly lost at one point when I missed a turn in the dark. The guy behind followed me, it was only an extra couple of hundred meters. I said something about being happy if that was the worst thing that happened all race. It wasn't.

 

Everyone fell into bunches as we ran along to the beech tree, the dynamics of the gates tended to bunch people together I tried to be courteous holding the gate open but sometimes it was tough call. Whether to wait or go.

 

Beech Tree was strange. There was a stable full of some type of animal, although I don't remember what type, and a bunch of people trying to be encouraging yet quiet at the same time. There was no one for me. I was being met a Balmaha only, hoping to allow the crew a decent amount of sleep.

 

After here it began to thin out you could see torches ahead and behind, but I had my own space and I was glad of it, after the buzz of the start the solitude was welcome. Alone with my thoughts I had to confront them. First in the queue was just how tired I was. I was a couple of hours in, even in the best case scenario there were more than 20 to go. I know you shouldn't project these things forward, but my subconscious did it anyway in defiance of my better judgement, and the projection wasn't good. Second in the thought queue was that my stomach felt a little wrong, nothing serious, but again a warning for the future? Third was that without anyone to follow I didn't actually know this section very well. And that was all the thoughts my brain could hold.

 

Reaching Drymen was a nice milestone, more quiet encouragement and onwards. Black was turning to charcoal as the dawn began to anticipate itself.  I walked up the first hill in the forest eating some of my honey and peanut butter sandwich, more out of obligation than desire. And then I ran walked sensibly.  I was aware that I was slower than planned and hoped that I was banking something for later. I didn't feel confident, with the tiredness going slower than planned was feeling harder than planned.

 

I'd forgotten what a long way it was along to the bridge at the foot of Conic but any unhappiness about this was tempered by the joy of being able to take the headtorch and accompanying buff off. The fresh air on my head was glorious. I hadn't realised how hot I was. Many around me seemed to keep torches on for longer but I had no problems. Basking in a first burst of positivity I ran along to Conic marvelling at the nice views of the loch that I had missed out on in the foggy 2014 Fling.

 

Loch Lomond emerges from the pre-dawn murk

There was a big group containing Benji ahead of me as we hit the slopes. I tried to catch up. But the group splintered and although I caught several and was reeling Benji in, he was gone by the time I hit the top.

 

I walked down carefully. I couldn't see the benefit of doing anything else, through the wood and into the checkpoint. My dad had called and told me where they were parked so it was easy to find them. I was quick here I had some welcome coffee that they had got from the hotel and took another sandwich and some fruit (grapes and banana) and headed off. I'd spared the crew Rowardennan so it would be a while before I saw them again. It was a lot of effort on their part to get up at 4 am to stand in a car park to give me food for 5 mins. But it was appreciated.

 

Balmaha to Beinglas

 

 

The next step was simple. Run the length of Loch Lomond (plus a bit extra) but who’s counting.  I'm glad I'd recced this recently rather than just relying on what I remember from the Fling as I forgotten how hard it was.

 

But the first bit was ok. Up the big hill and along the loch. It was light now and I was waking up. The coffee coursed through my veins waking me more. It was a recurring theme throughout the race that I would feel better for a coffee in the checkpoint and worse as it wore off, but for now I was ok.

 

In truth this is the hardest section to pin down in my memory. I can't really remember anything between the checkpoint and catching Benji about an hour later. It was nice to see a friendly face and we ran on chatting for a bit. Then unexpectedly Benji wished me a good race and let me go, I was surprised, my chat wasn't that bad, but you've got to run your own race, saying I was sure we'd see each other again we parted.

 

Somewhere on the Lochside

 

Somewhere else on the Lochside

I have no more memories until I reached Rowardennan. My drop bag wasn't here, I seemed to have sent it to Inversnaid by mistake. The marshals sorted me out with a banana, a coke and some cheese, which was frankly better than what I had in my drop bag. Benji arrived just as I was leaving, but this was the last time we'd see each other until the prize giving. Unbeknownst to me Benji passed me at the bridge or Orchy cap and went on to get his sub 24, a great and well deserved performance.

 

I progressed along the path towards Inversnaid. On the low path I was passed by a runner from Alaska. She was gliding over the technical path like she was running on the track. I was very impressed. I hung on for a mile or so simply by copying her foot placement, but ultimately couldn't hang on. I was very impressed with the idea of coming from Alaska to run the race, I'd found the logistics a challenge coming from the other side of Scotland.

 

The other notable event here was the lost glove. I found it as I we ran along the low path, it was just lying I the middle of the path. Without really thinking I picked it up. . There were three runners ahead. I shouted but I didn't belong to any of them.  I took it with me and asked everyone I met if it was theirs.  Lo and behold before Inversnaid it was back with its rightful owner.  It didn't seem much at the time, but white the way the weather panned out I'll bet he was glad to have it later.

 

Inversnaid never seemed to come, the path all looks so samey it's hard to fix where you are. The advantage of my drop bag mix up was that I had one here. I enjoyed my apple juice and pushed on. It didn’t seem it at the time, but looking back now this was probably my best section of the race between Balmaha and Inversnaid. I don't remember much because I think it was all flowing by fine. I felt OK and made good progress.

 

Somewhere in the woods

The technical lochside after Inversnaid was fine.  I don't really like this but I'm accepting of it, it is slow and is a time to regroup which I tried to do. This was the first point I remember my legs hurting, again I knew intellectually not to project this forward, but it triggered a certain level of fear.

 

Getting through the technical stuff was nice, it was good to have the section behind me, progress was being made. I texted from the Ardlui ferry to warn the crew and walked up to Dario’s post. There was a few of us in a loose group run walking toward Beinglas. I remember feeling pretty done in here, but looking back it seemed like nothing.

Last steps on the Lochside

 

Look what I long way I've come. From Dario's post

This was the last stop for dad and Diane, and the last time I'd see them before the finish. They’d done a great job scoring me a coffee from the campsite and bringing a good selection of food up to the path with them. I downed the coffee, ate some grapes, I couldn't get enough grapes and pushed on telling them I'd see them at the finish. They were off to meet crew no 2 in Crianlarich and handover.  I told them I wanted to change shoes at the next CP and I'd wanted my Hokas.

 

Beinglas to Auchtertyre

 

I remembered there was a hill after the CP so pushed on and then walked up the hill eating some sandwich. At the point where the path reaches a crossroads and goes off to the right I noticed that that guy in front had carried straight on.  I shouted him, I think he had headphones in, I shouted again and started an internal debate about how obliged I was to chase him down if he didn't hear. He was faster and it would have been a non-trivial distance by the time I caught him. Mind you the bar was set quite low for non-trivial at this point.  Thankfully he heard something and looked round, I pointed frantically, and he seemed to get the message. It took a good few minutes for him to catch me up with some words of thanks, my second good deed of the day. 

 

The rest of the section up to the tunnel under the railway. I was in the company of 4 guys who were cycling the Way over three days. They all had different primary coloured tops on, it was a bit like reservoir dogs, there was Mr Red, Mr Blue, Mr Green and Mr Yellow. Luckily we all made it through with our ears intact.  It was strange, there were points where they were massively faster than I was, but I was much faster up the hills, over the stiles etc. so our average pace was similar. It was nice to chat, they seemed both curious and encouraging about the race.  I’d rather run the whole thing than tackle the Lochside on a bike.

 

I liked that the tunnel was bubble wrapped and resisted the temptation to pop the bubbles, I parted from my cyclist friends here. They clearly couldn't handle my walking pace up the hill. I ran ok along to the deer fence. Then I texted Ian to let him know where I was.

 

Some of the best running I've ever done was on the roller coaster section during the fling. This was the only time I've ever really felt anything close to a real runners high. I guess it could only ever be worse this time, it was. I was passed by someone who chatted for a few minutes, he'd done the race before and said I was doing fine if I was running the level and the downs, I was, so I felt better. But this was a struggle and went on for so much longer than I recalled.

 

It was nice to the get down to the road and know I was near. I like this checkpoint, the road is a clear marker for when it is close.  A short run along the road and the checkpoint comes into view.

 

Crew 2 were taking over here.  Crew two were Nick and Ian, friends from my running club. Ian has done the race in 2011, it was his Dunbar Running Club record I had as a bronze target. He's returning from injury which restricted him to driving duties, but having his experience in my corner was hugely important. I was also very lucky to have Nick, who when I confirmed I had a place immediately said he would be interested in support running from Auchtertyre to the finish. Having someone with the ability to do this whole 45 mile stretch was also hugely useful. Nick had never run on the top half of the Way before, but he is doing the devil in August, and was keen to see what he was in for. 

 

Nick is waiting just before the checkpoint, and immediately took control, taking me to dib in and get weighed. I had lost 3 kg, the marshals seemed OK with this.

 

We got to Ian's car, my change of shoes was ready. I hadn’t planned to change shoes in the race, but my challenger ATRs felt like they were pinching my toes slightly and I didn't want to take risks. I'd have changed at Beinglas if we'd had access to the car.  I changed socks too. It was nice to dry my feet, they looked in a good state, which was reassuring, I went for double socks and my Rapa Nuis. They already had a 100 mile race in them, I had confidence and didn't really worry about my feet from here on. There was plenty of other stuff to worry about.

 

Looking vexed at Auchertyre

Ian did a great job of forcing food on me I had grapes and flapjack, he had also made a coffee which was like nectar. All sorted Nick and I headed off.

 

Auchtertyre to Bridge of Orchy

 

Having a support runner was a completely new experience for me and I think it took a mile or so to reach some sort of equilibrium. Initially I was thinking Nick was way too fast although I'm sure he was taking it very steady. I also needed to communicate what was walkable and what was runnable, the bar was quite low here.

 

Leaving Auchtertyre - Credit Robert Snodgrass

At the same time I was challenging myself about whether I was being lazy, having someone else there was a good kick up the arse.  I was also worrying about what Nick was thinking I didn't want him thinking “we have to run this slow all f*ing day”. To be clear Nick is a great guy and wasn't thinking this, it was just the demons in my head playing with me. But I found it quite hard being the central point of the team, it felt easier later on when I stopped thinking about stuff too deeply and just let Ian and Nick make the decisions that got me to the finish.

 

Anyway we soon settled into a routine, it was good to have someone to chat to we compared stories of the end of the fling as we went past it.  It was new ground from here. This was the only bit I hadn't run as I'd recced from Bridge of Orchy, everyone I'd spoken to had told me this section was nothing to worry about.

 

We passed the shop. I really wanted an ice lolly, but somehow couldn't break out of my head to actually express this, I've no idea why, so we ran on up the hill. The first part of this flowed quite nicely, we walked the hills and chatted. There were a few runners and walkers around. It was bit depressing when one of the walkers overtook us, but it was on a long uphill and we got him back on the down, plus he was only going to the pub at the far side of jelly baby hill.

 

I'd somehow got it into my head that we were nearly there when we crossed the train line, this was wrong, and a bit of a damaging thought as it dragged from here. The weather which had been a bit up and down all day tuned a bit worse.

 

On the way to Bridge of Orchy - Credit Nick Williamson

The coffee wore off and the whole thing felt like less fun. We knew the checkpoint had to be at the point the road, railway and river all met. They were still depressingly far apart. Because I'd changed watches when the first one ran out I had no useful info about distance, but Nick did, we worked out we had just under 2 to go, Nick texted Ian and we pushed on.

 

Eventually we reached the railway station, this was a nice moment, I'd run from here to the end with Benji in February, I knew it was possible.

 

In the end I regretted not recceing this section. Everyone had said it was nothing to worry about, and if someone asked me for my view I'd say the same. In the context of the race, the running is fine there are no big hills, you aren't going to get lost. But in my head I'd translated “nothing to worry about” to “easy” and it wasn't easy.  It was easier than some of what was to come, but it was still tough, especially as the weather worsened and my expectations weren't aligned.

 

We were expertly shepherded across the road and Ian was waiting at the checkpoint. The marshal dibbed us in and told us waterproof jackets were now mandatory. We were both wearing ours so no big deal.

 

Ian sat me down as started feeding me, he wanted me to eat something a bit more substantial than the coffee and grapes I fancied. He offered choices, I agreed to some cold rice pudding, there was a moments drama when we realised the can didn't have a ring pull. Nick went on the scrounge for a tin opener, with quick success. So I sat there eating cold rice pudding form a tin. More time passed than was ideal, but I think I needed the food which without Ian’s prompting I don't think I'd have taken.

 

 

Bridge of Orchy to Glencoe

 

Leaving the checkpoint - Credit Ian Rowland

I was adamant we were walking all the way up jelly baby hill. Partly laziness, partly self-preservation, partly letting my stomach settle. We headed off, the weather seemed at the worse end of what we'd been having all day – no indication of what was to come. We walked well up the hill. I wistfully remarked that Benji and I had run all the way up on our recce in February, but them we had started here. Thinking back I was amused by the naivety of my questioning Benji about whether it was runnable in the race. Not a chance.

 

All the same it was a good steady walk, Nick and I were chatting, at the time I thought little of this, but later on it was clear that having mental energy to chat was a good indicator of being in a positive place.

 

It's not called jelly baby hill for nothing so I was pleased to reach to top and claim my reward. I chose a black one, a good choice I think.  I've been a bit unsure about jelly babies ever since I was given one three miles from the end of my first marathon, and after thinking it was brilliant for about 5 seconds, realised that if I swallowed it I would throw up.  I clearly wasn't at the same level of intensity today my stomach accepted it gratefully. I declined a second and we headed on, but it was a nice moment, a fine race tradition, and hats off to Murdo for his dedication in waiting atop the hill for every runner.

 

Jelly baby - Credit Nick Williamson

I ran all the way down, and felt pleased with myself.  I don't remember the weather getting bad but by the time we got down to the road it was pissing down. Ian had driven round to meet us in case we wanted anything. I took a swig of sparkling water and headed on.

 

We ran all the way along the road, the rain eased and we made it to the hill onto the moor. This was walked in its entirety chatting all the way. It's a long climb and took a while, but nothing could have induced me to run it.

 

Rannoch moor was fine. We run walked sensibly. Again I don’t remember a point where the weather turned but it got increasingly unpleasant.  I was wearing my waterproof jacket over a t-shirt. I think Nick was similar. At points we were running just to keep warm regardless of the gradient. This wasn't ideal from a not pushing too hard perspective but was necessary from a keeping warm perspective. The end never seemed to come. I knew we had to go up a hill before descending to the ski centre, but each time we went up a likely hill, the panorama would open to reveal another hill to be climbed.

 

I remember the weather being worse than this - credit Nick Williamson

We saw a very vivid rainbow, which was nice, we were privileged to be up here seeing such amazing stuff,  but the patch of blue the rainbow was in remained forever on the horizon and the weather remained foul. Strong winds and driving rain were the order of the day.   Eventually we were faced with a hill so big it had to be the way out, and with a cairn to boot, Nick wisely concluded they wouldn't build a cairn for nothing, and fearing for our temperature we ran on, hoping to turn the corner and get out of the wind. We were catching the people in front now, the first other runners we'd seen on the moor.

 

Rainbow on the Moor

When we caught up, one of them seemed to be struggling a little with the cold. He'd already sent someone ahead to get help so we carried on down. Nick stopped to text Ian, I pushed on, Nick came past I plodded on just looking forward to the checkpoint.  We arrived, dibbed in, where the Marshal said I had cold hands and needed to put gloves on, and then we did a couple of laps of the car park looking for Ian.

 

Ian had soup and coffee which was brilliant. I had some coffee and then Ian insisted I put on more clothes, which was smart as I was only getting colder now we weren’t moving. I put on a long sleeved top over my t-shirt, then my emergency fleece (which I never thought I'd need to wear) over that, then my waterproof jacket over the top. My leggings, which again I'd never seriously thought I might end up wearing, went on, and a pair of gloves finished the look.  I can honestly say it's the most I've ever worn to run in. The soup was great, I had some grapes and Ian forced some flapjack on me and I felt ready to go. Nick had borrowed some gloves, and although not as ridiculously well wrapped up as I was looked ready to go.

 

Glencoe to Kinlochleven

 

I wanted to walk a little to let the food settle unlike Bridge of Orchy and Kinlochleven Glencoe doesn’t have a handily placed hill straight after the checkpoint. Walking raised issues for Nick who was getting cold. So he ran down to the end of the ski centre road and back a couple of time to keep warm while I walked. We crossed the main road and I started running. I'd have liked another 5 minutes walk for my stomach, but at the same time it was cold walking and we were wasting some of the most runnable bits of the leg. So off we went.

 

The weather was still pretty shocking, there was a headwind blowing along Glencoe, always strong, occasionally with very strong gusts. The rain was also being blown into your face as you ran along, it was unpleasant, Nick described the rain as either “sharp” or “pointy” both of which were apt. Nick sportingly ran in front of me for a good chunk of this so it was probably even worse than I think.

 

That said we came relatively easily to the Kingshouse hotel. There was a stag milling about outside which was nice to see. I think it was there in Feb too, so clearly a regular. We then climbed up the hill away from the road, which always seems pointless to me as you have to run right back down to the road before the Devil’s staircase anyway I resented the extra climb.

 

Kingshouse. I have no recollection of the sun

Nick was charitably acting as a windbreak, but at points I struggled to keep up. With the wind and our hoods up talking was impossible so Nick would have to check periodically that I was still in tow and slow down if I wasn’t. He did a great job of piloting me along to the staircase in some of the worst weather we faced all day.

 

Ian came to meet us at the foot of the staircase which was nice. I didn't need anything, he might have forced more flapjack or sparkling water on me. Doing a great job of making sure I was eating, I didn't argue with whatever I was told.

 

As we ran along I'd been thinking about how bad the weather would have to get before the race was called off. I knew the forecast was quite variable, but at the same time I was definitely thinking it would be nice to get to Kinlochleven and be told I wasn't allowed further. This seemed the perfect out to me, tried my hardest, never had to decide to quit, but spared all of the last section. I'm not sure how I'd have felt in retrospect, but this was a really appealing idea at the time.  Ian burst my bubble with the statement “they’re not going to stop the race for this weather, there would need to be a pack of tigers on the course or summat”. It's a good indication of my mentally deficient state that I let this frankly amazing statement go unchallenged, but I stopped fantasising about the race being stopped, and started worrying about tigers.

 

Watch out for the tigers - credit Ian Rowland

Nick had never been on the Devil’s staircase before, I told him it's just 20 mins of plodding and so it proved. No stops no breaks, just walked all the way up. I could have felt good about things but for the three or four other runners who all walked past us faster than I could. Every race I do everyone walks the hills faster than I do. And I always say I'll train better next time by doing some hill walking and then I never do and the cycle repeats. And while I'm not actually doing anything like this again, if I did I'd definitely train better for walking up the hills. Honest.

 

Nick and I were rocking the Dunbar buff at this point. The buff was my only nod to club colours. Nick had texted the day before to ask if I was wearing the club vest, as he would if I did. I had rather brusquely pointed him to the weather forecast. But as the president Nick has responsibilities. Anyway one of the passing runners complimented us on the buffs and asked what race they were from. Talking politely to other support crew and members of the public fell firmly within Nick’s sphere of responsibilities, at most I could manage exchanging a knowing look with fellow competitors. He said they were from our running club, but missed the opportunity to explain they were designed by yours truly. Again it's an indicator of a fairly together mental state that I noticed this.

 

Modelling the Dunbar RC buff at the top of the Devil's Staircase

Anyway we topped out the Devil’s staircase stopped for a quick photo and then pushed on. This descent was one of the most unpleasant aspects of the whole race, a category for which there was some stiff competition. The weather was still shocking, we were running into the wind and rain. Any residual warmth and energy from the coffee and soup was wearing off. My gloves were soaked and getting them on and off was a faff but Nick wisely kept making me eat and forcing shot blocs on me.

 

The path here is best described as a rough gouge in the hillside into which someone has dumped rocks of various sizes, and rerouted the drainage from the hillside. Nick remarked that it was easy to tell who was running the race and who was support, the support runners could still move their feet fast enough to place them intelligently amongst the rocks and water, I and many of my fellow runners could not.  That said many of my fellow runners were doing better than I was, I think we were passed by several others in this section.

 

This section went on forever, I warned Nick at the top it went on forever and it surpassed my expectations. Even when we hit the better track, my legs had been so fully pulverised by the rough ground I couldn’t really run properly. The steep downhill was painful to run on and my right leg was starting to drag a little as my knee was struggling to flex fully. But the weather started to ease as we descended and I knew we couldn’t be too far. I had somehow forgotten to check for where a landmark 2 miles out was, so we guessed and Nick rang Ian to warn of our arrival. I saw Gavin, who works at my work and has been a useful source of wise words, running the other way to meet his runner. It was good to see a friendly face. I remembered there we something funny about the route into Kinlochleven, I couldn't actually remember what, but fortunately it was well marked.

 

Arriving in Kinlochleven - Credit Ian Rowland

Relief at getting down was marred by a bit of a stark realisation. All day long I hadn’t admitted to myself that I was actually going to do this last section. I feared it; and the weather and the extra darkness of being behind schedule (about an hour at this point) did nothing to reassure me. If my brain had drifted to the last stage earlier in the run I'd just told myself I could quit at Kinlochleven. Thinking about it now the realisation hit me that I was probably going to have to do the last section after all. There was no good reason to quit. I was feeling OK considering. A number of people had given up their weekend to help me, quitting would be a poor reward for them, and I don't think the future Jamie would be too happy either. At 80 miles into a 95 mile race you wouldn't think it would come as a surprise that there are 15 to go. But it was a bit of a blow to suddenly realise I was going to have to run the Larigmor, in the rain, and the wind, and in the dark for a good chunk of it, with a leg that didn't work properly.

 

We arrived at the checkpoint. Ian took me in to get weighed. I'd put back on all the weight I'd lost at Auchtertyre. Partly this was because I was wearing more clothes.  I'd also eaten far more than I ever had in a race before. I told the marshals this and they seemed happy. Ian heated me up the other half of the tin of rice pudding and made me a coffee. Nick got a coffee from the village hall. A few midges got a drink of my blood and we were off.

 

Kinlochleven to Fort William

 

I was insistent we were walking to the hill, even though this brief bit of pavement represented the best running for the whole section. It was nice, Ian walked along with us it was still light, we were sheltered from the worst of the weather, Ian wished us well and we set off up the hill. I'd been telling Nick how bad and long and awful this hill was. Actually it was fine. We walked all the way we chatted I felt better after some hot food and coffee and the two paracetamol I'd taken. As an aside I don't approve of taking pain killers in races, even paracetamol which have the advantage over ibuprofen of not ruining your kidneys. I was surprised I did it I hadn’t planned to and I’d never done it before, but my knee definitely felt better.

 

We reached the top in what felt like fairly short order, the hill had been nice, no pressure to run, walking only. Now there were questions, to run or not to run? Nick was treating me gently, no pressure to run, although he can’t have been relishing the prospect of walking it in from here. I tentatively suggested a run along the flat, it went ok. Maybe this would be OK.

 

We progressed along in this fashion. I would pick a point to run to, normally the bottom of a hill, we would run to this then walk. Sometimes I would even push on beyond the agreed point. I was quite impressed with myself. Nagging at the back of my mind was the idea that we needed to use the daylight. I'd long since lost any sense of what the actual time was, all I knew was that it was looking gloomier and we weren't making to the Fort William in 24 hours.

 

I've read a few of the these West Highland Way race reports in my time and one of the more interesting experiences people report are the hallucinations. I can't claim to have seen penguins or snakes or such like but as the tiredness built my eyes did start playing up a bit. Firstly they seemed to develop a lag, like I was seeing things very slightly after I'd experienced them, this made foot placement on the rocky ground tricky. I remarked on it to Nick and then it seemed to stop which was good as it was frankly annoying. Then a new thing happened. Many of the rocks, which were littered about what might charitably be called the path, were encrusted with lichens.  Some of these lichen were white and the white lichen appeared to be glowing. I don’t think they were actually glowing, although I guess it's possible, but they really seemed to be emitting a powerful light. This was both weird and disconcerting, it persisted for several miles and only really stopped when we put on our head torches on.

 

We made it to the wilderness rescue van before we had to turn our torches on. I remember it being quite light still here, but the photos suggest a different story. We were offered a bewildering array of fizzy drinks, by the hardy souls of the wilderness rescue. I chose Dr Pepper to drink. Largely because Nick did and difficult questions about soft drinks were his sphere of responsibility, but also because it was the only one I hadn't tried already that day (apart from milk – who drinks milk 80 miles into an ultra?). In response to the questions about my wellbeing I replied that both my head and legs were going, but nothing unexpected. 

 

Sanctuary and Dr Pepper - Credit Jeff Smith

High up on the list of reasons why Nick is a great support runner was that he owns an awesome headtorch. And about 10 minutes after leaving the wilderness rescue van he decided it was time to put it on.  Deciding when it was dark enough to need a torch was yet another decision that fell firmly within Nick’s support runners responsibilities. I duly put mine on to, but there was no comparison. Mine politely suggested to the dark it might like to get out of the way if it's not too much trouble, Nick’s shoved it out of the way and then trod on its face.

 

However there was no denying that as full dark fell and we turned the corner in the valley, the pace fell. The path was tricky even with a powerful headtorch and warmth and energy from Kinlochleven had dissipated. The proportion of running to walking fell.

 

I think we were passed by a couple of people, and we met someone walking out from Lundarva who told us we weren't far. Then we saw a bonfire, but it was a false alarm, just some campers enjoying the evening and encouraging the runners on. And then finally the real checkpoint. We dibbed in. I suggested that the marshal overthrow the race committee end the race here. You could tell he was tempted but he declined. So we went onwards.

 

The next three miles were hard. It was dark, I walked along behind Nick, lost in my head. I couldn't even match the walking pace that Nick was setting, but kept forcing him to wait every so often so I could catch up. I knew I was being quite pathetic, but I just trudged on. I was consciously trying to avoid moaning. I knew it would do no good and Nick hadn’t given up his weekend to listen to me moaning about something that I had actually wanted to do.  That said, there were no other thoughts in my head so I lapsed into a silence trudging through the dark.

 

Nick did a great job of being positive telling me we were on the last bit and there was no other option but to finish. I suggested just lying down and dying as a viable alternative and gave it serious consideration.

 

There was one point where the path went through ankle deep mud. This was unpleasant. Soon after there was a bridge over a burn. Nick sat on the bridge and washed his feet. Much to the later disappointment of the cleaner at the Travelodge I didn’t feel this was a feat I could emulate.

 

At some point Nick’s watch ran out. He stopped to switch to his spare. This left me leading the way, what was interesting was that without anyone to follow and with the responsibility of setting the pace I walked faster, suddenly I had to think a bit more not just passively follow. I stated to sense the forest road - it never seemed to come though. After all the efforts I'd gone to recce this bit after it was closed on our original recce, I still had no idea where I was.

 

Eventually we reached the forest road. It was only now I knew I would make it. I understood what was needed from here. I told Nick it was about 3 miles and felt myself waking up. We ran down through the hairpin bends. Nick did some sums and said if we did three 17 minute miles we'd be under 25 hours. In retrospect this seems pitifully easy but at the time it seemed just about reasonable and achievable we run-walked, but mostly ran. I couldn't tell in the dark if the path went up or down. Lying about things like this was firmly in Nick’s sphere of responsibility and he did a good job assuring me everything was level. I ran as much as I could.

 

Even though I think we had the distance a bit wrong I knew we'd do it, and so we did. I took advantage of a last quiet moment to thank Nick for his company.  I'm sure he’s sick of me saying it, but it must be the slowest he's ever run, and 45 miles is a long shift. Everything took so long to come, the car park the road, the streetlights.

 

There were a couple of people clapping, after the roundabout it was over so quickly, there was a finish line. Dad, Diane and Ian were there. I crossed the line, dibbed in, shook the race director’s hand and went into the leisure centre. I got weighed (slightly up I think, but nothing to worry about) I sat down, someone bought me tea and toast. It was bliss simply to stop.

 

At last - Credit Ian Thomas

 

Can I really stop now, with my dad - Credit Ian Rowland

I must have looked quite bad, my dad said it wouldn't be fair to take my photo. I think I replied that this was what you looked like at after 95 miles. Looking at the picture I think the effort I am making to keep my eyes open is clear.

 

Looking good at the finish - Credit Ian Thomas

Mindful that it was late and I was keeping everyone from their well-earned beds I suggested we move on.  I badly wanted a shower, I felt truly filthy and the maybe some sleep, although now the imperative to stay awake had gone I felt more relaxed about sleep.

 

Anyway Ian offered to drive Nick and me to the Travelodge so we headed out to the car. I got about halfway across the car park before feeling faint. I told Nick and Ian and they held me up and took me back inside.  The marshal said “you’d better take him to Sean” and so I spent the next 15 minutes with the Dr. I don’t think he was concerned as I think I seemed pretty together and had recognised what was happening. I may have at one point become slightly delirious and blamed him for my state because he is part of the organising committee for the race. Apologies Sean.

 

Anyway I got myself together we got to the hotel, I had a shower which was bliss and lay in bed drinking beer and chatting the whole thing through with Nick.  It was impossible to process the whole experience, it was just fantastic not to be doing it anymore. The only downer was that I had left my toothbrush and toothpaste in Ian’s car – I really wanted to brush my teeth. 

 

Nick went above and beyond in the morning walking to Morrison’s to buy me a toothbrush and toothpaste. And act for which I will forever be thankful and which was in no way tempered by his confession that he snuck to McDonalds for a pre-breakfast, breakfast.

 

We hit the pub for the proper breakfast which I think ran to 2 haggis, 2 black pudding, 2 square sausage, 2 fried eggs, 2 tomatoes, 2 bacon, 2 toast, beans and a tattle scone. Along with 3 coffees. The recovery process had begun. 

 

The prize giving was emotional. It was terrific to catch up with Benji and Norrie, both of whom had made it. I sat on the floor and had to lever myself up when my name was called, but it was a nice moment to get my goblet. And now here I am two weeks later still trying to make sense of it all.

 

Proud owner of a goblet - credit Lee Curtis

How did I do?

 

I was obviously behind my plan. In the main I’m attributing this to the weather which meant I ran slower and meant I had to spend more time at the checkpoints getting changed and eating warm food.

 

I also struggled more than I thought in the first section with just how tired I was. But overall although I missed gold and silver goals I’m pretty happy that I was close to the best I could do on the day.

 

Checkpoint	Estimated time	Actual
CP1 – Balmaha	3.26	3.41
Rowardennan	1.44	1.44
CP2 – Beinglas Farm	3.27	3.43
CP3 – Auchtertyre Farm	2.23	2.21
CP4 – Bridge of Orchy	2.17	2.16
CP5 – Glencoe Ski centre	2.43	2.59
CP6 – Kinlochleven	3.00	3.25
Finish	4.00	4.44

 

Official finish time was 24:53:41 for 79^th place.

 

What did it all mean?

 

When I ran the St Oswald’s way (which is my only point of comparison here) the thing that struck me the most was that I went into it expecting to learn more about myself and came away having learned a lot more about the power of other people. 

 

The experience here was subtly different. The people who helped me most weren’t trying to finish the race, my crew was there with the specific goal of getting me to the finish. But the overall message was exactly the same without this support I am nothing. When it gets really tough the emotional strength that comes from having others to share the task with is irreplaceable. My crew offered all kinds of practical support, advice, encouragement all of which was brilliant, but in some ways the simple fact of our shared commitment to getting me to the end gave me the strength I needed to keep on going.

In the difficult moments I'm not sure how well I did. I kept going, but I was slow and weak, the negative thoughts were always there. There were some moments of joy and contentment, but there were also plenty of moments of despondency and far too many of grim acceptance of my fate. On balance I enjoyed the race, but the strongest emotions I remember were of anxiety because I was never sure I was equal to it. It's the strongest emotions you remember.

 

I think that after the race I should be feeling good, I overcame these feelings and the very real difficulties, I made it to the end. But the thoughts have been going round in my head “I'm nothing special, anything I can do can’t be that hard”, “look at all those people who did it faster than me”, “look at all those people who enjoyed it more than I did”. I'm giving myself shockingly little credit, I recognise the absurdity of recognising this is what I'm doing but still doing it anyway.

 

As I get more perspective I’m more accepting of what the experience was and finding it easier to let go of what I thought it should be. I set out to run the West Highland Way. I did that. Maybe it doesn't need to mean anything beyond that simple fact. I'm still the same person I was, but with sorer legs. But For 25 glorious hours I was focussed on doing something that I loved. Even when it was hard it is something to treasure.

 

Thanks

 

Lots of people made it possible for me to have this experience. So huge thanks to my crew Dad, Diane, Ian and Nick, the organisers, marshals and volunteers who gave up time to make it happen, Julie and my children for allowing me the time to train, the many people who gave me good advice, either in person or by writing about their experience.