Ochil 2000s

The Ochill 2000s goes over the 10 2000ft peaks in the Ochil hills, which are near Stirling There is no fixed route so you can pick your own as long as you go over the hills in order. Ian from the running club talked me into this one. 18 miles and 5000 ft of ascent across some hills I’d never seen or heard of. What could go wrong? People a work were full of grim pronouncements about how boggy the terrain was. Just to add some extra excitement apparently I was almost certain to break my leg, or look like the worst kind of amateur running it in road shoes. But as road shoes are all I have the die was cast, and in fell running terms I am the worst kind of amateur.

Registration is at Stirling University, this went smoothly, Ian questioned a lot of people about the line to take of Blairdennon hill, then we had a sandwich and waited for the bus to the start.

The race starts from a car park in Glendevon. The bus takes about three quarters of on hour, then you get to hang around in the car park for half an hour or so waiting for the start. It was a nice day so this was fine. Ian took the opportunity to question everyone else about the line to take of Blairdennon hill. I listened but without having seen the ground I couldn't really visualise what to do.

Team Dunbar at the start

Having adequately disturbed the tranquillity of the people camping in the car park we were off. It starts off up a nice forest track, ascending but runnable. Then it gets very muddy on the final stretch up out of the forest to the deer fence - my first bit of walking for the day certainly not the last. I try to position myself somewhere in the middle of the pack, and concentrate on not going to fast but trying to make the most of the runnable terrain.

Emerging from the forest the first of the tops come into view. It looks suitably impressive. A long and straight path going a long way up. But at the same time there is a path and a wall to follow and it doesn't look stupidly steep. I slog up thinking this isn't too bad, sometimes I walk, sometimes I run, sometimes I pass people more rarely they pass me, sometimes it’s the same people.

 

This sets a pattern for the day, whenever the ground is OK and level, slightly up or slightly down I pass people. Whenever it involves proper fell running skills people pass me.

Over the top of Innerdownie and the views over the Forth are spectacular. It doesn't feel like we come down much, but the next top seems a decent amount higher. The rain starts, it doesn't look like anything serious, I vaguely wonder about putting on my waterproof, but struggle to imagine a level of rain that would actually make me stop and get it out of my pack.

 

Over the deer fence with its giant steps and along to Whitewisp and then Tarmangie hill in fairly quick succession. So far my navigation strategy has been to follow someone else. This falls down a bit when we come off Tarmangie, when we reach a fence and the guy in front of me stops and asks the way. The best I can manage is a shrug, but thankfully we are saved when someone in a quartered top who clearly knows what he is doing comes along and confidently hops the fence and heads of downhill.

As I said I've never really done anything like this and I was a bit taken aback by what happened next. Previously we had been following a path, now everyone just heads down hill. I'm surprised by the pace of the guy in front of me and try to keep up. I'm more unnerved when what seems like half the race comes pouring past me bouncing down the hill like kangaroos. I try to keep up, all my doubts about shoes are now confirmed and I'm feeling like this is going to be a long race, but at the same time even though I'm holding back I'm still loving the feeling of half running half falling down the hill and soon just placing the next foot correctly absorbs all of my thoughts.

The climb up Kings Seat is steep, everyone walks pretty much from the start, drinking and eating sweeties.  I have a gel. The rain is coming down and this is bit of a grim slog. It’s about 12 minutes walking up the hill until the path levels out at the top, then it’s a short run along to the control (you have to dib in orienteering style at the top of each hill, the organisers will claim this is for safety and to stop cheating, but I think someone in the organising committee just has a thing for speadsheets). Back along and I'm feeling really cold in just my vest in the rain, I start to believe I might have to put my waterproof on after all. I'm starting to feel like a fish out of water and regretting the shoes and my lack of experience. There is a short out and back and I'm surprised to see the number of people behind me, this makes me feel a bit better I must be doing something OK. Down another steep slope, but this one is rougher and no one seems to be going quite as fast.

I can’t really remember the climb up to Andrew Gannel Hill so it can’t have been too good or too bad. I think this is where I was chatting to someone about the Highland Fling. The rain had started to come back here, so I decide to put my phone safely out of the way in my pack in a waterproof bag. This would have been an excellent idea except for the fact that I think this is what caused me to lose my map, I noticed a few minutes later it wasn’t there. Cue panic, its especially annoying as I know there is another copy of the map in my rucksack at the finish which I actively took out thinking nah I’m not going to need two of these. I instantly regret the fact that I’ve been following people rather than navigating and if I’m being absolutely honest, I’ve lost count of how many hills I’ve done or what the next one is.

Coming off Andrew Gannel is very runnable and I’m feeling quite good here. I can see people heading up to Ben Cleuth, but the route heads off to the left toward the Law. This is again quite runnable there is a path, but in the wet conditions there isn’t that much advantage to following it and I talk a few shortcuts – just like a proper fell runner.

 

Up to The Law over the fence and back down the other side and up to Ben Cleuth this seemed fairly painless. It’s an OK run along to Ben Buck I’m feeling good along here and the run along to Ben Ever is probably the high point of the race for me. The follow like a sheep navigation strategy has been working well so far and to be honest it’s given me a good kick up the arse not to lose sight of the guy in front. I’m running well, too well, I pass the guy in front, and have to run even harder to make up the ground to the guy in front of him.
 

The chap in the fling buff I’d been speaking to earlier had said the race starts at Ben Ever and he was right. Up to this point this had been an enjoyable and challenging day out. I’d done 11.2 miles in just over 2 hours, was feeling good. The published length of the race is 18 miles so I felt I’d broken the back of it. 9 of the 11 summits had been done.
 

I headed off towards Blairdennon. There was no path but you could see where the hill was so I headed in roughly a straight line. It we here I lost my falling head over heels in a somersault, fell running virginity. It felt like it should look impressive but I’ll bet it was anything but. I’ve no idea if the guy behind has noticed or cared, but I give him an “I meant to do that honest” kind of wave and carried on. I was about 5 minutes later I noticed that the fall had cost me one of my shiny new water bottles. I toyed with going back but to be honest I didn’t think I could identify where on the featureless slope I’d tumbled and reckoned you could look for months and not find anything. Suitably cross I carried on along the top of a steep slope which I annoying started to drift down and found myself running across the slope. It was very uncomfortable with my wet feet slipping to the slide of my shoes and in the end I gave up with it and took the line of least resistance down the slope to a substantial track, knowing I’d have to make the height back later.
 

One of the things people had talked about in the run up to the race was peat hags. Now I have a geography degree and am expected to know about stuff like this, but I had no idea what they were on about. So not wanting to look stupid I kept my mouth shut. This next section fully answered all of my peat hag questions. So for anyone else who needs to know a peat hag is terrain which is half calf deep bog, interspersed with more solid higher ground. This promise of solid ground sounds good, but it isn’t because when you are in the bog it is waist high and a pain to climb onto, and when you are on the solid ground it is a decent drop to the bog which tends to exacerbate the sinking.
 

This went on for about two thirds of a mile. It felt like longer. I kept glancing enviously at the guy I’d waved at after my fall, he looked like he knew what he was doing, he was sure to have a better line, I just needed to work my way over to the right then it would be fine. Then he went head over heels so I accepted there was no magic line and got on with it.
 

After a while I reached a gate and then there was a decent path up to the summit. Where another hardy marshal had pitched a tent on what had to be to most remote marshalling point of the course. Clearly a man who had drawn the short straw at the marshals briefing. This next section was the bit everyone had been getting excited about pre race, I asked the marshal if the best line was down to the left, he replied that there was no best line, so I took this as a ringing endorsement of my line and went down to the left of the fence.

There was a steep down and a steep up, and the ground at the bottom was pretty ropey. I was getting worried as I had no map and couldn’t see anyone in front of me. Then as I crested the slope I saw a train of people heading towards me who had clearly contoured round further to the left. The man leading was wearing a purple vest, this meant he was from the local Ochil running club and could be expected to know where to go. He had a big white beard, like a thinner purple vested Santa bringing me the gift of a route off the hills. I shamelessly latched on and followed him.
 

I fell over a few times the Ochil guy seemed to drift over the ground and gradually edged away from me. By now I had my bearings and could see the final hill. The Ochil runner didn’t seem to be heading for the hill but heading west. Dark thoughts entered my head, my earlier complete trust was replaced with thoughts like, what if he’s just out for a run, maybe he thinks it’s funny to run around the hills in a club vest on race day and lead unsuspecting novices astray. More pertinently I’m struggling to keep up over the tough ground and worry I could lose him, so I decide on a more direct route straight down towards Dumyat.
 

It’s at this point I first turn my ankle (ow) and then put my leg into a narrow knee deep ditch. The latter was scary it was knee high and very narrow. I think the only think that saved me from doing some serious damage was the sedate pace I was going at, I could easily have broken a leg.

 

Further down I can see three people emerging from the left. I ask them all if they know where they’re going, they all say no. Still being lost with company sure beats being lost on your own. We run on together across a deep ditch which requires a slight jump. I’m just heading away when there is cry from the guy behind, we hold back, he says it’s just cramp and we should go on. I do but I feel kind of bad about leaving him in a ditch. I hope he’s not still there.
 

We’re in fields now it’s all looking a bit more civilised - well apart from the menacing highland cows - but this section has taken ages, and the sub 4 hours finish I thought was in the bag on top of Ben Ever is looking shakier. This next hill Dumyat, although the smallest (and not a proper 2000) looks like a brute.
 

I run the more gentle early sections but after that it is some of the toughest walking of the day on very tired legs. It’s just a case of getting on with it and eventually the top comes. I ask how far to the finish, “two miles downhill". There is 25 minutes left to get under 4 hours, this should be easy - it isn't.
 

The path off the hill is fine, after so long in the hill seeing only other runners, the general public reappear here and look slightly bemused / scared as we all run down the hill. There are a good few of us in close proximity, but I’m racing the clock, not any of them.
 

The route to the finish goes through some woods. The course is marked here with red and white tape. Some of the forest paths are rough with some steeps muddy slopes, my hopes of an easy run down to the finish fade.
 

We start to see bits of the university then a lady from Dundee comes past running really hard. Confronted with the reality of how fast she is able to run at this stage I pick up the pace and follow. I’m glad I did as there are two tricky turns that I would have missed left to my own devices. Both were marked by after such a long effort it’s hard to keep your wits about you, but you need to pay attention though this last bit. We are both chasing sub 4, there really isn’t long to go, and then it all starts to look familiar and there is the finish. 3:56:35 and I’m pretty pleased.

A quick cup of tea and a cake and my work is done.
 

Thanks to everyone who organised and made the race possible. Especially the marshals on the hilltops. A great job.

My route through the hills

In the 'cuik - Penicuik 10k

After the Fling I started looking for ways to really challenge myself next time out. Running takes you to lots of places you would never otherwise visit, hence my trip to Penicuik.

Now this local 10k might not sound like too much of a challenge however that overlooks 3 important factors.

• The weather (more on this later)
• My hangover (I'd had a rare night out with Julie the previous night, beer wine and whisky were involved)
• The fried breakfast I'd had a couple of hours before the start (egg, beans, mushrooms, toast, bacon, tomato and haggis - but I was taking this race seriously and didn't have a sausage.) 

As my in laws were in town I was less needed at home so on the spur of the moment I decided to run. 

The weather as I set off was intermittently rainy but it seemed to have cleared up when I arrived at registration at the local high school. The locals were welcoming and let me enter the race in exchange for all the pound coins I'd accumulated on my night out. 

I got changed and hung about waiting for the start. I got chatting to a couple of people from my work, and a couple of other people who had done the fling (I was proudly rocking my fling buff). Someone congratulated me on my performance at Edinburgh to North Berwick. This would have been very gratifying if I had run Edinburgh to North Berwick, or been capable of the kind of time that would have been worthy of congratulations.

I went for a warm up and then arrived at the start, by now the sun was blazing down, and with all the water evaporating off the road it was feeling quite humid, my mouth felt dry on the start line which wasn't good. I started about a third of the way back, not wanting to get dragged along too fast but still thinking I'd do pretty well. The race went through the town and then down a sharp hill, which got everyone speeding along.

And then  came the hill. I'd been warned that there was a hill, one of the locals described it as a grind. This was being kind - it felt steep and never ending and made me long for the fling where I could have walked without shame. I tried not to lose places and by and large succeeded but any hopes of a pb were gone. Even when it finished the road kept going up. Not steeply or constantly but always up. The sun was baking down and I was feeling tired and rough.

And then about half way round it started to rain, properly rain. At first this was brilliant, I had been feeling hot and uncomfortable, the rain refreshed and cooled me washing away all the hangover and meat sweats. The guy behind had been slowly catching me for a couple of k and as soon as the rain came I pulled away from him again as we went past and abandoned borstal.

The rain continued to fall biblically, there was some hail, rivers started to form at the side of the road, but I was cooler and then road started to go down. I was gradually pulling back the person in front and felt like I was flying. I was wet to the bone very quickly and to be honest I could have done without the hail, but I plugged on down the hill past a very pretty bit of the course.

The marshalls were doing a great job of sounding cheery in the rain, but it was a better day to be running than standing around, and their support was much appreciated.

I caught and passed the guy in front. We made our way back into town, there was a very cruel sharp uphill just before the finish to destroy any downhill rhythm you might have built up, and then on to the finish.

The organisers had cleverly arranged an archery competition next to the finish to discourage you from slowing down in case you get hit. Clearly the lady who flew past me on the finishing straight was very scared from the speed she was going, it wasn't even worth trying to sprint. I was happy to see the line in a shade under 43 mins.  I stood in a tent and ate my banana but it wasn't a day for lingering at the finish.

At the finish. Photo Bob Marshall

I went back and put dry clothes onto my wet body and headed home, having enjoyed my time in the 'cuik. This is a well organised and friendly race and recommended for the unique microclimate.

Hoka Highland Fling

Let’s get one thing very clear straight off the bat –the Fling is brilliant. Impeccably organised, brilliantly marshalled and supported, beautiful, challenging, friendly, reasonably priced and generally full of awesome. I could not recommend this race highly enough and thank you to everyone involved. And although it’s a long way, anyone with the desire is capable of doing this. I’m a pretty ordinary guy and I did it.

Without wanting to bore you with full details training had gone well. A marathon pb in the borders marathon, a couple of 30 mile runs in the Lammermuir hills and improving 5 and 10k times were good. A strong performance in the shambolic St Andrews half (a kind of anti-fling in terms of the organisation) 2 weeks before race day had me feeling good, and a tune up at Burnley parkrun the weekend before was probably both risky and unnecessary but there you go.

Logistics had meant I spent no time on the course so it was all a surprise to me. It seemed pretty straightforward and as a precaution I had programmed the route onto my Ambit together with the helpful notes that appear on the maps on the fling website. But I was fairly sure I’d be middle of the pack and be able to follow someone most of the time.

For food I made 4 drops bags. Although these may look like biryani, jalfrezi, rogan josh and bhuna, they actually all contained 2 gels, 2 jaffa cakes, sesame snaps, Bombay mix, a babybel and some haribo. Cp3 had apple juice and cp4 full fat coke.

I spent the night before staying with friends (Julie and Ian) in Carluke which is vaguely near the start line.  Their support was invaluable as Julie kindly got up at 4 to drive me to the start and came back to pick me up later. I can’t say I slept well with being in a strange bed and pre race nerves but I always tell myself that the night before doesn’t matter, this is true as long as I can believe it.

Pre race hydration

The forcast was for rain and plenty of it. I was unsure what to wear. I had bought a montane minimus jacket the week previously, it’s a golden rule of ultra running not to wear something you hadn’t trained with, but it didn’t look like there was much choice. I had a bottle belt with a small pouch to fit the mandatory kit (phone and foil blanket) and not much else so if the jacket was coming I was wearing it, as I had no way carry it. I had road shoes (brooks ghost 6) not having any trail shoes this was an easy choice, but I still spent the weeks running up to the race worrying, especially with the forecast rain. As it turned out they were fine. I had a long sleeved top, Dunbar club vest and socks by Primark, and a Dunbar buff.

Registering was a doddle. I even managed to swap my foil blanket for a smaller one. This is the kind of marginal gain you need to look for as a top class runner like myself. I met Neil and Lee from Dunbar who were running the relay and race respectively and some guys from Haddington who were full of useful advice.

Soon it was time for the briefing, and then we went to line up. I was feeling ready to go.

The start

Ready to go

I started a long way back. I didn’t want to get sucked along too fast for the early stages. It was pretty busy along the trails at the start, and I felt sorry for clubmate Lee who was trying to pick his way through after missing the start being in the toilet.

Much of the early section blurs into one. There was someone playing a violin which was nice, and I was surprised at how small the hills had to be in order for everyone to walk, but I wasn’t arguing with the wisdom of the herd and happily walked too. There were two big hills on the horizon (Slackdhu and Dungoyne) I was concerned we would have to go over these. Thankfully not. The route went through a section with a lot of gates and everyone bunched up so I just fell in with the group. As we came onto the road the two guys in front of me were talking and I couldn’t help overhear one say to the other “most of these people have gone off way too fast”. At first I thought he had a bit of a cheek, but then realised he was probably right and slowed down and let the big group go and felt much happier. Whoever you were thanks for this unintended pacing advice.

At Drymen - photo Stuart Macfarlane

The water station at Drymen came pretty soon, it was nice to hear a cheery “Come on Dunbar” from the Haddington relay teams. Even with my lack of knowledge of the route I knew there was a big hill coming next. Thankfully the mist obscured it so I couldn’t see the full extent of Conic hill. In some ways this was good I just took one step at a time, in others it was bad because every time it levelled out I kept thinking “is that it – that wasn’t too bad” Only to be confronted with more uphill. I walked pretty much all of the uphill, chatting with Paddy from Haddington, a veteran of many Flings.

It was pretty obvious when we got to the top as the mist began to lift and the view of Loch Lomond began to emerge this felt like quite a special moment – I’d never seen the Loch previously and had yet to realise what a beautiful place it is. Remembering the advice from one of the Haddington guys at the start I took it steady on the descent. You really do lose a lot of height very quickly and it would be very easy to damage your quads, or slip and take a tumble. And it’s too early in the race for that. I can’t have looked too serious as I stopped to take a photo and the pro photographer asked me if I was in the race or not.

Loch Lomond emerges from the mist

At the end of the steep descent there’s a really nice section through the forest and down to the first checkpoint at Balmaha. I was here in 3 hours 26. I had no plan and no idea I was just happy to be here. It felt like the first bit was out of the way and now the race proper was getting started physically and mentally I felt fine and up for the challenge.

Looking back I went faster through this early section than I did later. Partly this is just because the section is so much more runnable and coupled with the freshness of the legs there is a need to make hay while the sun shines. At the same time I felt I’d run within myself and resisted the urge to go too fast. One learning would be that I didn’t have enough food for this section. I had one cereal bar and two gels I could have done with more – this was the only time in the race I felt worried about food.

At the checkpoint I ate my Bombay mix and babybel and jaffa cakes. All went down pretty well. I took haribo and gels with me and off I went. I stopped for about 5 mins. Part of this was because in my zeal to make my drop bags waterproof, I had sealed them tighter then fort knox and they took a bit of getting into.

Now all I had to run the length of Scotland’s largest loch, and then a bit more and it was job done. All I was doing was focussing on getting to Rowardennan.

The bit along the loch has three checkpoints. The one at Balmaha that I was just leaving, the one at Rowardennan that I was aiming for, and one at Inversnaid.

Much of the route between these is indistinguishable in my memory from the other bits. I ran on, sometimes next to the road sometimes on good tracks and sometimes on very poor tracks and at one point on a sandy beach. The race had thinned out, but there are always people around, I remember chatting to a few people. Especially the two guys with the 11 hour plan, it was nice to know that I was on some kind of plan, even if it was someone else’s. I’d heard a lot about how hard the hard bits of the lochside were, the bits beyond Inversnaid, where the path was a knarled, twisted mass of rocks, tree roots, misery and broken dreams. However no one had prepared me for how hard the easier bits were.

Somewhere on the Lochside - photo Stuart Macfarlane

There are a lot of nasty climbs in this section and I confirmed the sneaking suspicion I’d had on conic hill that everyone was better at walking than I was. I lost lots of places on the long endless climb out of Rowardennan. If I come back, top of the training list will be some hill walking as this was one area it was immediately apparent I could improve. This was probably the lowest point of the race for me, I felt like it was never ending and was taking a lot of effort for little reward. But sometimes I got chatting to people and as ever this distraction really helps.

Also whoever maintains the paths had had a canny idea in advance of the fling. Instead of resurfacing the paths, lets just dump piles of stones along the route and hope that 600 passing runners will compact them into a path. This plan didn’t seem to be working and the piles of stones were a pain.

The actual bad bit after Inversnaid was everything people say it is. Difficult to run on, slippy, muddy and requiring a certain amount of scrambling. Again I was slow – I never practice this kind of thing, and found myself frequently letting people pass, but at the same time the slow pace allows time to regroup which was nice.

A nice runnable section

The whole section along the lochside feels like a dream, the checkpoints are all jumbled in my head. At one (Inversnaid) there was John Kynaston, whose voice is very familiar from his excellent West Highland Way podcasts. I didn’t want any of my food at this point so I popped it all on the swap shop table for discarded and unwanted drop bag contents and scavenged myself a mullerrice. This was another golden rule of ultra running broken, as I don’t think I’d ever eaten a mullerrice before, let alone while running. But my body (perhaps unsurprisingly) seemed to want something carb heavy, I didn’t have a spoon though so had to drink it. I also had apple juice here which was awesome and something I’d really looked forward to, but it left a really nasty aftertaste that took a while to fade.

I really can’t remember much about what I ate at Rowardennan perhaps just cheese, maybe jaffa cakes too.

After leaving the loch the path went up and got muddier, I fell in with a big group here which got me moving quite well for a while and I was trying to hang on until the final checkpoint at Beinglas. But in the end I had to let them go it was just too fast. The checkpoint never seemed to come and we were giving up all our hard earned height. In the end I caught the guy in front to ask if he knew where the checkpoint was. He said it was just round the corner and 30 seconds later there we were.

Neil from my running club was here after running the first leg of the relay and it was nice to see a friendly face. I also had coke to look forward to here. It doesn’t seem to matter how long I leave the bottle open for in advance of the race to defizz it, it never works. Still the fizziness didn’t bother me too much and the drink tasted like nectar. I forced down a sesame snap here which was an effort. These were the only thinks I liked during the Clyde Stride but they were not working here. I grabbed some haribo and sensing there was nothing to be gained by hanging around I was off. I had 3 hours 20 to make the 13 miles to the finish in under 12 and I sensed it could be done.

Leaving Beinglas I was fairly sanguine about what was in store. It was a long hard uphill slog to the finish, another 13 miles. Just a half marathon. I quickly started to run after the checkpoint my mind somehow tricking my tired legs into running, I walked the uphills, still getting passed by people but ran OK on the downs and the flats. It kept starting to rain, as I’d had my jacket annoyingly tied round my waist all day I never missed an opportunity for it to justify its existence so kept putting it on. Only for it to stop raining, this inverse rain dance served myself and the other runners well in keeping us dry.

It was at this point I slipped on the steps up to a bridge incurring my only real injury of the day as I scraped my shin.

The path wound on, through a small tunnel under the railway line where I had to crouch to fit through and up a steep hill. Then levelled out onto an undulating stony path with some spectacular views, ruined only by the occasional festering pit of cow shit, ankle deep in places. Apparently the farmer does this on purpose to revenge himself on the world for the miserable existence he must have in this idyllic corner of Scotland, maybe someone stole his coke in a previous fling, or is fed up of tescos screwing him on milk prices, or he could just be grumpy. Still it couldn’t be fully avoided, and I was glad I didn’t try after seeing a guy at the finish who had injured himself trying to go around the steep bank. My boss (another cheery soul) made the valid point that this just proves its real, and isn’t the kind of thing you can do in a golf cart, which I suppose is right, but doesn’t help my still uncleaned shoes, or my poor thrown away primark socks.

On into the forest. This was probably my favourite bit I knew I was going to do it (I’d kind of always known but could now let myself believe it) and I knew I was going under 12 hours. So I was running well. This section is the nearest I’ve ever experienced to the runners high, everything felt good. I had to reign myself in not to try and run the uphills. I moved through the field passing a few people and leaving behind the guy in the blue jacket who had been close by since Beinglas. I put on some music, I don’t know if this helped to distract me, I think my brain was pleased to have something else to think about.

On the last descent to the road two guys came flying past me at impressive speed. I told them how impressed I was and tried to hold on but couldn’t. Imagine my surprise when we hit the flat and I reeled them back in and passed them - I was feeling good. People were telling me I was nearly there. I started to believe them and my strength and good feeling began to ebb away. My strong running was still 11m/m pace and 'nearly there' was still around 3 miles, over half an hours running to go.

I kept asking everyone how far to go. I got quite conflicting answers, so I carried on. I thought about whether I’d try to defend my position if anyone came. I decided not to minutes later when I heard someone come up behind me running strongly. I just stepped off the path and let her go. Just as I came into By the Way I passed a lady in a white top who I’d seen a few times since before Beinglas. She seemed in a bad way, I offered to walk in with her to ensure she was OK. I was half disappointed when she insisted I should go on, the valid excuse to walk would have been welcome. I left her my water and ran on, luckily I almost immediately met a marshall so I was confident she would be looked after.

You could really sense the end now. People were around with that look of satisfaction that only comes from finishing the race, then there was the sound of the piper. Not always the most welcome sound to my untrained English ear, but very welcome this time. Round the corner and onto the red carpet and the flags, great support and the great thing is there is no one else around – for a moment in what is a hugely collaborative event it’s all about me and I’m hugely grateful to all the people giving up their time to make it special. I manage a ‘sprint’ and cross the line. Done 11:32 mins.

Happy at the finish - photo Stuart Macfarlane

A medal is put round my neck, and I’m given a great goody bag before being asked lager or ale. Well I think lager is the way to go after a long hard day on the trials.

I catch up with a few people at the finish. Clubmate Lee is there having got in in 10:50, and it’s nice to see people you recognise from the trail come in.

The soup is delicious. I try to watch the prize giving but I’m getting cold so I go off for a shower. I can’t pretend I didn’t scream like a little girl when the water hit the chafed bits of me. I’ve never chafed too badly before so this was a shock. But it was great to be clean and the pain ensured I stayed on my feet for the next few hours.

It was great to stand for a few hours and clap people in. Neil brought me a glass of wine which went down well, and I had a baked potato which didn’t, and then Lee gave me whisky, which did. The finish of an ultra is always an inspiring place to be.

Team Dunbar

Then on the bus and back. My wife had a good laugh at everyone trying to climb down the steps as we got off in Milngavie, apparently we looked non too graceful.

A few days later I feel fine. I have two black toenails but no other ill effects, but I can’t quite shake the feeling of the race – it’s something that stays with you.

Borders marathon - ever wanted to be a horse

Not just any horse but the kind of ultra horse that does not do 1 or 2 but 23.5 laps of the racecourse. Well that's what this was about, expect I was a lot slower, missed out all the jumps and didn't have to carry anyone on my back.

Apparently I only run inaugural marathons, this was number 3 and all of them have been run for the first time. This was a low key 23.5 laps of the Kelso racecourse service road. Every bit as glamorous as it sounds - London this wasn't, but this came with a number of advantages.

For one, after one lap I had the course nailed, no nasty surprises, no worrying about getting lost, sure there was a danger of mental disintegration from treading the same ground, but at least it was ground I'd be familiar with.

For two there was no real need to carry anything. Water was available every lap, never being more than a mile from the finish I didn't take a phone figuring that in an emergency I could probably make it back. I took 3 gels, but to be honest if I'd thought properly I could have left these by the track at the start and picked them up as and when.

For three, you got to see more of the other runners, there weren't too many, but some were faster than me, some slower, so I was passing people and being passed with some regularity. There was also a relay, I thought this would be really fast (relative to me) but again some we're faster, some were slower. This was nice as you got to see everyone in the race.

After registration in the golf club, and a great briefing "if you see any horses stop for them, they're not going to stop for you" (for the record I saw no horses on track) we set off in the cold morning air and we're piped to the start, which was a nice touch. I got chatting to a few people, all of whom were ultra runners which gave me some comfort this was a good idea given this was really just a long run with a bit of spice in my Highland Fling training.

And then we were off, without intending to I started about 1/3 of the way back, was amazed at how fast some of the fast guys and gals go, but went off at a pace that felt comfortable.

Last time out at the marathon in York, I wanted 3:30 and when off at 3:30 pace, only to slow down later on and crumble once 3:30 began to slip away. As I wasn't taking this race as seriously, I'd ummed and ahhed about what to do. I was tempted to go off very comfortably, and trust that increased stamina from my good work so far this year would help me hold on better. But when push came to shove there only seemed on antidote to starting too fast, last time, start even faster this time.

So I did. 7:30 pace for the first eight and sub 8:00 all the way to mile 19!

One of the things about a lapped race is that it makes it hard to put your thoughts into a sensible narrative. I ran the first lap and quickly realised there were two main straights. One was uphill and into the wind - there is always a wind wherever I go - one was downhill with a following wind - loved this bit. And a finish section where some great volunteers would shout "runner 41" and count the laps and offer encouragement. It really threw me he fist time they shouted "come on Jamie" I was thinking how do they know my name do I know them, before realising they simply had the competitor list, and this was before the accretion of laps had addled my brain.

The downhill bit - we were spared the jumps

The finish

We had to do 23.5 laps so the start and finish were at the opposite ends of the course, and for most of the early and mid part of the race the laps were taking around 8:30.

The race progressed, some people ran impressively fast, some people ran with a slow and dogged determination, I passed some, some passed me. I think it took 4 laps to get lapped by the leaders. I took a gel at lap 8 and another at pat 16 and some additional water at lap 14. That was all, after feeling very sick at York I was trying to give my stomach less to do.

I didn't count the laps, I pressed the lap button on my watch everytime I passed the start until lap 22 when the race director drove down in his golf buggy and nicked the start marker. I was a bit miffed and had to guess where the lap started from then on. I tried to follow people along the windy section, this rarely worked, I seemed stronger in this bit than others and managed to loose time in the downhill bit.

I'm talking about this hill like it was a hill, it wasn't, although the uphill bit started off as the gently incline it was, by 10 miles it felt like Ben Nevis and by 25 like Annapurna.

After 20 miles it got tough, I slowed, I felt sick, but I kept going far better than I did in York. It wasn't until I was out there doing it I realised exactly how disappointed I was with my York performance, and the memory of this was a good motivator.

I wanted 3:30 and for a while I pushed for it. "3:30 you can do was a two lap mantra". I felt empty, I daren't chance another gel, as I already felt sick, I tried so water at about 22 miles. It made me feel sick so I poured it over my head. Thankfully I twigged before it went over my head on the next lap when I got powerade by mistake.

I slowed more but I began to realise that 3:30 was there to be had. I adjusted to this, mentally I discovered I was willing to suffer for sub 3:30, however I was not willing to suffer extra for 3:25, or 3:27 and once I was sure that 9 minute miles would get me in, this was all I seemed capable of. The course emptied out a bit, my lap counters began to count me down and it all felt harder, but I kept on going and eventually the end came in a touch over 3:29. I was delighted.

All in all a brilliantly simple race, the laps didn't bother me I just kind of tuned out and I had plenty of time with my thoughts.

I was pleased to deliver the kind of performance I knew I could there were a few rough points by I kept going far better than before. I Enjoyed my post run banana and the distinctive horseshoe medal.

Still windy

Welcome to my blog, where I pretend I'm going to comment intelligently on running, but actually I just bitch and moan about how windy it is when I want to go on a long run. After all it's not like I live on the Scottish coast or anything, and I'd never do anything as daft as running to a windfarm. I'm just a victim of bad luck.

It was very windy today, I'm no meterologist, but I think getting on for 8 or 9 on the Beaufort scale if I recall my high school geography correctly.

My made up training plan said I needed to run 18 miles today, so rather than argue with this arbitrary state of affairs I set off into the wind. 18 miles was meant to be easy after 24 last weekend, but the wind and the hills added some spice. It was straight into the wind and uphill for the first few miles and it was hard work. At least I was expecting it, and knew what I was up against straight away, this helped me get to a point of quick acceptance, which is crucial in dealing with the wind, you've never going to win, you're always going to find it slower and harder than normal and the faster you can accept this the better. So I accepted and I ran slowly uphill into the wind.

I was trying a new route today in order to try and give me more elevation as I think I need to be better going uphill ahead of the highland fling. As I gained altitude and got more exposed it all began to get trickier. At about mile 7 it all came to a head. I was climbing the steepest hill of the day right into the teeth of the wind. What started off as a slow and determined plod, gradually became a slow and determined walk, then a slow walk, then a backwards walk as I was struggling to breathe, and then a I think I'll stop and take a few photos they'd look awesome on my blog.

To be fair I was at this point approaching a windfarm, which I assume someone has situated in a place likely to attract a lot of wind. I was in a good place mentally, I accepted I'd get there eventually and this was the case. I thought descending into the headwind would be easier, but not really. It tore at my clothes and made me weave across the track like a drunk

Then joy of joy's I changed direction. Suddenly I was running uphill with a following wind and being blown along so fast I could barely keep control. At some points it was very muddy but there was no opportunity to pick a route, the wind just said "on, on, on" and I got muddy, in some cases I had to jump small puddles, the wind pushed me to jumps that I think would be in with a medal chance in the Olympics. All this was going uphill, when I made it to the Elmscleugh road and started going down with a following wind and a tarmac road I really flew, 6.20 pace with very little effort, and before I knew it I was back in something approximating civilisation with the back of the run well and truly broken. Truly the wind is a mixed blessing.

I plodded on home for my 18 miles fairly pleased to have held it all together. I'm running a marathon next weekend around Kelso racecourse which should be a good test of where I'm at. I'm looking forward to trying a few different things in a small low key marathon so should be fun, but not sure how I'll cope mentally with the laps.

The wind

It's windy today. To be honest I live by the Scottish Coast, it's windy most days

So after 3 hard weeks, this was meant to be an easy week in my Highland Fling training. It hasn't gone that well for being easy. I've run less distance, but then I accidentally set a 10k personal  best (42:36 if you're the kind of person who is wondering) during my run the the club on Tuesday. And then was fairly close to a 5k best at the club handicap on Thursday. So much for lowering the intensity. That said it's nice to be running well, and it was great not to come last in the 5k handicap, which has been my fate the last three times.

So today was the day to get my easy week back on track. A nice easy 10 or so miles, nice and steady, come back feeling good. I decided to run to the power station and back - yes this is every bit as glamorous as it sounds, there is a cement factory and a landfill site and everything. But it's nice and flat.

The beautiful Scottish coast

I was kind of concious of the tail wind on the way out, and when I found myself being briefly pushed along a 7m/mile pace I kind of knew it was going to be a problem. But the trip home was horrendous. It was so hard to run. Sometimes the wind was head on, and I ended up going so slowly, sometimes it was from the side and I still ended up going slowly but with sore knees from my feet landing funny as they were blown out of kilter. Sometimes it rained and it was like running through angry bees.

Pace on the way out was just over 8m/mile on average, on the way back it was just under 9.5m/mile, and more worryingly my mental state just crumbled from nice and positive to really negative and fed up my anger and frustration at the wind opened the door for all sorts of self doubt. Sure didn't feel easy.

At least next week is supposed to be a hard week.

Recovering and returning

So after the Yorkshire marathon I took some time off to recover. Perhaps too much I was certainly out of action for longer than most of the people I know, but I wanted a rest and there didn’t seem any particular need to rush it. I took two weeks completely off, and didn’t run again until the Friday of the third week where I did 1.3 miles at 10 minute miles. It was another eight days before I ran again and I gradually started to build up the distance with a few short runs, before going to the club interval session for the first time almost 4 weeks after the race.

I think this all did me good. I felt like I’d done a lot of running and needed a rest so it was good to take some time off.

To get back into shape I decided to do the Marcothon, where you run every day in December for at least 3 miles or 25 minutes. I was keen to get to January in good shape to do some serious training for the fling so this seemed a great way of easing back in.

It was all going so well too. I made it to day 21 before I was forced to stop having done something unpleasant to my back while bending down to read the joke on a yoghurt to one of my children. This was extra maddening as I had a cold and had dragged myself around the night before in the rain just to keep the sequence going, and the joke wasn’t even that good. It was better in a week or so but the Marcothon spell was broken. That said I think it achieved the goal of getting back into shape.

The club offered a few interesting runs during December that are worthy of note. There was the festive half marathon. I’d intended to turn up dressed as santa and amble round, but sadly my santa suit didn’t arrive so I had to turn up dressed like a runner and actually run. I did this quite well for me, and were it not for a small navigational faux pas this would have been a comfortable PB. I was running nicely when the people who were close behind me suddenly vanished, I didn’t think too much of this at the time. It was 10 minutes later when I found myself running towards one of them down the road I realised something had gone awry. Sadly it was me, and I ended up running 13.05 miles in 1h37.  But the fact that I had sustained a sub 7.30 pace for pretty much a half marathon felt like a bit of a step forwards and I was pleased.

The was also the festive intervals treasure hunt, which was great fun, where my local knowledge rather than my speed meant I finished second, ahead of some much better runners who I’d never beat in a straight race.

And on Hogmanay the Black Bun run. A 1.3 mile dash starting and finishing at a pub. Not the kind of thing I’m supposed to be good at, so I was pleased with 9:48 and 8^th place, and also pleased to be the last in the pub.

So now I need to start getting more seriously ready for the fling. I’m up to 15 miles for my long run, and will take this up steadily over the coming weeks introducing some elements of back to back. My aim is to build to a longest session of 20 + 30 back to back. Logistically getting over to run on the route is proving a challenge so I’ll be training in the Lammermuirs and hoping this is similar enough.