Yorkshire Marathon 2015

I was going to try and come up with some kind of tally for the number of times that I have visited York in the past 30 odd years, but to be honest I'm not sure where I would begin counting.  School visits to Yorvik and the National Railway Museum soon gave way to shambling pub crawls and visits to some very suspect nightclubs, only for the museums to come back into vogue now that I have a young family of my own.  Lets just say for arguments sake that I have visited York a fair few times in the past.

This year however I have added a new reason for visiting.  No longer is York Minster an acrophobia inducing tourist destination, Lendal Cellars isn't just another watering hole on a long and rangy list of pubs visited.  Instead they are now places that have featured as landmarks on race routes.  Back in July the Run For All York 10k was my last race of Summer.  I had beaten myself up over 18 seconds after the Leeds 10k and was determined to enjoy the day in York.  I kept a steady pace, took in the scenery and finished with a respectable time of 47:24.

Yesterday I was back in York for another race but this time it was different.  I'm used to running 10k races, but I had very little idea what lay ahead of me, in what was going to be my first full marathon.  To say I was going in blind isn't actually true.  I had been following a training plan for 21 weeks but that only took me to 20 miles twice so although I knew what it felt like to run that far, I had no idea how it would feel to run 26.2 miles.

I had tried to put all thoughts of the final 6.2 miles out of my head but in the weeks leading up to the race it was almost all I could think about.  My long training runs had been fine but I was convinced that I was in danger of going off far too fast and burning out before I had even got to 20 miles, never mind 21 or over.  To put my mind at ease I had one last run on Thursday with the sole aim of getting my pace right.  After 2 miles I was settled and happy that I could do the same on Sunday.  My training was complete and all I could do was wait.

Finally Sunday morning came around.  I got up at the crack of dawn so that I could eat breakfast without it sitting like a lead weight in my stomach whilst I was running.  I mustered the family, and waited for our lift to York.  Everything was falling into place.  I made it to the event village by 8am, got changed in the glamour of a portaloo, dropped off my bag and wandered over to my start pen.

So far everything was just the same as any other race I'd entered. I'd bumped into a couple* of buddies from South Leeds Lakers and chewed the fat with a runner that I'd been chatting with at the end of the Leeds 10k earlier in the year.  I ate my pre-race banana, used the facilities (again), ignored the group warm up, and got ready for the start.  Oddly, for my first marathon, I wasn't any more nervous than at the start of any of the other races of the year.  What we were about to undertake was brought home however when a minutes applause was held for David Colley, the runner who had died during this year's Great North Run.  He had been due to take part in the marathon alongside us and suddenly what I was doing felt that little bit harder.

Thoughts of not completing the run were pushed firmly to the back of my mind just in time for Harry Gration to get the race under-way.  The usual shuffle, run, stop, walk, run to the start line was observed and we were off.  I was trying my hardest not to run too fast but I was being swept along by the noise of the crowds and the tempo set by my fellow runners.  I got through the first mile a couple of minutes faster than I had planned to but then managed to settle into something closer to the 9:14minute/mile pace that I needed to get round the route in 4 hours.

Nice Minster

I saw my family in the crowds as I passed York Minster and, thinking that that was the last of my support for the day, got on with the job in hand.  I soon left York behind and started running through the surrounding villages.  Each new hamlet brought a new set of spectators cheering us on and giving out jelly babies.  I was expecting children looking for high-fives to be lining the route but the sight of the Minister from Stockton on the Forest happily leading his congregation in high-fiving as many runners as possible was quite a nice surprise and a chance that I couldn't miss out on.

I was through 10k in 50:04, faster than I had anticipated, faster than most of my 10k races in 2014 and only a second off my Abbey Dash PB, but done at what felt like a nice steady pace.  The next 10k came and went without incident.  I was a little slower (2:31 slower) than the first 10k but it wasn't my legs that were the problem.  I had a nagging feeling that I could do with a wee but as the feeling came and went I didn't do anything about it, unlike the masses who were diving into fields, jumping behind trees, or shielding themselves with bushes as they sought relief before rejoining the pack.

I made it to halfway in 1:49:17 (not a bad time for a half marathon if you ask me), but I was still dithering about needing to stop.  I had been careful not to drink too much before the race and I'd only had a couple of sips from the water stations that I'd passed so I couldn't understand why I felt the need to pee.  By mile 16 the urge got the better of me so I found a suitable field to pop into, hurried behind a hedge and nothing happened.  Then it dawned on me, I didn't need to pee at all, it was much worse than that.

I rejoined the race and tried to put all thoughts of needing to visit the loo behind me.  This proved more difficult than the previous 16 miles running had been.  My race was in danger of being ruined along with my self respect.  An attack of the "runners trots" was not what I needed.  I was convinced that every step was churning things up and every rumble was like a tsunami alarm in my head.  Was I going to be "that runner" who everyone talked about after the race?

It didn't help that all of this internal discomfort and worry took part on the long drag between 17 and 20 miles.  The road stretched on for ages with a constant stream of other runners passing in the other direction.  I passed some other running buddies** heading in the other direction, summoned up the strength to shout encouragement at them and pressed on.

I found salvation at Holtby where, just after mile 20, some kind soul had left a block of partaloos.  I would have been happy with the worst toilets in Yorkshire, or something resembling Renton's toilet from Trainspotting, but I guess that not many people use a portaloo 20 miles into a marathon so it was nice and clean.

For the first time ever I timed a visit to the lavatory.  It cost me 4 minutes but I was back on the road and feeling much more comfortable.  I was also now into the realms of the unknown as I'd only ever run 20 miles twice during training.  Every step was propelling me further than I had ever run before and I was feeling fine, well, not fine exactly but I was still moving.  I was slowing down however.  I knew my early pace was gone but even after the pit-stop I still had some time in the bag to finish in 4 hours.

Just after mile 23 I rounded the corner into Murton and to my surprise Phil and Jenny from Cross Flatts parkrun were stood at the side of the road.  Suddenly for the first time in hours I had some support.  I was spurred on to finish.  I picked up my feet and started off on the hardest 5k I have ever run.  I had over half an hour to finish before the magic 4 hours was up but no sooner had I left Murton behind my body decided that I had had enough.

I'm not sure if it was my legs or my head but something said stop.  I slowed to a walk only to discover that walking hurt more than running.  Why this isn't written in every training guide and online support forum is beyond me.  This knowledge might have kept me going for a little while longer, but I had slowed for a walk in a race for the first time this year, and I was shattered.  I tried to run as often and as far as was possible (especially when there were spectators).  I was willing the mile markers to come to me but they stayed in their allotted places and then, with a mile to go, the inevitable happened.  The 4 hour pace runner passed me.

He had been behind me in the start pens and I'd seen him again on the switch-back around mile 18 but I had hoped that I had enough time in the bag to finish ahead of him even after walking.  I checked my watch and came to the conclusion that Mr 4:00:00 was actually ahead of schedule, not by much, but I still had a chance at finishing my first marathon in 4 hours.

Back running I rounded the last corner to face the hill back up to University Road and the finish line.  From somewhere in the back of my mind came the knowledge that I could run up hills and run up it I did.  I passed a couple of less fortunate runners being helped along by spectators under their arms and cleared the summit.  It was literally all downhill from there.

Passing under the start gantry for the second time that morning it started to dawn on me what I had achieved.  But then a voice from the crowd yelled my name.  It was Anna from South Leeds Lakers.  The world kind of slowed down, I found where she was standing, ran across the road, got my final high-five of the day, and ran on to the finish line.  A friendly face with only 100m to go was all I needed to push for home.  The emotions of 42km washed over me and my eyes welled up.  Breathing became hard as I choked back tears but my legs kept turning and I crossed the line.

 

My watch said 3:59:38, 22 seconds under the target I had set myself.  I staggered through the goody bag zone, got my medal and walked, gingerly, back to the bag-drop area with my family who had been waiting for me just beyond the finish line.  My legs hurt, my head was swimming, but I had just done something that I still don't actually believe that I'm capable of.  I had finished a marathon.

No Excuses

*Betty, Liz, Ray, Karen, Steve, and Andy.
**Martin, Mark and Rachel.

Trailtrekker 2015 - Llamas Not Included: Part 2

As an avid reader of Run Sancho Run you'll know that a standard review is for a 10k race.  There is the occasional half marathon thrown in for good measure and I'm training for my first full marathon in October.  These distances being the norm I'm usually relieved when I get half way and find myself on the way to the end, every step bringing me closer and closer to the finish line.  This weekend however, halfway felt much more like "I have to do all of that again?!"

On Saturday morning at 7am, team Llamas Not Included set off from Skipton to complete the Oxfam Trailtrekker (you can see how we got on on Saturday here) and by 1:18am on Sunday morning we made it to the water Stop at Deepdale, 58km under our feet and three hours later than planned.  We were safe and dry, apart from our feet which had been soaked, wading through the flash floods on Cam Pasture following a two hour electrical storm.

We were the lucky ones.  We had been held up at Cam Farm in the relative warmth and safety of the watertight barn.  My thoughts turned to those who had been stuck here at this small checkpoint during the lock-down.  The only shelter was a couple of marquees and the facilities were limited.  We only stopped long enough to thank the volunteers before pushing on through the night towards Mike and Lyndon (our support crew) who we hoped were waiting for us at Buckden.  We should have been there with them at around midnight so we could only hope that news of our hold up had reached them.

Debs took point as we rejoined the Dales Way footpath.  We had been fortunate that the organisers had closed the section of path between Beckermonds and Deepdale and diverted us onto the road.  I can't imagine the state of the path following the deluge that had come before us!  My feet, on the other hand had not enjoyed the extra tarmac section.  I had chosen, against all advice, to wear trail shoes rather than walking boots in a trade off between weight, traction, comfort and the likelihood of wet feet, and the one thing trail shoes don't like is tarmac.  Each step of the detour had felt like a hammer blow up my legs but at least we were back on grass.

Debs kept a good pace but having been ill in the week before the event she was starting to flag.  To be fair, I hadn't been sure if she was going to make the start line on Saturday.  The Bronze stop at Horton would have been a poor consolation prize for her after all of the training that we'd done, but the Trailtrekker is about more than stamina.  Mental strength, as much as physical ability, is required to make the 100km Gold finish line in Skipton.

We soon came to Hubberholm (a hamlet that I really want to visit in my own time as the pub looks really inviting) and silently passed on through on the final approach to Buckden an the Silver Challenge finish point.  In the distance, behind us, we could just make out the lights of the trekkers following in our footsteps.  We hit Buckden like a wrecking ball, cheers and rounds of applause coming from the support crews and volunteers who were lining the street to the check point.  We totally forgot the "Please be silent when passing through the village" edict laid down by Oxfam, but then they started it.

We hit the Checkpoint at 2:56 on Sunday morning and cheers rang out as Llamas Not Included were announced to the tent of waiting support crews.  Lyndon and Mike were there waiting for us and had been for the previous six hours.  The event lock-down had hit every checkpoint but at Buckden "entertainment" had been laid on.  Our poor crew had to sit not only through a storm but also through a zumba-thon.  The powers that be decided that crew had to remain in the flammable tent rather than sitting out the storm in their personal faraday cages, or cars as you or I might know them.  Raising morale is all very well and good, but hammering it out of people out of misguided knowledge is cruel.

We ate creamy pasta and crisp sweat potato chips, Lyndon made us some fresh coffee and we contemplated what we had gone through.  We still had 35k to go to Skipton, our pace was well within the 30 hour cut off, but the previous week's tonsillitis finally claimed Debs.  She retired, claimed her well deserved Silver medal and smiled the smile of somebody who knew they would be asleep soon, comfortable, warm, and dry.  In a change to tradition I decided not to change my socks, saving my final pair for the last check point at Conistone, we filled our water bottles and walked off into the night. 

Buckden to Kettlewell was the only section of the route that we hadn't previously walked so we were flying by the seat of our pants, but we had figured that it wouldn't be too difficult to follow the path along the side of the river.  We were right, the path was easy to follow but the rain had turned a lot of it into ponds.  My wet socks remained wet and I felt 100% justified in retaining a pair of socks for the final walk to Skipton.

Half way to Kettlewell we were diverted along a path to Starbottom as the riverside path had flooded.  This meant more tarmac, but the sun was coming up and the negative thoughts of night were lifting.  We stopped for warm fruit punch in Kettlewell where the gent looking after the urn told us that he had never known so few teams to make it through the village by dawn.  Suddenly we felt elated.  It wasn't a race and even if it was we were far from winning, but we had got this far and we were damned if we were going to be stopped.

3 Llamas in the early morning sun just outside Conistone

Only we weren't all going to make it.  Dalia had done brilliantly since having her feet patched up in Horton but the miles finally took hold and forced her to retire at Conistone.  We had endured an additional detour between Kettlewell and Conistone which saved us miles but kept my trail shoes on solid ground.  My feet were sore and I didn't want to take my shoes off but on investigation I only had one small blister and some swelling due to damp.  I re-taped, chose to keep the faith with the trail shoes that had got me this far rather than changing for my back-up trainers and got ready to push on.  Only this time we needed to find another team to buddy up with.

Health and Safety dictates that you need 3 people in a group just in case somebody need to go to find help.  The sun was up, the wind had dropped, we knew the route, all Jon and I needed was a team to join and we would be on our way home.  I'll be honest, I can't remember the names of the walkers we buddied up with (sorry), their team name and number is lost to me too, but they let us leave Conistone within the letter of the rules.  The rules were out of the window however by the time we cleared Cool Scar.

We maintained line of sight to our adoptive team but decided that we'd rather keep our own council and conversation.  In the distance on Malham Moor we could see the next team.  A quick Health and Safety Risk Assessment told us that if anything happened to either of us we would be joined in a matter of minutes by another team so we didn't really need to hang around.  We passed on to Boss Moor, passing another team struggling with injury but determined to finish, and then in the distance a mirage.  No, not a mirage a real ice cream van.

Just when things were getting bad, bleak, lonely, or sore, the event crew from Wild Fox managed to turn up and raise morale.  They had been giving out cheese and biscuits at the foot of Fountains Fell, they managed the soup and chilli at Cam Farm, and here they were again, at 7am on Sunday morning, 24 hours after we had left Skipton, dishing out 99s to anybody who wanted one!

By the time we had reached the final Water-stop in Hetton we had joined up with another team, but as a super team, made up of waifs and strays of around 5 other teams was about to set off, we jumped ship again and hit out for Skipton.  We didn't stay with our new family for long, making our excuses and walking off at our new found pace before we had hit the first field.

We had asked Mike to contact our families when he got back Skipton, to tell them that we would be finishing around 1pm (three and a half hours later than expected) but we now knew that midday was likely.  A phone signal for the first time in 26 hours was ours and we made like E.T.  Our ETA confirmed we walked on through Flashby and took on our final climb up High Wood and Crag Wood.  Below us we could see the Leeds Liverpool canal, joining Skipton and Gargrave.  The same stretch that we had walked on Saturday morning.  How that had been part of the same experience was beyond us.  We kept passing teams, the topic of conversation was always where they had been during the stop, but a sudden realisation dawned on us.

Jon and I had managed, somehow, after 28 hours, to have got ourselves in the position that we could still finish on Sunday morning.  The psychological impact of this was immense.  In the back of my mind I had thought that 24 hours would be a good time.  Our "plan" was actually to hit 26.5 hours.  Nobody planned for injury or the event being halted for two hours, so to finish in the morning rather than the afternoon suddenly meant everything to us.

We were sure that the last team that we'd passed was trying to catch us (they weren't) and decided to run if they got too close.  We were delirious with fatigue but determined.  All that was left was the drop into Skipton and the least well signposted section of the route.  I'm sure that following the path through the park next to Skipton Academy makes the 100km a nice round number but I'd rather cut the corner.  We were close to doing just that when we saw a glow stick dangling from the bough of a tree.  We kept to the path like good boys and turned towards the Academy and the finish line.

Other than the balls of my feet I was feeling fine, but then Jon happened to mention that he was feeling quite emotional.  We turned the corner of the tennis courts that we had passed at 7am the previous day and, to rapturous applause, we crossed the finish line with Mike, Dalia, and Debs there to meet us.

The end.

100km 28:47, 6 friends for life, 1 blister.  I collapsed and swore that I would never ask the members of Llamas Not Included ever to do anything like that again.

Llamas reunited.

We gathered our thoughts and broke camp leaving one of the tents to Oxfam to sell on or use themselves.  On our way off the site I saw a number of other teams cross the finish line and roundly applauded them.  I needed food though, so I went for a bacon buttie in the hall where we had had the safety briefing two nights previously.  There I found some of the team from Wild Fox who had been in charge at Cam Farm.  I took the opportunity to thank them for looking after the 300 trekkers who were stopped in the barn, for their professionalism, and for generally being on the route when we needed them.

Bacon buttie in hand, I wandered off to load my car, and there, directing vehicles and radioing in the teams before they crossed the line, was Terry, the volunteer coordinator who I had hugged at Cam Farm 15 hours earlier.  I learned then just how bad the situation had been.  With only one very steep road in and no passable path out, the event crew had come very close to cancelling the event and evacuating everybody from Cam Farm.  The steep drive to the farm was too much for coaches and the closest place to get people too was Hawes.  It was only the break in the weather and the chance to get everybody to Deepdale where we could be rescued from if the storm came back that kept everything moving and allowed us to finish the trekk.

I have never taken on anything as tough as the trailtrekk, but it is there to be done.  The challenge is as much mental as physical and it's for a very good cause.  The money that team Llamas Not Included has raised is going to help people around the world and that thought is helping my aching limbs.  Standing with Jonathan, Dalia, and Deborah at the finish is quite possibly the proudest moment of my life so far.  I know we were lucky with the weather and it could have been much, much worse, but if you are after a challenge, if you want to help those who need it, Trailtrekker knocks a corporate obstacle course into a cocked hat.

Thank you to all of the Oxfam staff and Volunteers for a wonderful walk in the country.

Trailtrekker 2015 - Llamas Not Included: Part 1

If you ask me, nothing says "it's going to be a good weekend" more than pitching a tent.  Whether it's a festival, or camping by the seaside, the excitement of being under canvas for a couple of days always makes me feel good.  This weekend however, the camping was a means to an end.  The temporary camp site at Skipton Academy had one purpose, it was to be the base, start, and finish point for the teams taking park in Oxfam's Trailtrekker 2015, a 100km walk through the stunning Yorkshire Dales.

I was the first member of team Llamas Not Included to make it to Skipton, so I set up camp and started our registration process whilst waiting for Jonathan, Dalia, and Deborah to make it over from Leeds.  We were a full team by the time the time the second of the evenings safety briefings took place.  We tucked into jacket potatoes with beans and (organic) cheese whilst we were lectured on hydration, temperature control, and the importance of walking boots over any other form of foot wear.

A lot of the safety briefing felt like common sense to us, but I don't deny it it's relevance.  I would say however that all advice from experts needs to be heavily caveated, as what is great advice for one person is potentially a bad idea for someone else.  I know this to be true of running and I can't see why "one size fits all" advice should be right for walking too.

By the time we'd registered, and had our dibbers strapped to our wrists, it was time to retire for the night.  This was when I faced my first weather related disaster of the weekend.  The tent's windows had been opened to allow some fresh air in, however it had started raining during the safety talk and my sleeping bag and ground mat were soaked.  This was not the most annoying part of the night however.  It was astounding that even though everybody in the field was about to take on a 100km treck in the morning some people thought it would be acceptable to stay up chatting and singing songs until well past 1am.  To say that the team didn't sleep well is an understatement!

We awoke at 5am, bleary eyed and bedraggled tailed.  This was not the start that we wanted but you have to play the hand you're dealt.  A full English later and we were ready to go.  At 7am our wave of starters were under-way and we were instantly stuck in a convoy walking just slower than was comfortable, along the Leeds Liverpool canal.  I had no intention in racing around the 100km route but not being able to walk at our normal pace was frustrating.

Bleary eyed and bedraggled tailed...we set off.

We soon made it to the first water-stop at Gargrave, and even though we hadn't been moving as fast as we could have we were still well within our predicted time.  We had decided only to spend 10 to 20 minutes at each checkpoint so after topping up our water bottles, using the facilities and necking a hasty cup of tea we were back on our way to Malham, and the first stop with our support crew.

The crowds of the canal tow path had dispersed and although we could see two or three teams in either direction we were now able to walk at our own pace without fear of getting in anybody's way or being hit by a flailing walking pole.  We already knew where we were going, having walked the route on our training walks, but even if we didn't it would have been very difficult to get lost as the way was marked with fluorescent orange arrows at every turn.

We were wary as we passed Airton as on our first walk this was the boggiest section, but the way was clear, even with the previous evenings rain.  Much to our surprise and that of Lyndon and Mike (our Support Crew) we made it to Malham just before 11 o'clock, and hour faster than we had anticipated.  All the way through training we had been hitting 24hour pace but we didn't think for a moment that that was achievable over the actual event.

We took the opportunity to change our socks and set off, only to be thwarted by red tape.  It turns out that what we thought was an acceptable survival bag was not what the bloke checking our kit thought one was.  Jon also came a cropper as he hadn't packed waterproof trousers.  You see Jon is a seasoned walker, his kit is robust and tested and he has never worn waterproof trousers in his life.  He has a long waterproof coat and wears gaters so the only exposed section of trouser would be 6 inches long and would dry out (or he could change trousers at the next check point).  All of this fell on deaf ears and so waterproofs and a survival bag were duly purchased.

Trouser-gate didn't lose us that much time and we were soon climbing up the 400 steps of Malham Cove.  I love that climb and its reward of one of the best views imaginable.  But we were only at the top long enough for a couple of photos before moving on towards Malham Tarn, the location of one of the low points of our training.  Last time we got to the Tarn we were welcomed by ice cold gusts of wind that went through us not around us.  This time out we got the first rain of the day, but as soon as we pulled our waterproofs (jackets only) out of our bags the rain eased off again.

Llamas Not Included on top of Malham Cove.

I'm not sure what happened next, but somewhere between Malham Tarn Field Centre and the foot of Fountains Fell Dalia's feet decided that they had already had enough of this walking lark.  Even though she had trained in her walking boots without a single blister, for some reason she was visited by a boot full of them.  The pace the we had set on the way to Malham quickly vanished and the hour in the bag was soon eroded.  Last time we had walked up Fountains Fell it had been freezing cold and blowing a gale but this time in the summer sun it seemed more painful just because of our pace.

When we made it to Horton in Ribblesdale Dalia got her feet patched up,  Debs changed out of her boots into some trail shoes and we set off again, having lost another hour.  Times for the event are some what irrelevant but we really wanted to have made it past Cam Farm before sun set as we knew how tricky it would be to cross Cam Pasture in the dark.  The podiatrist had worked miracles with Dalia's feet and we joined a stream of trekkers rejoining the Pennine Way for the long slow climb up Cam Fell.  Even though we knew where the path forked for us to join the Dales Way it felt like it was taking forever.  False summit followed false summit, but then in the distance we could see a hi-viz wearing volunteer.  It soon dawned on me that he was directing people to stay on the Pennine Way and not drop down Cam Fell.  This was met with mixed feelings.  The Fell was bound to be boggy but the road ahead was still climbing, and the path down to Cam Farm would be steep.

Eventually we reached our turning point and dropped down to Cam Farm only to appreciate that the dimming light was only partly due to the setting sun.  Ahead of us the sky was black-red and angry.  We knew that storms had been forecast but so had a day full of rain and we had only had a brief shower to contend with at Malham Tarn.  Then to our right the sky lit up.  Lightning in the direction of Horton.  Phew!  We weren't heading back so the storm could stay over the Three Peaks.  A second flash to our left, the direction of our journey confirmed that the storm was covering the whole of the Dalse to the South.  We were certain to meet bad weather after dark.

We were welcomed at Cam Farm by Terry, who I hugged after he told us there was hot Chilli con Carne on offer!  We took on food and water as the storm rumbled overhead.  The sky was soon black as the storm rained down upon the wriggly tin roof of the Game Keepers barn where we were sheltering.  We braced ourselves for what we were about to take on, donned our waterproofs (not the trousers), sorted out our head torches, snapped our glow sticks, and got our packs back on.  Dalia and Debs decided to take a final visit to the loos and promptly saved our bacon.

By the time they had come back to the barn we were on lock-down.  The event had been stopped because of the storm and nobody was allowed to leave the Barn.  We had no idea how long we were going to be stuck at Cam Fell but the volunteers and event crew kept us all fed and watered, giving us updates as and when they could.  More and more people joined us having been walking towards Cam Farm when the storm struck.  Each body was wetter than the last and space was fast becoming a premium.  At one point we were informed that there were at least 77 more people walking the Pennine Way in our direction.  A lucky few were moved into the farm house and the remaining trekkers were welcomed into the Game Keepers cottage.

How many more can we fit in this barn?

I couldn't help but try to listen into the conversations that the event crew were having but could only get a gist of what was going on.  The storm was rolling around the valleys that we needed to walk through and four days (weeks?) of rain had fallen in two hours.  The river had burst its banks, bridges were impassable and the normally boggy pasture path down from the farm to Oughtershaw was at best ankle deep.  Professional teams were being sent down the path to see if it was navigable but the wait continued.

Human fairy-lights.

Finally just before 11 o'clock we were told to get ready to leave, a two to three hour weather window meant that we needed to get back under way.  We were one of the first teams out of the barn and started the slog down the saturated path.  The idea of wearing walking boots to keep your feet dry was lost at this point, waders would have struggled to keep feet dry as we squelched between, over, and through, the swollen streams that feed Oughtershaw Beck.  Behind us the black night was punctuated like a string of fairy lights by head torches.  There were slips and falls but at least it had stopped raining.

A man called Bob.

Picture the scene;

A spit and sawdust saloon bar in America's mid-west.  The bar is propping up a couple of trail-beaten cowboys and a time ravaged prospector, sleeping off too much firewater, while the barman diligently wipes glasses with a greasy cloth.  In the corner an old timer is playing ragtime on an out of tune piano whilst keeping a keen eye on the card game being played out on the next table.

Suddenly the candle on the piano sputters out in a gust of wind from the now open saloon doors.  Stood in the doorway is the silhouetted frame of a stranger.  The music stops as the stranger steps in to the room and says "I'm looking for a man. Goes by the name of Graham. Bob Graham." 

The card game continues and the piano refills the silence of the saloon as people diligently avoid the eyes of the stranger.  "I said, I'm looking for a man called Bob Graham!" says the stranger, silencing the piano for a second time and walking up to the bar "Do any of you know where I can find him?" 

"Ain't nobody called Bob Graham in these parts stranger," replies the barman, putting down his cloth and moving slowly to where his trusty Smythe and Wilson lives under the counter. "can I get you a drink?" But before the stranger can reply the prospector raises his head from the bar "I've not heard the name Bob Graham for many a long year...that name brings trouble with it everywhere it goes."

A shot rings out...

Back in the real world I wasn't looking for Bob Graham, but he seems to have found me.  On the 1st June this year, a day after we had completed our last training session for August's 100k TrailTrekk challenge, Jonathan shared two words with me via Facebook, along with a link to a blog.  Bob Graham were those words.  At the time I was very confused. Bob who?  I needed to know more and as Jonathan is a trustworthy type I clicked on the link and discovered that I was being led down a pretty dangerous path, one that I'm teetering on the brink of walking along.

In 1932 Bob Graham, a hotelier from Keswick ran 66 miles through the Lake District, including 42 of the highest peaks, in 24 hours.  The Bob Graham Round was born and people still take it on to this day but less than 2000 people have successfully completed the round in under 24 hours.

I'm only just getting into the idea trail running and am yet to cover more than 17 miles in one go so there is no danger of me taking Bob on any time soon, but as the man himself was 42 when he set the record, I guess I have a few years to think about it.  I have a few other challenges to overcome first though.

There is the small matter of the York Marathon in August, but next year I'm planning on running the Yorkshire Three Peaks which will give me a much better idea of what would be involved running in the Lake District.  I'm not about to become the stranger walking, into town looking for Bob Graham. But I know his name, and I know that if I want to find him all I have to do is walk into the Moot Hall in Keswick, and then go for a very long run.

Leeds 10k 2015

Since starting up South Leeds Lakers in February there are certain things that I've said so often that they are starting to sound odd.  "Lets go for a run" and "Hills are your friends" are fast becoming annoying catch phrases, but "Not every run can be a good run", said almost every week for the last 22 weeks, is possibly something that I need to take to heart.

This weekend was the Leeds 10k.  It was the 3rd time in 3 years that I was running it and, during the week leading up to Sunday morning, I started to feel quite confident.  It had been my 1st ever race in 2013, I'd seen a massive improvement in 2014, and I felt like it was on the cards for me to improve again this year.

I set off to Millennium Square bright and early as per usual however, unlike the last two years, I wasn't alone.  Gary joined me for the walk in for his 1st Leeds 10k, and around 30 people who I know from running in South Leeds met us on the steps of the City Museum.  We stood around talking race strategy and telling tales of how we had done in previous years, whilst giving advice to our friends who had never run a 10k race before.  The atmosphere was great and rather than the usual pre-race nerves I was being swept along by a group's excitement.

South Leeds Lakers and Hunslet Hawks. One happy family.

We soon went our separate way to find our starting pens and I made the decision that my time in the  Hull 10k a few weeks ago wasn't a fluke and that I could at least achieve the same time again.  All I needed to do was maintain a pace around 4:30min/k and 45:30 would be mine.  If I managed to go just a little bit quicker my dream of a sub a 45 10k could become a reality.

Unlike Burnley a couple of weekends ago there was no delay in the start and we were off just as the temperatures started to climb.  The first couple of kilometres were over in a flash and before I knew it I was already on Kirkstall Road with the voices of friends shouting my name ringing in my ears for encouragement.

The 40 minute pace runner had disappeared into the distance but I was still keeping a good pace. I was inside what I wanted at the 4k point but I was already starting to feel tired.  I grabbed a bottle of water at the first water station took a couple of sips and pressed on, well aware that my pace was already slowing.  5k came and went with what would have been a parkrun PB but by the time I was through 6k I knew that I was losing valuable seconds.

I don't like running back into town on Kirkstall Road at the best of times.  It is a featureless stretch of tedious tarmac that has the ability to sap the strength from my legs.  No matter what I tried I just couldn't get any pace back.  Every attempt at increasing my cadence, thinking about breathing, working my arms, brought the same result.  By 8k I knew that I would miss out on running sub 45 and by 9k I knew, even with a strong last minute push along Westgate and The Headrow, that I was going to miss the PB that I had set in Hull.

I crossed the finish line outside the town hall in 45:48, 4:04 faster than last year.  Over twenty minutes faster than my first Leeds 10k two years ago.  I should have been over the moon but no.  I felt deflated.  I'd missed out on the Hull 10k time by 18 seconds and sub 45 felt like it was a life time away.

I know that I should have been listening to my own advice and that "Not every run can be a good run".  I also know that 45:48 is a good time for 10k and that my training recently has been all about the marathon and running for longer not for going faster.  But none of that is giving me any comfort.  Last year I would have ripped your arms off if you had offered me that time but there and then, at the end of the 2015 Leeds 10k it felt like the worst time possible.

At the start of the year I laid out my aims and targets for 2015.  The top target for the year is getting around the 26.2 miles of the Yorkshire Marathon.  Going sub 45 for 10k was only ever going to be a happy byproduct of that training, if it actually happened.  I now need to hold onto that and move on.  There will be other races and other chances to push myself harder and faster but for now I have a new PB for the Leeds 10k and a date with a 17 mile training run on Sunday.

Urban Trail Runner: Middleton Woods

For me the last few years have all been about the next challenge.  First it was getting out of the door and going for a run.  Then it was my first 10k.  A few races, and a year and a bit later, it was my first half marathon.  Now I'm training for my first marathon.  I don't know about anybody else, but for me that feels like quite a escalation of running distance since my first 2k run/walk back in 2012.

In fact, since I started running I've clocked up over 2,500k but most of those have been on tarmac and I'm starting to feel the onset road running fatigue.  This isn't great as there is still a long way to go before I take on the Yorkshire Marathon.  To give myself some more off-road miles, and following on from my first trail run at Over the Odda, I signed up for the inaugural Middleton Woods Urban Trail Runner race.

When I entered I did so on the basis that I had nothing else in the diary on the same day as the race.  What I should have done was looked at what I was doing in the weeks around it.  Last weekend was the Pennine Lancashire 10k and next weekend is the Leeds 10k.  I should have realised that I'm not a three races in three weekends kind of runner.  The distance isn't the problem but the intensity of race days takes a bit longer to get over.  Then there is the question of my Marathon Training plan.  So far it had been building gradually but the day after Middleton I was due to run 15 miles, my longest run to date.

With the LSR* in the back of my mind I set off for John Charles Stadium.  The morning wasn't great.  There was a chill and drizzle in the air.  I had also woken up feeling like somebody had dropped a hammer on my foot over night, but a trot around the athletics track at the stadium told me that I would be OK to run on it.  We lined up at the start and received the pre-race instructions.  It turns out the the locals were not content with removing the route markers, but they had moved them to make us through a swamp, luckily this had been discovered before we set off.

And they're off!

After a quick lap of the track we were off into the woods via "Scrooge Hill".  I got stuck in traffic but everything was going fine but then we got to the first serious hill up to the Rose Garden in Middleton Park.  I could have found the strength and stamina from somewhere to make it to the top of the slope, I've run up worse, but I remembered the 15 miles that lay ahead of me on Sunday and decided to walk and save my legs.

That set the pace for the rest of the race.  Happily running and maintaining a good pace through the twisty, muddy, bramble strewn trails and the mown paths of the clearings but then slowing to a walk on the steeper up-hill sections.  I covered the 8.6k route in 47:25, slower than I would have liked but, given my decision to walk, a time I should be happy with.

Once I have managed to get the marathon out of the way I think my next challenge will be improving my trail running, more off road, more hills, and more mud.  Roads are a safe bet when it comes to routes, especially organised races but trails, to me, are where the adventure can begin anew.**

*Long Slow Run
** The day after the Middleton Wood Trail race I set out to run 15 miles with Rich and Martin from South Leeds Lakers.  They ran with me for the first 4 miles before turning back and their company was very welcome.  I found a slow and comfortable pace, ran on pavements, along the canal, through the city centre, and Cross Flatts Park, and finished in 2:28:28.  My longest ever run in the bag.  The next long training run is 17 miles in a couple of weeks, but before that there is the small matter of the Leeds10k.

Pennine Lancashire 10k

Having travelled to the end of the M62 two weeks ago for the Hull 10k, this weekend I set off in the other direction and crossed the Pennines to Burnley, home of the Pennine Lancashire 10k.  Like Hull before it, I had only had reason to visit Burnley a couple of times in the past so I knew very little about what the town was like, or more importantly, what the the route for the race was.  I knew so little about Burnley that I had spent the best part of Saturday working out where I would be able to get parked.

When I wasn't double checking car parks and road closures I was checking the weather forecast.  Hull had been wet, but it was a fine drizzle on a still day, perfect for keeping cool during a run.  Burnley was set for heavy rain all morning.  I don't mind running in the rain one bit, but the idea of standing around in the rain for an hour waiting for the race to get started wasn't something I was looking forward to.  Neither was the drive over the tops.  I know that it doesn't take much for the M62 to grind to a halt so I set off from Leeds before 7am to give myself plenty of traffic jam time, should I need it.

Luckily I didn't and I was in Burnley just after 8, an hour and a half before the gun and, as it happens, kicking out time from the town's night clubs.  Groups of staggering drunken lads and girls falling out of their high heels, dodging pools of sick, was not the welcome to Burnley that I had imagined.  But I had made it and could finally start thinking about the race.  It was only then that I discovered that I'd left my watch at home.  I don't run with a clever GPS watch, just a simple stopwatch, thinking about pace and splits is part of how I run.  I felt nude and lost, but at least the forecast rain hadn't turned up yet.

I made my way from the baggage drop to the starting pens and it dawned on me how small the field was.  I was stood with the other people planning to run sub 50 and we were almost within touching distance of the start line.  The mass warm up was dutifully ignored by all around me as we primed ourselves for the start, only the start didn't come.  The announcement team jovially told us that there was a car somewhere on the course and that the police were involved in getting it moved.  This was annoying but it shows how seriously Health and Safety is taken at these events.

Isn't the start line close.

After the longest 20 minutes ever we were finally off.  Like a pack of un-caged greyhounds we hurtled along the downhill start and, as is normal, I went off too fast.  Well, I thought that I was going too fast, without my watch I had no way of knowing.  At the first kilometre flag (the site of the erroneous car which had held up the start) I had no way of knowing what my pace was.  The first kilometre of any race always lies but I had no idea what was going on.  I kept focused on my breathing and tried to block out negative thoughts about how I was actually doing.

The course left the roads of Burnley and entered Thompson Park and the start of a 4k climb.  The hill itself wasn't too bad, the gradient wasn't too steep but it did go on, twisting and turning around trail paths.  I knew I had slowed down but, again, I didn't know how much I had slowed down by.  By the time I was heading back down the long hill through Towneley Golf Course I was more or less spent.  I was slowing down whilst running down hill, convinced that my time was shocking and feeling like I had nothing left to give, even though there was still 3k to go.

That nagging "just stop for a little walk" voice just wouldn't leave me alone.  It was only because the "don't forget your watch next time you idiot" voice was louder that I managed to ignore it and run on.  Although I didn't know the course before the race started, I did know that the finish was flat apart from the slight rise to the finish line, the same road that we all ran down at the start.  After passing the 9k flag I had a word with myself, summoned all that I had left and pushed for home, something that I would normally only do in the last couple hundred meters, but needs must.

Glory achieved or could have done better?

I had started the day hoping to run sub 50.  I knew it wasn't a flat race so 45 minutes was out of the question.  When the finish gantry came into view showing the clock still in the mid 40s all doubt left me, replaced be a burning annoyance that I could have gone faster!  I crossed the line in 47:28, two and a half minutes faster than last year's flat Leeds 10k, a time that I should be happy with, but one that I know I should have been able to run faster than.

The next race in the Run For All 10k series is the Leeds in two weeks time and I have my eyes fixed very firmly on it.  I have last year's time of 49:52 to beat, but I also have the time from the Hull 10k (45:30) to deal with.  I have said in the past that I would love to run sub 45 this year and Leeds is as good a chance as any of reaching that goal, however I'll have no chance of achieving it if I leave my watch at home.

Run Leader Sancho, Run!

Why do you run?  It's a question asked often by runners and non-runners a like.  My stock answer had always been that I began running so that I wouldn't be that fat dad at sports days, unable to take part, not even fit enough to be a touch judge should R ever decide to be interested in playing Rugby.  I didn't want to be an embarrassment and I did want to be able to support him if needed.

These days however I run a lot more for me than for him.  I think it started with my first race, the 2013 Leeds 10k.  It wasn't a good run, you can read about it here, but I made it, I earned my goody bag and in that bag was my first race t-shirt.  I have been obsessed with the t-shirts ever since.

All of them have a story.  The hours, days, and weeks of training that went into earning them.  The fund raising efforts.  The friends made in the holding pens and at the finish line.  But yesterday I received a t-shirt that eclipses them all, one that I am immensely proud of, one that I will never tire of wearing.

 

Last year Ben from Run England asked me if I had ever considered being a Run Leader.  We knew each other from previous jobs but not in a running sense.  He had read this blog, talked to me about running, and for some reason thought that I was a good candidate even though I was a solitary road runner and not part of any groups.  He needed a couple of people trained up and qualified as Leaders in Running Fitness to get a new group off the ground.  That group was South Leeds Lakers and Geoff and I were those people.

We're now in the 20th week of the Lakers and we have gone from strength to strength.  From nothing, we now have 80 people registered with us.  Geoff and I have been joined by Tania and Yaz, and another clutch of run leaders are being recruited from the Lakers to ensure that we have enough cover on run nights and that we can continue to expand the group.

Every time one of the Lakers' enters a race when before they wouldn't have thought it possible my chest swells with pride.  Every PB from a 1 mile burst to the 26.2 miles of a marathon that any of them achieve makes me grin from ear to ear.  Every week, when people turn up, rain or shine, willing and wanting to run because we have said that they can, fills my heart.

Yesterday I received one of the first Run Leeds "run leader" t-shirts.  At the time I hadn't realised quite what this meant to me, but after chasing a group of runners who had taken a wrong turn and then congratulating 37 runners on another great turnout and run, I had a chance to let it sink in.  I am no longer just a solo runner, I am a Run Leader. 

Hull 10k 2015

Beyond the end of the M62 lies Kingston Upon Hull.  I've only had cause to visit the East Riding of Yorkshire a couple of times, once for a wedding and a couple of times to visit The Deep, but I have never felt the need for a day out in Hull.  York, Sheffield, Huddersfield, Halifax, all have their appeal but Hull has just never sparked off my imagination.

Finally, this weekend I had a legitimate reason for visiting the home of the Tigers, the Hull 10k.  This was the first of the five races that make up my Run For All Ultimate Season Ticket and I wanted to make a good show of it, so I arranged to stay over night in Hull rather than making a mad dash for the start line from Leeds in the morning.

The journey to Hull was fine and Gary* and I managed not to get stupidly drunk on Saturday night.  I woke fresh in the morning and consumed my traditional pre-race breakfast of black coffee and an orange juice, saving a banana for consumption 1 hour before the start of the race.  It had rained over night but from the flat window it looked like it had eased off.  We piled into a taxi and took the short drive to the centre of a rain soaked Hull.

By the time we got to the bridge over the River Hull on Alfred Gelder Street the rain was back.  We dropped our bags off and took shelter in the doorway of the Princes Quay shopping centre with the rest of the participants.  Running in the rain is no stranger to me.  I've been running in all conditions over winter, but it looked like this was going to be my first wet race day.  We took the decision to brave the elements, we were going to get very wet soon enough anyway, and we wandered towards the start pens.

I'm really doing this, right?

On our way we picked up Gav, Amy, and Hazel from South Leeds Lakers, resplendent in their lime green tshirts.  I was questioning my decision to run in a vest at this point, but there was no turning back now.  I left the gang behind and made my way into the sub 50 pen and tried to focus on gently warming up and stretching.  My legs hadn't felt the same since a drill session with Farsley Flyers on Thursday night and I didn't help myself by running Bramley parkrun either but I was ready for a run.

The obligatory speeches with local celebs felt like it would never end but finally we were under way, give or take a false start as everybody around me started running before the line only to have to slam on the breaks as the road pinched in to get us all over the timing mats.  Finally we were running and I felt good.  No nerves, no feeling that I was going too fast, passing those around me without having to weave or jump out of the way of slower runners who had found themselves in the wrong pen.

The first couple of kilometres were over fast and I could already see where some of the pinch points were going to be.  The route doubled back on itself in places with runners on both sides of the narrow roads.  As I went through 4k I saw Jan, a friend from Twitter, heading in the opposite direction.  We gave each other a high five and carried on through the drizzle.

The only scenery that I was interested in was the kilometre marker flags so I didn't really pay attention to the houses and seafront that were were running along, you could just make out the Humber bridge in the haze but it was nothing to write home about.  The Deep is impressive though and I couldn't help but smile as we passed it and the 5k marker.  I was very close to my parkrun PB time and it dawned on me that; a) I had been running too fast after all; and b) if I could just keep this pace up I'd be on for a great time.

The section through the docks should have been lovely, but my head was starting to swim with doubt over my ability, so I didn't pay any attention to the boats bobbing along side us.  The course took us back into the heart of Hull, through the pedestrianised shopping streets, which were full of crowds cheering us on, along with some people oblivious to the fact that the race was happening, blindly walking against the tide of runners, smoking and drinking, in the middle of the road.  How they weren't knocked over is beyond me.

Photo via the Hull Daily Mail.

Passing our previous rain shelter, the Princes Quay shopping centre, I knew there wasn't long left.  I had time in the bag to beat my previous 10k PB of 49:52, set in Leeds last year, and I was also close to my target for the year of running a 10k in under 45 minutes.  I hadn't set a specific target for the Hull 10k and was using it to see how close I was to that Leeds time so I was elated when I crossed the line in 45:30.  The Leeds time had fallen and I was very close to my dream time.

I really enjoyed the Hull 10k.  The conditions were perfect. The rain was gentle and cooling, there wasn't much wind to speak of and for once it wasn't a baking hot day.  The rain had made the cobbled sections through the docks slippery and the many twists and turns meant constantly altering your stride but obviously not by enough to really affect my time.

Glory Achieved

It is 4 weeks until the Leeds 10k.  4 weeks to find 30 seconds.  Only 3 seconds per kilometre.  before then there is the Pennine 10k, a trail race in Middleton and continuing training for the York marathon and the TrailTrekk so I wont manage any specific speed work.  I'll just have to see what Leeds brings, but for now I'm going to sit back and bask in the glory of the Hull 10k.

*not only was Gary my host for the night, but the Hull 10k was also going to be his first race.  For once I was out nerved. 

The road to York

A few weeks ago I took my first steps on the road to York.  No, I'm not planning to run or walk the 25 miles from my home in South Leeds to York city centre.  The road to York is my training plan for the 2015 Yorkshire Marathon which takes place in York on the 11th October.

Before I had crossed even the start line of the Leeds Half Marathon I already knew the the training for my first full marathon was only a couple of weeks away.  I gave myself a week off, and the luxury of Over the Odda, a brilliant 10k trial race, before my plan started on the 18th May.  I say the 18th of May, the first run of the plan was on Tuesday the 19th with South Leeds Lakers and I was instantly off the plan.  The run that night took us 8k through Middleton Woods and I was only meant to be running 6k, but I guess a longer run is better than a shorter one.

The plan I'm working with is an amalgam of plans I have found on line which I have altered to fit with real life and how I like to run.  I have also taken the liberty to add my own thoughts to the training plan.  The first change was to extend the plan from 16 weeks to 21 weeks.  I could have gone with a 20 week plan but I wanted to add in extra weeks to accommodate the other races that that I have entered between now and October.  This way a 10k race will not get in the way of 16 mile long slow run and I can make sure that I've not run too much in the week before a race.

My race number for Run For All 10k series. Hull, Pennine, Leeds, York.

I'm already on week 3a, the first of the additional weeks.  On Sunday I'll be taking part the Hull 10k and then I'll be getting back to the long miles.  With the extra race days, running groups, and a varied plan of long and short runs, I'm hoping that I can get to York with a spring in my step.  I know quite a few people who have fallen out of love with running due to the miles involved in marathon training and I'm determined not to be one of them. 

The road to York will be long, but it is one that I am relishing running along.

Llamas Not Included

This week my non-running challenge for the year became very real.  In August I'm taking part in TrailTrekker, a 100k walk through the Yorkshire Dales, non-stop, in under 30 hours.  The reasons why I'm taking part in this really long walk are lost in the shrouds of time, but once an idea has formed in my mind they somehow manage to take on a life of their own.  A good example of this would be the fact that I am also running my first marathon this year.  I'm not sure how signing up to that happened either.

The trekk is undertaken, for health and safety reasons, in teams of four and, on Sunday, my team 'Llamas Not Included' went out for a long walk to scout out some of the route before the main event.  Back in March we had walked the first four stages of the route in dreadful conditions. To say that morale was low at that point is an understatement.  We had returned to Leeds cold, wet and sore.  The memories of the discomfort were fresher in our minds than the memories of the route or the scenery, so we hoped for better weather this time around.

Unfortunately the weather forecast at the start of the week only served to bring the negative memories back.  Heavy rain, low temperatures, strong wind, all of the things that we had battled against previously.  The discussions in the week running up to Sunday's walk were all of the "shall we do something else" variety.  We met up on Thursday evening, following a presentation about the event, to work out what we were going to do.  I don't know if it was the beer or the fact that we had been encouraged by the powerpoint presentation, but we decided to brave the elements and walk the next three stages, from Horton in Ribblesdale to Buckden.

It was almost 9 o'clock in the morning before we set off from Horton on the Pennine Way, the path that had previously brought us here from Gargrave.  It was raining, but not as heavily as the forecast had made out.  It was obvious that it had been raining heavily though as the stone path was running like a stream, all be it a very shallow one.  We crossed the 3 Peaks path and immediately wished that we had taken it rather than sticking to the Pennine Way, which was flooded.  We took our time and looked for a route around the pop-up river that shouldn't have been emptying into the lake that had formed in front of us.  In the end we had to wade through the shallowest parts of the saturated tundra.  My feet were soaked and we had only been walking for 3k.  This was not the start to the day that I had hoped for.

That stream is the Pennine Way

As well as making ponds out of puddles, the wet conditions also added spectacle to the early stages of the walk.  The waterfall at Calf Holes was in full flow, as were the falls at Ling Gill where we also found wild orchids.  I had never seen a British orchid before.  My first sighting of these small, brilliantly purple flowers, coincided with the change in the weather.  The rain eased off and above us the clouds began to break.  The wind at our backs stiffened as we climbed the day's only slope, up Cam Fell, and before long we said farewell to the Pennine Way and hello to the Dales Way.

As much as PW had left us sodden, on both walks, DW was pulling no punches from the first steps.  The slope back down Cam Fell was spongy and wet at best.  Our purposeful strides to the summit had been replaced by tentative steps as we tried to find the driest way to Cam Farm and the first of the day's checkpoints.  It had taken us three hours but any lost time would have been made up if we'd had a canoe.  The soggy ground continued until we got to Swarthgill Farm where it became a proper track.  Thoughts entered our heads about running this section in August (to use different muscle groups) but as it will be dark next time we're on the path it didn't feel like a good idea.

Stunning view from Yockenthwaite Farm

We stopped for a rest by the ford at Beckermond, before pushing on to Deepdale and the second stage stop of the day.  The grey sky gave way to blue and before long we were all over-dressed.  For the first time in two days walking we were well fed and not cold.  The forecast strong wind was on our backs and everything was in our favour.  A little over an hour later we arrived back in Buckden, smiles on our faces, already contemplating our next training walk.

Well earned pint in the sunshine back in Buckden

Regardless of what our next training session is, team 'Llamas Not Included' will be setting out to complete the 100k walk on Saturday 22nd August, aiming for all four of us to make it round by the morning of Sunday 23rd.  We are under no illusion that as nice as the last part of training was, the full event will be a hard physical and mental challenge.  As well as pushing ourselves, we are also raising money for Oxfam, who are organising the event.  If you would like to make a donation to give us a morale boost and support the work Oxfam do please follow the link to our Just Giving page.

Over the Odda, 2015

Last April, as I was gearing up for my first crack at the Leeds half marathon, I was made aware of Over the Odda, "An inspiring off road run with amazing views and challenging terrain."  At the time I was convinced that a challenging 10k the week after 13.1 miles was a bad idea so I decided not to enter, even though I was tempted by the course.  I had already finished the Harewood 10k and had loved running in the country side so much that the thought of another off road race on my doorstep was really appealing.

I made the right decision though.  I was sore for weeks after the 2014 Leeds half and my legs would not have thanked me for another race day so soon afterwards.  This year though, because I wasn't going to run the Leeds half I decided to give Over the Odda a crack.  I even managed to talk seven of my running buddies from South Leeds Lakers in to signing up too for our first Group race day*.

Of course it turned out that I had entered the Leeds half, but if I set my mind to something it happens.  So one week on I was stood in the freezing cold windswept grounds of Hawksworth School wondering what was in store.  It was so cold that I even join in with the group warm up!

We were in good spirits as we were lead from the school to the field where the race would start.  The stiles we had to clamber over to get to the start line really should have been warning of what was to come, but I was too interested in getting going to think about what lay ahead.

With words of thanks to the local farmers, who let the race veer from the public footpaths, we were under way.  As normal I set off without any due care for the rest of the race.  My initial pace was too hot but weaving through people, navigating tractor troughs and knee high grass meant I didn't leave much brain space for race-day niceties.  I didn't need to worry about my pace for long though as we came to the first "Steep Hill" warning sign.

Steep didn't come close.  It was effing vertical.  I've not been so worried about going down hill since the time I went mountain biking in the Afan Forrest in a flowery frock.  I was in uncharted territory.  How on earth are you meant to run fast and safely down hills?  Soft knees, arms flailing like wind socks, I made it to the bottom in one piece where I joined a queue of people walking up an equally steep climb.  At this point in the race I was itching to pass people but there was just no room so walking it was.

Due to the hills my second mile split was 4 minutes slower than the first, but today was never going to be about times.  We passed the start, crossed the main road, and then hit another climb that even with room to pass, most people walked up.  A welcome water station met us at the top and then it was back down to business, and by down I mean straight down.  The sharpest decent on the course, through flowering gorse.  I was starting to get the hang of this off road stuff.

Running over stiles is hard, momentum is lost in an instant and in a group you can take what feels like an age to get over one.  Running over cattle grids however is something else all together.  The fear of slipping and getting my foot stuck at speed meant I took the grids at the same pace as climbing the stiles.

The thrill of running around trees while trying to keep to the course marked with red and white tape hanging from the branches was short lived, but once I was out of the wooded section I had a treat in store.  Coming the other was were two of the Lakers, Steve and Gavin.  I was expecting a wave of encouragement, or a misjudged high five.  Instead I got "I'm going to f***ing kill you!" from Gavin, I'm not sure he was feeling the love at that point.

The final mile was yet another up hill section, one which I will readily admit to walking up sections of.  I don't know if it was the start of the race or a hangover from last weekend but I didn't have much left in the tank.  My trail shoes were starting to feel full of feet but before long I was back at the school to cross the finish line in 55:47.  This was never going to be a fast race, I knew that before the start, but I'm still happy with my time.

It's fair to say that loved Over the Odda and I may well start looking more into off road/trail races in future.  It would be a different kettle of fish if it had been wet but you can't book the weather when you enter a race.  I have a strong suspicion that I will be back in Hawksworth next year, I also have a funny feeling that there will be more than 8 Lakers along side me on the start line!

*not including the Harewood 10k, East Leeds 10k, or Leeds Half Marathon.

Leeds Half Marathon 2015

Having declared that I wasn't running any half marathons this year, it's a little bit odd to find myself writing a review of one.  In fact, only two months ago I would have told you to get stuffed if you had suggested that I should enter a 13.1 mile race.  My aim was clear, 2015s training would be 100% focused on the York Marathon and I'd run a handfull of 10ks as part of that preparation.  All of that changed 8 weeks back when I got an email from Run for All asking me to confirm my details for the Leeds half.

I assumed it was a mistake as I had signed up for their Ultimate Season ticket to make sure I got a Marathon place*.  I clicked on the link and sure enough I had entered, on the 12th May 2014, one day after last year's race.  In the box marked "Why have you entered" I had written "I'm still buzzing from yesterday's race, bring on 2015."  I had been a fool.

Last year I had trained for 26 long weeks and had managed to beat my predicted 2 hour finish time coming in in 1:57:49.  I decided not to chase my PB but to try to achieve 2 hours again.  I upped my distance running, added hills, and added some speed work over short distances.  The 8 weeks went by very quickly and my last long run, last weekend, was upon me before I knew where I was.  I hadn't allowed myself much tapering time, 2 more weeks would have been great.

Then yesterday morning I joined up with around 9000 people to take on the streets of Leeds.  My pre-race nerves vanished as soon as we got to the holding pens on Millennium Square.  Up until then I was raring to get going, to leave the house on time, to get a parking space, but once I was amongst other runners I knew what was ahead of me and relaxed.

It helped that I met some of the South Leeds Lakers and Farsley Flyers for a chat before the race.  This time last year I was alone, didn't know the route, and didn't really think that I had it in me.  This time I was with a new bunch of friends, could visualise every corner and hill on the route and knew that with a decent pace I'd make it around in 2 hours.

A lot of the conversation was around the organisation of the race numbers.  You get used to this kind of thing at big events but something wasn't quite right.  Normally you get grouped by your anticipated finish time but that didn't seem to be the case, with people I knew would be faster than me starting in groups long after I was due to set off.  I didn't let it worry me though as come the start of the race you can only worry about yourself anyway.

The Red pen watched from the icy shadow of Leeds Library as first the wheelchair race, then the elite runners, followed by those wearing Blue numbers set off.  The wait to get underway was tense but we were moving soon enough.  I knew all too well that I would set off too fast but tried to keep well within myself.  The number of people around me, plus having to run up the Headrow should have slowed me down but I was already a minute under my pace by the time I got through the first mile.  The second mile saw another second fall from my target time, it was only the slog up Stonegate that brought an end to my meteoric start.

But although I had slowed down I was still managing to keep chipping away at the clock.  By the time I had scaled the Ring Road to Lawnswood I had three minutes in the bag.  Three minutes to slow down and still make 1 hour and 50 minutes, beating last year's time.  But I knew that the race was down hill from here.  I had taken a lot out of my legs, pushing too hard from the start but if I could just find a little bit more, 2 more minutes over 5 miles had to be achievable.

At 8k I was passed by Daryl who shouted encouragement as he sped past me into the distance.  A little later on John sauntered alongside me and had a bit of a chat before setting off to see if he could hunt down the 105 pace runner who almost ran me off the road on Butchers Hill.  By this time I was beginning to curse the tarmac under my feet.  My taped up knees were still ok but there was very little left in my legs and I was now on Kirkstall Road, the most boring stretch of road I have ever run on.

There is nothing inspiring on Kirkstall Road, nothing to keep you going, nothing to push against, very little to look at.  It's just you and the road.  My head was dipping as I tried to up my cadence, a final push past Yorkshire TV.  The last "hill", the slip road into town was soon upon me as was the stupidest running injury.  Further up the road I could see a fallen runner recieving first aid and on the other side of the road an ambulance had pulled up to help.  I decided to run around the ambulance so that the paramedics could get to the prone runner and as I passed, the door opened and I ran into it, spinning me through 360 degrees but not quite knocking me off my feet.

No sooner had I shaken off the embarrassment than I started to see familiar faces in the crowd. Jenny and Anna, Thomas, Phil, and Rich, all cheering me towards the final 400m.  My eyes were on stalks scanning the sea of faces for Zoe and Rhys who I found on the home straight.  I checked my watch one last time and realised that I had paused it when I hit the ambulance door.

Luckily it was still running and told me that I had a minute left.  A minute to get across the line in under 1 hour and 45 minutes.  The rest of the crowd may as well have not been there, I was on my own in a bubble of silence.  I saw the finish clock but it made no sense, it was counting from the start of the elite race after all.  I crossed the line, stopped my watch and stumbled towards the water stations and the Nicola Adams' Olympic postboxes, my prearranged meeting point.

I leant on the barriers to cheer home more of the Lakers and Flyers and took stock of what I had achieved.  My phone went off with a text from Run for All confirming that I had finished in 1:44:47.  Faster than last year, a new PB, and under 1:45.  Everything I wanted and more.

There may well be a half marathon in my plans for next year but it won't be Leeds.  I have still got to run along Kirkstall Road twice more this year (Leeds 10k and the Abbey Dash) and then I'm giving it a rest for a year, unless I accidently enter a race and forget about it again.

*The Leeds half isn't included in the season ticket for some reason.