Racing in the time of Covid – or the one that actually happened
The technical stuff:
Shoes: Hoka Mafate
Socks: Injinji & Inov8 speed
Race Vest: Inov8 2 in 1
Poles: Leki Micro Trail
Fuel: Sausage rolls, marzipan, sausages, red grapes, banana, minstrels, hula hoops, mini Battenberg, Eccles cake, flapjack, coke
Weather: Hot. Obv. Also, windy.
Attitude: Bloody minded with unexpected cheeriness
Distance: 81 kms
Terrain: Hills. Bogs. Rocks. The occasional sheep.
The non-technical general stuff:
My last race was the OCC in August 2019. Since then, I’ve trained for the 100km Cotswold Way ultra, the Snowdon 50 mile ultra, the Beacons ultra and a couple of smaller ones in between. All of them got cancelled in 2020 because of Covid so it was getting harder to keep the enthusiasm for training going with each cancellation – as well as it not being possible to remain in a permanent training cycle without becoming injured, bonkers or both.
The early part of this year was challenging for lots of reasons, not least what turned into almost a 6 month lockdown in Wales over the winter, with no travel for exercise. However, I had a stern word with myself in March, decided that the Pennine Barrier ultra might just possibly go ahead in June and decided to have a crack at it anyway.
Training for a race with 5 big climbs totalling just a shade under 3,000 metres of ascent when you’re not allowed to travel out of flat Cardiff was always going to require some resourceful thinking. I used the early days to build up my endurance, which did include laps of the closest small ascents, then as soon as travel restrictions were lifted, I fired myself up into the Brecon Beacons like a bullet from a gun to get as much hill training in as possible.
The last big climb I’d done was up to the top of the Rainfolly in Les Gets at the end of August last year, so my quads were grumpy for a while – but I hadn’t lost my descending confidence and by the time race day arrived I was flying down Tor y Foel like a gazelle. In my head.
It wasn’t enough – it’s almost always never enough, but it was, I hoped, enough to get me round in one piece. As with all training cycles I learned new things, and this time it was all about the food. One of my favourite things at the best of times, to be sure, but learning that eating a lot more than I used to on a long run really does make the recovery quicker was a joyful discovery and one which I leveraged to my advantage. I also gave up my old friend refined sugar again – it shifted my lockdown weight gain and a couple of extra kilos, taking me pretty close to the unsustainable but briefly satisfying goal of race weight. As I write this, 3 weeks post race, I’m on day one of sugar shunning again, with all the joy that this brings.
I’d prepared for race day with military precision, as always. This time, my support crew got a calories list – all the food we had, with the portion sizes required to give me 200 calories which is what I’ve learned I can stomach in an hour. We’d worked our roughly how long it would take me between checkpoints, how many calories I’d need to pick up at each one and then I just left it up to them, occasionally radioing ahead to let them know if I wanted sweet or savoury, just so I could be contrary when I arrived and say I’d changed my mind. Joe and Ashley were in charge of this on the day and they did an amazing job of making sure that they gave me a variety of food each time, including totally ignoring my bleating later on when I said I didn’t want any of it.
The race stuff:
We travelled up to Malham the day before, staying in a pub that was only a few hundred metres from the start and finish of the race. The start times were staggered between 6 am and 7.15 am to allow for social distancing and our allocated times were based on our marathon PB. I submitted my Abingdon time – the gift that just keeps on giving – and was given a start time of 6.03 am. Fabulous for me as the weather forecast was, predictably, hot – so this gave me a bit of extra time in the early morning when it was cool.
The 4 am alarm and porridge pot that tastes like wallpaper paste never gains any appeal. Nick stuck his head under the pillow and grumbled at me, but I choose to believe he loves it as much as I do. I was remarkably calm about the whole thing, all my prep went well and I was ready to rock at 5.45 am when we left for the short walk to the check in and start. It seems that nobody else got the memo about the allocated start times as when I turned up, it was the traditional runner pile on, with everybody standing around doing a bit of mild fretting. I joined the queue and did my best to block out the stressy chat of the woman next to me, whose breakfast had consisted of a jelly snake. Her day didn’t go so well in the end – not necessarily just because of the jelly snake but there’s possibly a lesson in there somewhere.
I ended up starting just before 6.15 am – there was about 200 metres of flat and then we started climbing up towards Malham Cove – that really is a short, sharp wakeup call less than a mile in. Thoroughly alert, I picked my way over the top. This race is a technical joy if you like that sort of thing. And I really, really like that sort of thing. If I have to watch every single footstep then I’m happy.
My phone pinged at the top of the next climb – I had almost no signal all day, so my messages all arrived in clusters. This was the first one, saying “I’ve got an uber on speed dial” which gave me a proper snort of laughter, but all day long, from all around the world, my magnificent friends and family were tracking me and messaging me.
A long but steadyish climb brought us to the only unenjoyable bit of the course – an out and back section on the road just before Malham Tarn. The back bit was straight into a headwind that was so strong I felt like I was going backwards for a bit, even though it was slightly downhill. Then round Malham Tarn and across some beautiful countryside towards Fountains Fell, where the proper climbing business got underway. It struck me that there were an awful lot of high, stone stiles that were going to be less charming on the way back. Luckily I didn’t know about the ladder, but more of that later.
A lovely long run down the back of Fountains Fell and a mile or so along a road brought me to Checkpoint 1 and Nick. I’d made it in around 3 hours, way ahead of the cutoff and feeling great. I was in and out like a ninja as I didn’t need to fill up my water bladder. I grabbed my allocation of calories, gave N a slightly sticky kiss and trundled off to tackle the looming beast known as Pen y Ghent.
This is the first of the Yorkshire Three Peaks, which formed the middle section of the race. The top section is incredibly steep – a proper hands and knees scramble in places. It was also very busy, even thought it was relatively early, full of walkers and charity runners. Wayne, the cheery race director was at the first false summit taking photos so I did my best smile, pretended my vertigo wasn’t alive and kicking and steamed past him as fast as possible.
No time to stop and admire the view from the top – the descent down the back of Pen y Ghent is steep but quite runnable, so I wanted to get a bit of time in hand, especially as it was getting hot and there was no shade at all.
The section across to Whernside is long and undulating, so there was plenty of running to be had. It was busy with lots of big groups to dodge, but I made pretty good time. About a mile before CP2, a couple of runners behind me called out “You’ve taken some catching, girl – we’ve been chasing you down for the last hour” – so we ambled through that last mile together, having a chat. I’m a solitary runner and I really like to race on my own – but these two were lovely and a bit of company was unexpectedly welcome.
CP2 was at the Ribblehead Viaduct. Nick, Joe and Ashley had set up shop just before the CP, and they got me in and out with relentless efficiency, loading me up for what was going to be one of the longest sections. At this point I should mention the power of red grapes. I’ve not had them in a race before, but they were a discovery during training and they were magnificent – especially later on when I was trying to stave off the dreaded coke requirement for as long as possible. I swung by the official CP so they could time check me, then it was off to conquer Whernside. Relentless pretty much sums it up. It’s a 4 km fast hike across Blea Moor before the real climbing starts, then an awfully long climb. I got chatting to a runner who was doing the three peaks and we ended up playing leapfrog for miles.
The top of Whernside was the halfway point. I stopped briefly for the required selfie and to catch up with my social media while I had a signal. I was feeling great – always a relief at this point in a race, ahead of the “Running is stupid and I hate it” stuff that comes later.
The descent is grim – it’s stone steps, very narrow and it was incredibly congested. Having a race number on your leg can be extremely useful at times as it allowed me to barge my way through a bit more than I might have got away with otherwise. Either way, there wasn’t much running to be had and it was slow, frustrating progress. I was starting to feel the burn of hotspots on my heels so I knew it would be a sock change at CP3.
I grumped my way to the car, muttered a bit and say down on the road to deal with my socks, hissing to myself about the time I was wasting. Joe managed this by crouching down in front of me at eye level, the way parents deal with a small child having a tantrum. “Mum” he said, “you’ll lose an awful lot more time later if you don’t sort it properly now”. He waved my food choices in front of me and when I huffily said I didn’t want any of it, calmly packed them in my race vest and suggested I took them anyway in case I changed my mind later. And that, in a nutshell, is what crewing a long race is all about – he’s going to do well on a late CP in a 100 mile race I think. He calmed me right down. I had a swig of coke, popped into the official CP where a very lovely women tempted me with a bag of hula hoops that totally hit the spot, then it was Ingleborough.
Oh. My. God. It looks so innocuous from a distance. There’s clearly a steep climb near the summit, but until you get close to what look like insects snaking their way up, you don’t realise it’s people. Up a stone ladder. There were grown men on their knees, crying. Admittedly it was hot, it was mid afternoon and I suspect plenty of folk taking on the Three Peaks may not have fully appreciated the task ahead of them but even so, it was savage. It was my only moment where I wondered if I could do it. I took a moment, had a word with myself, miraculously had 4G so I could connect to spotify and treated myself to some Iggy Pop for the climb. My left knee took a clattering on a rock but apart from that I made it in one piece, so enchanted with myself that I had a wee dance at the Trig point on the summit.
After that, I knew it would be ok. The descent off Ingleborough was as enjoyable as Whernside but I didn’t care. I was way ahead of the cutoffs, I pretty much knew what was ahead and, miraculously, I was still feeling surprisingly good. There was some undulating, fairly runnable stuff down into CP4 which, after miles of stone steps was a pleasure. I did stop to help a man who was writhing in agony on the floor – he had pretty much cramped up everywhere and his running mate was a bit helpless. I have him two saltstick tablets, stretched his hamstrings and left with a stern suggestion that some suncream and electrolytes might have been a good idea. Apologies to my stalkers who were having flashbacks to the OCC in 2019 when my tracker stopped for a while and I wasn’t at a checkpoint…
Ash had taken my food order ahead of CP4 and they had it all ready – even though by then I’d changed my mind. I was getting to the point where my stomach wasn’t managing food very well any more and I knew it would be coke only from CP5. I hung around for a couple of minutes longer than I should have because I was getting tired and a bit emotional, but they kicked me out and off I went for the unexpected joy of having to climb almost to the top of Pen y Ghent again. Nick took the kids back to Malham after CP4 so they could have some dinner and some time off – they were troopers all day. Ash had never experienced me doing a long race before and she bossed it. Joe’s a veteran, but he really stepped up for this one and made a significant difference to my mental state a couple of times. We’d talked about it before the race and he’d taken it all on board.
CP5 came and went. I offloaded my poles because I knew I wouldn’t really need them for the last section. Picked up the bottle of coke that got me home, along with a small bag of minstrels, gave N another sticky kiss and went off to finish this thing. By this time it was early evening, the light was changing, it was quiet, and utterly beautiful. It was me, the moors, the hills, and the occasional runner.
I’m often asked why I run such long distances and it’s not a straightforward answer. It’s all too easy to give the glib “Because it’s there” but it’s way more than that. Some of it is about challenging myself, to see what I’m capable of. Some of it is to help manage my mental health. My day job is very much in my head and the joy of getting into the hills at the weekend, to just run until I can’t run any more is an amazing way to decompress. For non worshippers, it’s hard to explain the why of trail and mountain running. I’m godless, but there’s a sense of being part of something much bigger than me that I need to become part of, as to go into battle with it would be futile.
Climbing up the back of Fountains Fell again was just glorious. I picked up a few very much appreciated messages, mainly from folk who were tormenting me by going to the pub. I tried to ignore my stomach, which was grumbling quite loudly by this point about the immense sugar overload I’d given it after months of clean eating. I was fully focused on just getting home. The stiles were high, the hills were steep, the rocks were treacherous. But I was still moving, I was still smiling and I was still enjoying myself. Ok I was a bit tired but it was all good.
I didn’t even need my head torch in the end as I made it back in the light. The last couple of miles as it was starting to get dark were really beautiful – and as I approached Malham again, Ash had come up the path to meet me which was an unexpected surprise. Joe and Nick weren’t far behind and I managed a proper run through the village to the finish line.
This is a beautiful, challenging race. 50 miles isn’t to be taken lightly at the best of times and this one has every kind of trip hazard that clumsy me could break something on. So of course it’s my idea of heaven. I’m overjoyed with how it went – in the end, consistent training and sheer bloody mindedness won the day again. If I’d had the 6 months of hill training I’d have liked under my belt it would have been faster, of course, but it just doesn’t matter. I was out for the day in a beautiful place, doing one of the things I love best. I bounced back remarkably quickly, running up and down stairs the next day and 3 weeks on I can barely remember that it hurt at all.Also, I’ve now got the UTMB points I need to enter the CCC ballot in December. Job done.