Ronhill West Highland Way Race 20th and 21st June 2015, part one

Put the kettle on, it's like the race itself - long.

What a weekend we all had so where to start the story? It has to be at Milngavie I guess although the whole adventure really started to feel very real to me when Ruth and Jim came driving along our street on the evening of Friday the 19th (last month already!) with the Team Searil decals prominently adorning both sides of Ruth’s car. See below after transfer to the official team vehicle, it’s just a shame race rules precluded them driving alongside and giving me a wee tow along, just like Le Tour! (which starts Saturday, btw)

 

Designed by our in-house graphic designer, Graham Ramage (thanks Graham, I recognised myself immediately!), I began to realise, with a lump in my throat, just how much this all meant to the rest of the team and not just me, cue lots of hugs and moist eyes even before we set off (and that was just with Jim). A slight problem ensued while we contemplated where to stow Jim's cricket bag (that's what it looked like, it was huge) as we only have a wee Corsa and roof box. While doing so we discovered he had brought along a cricket, baseball and tennis set, clearly preparing for long waits at checkpoints - sound plan.   

Arriving at Milngavie train station in plenty of time, even beating the legendarily early Ian Rae (it would prove to be the last time that happened over the weekend), we were able to park right next to the start and even had time to usher Team Rae into the space beside us.

After registration, weighing (75 kilos), chipping, banding (sadly not all-inclusive), merchandise collection, much chatting and the obligatory pre-race photos we made our way back to the cars where Ian and I tried to get some last-minute sleep in our respective cars. I don’t know about Ian but it didn’t work for me at all as I simply couldn’t relax. 

 

Geo tells me the Friday night topers alighting from the last train from town are usually confused in the extreme by the sight of close to two hundred ultra runners, vans, crews and marshalls wandering around the station environs after midnight, not to mention guys in kilts with micrphones.

 Image by Monument photos

Eventually the waiting was almost over and the runners, supporters and crews all milled around the pedestrian tunnel which is the start of the race, familiar to almost all in the club from our annual relay, although probably not at 01:00 in the morning. After the rather ominous race briefings (there will be weather!) 187 of us were sent on our way by Race Director Ian Beattie, who has completed the race numerous times himself.

Having seen many photos and videos of this I had a good idea of what to expect but it was still a huge thrill to finally be a part of it at last. I was surprisingly calm and had been all week which, as Alison will very readily tell you, is not at all like me - I am normally nervous as a kitten in the build up to a big ultra and equally jumpy. Maybe the long slow build up to this one was responsible as this has been my main target for over two years now (no I didn’t let on to anyone for a while although I suspect Ian may have guessed!)

Image by Monument photos.
Me, very briefly, in front of Ian (note the headgear Graham, living up to the logo)

 

Milngavie to Balmaha, miles 1 to 20

Being mindful of the ninety five miles ahead I was determined not to overcook things early on, as someone very wise once said ‘you can’t win the race in the first twenty miles but you can certainly lose it’. Not that Ian or I had any designs on winning but I was very conscious of having an official support crew for the first time ever and did not want to let anyone down. All the good wishes of friends, family and club mates, while very welcome and, at times, inspiring also left me feeling an additional responsibility to ensure I finished this race, first and foremost.

Those who have run the first leg of the club relay will know there is a right-angled turn to the left within a few hundred yards of the start and, inevitably, about forty of us while busy chatting away missed it completely! We then had to turn about, blinding the runners behind us and being blinded in turn (everyone had head torches on) and eventually we were all back on the right track. Some folk may have become all worked up about that but, personally, I thought it hilarious and so relaxed into the race from that point onwards. It must also be said we wouldn’t have been lost anyway as, apparently, both paths eventually meet up again.

I soon said cheerio to Ian and let him go at his pace and tried to settle into mine. As usual I was finding it difficult to run slowly enough early in the race but for once managed to slow things down after a mile or so. I was probably helped by the humid night air as, although I have been lucky enough to outlast the asthma I’d had for most of my life, I still find breathing difficult when it gets sticky. I also used some ultra friends to gauge where I should be, watching one girl gradually pull away, Lois, who hammered me at the Fling, as did most to be fair, and had a brief chat with Rhona McKinnon before letting her go too. David Meldrum (RD of the John Lucas 50 at Strathaven) drew level and we tacitly decided to run together for a while, agreeing we were still running too fast (clearly a good strategy for David as he went on to run a stormer of a maiden WHWR). Maybe it’s a bit of an age thing as both the ladies mentioned are somewhere between twenty and thirty years younger than I whereas David, I’m sure he won’t mind me saying so, is a lot closer to my age. Having said all that I also had to let go another friend, Stuart MacFarlane, who, surely uniquely among us all, was using the WHWR as a training run! for his attempt to run the Watershed next month. 680 miles and 44 Munros in 34 days from the borders to Duncansby Head, near John O’Groats, all in aid of Funding Neuro, a brain and spinal column research charity. He puts us all to shame, and he’s 62.   

I had a strong memory of arriving at Balmaha very hungry during the Fling so was eating on the bigger hills on the way to Drymen, a banana, a honey piece and jelly beans were all being consumed as we walked up. I was having to be conservative with my fluid intake as it would have been very easy to quaff the whole bottle too quickly. (I never race with a bladder unlike most ultra runners but may have to reconsider this)

David stopped at Drymen to talk to his son while I plodded on. Despite the low level cloud it was amazingly light and climbing up into the remains of the Garadhban forest was able to switch off my head torch and clearly saw a number of bats flying along the edge of the treeline. We, David and I, eventually regrouped and steadily ran on, meeting the ubiquitous Davie Mooney from East Kilbride for the first of many times in the course of the weekend. An amazing number of people come out to support this race in the middle of the night and go through the same sleep deprivation that the runners do, I really don’t begin to understand  how they do it but it is mightily appreciated.

We stayed together until we reached the foot of Conic Hill where I stopped briefly for a comfort break which let a gap develop which I knew in my heart I wasn’t going to close. Any ascending ability I once had has long-since left me and I must confess I now struggle even walking up the hills. (note to self - must incorporate more hill-walking into my training) A long plod up the backside of Conic was interspersed with listening to the call of the cuckoos over to the east. A very careful and slow descent followed which was still part of the plan to maintain my energy (and quads) for the latter stages of the race. 

Arriving at Balmaha in 4:15, fifteen minutes slower than my predicted time, and in 171^st place I immediately asked my crew to change my socks as I had felt some hot spots developing along the edge of my smaller toes on the long downslope. Jim it was who had the unenviable task of slathering my feet with vaseline prior to the fresh socks going on – a precaution that almost certainly saved me from major difficulties later on. I’ve generally been lucky not to suffer greatly from foot problems during my long runs but have seen some dreadful pictures online of others’ travails. Ruth also tried to put a plaster on my bunion not realising that's what it always looks like! The head torch and spare batteries were jettisoned here, to be replenished for later in the day - I’ve just watched the sunrise yet here my crew are preparing gear for the night ahead, now that is quite a thought. After my Fling fiasco I thoroughly enjoyed my muesli, this time with milk instead of Nuun (sooo much nicer), banana milk shake and coffee completing my pit stop intake. Face and neck washed to remove the midges and insect-repellent layer renewed, eleven minutes were spent here due mainly to the sock change but time well spent, I feel.

Balmaha to Rowardennan, miles 20 to 27

Unusually I ran out of this CP knowing that the nasty wee climb up Craigie Hill was only a few hundred yards away (yes Stephen, the way goes up the hill and not around it!) which would give me the chance to eat my banana and orange segments. Sadly the clouds were still low so no gorgeous view up the loch from the top this time around. When talk turns to the ‘hard’ sections of the WHW everyone speaks of Conic, the loch side, Glen Falloch, the staircase, etc. but no-one ever, ever mentions this wee innocuous one. It’s not long yet has a bit of everything, the whole race in miniature if you like and I have struggled here in the past particularly with the two big climbs but on the day thoroughly enjoyed myself and made good solid progress (not that the climbs were any easier).

Good company always helps of course and here I was running with the legend that is Fiona Rennie, like our Ian, running for her eleventh goblet. The wifie fae Fifie was, as always, in sparkling form and kept me, the above mentioned Stuart and a few others well entertained as the miles sped by. I should point out here that Fiona has had an awful time in recent years suffering a brain haemorrhage followed by cancer yet has only missed two WHW races in thirteen years. A new friend made here was a long-term Ayrshire resident but Mancunian by birth (and accent), a big fella called David Etchells and a nicer lad you couldn’t wish to meet yet I couldn’t help wondering how he was going to last as, well, he was way bigger than anyone I had ever seen during an ultra. He told me he had been twenty one stones when he started out running a few years ago but was now down to his ‘fighting weight’ of sixteen! I later found out this was his third consecutive WHWR and, as it turned out, his fastest to date and beating me in the process. He was affectionately referred to as the human bulldozer on fb later - I really should learn not to judge by appearances.

Both photos by Fiona Rennie 

Simply keeping a steady pace I gradually pulled away from the group and without any notable events motored into Rowardennan in 2:12 another 12 minutes down on plan but feeling fine, now 169^th. Most runners were having to remember what their crew were wearing as everyone in sight had midge nets covering their faces, fortunately Jim was looking out for me. Milk shake again, tuna couscous (too dry to chew easily, won’t be repeating that one) and lots more coffee. No issues to address this time but somehow ten minutes went by before I got my a**e into gear and headed north again.

Rowardennan to Inversnaid, miles 27 to 34

Immediately after Rowardennan is when the support crews finally get some time for proper rest as the next time we will meet again is at Beinglas Farm, a very hard 14 miles away, so where did Team Searil head for? McDonalds! I believe hash browns, pancakes and syrup were on the menu and all this while I was virtuously eating healthily – just as well I didn’t find out until later. Duck Bay Marina was the location of choice for a snooze (blankets and eye-masks included) but I was told later that sleep did not come easily.

There are a couple of very long inclines in this section so had plenty of opportunities to eat and drink which no doubt contributed to my decent performance along here. Unfortunately I also wasted a few minutes addressing a wardrobe malfunction which involved the liberal application of more sudocreme in places that will not be mentioned in a family blog. Three or four minutes were wasted just finding it for goodness’ sake, the tiny wee tub having secreted itself away in the lowest reaches of my pack. 

It was somewhere along this section I first met Chris Moon from Strathaven Striders. This remarkable guy lost his lower right leg and arm in Africa while clearing landmines for a charity. He’s completed more and greater endurance events than I even know about and I had the great privilege of running directly behind him on some of the most tricky terrain the WHW has to offer. He told me he was trialling a new prosthetic leg, something he does regularly for the NHS. His, perfectly sound, logic was that if they survive the battering he puts them through then they’ll be fine for other mere mortals. We ran for a long spell with two girls, one from Australia and one from the USA, both of whom had travelled thousands of miles just to take part in the race. Chris and I joked that we were their carbon offsets, having only covered a few miles between us to get to Milngavie.

I suffered my first mishap on the way down from the two small bridges towards Inversnaid Hotel, my left foot slipping on the damp wooden steps resulting in me slapping both hands down behind me to prevent my head being the first point of contact with the ground. Head saved successfully but my left hand was bent backwards further than a hand should be and is still tender as I write (Monday 29^th) After a few seconds on the ground to gather my wits I clambered gingerly to my feet just in time to warn Chris who was coming down behind me.  

I have no idea of my arrival or departure times at all but recall feeling pretty good and devoured my food quickly. It was here I started thinking (never a good idea) of how unpleasant it must be for marshalls at ultra checkpoints what with us participants downing all manner of foods as speedily as possible. What must be even worse is the excessive burping and farting that inevitably goes on during ultras given the amount of air gulped down during eating - it has to go somewhere and there are only two ways it can go… My apologies have already been given to my support crew but I would like to place them on record again here as they, at times, have to go above and beyond the call of duty.   

Inversnaid to Beinglas Farm, miles 34 to 41

This section of the way is reckoned by many to be the hardest of the lot yet once again I was left marvelling at how Chris manages this extremely rough ground. Eventually I politely asked if I could come past (the path is so narrow most of the time here there is nowhere to overtake without someone’s co-operation) as I did not want to accidentally barge him over. Once more I was alone and making good if unspectacular progress along the section that requires more walking and scrambling than actual running. I’m sure most of us could run more here but there are still around sixty miles to go so the underfoot conditions make for a good excuse to walk.

Photo by Fiona Rennie
Finally reaching the top of the loch I slogged my way uphill to Dario’s post. Dario Melarangi was Mr WHW for many years, I think he may have taken the organisational reins from our club in the late 1990s, until his untimely death from a heart attack in 2009 while hill-walking on Lochnagar. His many friends in the WHW family erected the post you can see in the photo below at arguably the most beautiful spot on the whole way and it is often affectionately referred to as ‘the angel’s playground’. I was grappling with my phone hopelessly trying and failing to take a selfie when, to my rescue, up climbed Audrey McIntosh, another first-timer and Loch Katrine Running Festival RD, to offer to take it for me. Salvation! The result is a great deal better than I would have managed, thank you Audrey. It has become a ritual for many runners to touch the post and although I never met the man myself I have heard so much about his personality and generosity that I am very happy to also do so.

Fiona shares a wee dram with her friend.

I haven't mentioned the weather much so far because it was relatively neutral, a light breeze, enough to keep the midges down, warm during the night and very pleasant during the day (so far). I only speak for the runners of course, I heard the crews were being eaten alive as usual.
From the head of the loch I made excellent progress eventually reaching Beinglas Farm in 4:31, 10.59.19 overall and in 158^th place still twenty minutes behind my tentative schedule but a full twenty minutes earlier than the crew had expected me. I had made such good progress since the last CP that only Jim was there to meet me, fortunately with the chair and a drink which I enjoyed while waiting for Alison and Ruth to hurry along with my soup and food. As it turned out the soup flask was in a bag under my feet the whole time but not too much time was wasted although I could clearly see how concerned they were at almost missing me. I sat quite happily munching away at a tub of mixed beans (see previous references to flatulence), a piece, drank another milk shake and yet more coffee. I was here for a total of eleven minutes but don’t recall any wasted time and marched out with a cup of soup in my hand.

Beinglas Farm to Auchtertyre, miles 41 to 51     

As many of you will know the route up and out of Glen Falloch is relentlessly uphill so I wasn't running particularly fast when I tripped over a loose rock and thumped both palms down onto the stony surface. I also landed my right arm on yet another stone resulting in a bruised forearm which is also still hurting, especially while typing at a laptop. Once again grateful for having saved my good looks I was still extremely annoyed with myself and not a little shaken, this time standing for a while before walking on slowly and taking a few minutes to regain my composure.   

After I had run some two or three miles I could once again see Fiona’s club vest in the distance. Someone in Carnegie’s history has had the bright idea to combine the two most distinctive emergency services’ colours, high-visibility orange and yellow, to form the only club vest in Scotland more distinctive than ours. Today, however, it was becoming a source of annoyance as I was spending miles catching, chatting and then passing her only to have to do so all over again after each stop. I occupied my mind for quite some time as to how I could broach this subject with my crew the next time I saw them without having food or soup thrown over me in response. I finally remembered talking to Fiona’s sister as I made my way out of Beinglas Farm and she was going in the opposite direction, having walked out with her sibling as she ate and drank, bringing back any cups, bags and wrappers to be disposed of later – saving time hanging around at the CP, doh! That had been our plan too but it hadn’t happened once yet. Support crew are allowed to travel a quarter of a mile in either direction from a checkpoint to assist their runner but we were not utilising this opportunity for efficient time-management.  

Leaving Fiona behind (again) and well out of earshot I sensed an enormous sneeze coming on. With no one around I had the childish satisfaction of letting it rip yet, from force of habit, immediately said (out loud) excuse me! With that I started laughing away to myself and was thankful I was alone as anyone listening or watching would come to the conclusion I was cracking up. I wouldn’t just be pulled out of the race but taken away wearing one of those white coats that button up the back! The musings of the long distance runner, discuss.     

Approaching that vicious wee sheep creep under the railway (scene of a nasty head smack and probable concussion during a training run a couple years ago) I fell into conversation with Linsi who told me that she had DNFd at Kinlochleven the previous year with seven hours still to go until the cut-off. When I expressed my surprise that she hadn’t taken some time to refuel, rest and then carry on she agreed and told me a combination of getting her nutrition hopelessly wrong (she suffers from coeliac disease which, when gluten is ingested, causes the absorption of nutrients to diminish – clearly a major drawback during endurance vents) and ignorance/naivety of her and her crew led to them collectively making a poor decision, one which they have all regretted since. She was back to get the goblet she should have last year. I wished her well, as she drew away from me heading up into the forest above Crianlarich, little realising how close I would come to emulating her, more of which later.

One of the nicest things about ultra running is the time we all have (apart from the front-runners I suppose) to chat and get to know one another as we make our way through some of the loveliest parts of this wonderful wee country of ours. I can even become quite emotional at times talking to folk and looking around me, frequently stopping to enjoy the wonderful views, wildlife or just laughing myself to a standstill at something very silly indeed. At times like these it just feels wonderful to be alive and that alone is my justification for running these distances which are simultaneously stupendous and stupid.

The rollercoaster in the forest seemed to speed by and in no time I was approaching Auchtertyre (probably known better to us as Strathfillan Wigwams). I was looking forward to the company that Ruth and Jim would be providing from here onwards and arrived here with a split of 2.34, 13.33.47 overall and now in 144^th place. I don’t recall overtaking many others so I assume my improvement in position was mostly due to dropouts, but as Russell would say - a scalp is a scalp, they all count! This was the first weighing point and I was concerned to note I had dropped 2.6 kilos already. The guy there said that was only 0.4 above the  warning mark and advised me to drink more. More? I’d probably spent around quarter of an hour so far just peeing and he wants me to take more on board? Bl**dy hell! First thing I did of course was drink my milk shake although strangely don’t remember what I ate. I had warned the team previously that I intended changing shoes and socks here as this was near enough the halfway point of the race and I was aware many runners did this. The theory being that different shoes have different pressure points on the feet so relieving those places which had been under pressure for the first 51 miles. Ruth was the unlucky one this time to daub my feet and then discover my white socks had shrunk in the wash and had an awful time trying to get them on. My Garmin was briefly charged here and my phone battery also checked. This CP is situated in a field and it seems the crew had been having great fun with the baseball bat and tennis set Jim had brought along with him.

It’s amazing my team even spoke to me after I blurted out, in my usual tactful manner, that we were lagging behind Fiona’s team at each and every CP and we needed to do better. What I forgot was that Fiona had told me earlier that between her and a club mate who was also running she reckoned the two teams had forty goblets between them – in other words I was making unflattering comparisons between us first-timers and the most experienced team in the entire race! Apologies were offered later and are offered again in public here, sorry guys. Despite my big gob once again they showed remarkable consistency in getting me turned around and out of there in eleven minutes. Ruth was all geared up now and finally ready to get some running with me, hopefully having washed her hands first!

part two to come…

A brief postscript to part one;

While running with Fiona I mentioned to her that she would go over the one thousand miles for the WHWR during the day. We figured out that with ten races already completed equalling 950 miles plus another fifty on the day would approximate to the checkpoint at Auchtertyre. Her crew arranged a very 'official' looking certificate for this milestone, see below.

It also turns out that Fiona now holds the female record for number of finishes at eleven beating her twin sister and one other who both have ten..

Unfortunately I forgot that the very same one thousand mile circumstances applied to Ian and so I assume that he missed the passing of his milestone. I'm sure he knows now anyway...