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

Firstly I’m sorry for the delay in posting this but I seemed to have lost my writing mojo for a while there. Stephen mentioned to me on Monday night that his daughter was impatiently waiting for part two which seemed to give me the motivation needed and so, at long last and thanks to Emma, here it is…

Auchtertyre to Bridge of Orchy, miles 51 to 59

Ruth was just about bursting with excitement to finally be running in the WHW race, it was all I could do to slow her down to my fifty-miles-in-the-legs pace. She soon calmed down a bit and we enjoyed the pleasant two or three miles towards Tyndrum passing Dalrigh, where Bruce and his men supposedly dumped their weapons into a small loch to speed their flight after a defeat in battle, and the barren smelting site where nothing grows to this day some ninety years after the lead mining ceased. 

It was a very strange sensation to be running past the By The Way Campsite where the Highland Fling finishes, I have both started and finished runs here but have never run beyond it. At this point I was glumly recalling how I felt at the end of my three Fling completions and realising I have another forty two miles to go, so much for positive thinking.

Jim met us a couple of hundred yards before the A82 road-crossing at Brodie’s Store with the welcome news that Alison was waiting on the other side with our pre-ordered ice creams, yeeha! Mine was a Mivi and Ruth was indulging herself with a Calippo. We knew we would be walking up the big hill that leads north out of Tyndrum so had planned to be eating at that point anyway. I had read of someone having an ice-cream at his point in a previous race and thought it would be a great idea and, despite the runner’s golden rule of never trying something in a race you haven’t tried before, I got stuck in. This however was to prove to be the beginning of the end for me in terms of actually running.

It was on this steady climb we bumped into a girl I met recently during the Fling and also at a WHW race training run, Katie Hall. Katie blogs under the nom de plume of ‘The Purple Ultra Runner’, and yes, you guessed it, she wears all purple gear - hair-band, top, skort and calf guards. She was also with her support runner, Graham Kelly, whom I had seen before but not spoken to. I mentioned to Ruth that ‘real’ support runners should have beards like Graham’s (see below) although I don’t  think she was too keen on the idea!   

Katie with Graham (and beard) and, I think, her brother on the Lairig Mor on the Sunday morning. I suspect she looks better than I did at the same point, what do you think Jim? Photo by Wilderness Rescue Team. Note the shorts over leggings faux pas on the right!

Once over the top of the pass it is mostly a gentle downhill to Bridge of Orchy but walking was becoming more frequent by now and worse, I had very little appetite for food and was having difficulty eating at all. My mivi was coming back (not literally although that might have been better in the long run, excuse the pun) to bite me. Had it been too cold for my stomach so soon after eating at the CP, should I have had something smaller, should I have had something chilled at all? Who knows but these should have been questions for the aftermath of a training run and not during the WHW race, what an idiot!

Having said all that Ruth and I both remarked on how gorgeous the views were with Beinn Dorain directly in front of us and the viaducts to the right, one of the most beautiful sections of the way, and we eventually made our way under the railway, down the steep hill (which my quads noticed), and past the Bridge of Orchy hotel in a time of 2.56.33 in 143rd place and 16 hours 30 minutes overall.  

Bridge of Orchy to Glencoe, miles 60 to 71

My memory tells me I ate some fruit and rice pudding here but that could be wrong. I had speculated earlier that I might need my headtoch here if things weren’t going well but thankfully it wasn’t required. Alison and Jim had set up stall at a picnic table on the east side of the bridge so I didn’t flash the timey thing (sorry to be so technical, I do hope you can keep up) at the checkpoint on the other side until I was ready to leave. Unfortunately this meant that we were unprepared for the marshall’s instruction that all runners, including support, had to carry full body-cover waterproof gear from now on. George (Dod) Reid, race director of the D33, was also there and overheard me replying ‘Oh, I’ll have to go back and get my breeks then’ to which he interrupted saying ‘no you don’t, he will have to go back and get them’, while sternly looking at Jim. ‘You carry on and let him catch you up’. Good ultra sense and yet another of those small things that come with experience. I did indeed carry on and Ruth and Jim were soon moaning about me going too fast as they struggled to catch me on the steady ascent up jelly baby hill, not that I heard that complaint again for the duration. Good planning led to them bringing my back pack to replace the waist pack I had been using up to this point as it did not have the capacity needed for the extra gear. Suitably loaded up and now ready for whatever the west coast weather was about to throw at us we headed steadily upwards.

I had told both Ruth and Jim of the annual ritual of Murdo McEwan who spends the whole race perched atop the wee hill between BoO and Rannoch Moor dispensing bonhomie and jelly babies in equal measure, and a welcome sight he was too,  even accompanied by a guy playing a whistle! If you look closely at the WHWR logo/map at the top of this blog you will see some jelly babies just past BoO. Just two more of the daft and inspirational people you meet during this race, see below. Incidentally it’s debatable whether Murdo or Ian Rae wear the loudest trousers.

photo by Fiona Rennie  

Murdo told me it was his warning that led to the earlier instruction vis a vis waterproofs as from his vantage point he has a superb view of impending bad weather over the mountains to the west of Rannoch Moor so he’s clearly not just there for a bit of fun.
On leaving Murdo and his whistler I was able to show Jim exactly where we were heading as the view from such a small hill is stupendous.

Picking our way downhill and carefully avoiding the scene of my previous training run mid-air gymnastics (narrowly avoiding smashing my face into a pile of rocks), it seemed strange not to see Russell and Davie sitting, pints and whiskies in hand, having concluded their legs of the club relay, outside the Inveroran Hotel bar. I did however recall David Meldrum popping in during the afore-mentioned training run and asking the barman for a lager shandy and could he please pour it into his UD race pack bottle!  

There followed a long and rather boring trudge firstly along the road to Forest Lodge and then the steady climb up to the moor itself along the forest edge. Somewhere along here Fiona and her support runner caught us and we carried on as a group for a while, ironically enjoying the best weather of the entire race, see below.

Photograph of a rainbow with someone in the foreground

Both photos by Fiona Rennie

 

She eventually pulled away on the gradual climb up and around the shoulder of the hill leading to the White Corries car park where Jim had promised himself he was going to have some chips!

He had been salivating over the prospect for a few miles so when we arrived at nine o’clock in the evening his complete and utter desolation was piteous to behold as he was informed that ‘the chips are aff’, the chef having apparently gone home. ‘Whit?’ ‘Yer kiddin!’ ‘Aw naw!’ I can honestly say it was the most perturbed he looked over the course of the entire weekend. After I had left the checkpoint he dragged himself up to the café for some left-over macaroni cheese the chef had thoughtfully put away for late-comers. Sorry Jim, I was just too slow for the fryer.

It was here Alison told me of George Reid’s finishing time estimation (based on my time at BoO) for me of twenty seven and a half hours which briefly elated me until I realised that that was out of the question already, so slowly was I progressing.  

I had walked this leg, or the lion’s share, in 3.29.38, 19.59.38 overall, but had gained two places to be in 141^st place. Someone must have been walking even slower than me.

Glencoe to Kinlochleven, miles 72 to 81

It was at this checkpoint I committed one of the the worst sins a (male) runner can. Given my ever-longer walking breaks and with night coming on I decided to wear leggings for the first time in the race but at the same time still needed the many handy pockets my shorts provided for easy access to bars, gels, painkillers, etc. Yes, I hang my head in shame – my name is David and I have worn shorts over leggings. There, I’ve said it and thank heaven no photographs have surfaced of my humiliation, at least as yet. Fortunately the ignominy was soon lost on me as Ruth and I headed out to tackle the four miles through Glencoe with thoughts of the Devil’s staircase hanging ominously over us (me mostly). The going underfoot is decidedly rough along the glen and that, coupled with my growing tiredness combined to reduce my running to fairly short stretches although I still managed to surprise Ruth (and myself) occasionally.

As the dusk gathered around us we paused briefly at the foot of the climb to eat a bar and take some fluid on board before setting out on what, at the time, I thought was the hardest ascent I have ever undertaken. The next forty five minutes or so mainly consisted of me constantly stopping, bent double, trying to catch my breath interspersed with heavy-legged clambering upwards.

Finally we reached the top in the darkness and I sank down on the edge of the large cairn and decided not to waste time and eat while stationary. Instead of waiting until my body had at least partly recovered from the ascent I quickly squeezed down a pureed lamb casserole and washed it down with Nuun electrolyte. Not one of my best ideas as the next two minutes were spent turned away from but holding on to Ruth for balance while heaving and trying not to bring the whole lot up again. That was the closest I was to come to what Rhona delightfully described in her blog as ‘digestional pyrotechnics’. Once that episode was over we started picking our way through the rock-strewn path towards the quad-bashing descent into Kinlochleven. Once again, although dark and needing the head torches to avoid tripping and/or twisting an ankle, visibilty was still pretty good with the Blackwater Resevoir clearly visible to the east. Oddly Ruth suffered from a stiff neck in the following days, she thinks, from not adjusting the angle of her torch beam and instead tilting her head at a most unnatural angle. This proved extremely tricky on the Monday as she tried (wo)manfully to keep her head upright with her crash helmet on while on the back of husband Kevin’s new motorbike as they made their way to York en route to Normandy to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. Congratulations to you both.

Somewhere along this downslope Ruth noticed that I was bending over to my right while walking which, I must confess, I didn’t take seriously at first as my head simply refused to accept it was happening. It was only when we came up behind and passed another runner who appeared, even to my eyes (and brain), to be leaning way over to the left. Ruth must have been feeling the effects of sleep-deprivation by now as she just couldn’t stop laughing at the sight of the two of us. We joked later that she might have been best served by propping the two of us up against each other and letting us get on with it!

I had put a few running books in the car knowing the crew would have hours on their hands hanging around waiting for me, an alternative to Jim’s tennis set I suppose. Ruth picked one at random, looked at it for all of five minutes yet managed to open it and read a two page piece on what the author called ‘The Lean’. Spooky or what? Sadly there were no cures in the article only that everyone, in his experience, was as right as rain the following day and suffered no ill-effects which relaxed us a little when she recalled this. Not that much sympathy came my way as, when I speculated at one point over what lay ahead, I was told that I was the one who could ‘see roon’ corners’!

Due to the warning at Auchtertyre regarding my weight loss we had decided I would drink plenty on the way down to Kinlochleven to ensure I put some back on before being weighed to ensure I was allowed to continue. As many of you will remember the long drag down seems to go on and on, especially so in the dark, and, although we had run this very route just a few weeks before, Ruth and I misjudged how far we still had to go resulting in me being absolutely bursting by the time we finally arrived. That, coupled with our collective worry over my leaning (even I had belatedly realised it was not a figment of Ruth’s imagination and Alison had spotted it before I even reached her) possibly leading to the medics pulling me from the race, led to very uncomfortable couple of minutes being weighed while trying my best to stand upright and simultaneously looking around for the toilets! The  eventual relief was almost dizzying in itself and so I floated on air back outside to where the car was parked for some more sustenance.

I had arrived there in a split of 4.39.25, a cumulative 24.39.23 and in 143^rd place having dropped quite a few places while I was wheezing my way up the staircase.

With hindsight we have all recognised we were too hung up about potential reasons for being DNFd and, as a result, I didn’t spend anywhere near long enough at this last official checkpoint. I should have eaten more food, drunk more and generally recuperated a little before embarking on what, I now realise, is almost a separate race altogether, i.e. the last fifteen miles or so to Fort William. Had I even thought to ask about the weather forecast instead of rushing for the toilet we (Jim and I) would have dressed very differently for the next section.

Kinlochleven to Lundavra, miles 82 to 88

I can’t remember if we ran along the road to where the path deviates up the hillside (probably not) but we were certainly walking a few minutes later as the rain started to fall. Tiredness must have led to us just plodding on up and up without either of us once thinking about putting more gear on although to be fair to Jim I don’t think he had any with him. (Note for the future, runner and support must carry full waterproof gear when embarking on this part of the race, night or day, as you simply aren’t moving fast enough to generate enough heat to keep warm and therefore are reliant wholly on clothing, i.e. treat this as a hill walk not a run). Jim also found his headtorch to be inadequate and had to follow me using the light from mine as a guide.

I recall thinking during this last ascent that although a sub twenty eight hour time was long gone I might salvage a sub thirty and to that end I resolved to walk at a very (!) fast pace once the path levelled out. If you’ve run this leg during the relay you’ll know it never really does this, at best the rise lessens and so I found myself getting slower and colder, not helped by the now incessant downpour. Eventually I asked Jim to help me get my waterproof breeks on which had two advantages, one I now had three layers covering my (soaking wet) legs and two, and best of all, my shorts over leggings thing was hidden from view. In truth I was well past caring about any embarassment, in fact I don’t think it even ocurred to me so miserable was I becoming.

The Lairig Mor just seemed to drag on and on and, in the dark (in more ways than one), I began to lose hope of finishing at all, my visions of a fast walk becoming just a cruel memory. Finally I knew we must be close the the top of the pass when the lights of the Wilderness Rescue Team came into view although even these took ages to actually reach. This is another stage along the route which is generally played for laughs, like Murdo and his jelly babies, which masks a deadly serious purpose. Here all manner of fizzy drinks are dispensed no doubt all the while checking out both the runner and the support. As we approached the tents the realisation sank in that no-one was there. Alison told me much later that they were taking another runner off the course through Lundavra due to hypothermia but the net result was that my spirits sank further. I think I had been hoping for a wee boost to my flagging morale but we had to continue past the eerily quiet scene of tents, lights and water. We didn’t even think to have a nosy round for some Irn Bru, ginger beer or something. I don’t think I even noticed that the rain was beginning to ease a little.

I suspect it wasn’t long before I first broached the subject of giving up with Jim, to be dismissed with an immediate ‘don’t talk daft, we’ll finish this thing’ kind of response. The lack of food, partly due to not wanting to stop in the rain, was having it’s inevitable effect and I became more and more convinced a DNF was likely. Even the sight of Ruth, who had run out from Lundavra as she and Alison were becoming concerned about the length of time we were taking, failed to rouse me from my depression. Did I mention that Jim informed me we had just walked a thirty-minute mile at one point during the haul out of Kinlochleven?  

Ruth and Jim had a discussion I wasn’t party to and didn’t much care about anyway whereupon Ruth ran back again to get Alison to bring the car right up to the path. On reaching Lundavra I was bundled into the front passenger seat, blanket draped over me, heating on full-blast, given a few cups of hot coffee and had slices of cold pizza thrust at me as I rapidly made them disappear. Having initially told Alison, through desolate tears because I felt I was letting everyone down, that I couldn’t continue within minutes I started to feel better. Having run the last section from here to Fort William three times this year alone and walked it with Ian and Geo during last years race, familiarity with the remaining terrain coupled with my speedy physical recovery meant I now knew I was going to finish, barring accidents of course. My transformation was complete and thanks to the sterling efforts of my team an entirely different man clambered stiffly out of that car complete with woolly bunnet under my hood and with my winter Sealskinz gloves on over my nearly warm-again hands (anyone who knows me probably also knows how utterly miserable I become when my hands are cold). 

While all the above was going on Jim was out in the rain at the back of the car trying to dry himself off and putting on some of my spare gear (a winter gilet, a bunnet and my Calderglen jacket come to mind). Ruth looked after him while Alison looked after me and it may have been at this point that Ruth dubbed our wee Corsa ‘the car of chaos’.   

I had arrived at Lundavra at around 06:00, a split of 4:11 (as against my estimated time of 2:30!) in a cumulative time of 29 hours.I spent an invaluable twenty five minutes here, Alison’s ministrations rejuvenating me to a point where I could confidently carry on.     

Lundavra to Fort William, miles 89 to 95

All three of us set out as planned to tackle the final few miles with my spirits having soared in the previous half hour from absolute rock bottom to the dizzy heights. Thinking about it now, was it really just a lack of nutrition or was I slipped something dodgy in my coffee? Either way I didn’t care, we were on our way and I was convinced we going to finish, however slowly and however much I ended up listing to starboard!

I doubt Jim thought he was with the same person as it must have been quite a transformation. Tiredness was undoubtedly making me less chatty but I recall barely speaking to him over the previous six miles, yet here I was much perkier. We plodded on with me setting the pace and them following behind. We soon changed that to me being in the middle allowing one of them to keep an eye out for potential problems ahead and the other to keep an eye on me. We had run together from Kinlochleven to the finish only the previous month and could relax a little as a result although Ruth and Jim were probably very conscious of their responsibilities given my state vis a vis my ongoing battle with staying perpendicular to the ground.

The last problem we had envisaged from our training run was a set of wooden steps with only one rail leading down to a burn which has a rather airy perspective on the open side. Oddly I seemed to have no problem with this but as I was stepping confidently down Jim seemed to be the first of us to suffer hallucinations (a common problem during endurance events), asking where the children were, he could hear but not see them! Apparently he twice asked this but got lucky the first time as Ruth just ignored or didn’t hear him (as per usual he says) but was definitely heard the second time. He didn’t get much sympathy either, you’ll not be surprised to hear.

This stretch, Jim later confessed, was by far his worst part of the weekend. Maybe partly due to a lack of sleep and also the sheer volume of walking involved. I, on the other hand, was better than I had been but was struggling more and more simply to stay awake and upright. Ruth even had to put my hood up and down for me as I wasn’t even able to do that, thanks Mum! I tried to run once we reached the top of the fire road (long, fairly straight and downhill) but gave up after a few steps as my waist/lower back felt very strange indeed, a kind of see-saw effect from left to right and back again. Aware we hadn’t taken any pictures for a long time I asked Ruth to take a photo near the bottom of the fire road and was shocked when I saw it later that morning. My ‘lean’ was more pronounced than I had suspected, the drunken sailor doesn’t get a look in. I know I’m going to regret showing these but feel the need to do so despite the inevitable slagging which will ensue.

 

 

At last we reached the end of the interminable fire road, ran through the Braveheart car park, turned into Glen Nevis road and were finally running on Jim’s favourite surface again, tarmac - during our earlier training runs we had nicknamed him tarmacman due to his discomfort on the trails, particularly the downhills. Here I attempted to run but again gave it up as a bad idea. After the roundabout and the old end of the WHW Jim had to position himself on my right shoulder to prevent me from leaning right into the traffic. In attempting to compensate I managed to bump into a wall, a wheelie bin and almost went sprawling into a hedge, oh how we laughed.

At last in the distance we could see the marshall standing at the turning into Lochaber Leisure Centre. It wasn’t quite the triumphant finish I had envisaged, see below, but nevertheless we had done it.

Ruth was a wee bit emotional in this photo and I was too, insisting on a hug from Alison in the car park before ‘leaning’ over to the front door where I was met by Ian Beattie holding the timing thingy out allowing me to finally finish. Through the doors and I finally came to a stop and, if it hadn’t been for an alert guy to my right, would have fallen over immediately. Thanking him I made my (assisted) way across the foyer where a very nice lady let me lean on her while she weighed me – I had put some weight back on. Yay! Some anxious faces watching the scales in the photo below although frankly I was past caring, they couldn’t DNF me now!

Jim could even be saying, ‘well, there you are, we got most of you here’.

I had finished in a time of 32.11.41, coming home in 143^rd place from 187 starters. There were 155 finishers with 32 DNFs along the way. As you will see from the print out below the leg from Kinlochleven had taken a scarcely credible 7 hours, thirty two minutes and eighteen seconds, 7.32.18 - I still can’t quite believe those numbers even now, over four weeks later. No wonder you were knackered too Jim.

It’s easy to see where things went pear-shaped.

I have never had a more enjoyable shower after a race in my puff than this one, I must have stood in that glorious hot water for fifteen minutes or so. All the more enjoyable because, for the first time in over thirty two hours, the clock wasn’t running. The plan had been for us all to have showers here before heading out for some well-earned breakfast, my actual finishing time being eleven minutes past nine on Sunday morning. Jim however had been dried off at Lundavra with Alison’s towel so she missed out. When I finally reappeared it was to find the guys all clad in Team Searil tee shirts and the tears started flowing all over again.

Alison holding me up and me holding my tee shirt while claiming not to be leaning anymore!  

Next stop was Morrisons for breakfast then on to the Nevis Centre for the prizegiving. Everyone, irrespective of placing or finishing time, has a brief moment in the limelight when presented with their crystal finisher’s goblet – still made, from the original design, at Glencairn Crystal in Kelvin South Industrial Estate, EK.

My goblet filled later with the most appropriate post-race recovery drink I could think of.

 

Looking back, although very enjoyable and being pleased to get my very own goblet, it wasn’t quite the event I had imagined it to be. It most likely was memorable and it was really just me who was too exhausted to appreciate it fully, unlike Team Rae who had managed a few hours sleep thanks to Ian having run an excellent 24.24.17, finishing in 66^th place and thereby collecting his eleventh finishers’ goblet. Wow, just wow.  

A couple of shady-looking characters or should that be shattered? I know I was. NB I was both holding Ian and leaning against the wall for support! Sadly no picture of Ian’s breeks, please ask him about them when you next see the legend.

Paul Giblin from Paisley won in a scarcely credible 14.14.44 and in the process breaking the course record for the third year in a row. His time equates to an average speed of 7.5 minutes per mile which of course includes stops for food, fluid, calls of nature and also the two huge climbs at Altnafeadh and Kinlochleven, simply stunning. Everyone in that hall was in awe of the man. The leading lady was Glasgow-based American Jamie Aarons in 19.28.23.

Rosie Bell from Strathaven Striders, although injured in a fall, completed her tenth WHWR earning her crystal decanter.

David Meldrum, also from the Striders, was 88^th in 27.06.45 in what he described later as ‘the easiest and most problem-free ultra he has ever run’ which probably means his next will be a disaster – he should care after this!

A guy named Ross Lawrie, running in a complete and, I’m told, ‘proper’ Spiderman outfit raising funds for CHAS, ran 27.57.04 for 101^st place - as if it’s not difficult enough!

Audrey McIntosh was 110^th in 28.56.48, Rhona McKinnon was 111^th in 28.57.54, the fantastic Fiona Rennie was presented with her eleventh goblet after running a time of 29.21.04 for 115^th place. The big Mancunian, David Etchells, was 119^th in a time of 29.40.34 and Stuart MacFarlane’s ‘training run’ was completed in 29.44.07 in 121^st place. Lois Simpson was 123^rd in 29.47.32 and the amazing Chris Moon, yet another Strider, was 137^th in 30.58.36.

There were 155 finishers, the last coming home in 34.20.12, which meant I was 2 hours and 19 minutes away from last place, phew!

The DNF count was distributed as follows;

6 Rowardennan

3 Beinglas Farm

5 Auchtertyre

2 Bridge of Orchy

6 Glencoe

7 Kinlochleven

3 Lundavra

On the way home on the Sunday afternoon, while staring out of the car window just about to fall asleep, I uttered the classic WHWR runners’ statement ‘I don’t remember coming this way on the way up’! In all honesty I meant it for a few seconds before the reality washed over me and I felt suitably dim, but at least it gave us all a wee laugh.

A number of people have asked me the obvious question, ‘will/would you do it again?’ During the race and at the prizegiving I am on record as saying, more than a few times, ‘never, ever again’ but you know, even before we drove home, the conversation (Ruth mainly, I seem to recall) turned to next year without me minding or even objecting, strangely. Now, sitting at home over four weeks after this epic undertaking, I still can’t answer the question – I really don’t know. There are so many things and other people to consider, it’s not a decision that should be made lightly although at the same time I strongly feel I have a much better result in me than thirty two hours. Fortunately I/we have four months to mull it over before entries open for the 2016 edition… 

PS If after reading this anyone still wants to read more about the West Highland Way Race then you can go to westhighlandwayrace.org, click on reports and 2015. Here you will currently find nineteen links to blogs including someone who DNF’d, a support runner and a marshall.

DS