West Highland Way Race 18th June 2016, part one

I did try to keep this short, honest, but didn't manage to. After all, it was an epic weekend - go on, get the kettle on/decant some wine/pour a wee dram, whatever you fancy.

In the weeks leading up to this years’ race, as well as all the usual buzz of getting the big boxes down from the loft, checking lists, home cooking (see picture below), packing enough running gear for an Artic expedition, fitting the roof box on the car, etc, our main topic of conversation was whether or not Ian would make it to the start line at all. He had injured his right foot in early April and had managed hardly any training since, other than a few cursory test runs in the fortnight prior.

So it was with a sense of relief that eight, and not four, of us headed for Milngavie on the Friday before the longest day of the year. Our only brief panic arose when Alison realised, in the station car park, that we hadn’t packed the camping seat (for me, to take the weight off my legs at each checkpoint, a short relief never to be underestimated). A quick visit to the adjacent Tesco proving abortive I had the brainwave of wandering round the car park looking for a pal I’d seen earlier and, on finding him, learning that they had three and would be only too happy to lend us one. Problem solved, phew!  

The teams looking mostly solemn

but much happier in this shot

Once again the weather was playing ball and we wandered around Milngavie, killing time, taking photographs at the obelisk marking the start of the way, a la 2015, all the while heading indirectly for the café that had been open this time last year only to find it shut. All was not lost however and further along the high street we found a café/restaurant/bar with live music and so found ourselves drinking coffee and chatting over the sounds of some bluesy piano – all races should start this way! 

Milngavie to Alabama

I was relieved to line up alongside my ultra pal on the start line in Milngavie and to finally get going whereupon a fair number of the field, once again, missed the left hand turn only a couple of hundred yards from the start, leaving us (Ian, a pal Neil and myself) to enjoy the fleeting feeling of being the lead pack! We all too soon regrouped although I did notice, to my astonishment, that leading the ‘wrong way’ group was none other than WHWR stalwart Fiona Rennie – it just goes to show none of us are immune from silly mistakes (more on that subject later)

We ran and chatted for a little while before Ian’s normal pace gradually took him away from me while I wondered to myself if he might have been better staying with me for a mile or three, just to see how his foot held out. Ian is, of course, far more experienced than I and knows his own body better than anyone but I had spent the previous two months worrying about him, I wasn’t about to stop now. The distraction of thinking of someone else meant that when I finally got round to considering my own pace I found I was moving a fair bit faster than I really wanted to so slowed to my target pace. I consoled myself with the thought that this would pay dividends later if only I had the mental toughness to resist the temptation to speed up again. Improbable as it sounds it is very, very difficult to run at ten minute-mile pace while all around you (or so it seems) are heading off faster than you up the track.

The first thirteen miles or so passed uneventfully apart from me having to shout to a couple of guys who had missed the turning into the field just before Drymen - we may be competitors but we also look out for each other. Apart also, that is, from a worrying number of pit stops, five to be precise, which, for a while, led me to assume I had caught a chill in the days leading up to the race. A feeling which was only exacerbated by what turned out to be a very cold night, utterly cloudless with a full moon, which saw me running with jacket, beanie and gloves. Fortunately the feeling passed (excuse the pun) and I was able to relax a little, switch off my headtorch and head for the first of many, major climbs - C(h)ronic.

These big uphills don’t get any easier with age and, as I dragged my old ass up the east side of the hill, I reflected on how little hill work I had done in the twelve months since my first race. Ach well, I said to myself, too late to be worrying about it now – you’ll just have to MTFU! So I did, all the way to the shoulder of the hill and was rewarded with a stunning view, probably the best I’ve yet seen, of lower Loch Lomond. No time to enjoy it though as I suddenly spotted a cameraman from The Adventure Show and the lovely Desiree Wilson talking to John Munro just ahead of me. Sadly I was totally ignored by the camera so the best hope I have of being on the telly is merely as a background shot.  Only minutes before John had been telling me how a large group of runners, including himself and the afore-mentioned Fiona Rennie, had missed a left turn while coming down the hill towards the old railway line through Strathblane. John and Fiona between them have run, I think, sixteen WHW races and goodness knows how many Flings which shows how easy it is to get lost (I’m saying all this because I missed that very same turn while ‘showing’ Jim and Ruth this section of the way prior to their Fling debuts earlier this year and in daylight too  – just getting my public admission in before they take the mickey again)

The descent of Conic was taken very slowly to conserve my quads but still seemed to be over very quickly and in no time at all I was being met by Gerry in the car park at Balmaha and promptly ran straight past the timing officials! Fortunately even I heard their loud, but good-natured, abuse and turned to record my arrival. It was just as well Gerry had been looking out for me as I would have not known where to go as all the support crews looked the same as each other with their midge nets on. All, that is, apart from one team who could not be missed and were having a ball, see below.

Can't see me persauding my crew to dress like this, can you?

I arrived in 158^th place in 3:56, three minutes ahead of expectation and nineteen ahead of last year, while Team Searil were well-prepared and had me seated, fed, watered, wiped down and on my way again in good time. In our pre-race planning we had agreed that I should spend more time at the Checkpoints than in 2015 in the hope that time invested earlyin properly feeding and resting would pay dividends later, a plan that would prove to be well-founded. The team also informed me that Ian was around ten minutes ahead, which, while encouraging from a competitive point of view, told me that he must be either struggling or being cautious. 

Alabama to Riverdennan

Sadly, although the cold night had meant a blessed, midge-free time for the crew waiting for me at Alabama, by now the wee blighters were beginning to stir and, boy, were they eager to make up for lost time! Fatefully one of the very few mistakes of the day ocurred here when I walked out of Balmaha without my sunglasses, an error I will berate myself for for a long time to come. Within a mile or so I was running through what seemed like a world of midges, not the usual situation where you can see a cloud ahead of you, close your mouth and duck your head until through – no, this was wall to wall midges. Perhaps the weather this year had contributed to a batch of simultaneous hatchings I just don’t know but I do know that this was awful, the worst running conditions I can remember - give me snow and wind and hail and rain, anything but these wee bandits (and you know I don’t mean bandits!)

My left arm and

my right, it must have been tastier!

I’ve never fancied the idea of running with a midge net on but may have to reconsider having experienced this and seen such a high proportion of runners running with them in situ. The wee bar-stewards were in my ears, my throat, my mouth and, worst of all, my eye-balls. After stumbling about blindly on a few occasions I eventually (rather impressively, thinking back later) resigned myself to my fate and just got on with it, despite still feeling them dive-bombing my eyes.

Somewhere along here I caught up with Ian who was beginning to struggle and he told me he was thinking of stopping at the next CP. I think (hope) I told him to hang in there as he was sure to feel better in a while there being any number of highs and lows during a race of this length. I pressed on as I was running well and making good progress at this point.

I suppose I have to thank the monstrous regiments of midges for a quicker than expected journey to Rowardennan in just 1:57, a further gain of fifteen minutes on last year and now a total of thirty four minutes up on 2015. Speaking personally I would not recommend this to anyone as a means of improving your times! Race clock said 5:53, excellent start! I also managed a quick chat with Frances on the way in to let her know how down Ian was feeling and for Team Rae to be ready with lots of hugs and/or kicks, as appropriate.

There followed ten minutes or so of contrasting emotions, hating every minute of standing/sitting still with the midges in full-on kamikaze attack mode yet absolutely loving having my eyeballs sluiced by Alison with some lovely cold water. I also learned that the normal, midge-avoidance technique of heading out to the pier for a break from their munching was proving to be a waste of time this year – they must have evolved a long-distance capability over winter! Crewing, in many ways, is undoubtedly harder than competing in this race. Sunglasses firmly in place I started to make my way out of the car park only to notice Ian sitting down being fanned by both Angela and Frances! Remarking that I didn’t get that kind of treatment from my team I was sharply reminded by Ruth, who was walking out of the CP with me in order to bring back my rubbish, that I was getting a great service and had better shut it or else! Thus chastened I said my goodbyes and set off on the longest and loneliest part of the route, no meetings with the crew until Beinglas farm, some fourteen hard miles away.

Riverdennan to Beinglas farm

The next part of the run had changed for the first time in many years back to the original ‘low’ road. Years ago this route fell into disuse following the building of the well-known forestry road up and then down the big hill north of Ptarmigan Lodge. Having reconnoitered it in the company of Ruth and Jim a couple of months before I knew it was an undeniably nicer and more enjoyable route but owing to it’s many, many twists and turns and ups and downs it was also slower. Conservative estimates had predicted between  twenty and thirty minutes slower than the ‘old’ ‘new’ route. Around half way to Inversnaid I had the delightful surprise of hearing a familiar voice behind me, Ian was back - and in good spirits too! No doubt Angela had talked some sense into him and the wee break at the previous CP had revived him. No sooner had we been reunited than he was off ahead of me and, against my better judgement, I tried my hardest to hang in there with him. He was never completely out of sight and with the terrain becoming more difficult I was able to catch and eventually pass him. From then on we leapfrogged each other with him stretching ahead on the more runnable terrain and me catching and passing him when the going became rougher where he was having to be very careful not to further injure his foot.

I was narrowly ahead arriving at Inversnaid CP and, as I recall, we walked out from there together before resuming our (friendly) game of cat and mouse . I should perhaps mention that the midges were still being a bloody nuisance but gradually receding the further north we progressed. The underfoot conditions favoured me from this point onwards as it becomes notoriously difficult to make progress even with two good feet although I did get to point out to him the sign for Rob Roy’s cave as he had never seen it before. We briefly chatted to Ian’s pal John Pickard, out supporting at Dario’s post at the top of the Loch. As usual I took the time to touch the post, enjoy the stupendous view down the water and to fully appreciate the distance we had come. It was around here, despite the underfoot conditions being much better than they had been for some miles, I began to open up a gap – not that I was aware of it at first but on hearing nothing for a while glanced back and could see no-one following.

Looking at the splits I came in to Beinglas CP two minutes ahead of Ian in 4:17, fully fifty two minutes ahead of my schedule although we may have made an overly conservative estimate here due to the amended route. According to our notes I spent seventeen minutes here and recall again walking out with Ruth feeling pretty full (I hardly ate a thing between CPs from Balmaha to Bridge of Orchy due to the superb job the team were doing) and mercifully with few, if any, midges for company.

Beinglas farm to Auchtertyre

I progressed slowly over the inumerable ups and downs (mostly ups) as I made my way up Glen Falloch stopping just past Derrydarroch farm to fill my now empty water bottle, taking an enormous draught and filling it again. (I only ever race with a waist pack and single bottle as, in Scotland, it is rarely an issue topping up from a burn but today the already warm weather was turning hotter and it became a race against time to get into the forest above Crianlarich for some respite from the relentless sunshine. Stopping after the A82 tunnel I removed my tee-shirt and continued in just my club vest for the first time ever in an ultra – heavenly!

In the rollercoaster above Crianlarich, although mercifully cooler, I began walking more frequently as the relentless hills took their toll on my tiring legs, this being around forty five miles into the race. On the flat land beyond Ewich farm I was disconcerted to find I was reluctant to run at all and had to force myself to recommence running just before arriving at Auchtertyre CP.

I arrived in 2:58, twenty four minutes down on the leg from last year, presumably due to the amended route and the heat, but still ahead of both 2015 times and my theoretical schedule.  

Here I was weighed for the first time since Milngavie and was glad to be told ‘no worries’ by the official, from memory I think I had lost three kilos. (I don’t think Weightwatchers will recommend this as weight-loss method!) As I had been flagging for the previous five miles or so it was great to see the team again and also to know that Ruth was ready and desperate to start running with me from this point. Here I also met a long-time ultra running pal David Meldrum, Scot Hill who along with Irene was heading for Roybridge for an overnight stay en route to Ullapool and a ferry to Stornoway for the start of their Hebridean road trip ahead of the Barrathon the following Saturday. Then Irene came running over for a sweaty hug and my day was made - the sun was shining, I wasn’t hungry anymore, friends seemed to be popping up everywhere, my ducks were in a row, what a happy bunny I had suddenly become. It’s the small things that matter some times and, to cap it all, five minutes later Ian came in, looking good - just to make my day even better.

Having spent another fifteen minutes here and almost ready to head out I was stunned to see Ian in the distance, running through the farmyard with Frances – he was away already, clearly on the up again. Gerry walked a short distance with Ruth and I to allow me to eat and drink while leaving, he then  carried any rubbish back to the CP. (In common with most ultras the WHWR is sh*t-hot on leaving anything behind, even threatening disqualification for anyone found littering). I finally drank the home-made tomato and red pepper soup which Gerry had been carrying despite me telling Alison I didn’t fancy it. I told him to tell her she had been quite right and that it was really, really nice only for him to be accused of drinking it himself instead of me when he returned! Sometimes you just can’t win Gerry - Alison is focussed on making sure I don’t fail due to a lack of nutrition.              

Auchtertyre to Bridge of Orchy    

Ruth clearly recognised my struggles at this point, just like last year, not talking much and running even less. The words just tumbled out of her as she assumed almost complete control of everything we were doing. First off was a body scan from scalp down to the soles of my feet, anything that was causing me bother either had a remedy or ‘was the same for everyone else, they’re all hurting you know’, sympathy clearly wasn’t on her agenda. Yoga stretches for my hips/glutes which Ruth joined in with  – what a sight we must have made, synchronised stretching in the middle of nowhere! Deep breathing (my old habit of shallow breathing whilst running had returned – I was told to stop talking so much (I had recovered enough to start chatting again) and concentrate), swinging my hips while walking just to vary my movement (I felt like I was sashaying my way up the track!) and run for twenty steps although in practice we rarely ran for less than fifty. As it continued I began to realise I was desperate to impress my teacher/instructor/big sister with how many steps I could run and eventually she had me running for two hundred and more at a time. Should the NHS ever be daft enough to dispense with her services then she has a ready-made career to step straight into as a personal trainer from which, I can confidently predict, she’ll make an absolute fortune!

Not long after crossing the railway line again we had the unexpected boost of meeting Liz Simpson and Frank Malkiewicz, heading down to Tyndrum on a training jaunt for their West Highland Way walk, along with Hugh, later in the year. Liz was actually on her way back to Tyndrum having already walked up to meet Frank at BoO and, as well as hugs all round, was the bearer of jelly babies although, having confessed to a liking for the black ones, I don’t think shoving three in my mouth at the same time was a great idea as I ended up having to wash them down with water like pills as I wasn’t producing enough saliva due to the heat. Again, small things contribute to a runners’ overall well-being and meeting friends when you least expect them is wonderful.   

It was job very well done by Ruth as we reached Bridge of Orchy and on her insistence we ran all the way down the hill from the station to the A82, crossing to the sound of cow bells ringing in the distance. On reaching the bridge itself we were absolutely delighted to find it was Emma Mearns who was making most of the racket as she and Jim had made the one hundred and sixty mile round trip to come along to support. When I said before that small things matter I also have to acknowledge that the big things matter too. Ruth’s herculean efforts to mentally drag me up from my laces over the previous nine miles followed by the realisation of what Jim had done just to be there almost had me in tears, thank you from the bottom of my heart guys.

There is no doubt in my mind that constantly having Ian beside, just behind or just ahead of me concentrated my mind on the task in hand and improved my times over the forty or so miles from Balmaha to Bridge of Orchy. He had arrived fully six minutes before me and was enjoying a wonderful-looking footbath when I plonked myself down a couple of yards away. Ruth had suggested going for a wee dook in the water but I had demurred realising that while I might manage down to the water’s edge getting back up again would be problematic. Problem solved by Team Rae, or as I subsequently found out, as it was his idea, by Geo Gerry borrowed their basin as Ian was getting ready to leave, headed down to the river and reappeared with a bowl full of gloriously cool river water. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I’m sure there must have been steam in the air when my feet went in, utter bliss. Having decided to change socks and shoes here anyway this was probably the best rejuvenation I could have wished for, see below.

Two dafties on their thrones at BoO

Jim reckoned two-thirds of the team were working hard while...

Ruth, on the other hand, posed for the camera, lol!