- Distance: 118.4 miles (tracked)
- Elevation: 22,677 feet (tracked)
- Elapsed Time: 39:17:04 (official)
- Estimated calories: 17,045
- Position: 21st
- Total finishers (within 46.5-hour cutoff): 40, of 113 starters (64.6% DNF)
Round #2
This was to be my second attempt at the 13 Valleys Ultra, a 114-mile trail marathon, starting in Keswick, that heads over the fells to visit all 13 valleys of the Lake District via an established route. It is a challenging route that includes varied and difficult terrain and a substantial amount of elevation. I enjoyed the challenge of my first attempt, and hoped to improve my result this time with better race management. Last year, this was my second 100-mile distance race and the hardest; this year, it was to be my fourth, following the harder Ultra Trail Snowdonia earlier in the year. I nevertheless approached this with caution, knowing it to be a very long and challenging route.
Pre-race
Race day was set to be a long one before I'd even embarked upon the run. The starting venue was the lakeside park at Derwent Water in Keswick. The start time was Friday 6pm. Working backwards from that in my plan, I wanted some time to have a quick nap and do final prep, so I'd need to register and kit check after lunch. Before heading to Keswick, I needed to stop by Coniston to book in at a campsite for my support crew, in order that they would have a barrier card for their late arrival. With total driving time looking to be around 3.5 hours, I'd need an early start.
Even with all my kit ready in advance, I was still slow getting away. My head was buzzing with all the planning and logistics. Sleep had thankfully been decent, but I still didn't feel replenished; it had become clear that my late recce weekend two weeks prior was too much, too close to the event, and I hadn't properly recovered. I dismissed any concerns about being recovered, recalling the sleep-deprived state in which I began the UTS (my hardest race to date); no fixing it now, only training and resolve would get me round.
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| Arriving at Coniston in beautiful weather |
The weather defied the forecast, and I arrived at Coniston in beautiful sunshine, which lifted my spirits. A pit stop at Ambleside for a Cornish pasty, pastel de nata and an espresso lifted them further. Arriving in Keswick, a fellow runner saved me the extortionate parking price by giving me the remainder of his paid time, and I got through kit check and registration swiftly. I drove out to Borrowdale to drop the car at the YHA until my arrival after the race on Sunday, and then caught a bus back to Keswick. The event logistics for me and my supporters were complicated; the plan had been weeks in the making.
Amongst the other runners, I chatted to my friend Rob, who was also repeating the event from last year. We conferred on strategies and had slightly different approaches in mind. I wanted to make an early push, so I wriggled my way up the pack. I knew early track position wouldn't matter on a race of this scale, given we'd be finishing with huge time gaps across the field and that many runners wouldn't finish at all. Still, I wanted to put in some strong early sections.
The race
Leg 1: Keswick - Honister
Friday 1800hrs, 0 miles
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| Start line at Derwent Water lakeside |
The weather had become a little less convincing as the afternoon had rolled on; it was slightly chilly, and rain looked possible. As we headed through the Derwent Water lakeside park, I picked forward a little further as I wanted to be with people of same pace on the early narrow paths, where we'd be in single-file.
The light was fading as we headed out of Borrowdale, and it was dark as we closed in on Honister Pass. I headed up the track to the slate quarry, expecting to be excitedly greeted by my kids and wife, as they were due to have arrived a little earlier.
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| Heading towards dusk under Cat Bells |
Leg 2: Honistor - Wasdale Head
Friday 1952hrs, 9.64 miles
The tables of drinks and snacks were lined up outside the cafe at the quarry. As I approached, I looked around for my support crew, but they were nowhere to be seen. My strategy was to be efficient and effective with checkpoints; this stop required only a quick refill and a snack, so I wasted no time. I set off up the hill in to the darkness. I couldn't worry about what had delayed my supporters - probably sheep blocking the road or something. Claire had a document with all the timings and locations listed, she'd figure it out.
As I ascended the steep slate track, another runner turned round and called out that we'd gone wrong. I'd made exactly the same mistake as last year, and missed the even steeper track off to the left; I hadn't been looking at the route plot on my watch as I was busy getting my poles out. No matter, it was a minor detour.
After a trudge along the slate-covered top at Dubs Quarry came a steep and jagged technical descent beside Warnscale Beck. Runners less versed in such terrain were moving cautiously down the climb, but I was on fresh legs and confident, so I kept a good pace. The roar of the waterfall and the brooding outline of Hay Stacks can be intimidating in the dark, but for me this is part of the fun. We eventually hit the flat of the valley before a brief intersection with the road at Gatesgarth; this was the second planned meeting point with my supporters, though not a checkpoint, and the last before morning.
I cruised over to the car park, expecting to see the van parked up, but again they were nowhere to be seen. At this moment I realised I hadn't followed the plan; as a contingency in case I missed them, I was meant to hand the campsite barrier pass to the marshalls at the previous checkpoint, but I'd forgotten. We had no protocol for this scenario, nor phone signal. I had a minor panic, and stopped where I was, not knowing what to do.
Seconds later, headlights appeared, it was my support crew. Problem averted. My race number had torn and was hanging off, so I grabbed some insulation tape and a knife from the van, and sorted the situation out. A few minutes lost, and back underway. I'd see them in Coniston some time early in the morning after they'd slept.
The first big ascent followed, Scarth Gap Pass, leaving Buttermere behind (not that we could see it) and cutting between High Crag and Hay Stacks. In the next valley, we passed Black Sail Hut, but this year there was no feed station there. I visualised the beauty of the wide stream, reminiscent of the Canadian Rockies, but could see little in the darkness. We began the climb up Black Sail Pass, which was predictably damp but not enough for soaking feet this time.
I kept momentum as I summited and descended the pass, and picked up the valley at the west foot of Kirk Fell along to the checkpoint.
Leg 3: Wasdale Head - Eskdale
Friday 2232hrs, 17.93 miles
The freshness had now gone from my legs. I commented to a marshall that I felt like I'd already done 80 miles. Experience told me not to worry, the way you feel during a run can vary a lot, and is highly affected by state of fuelling. All the runners around me were being purposeful in filling bottles and eating snacks, eager to crack on; I followed suit and tried to be efficient with my stop. I realised that the new shoes I'd worn for the first time today were a little stiff at the back and had been rubbing my achilles tendon, so I took the time to put a blister patch on my left side.
I followed the valley down to Wast Water, and after crossing the valley at the head of it, I knew I'd be entering some more big hills, but a less familiar combination. Even though I'd rehearsed the route on the map, in my already tired state I forgot that Eskdale came next, and was thinking I was on the hills leading to Coniston.
Eskdale Fell was not as boggy as last year, and progress was good. My optimistic timings for this year had me arriving at Dalegarth Station (a different checkpoint location from last year) at around 30 mins earlier; I actually arrived a full 1.5 hours earlier.
Leg 4: Eskdale - Coniston
Saturday 0004hrs, 23.74 miles
This was the first chance for hot food, and I observed that I hadn't been fuelling as well as I might; I accepted the offer of soup and grabbed whatever other savouries I could, as well as a coffee. I didn't rush at this stop, recognising that I wasn't in the best shape; I needed to rehydrate and get some calories in. Fortunately, there were no injuries to tend to or kit to organise, so it was still a fairly swift stop.
The checkpoint had required a little detour from the route, so as I followed it back, I passed a bunch of runners I'd previously been close to. I realised I'd been pulling out a gap, and now had more than a pitstop in hand - fairly meaningless for final standings, but a good reference that my progress was good.
Passing the first marathon distance gave mixed feelings; it indicated a substantial distance covered, but knowing that more than three further marathons remained was intimidating. Having prior experience makes such a difference in these scenarios as you know that whilst it will be tough, it is not as simple as becoming progressively more tired, weaker and in more pain; night time is difficult but morning is easier; good fuelling will pull you back to happier place and make you stronger.
I got chatting to another runner as I worked around Harter Fell, High Tongue and then tackled the long ascent up to Walna Scar. This was his first 100-mile race, and first overnight run; I mused that whilst he was doing well now, there were huge new challenges ahead. I gave him the advice that when you think it is falling apart and you can't continue, you probably just need to eat and drink, and with hours in hand to cutoffs, you can always take a long stop to recover. I hope he succeeded, it seemed a big step up.
As we began the long descent to Coniston, I became aware of a developing niggle in my knee; this was not welcome news. I recalled how last year I had estimated a 5am arrival at the Boathouse, and Claire had eagerly driven over to the checkpoint with sleeping children at 4:30am, only for me to take a very long time descending and arrive at 6am. This time, I found myself entering Coniston village at 4am, knowing Claire's alarm wouldn't go off until 4:30 for her to check my tracker. I tried ringing, but no reply. I would be gone before she even woke.
Leg 5: Coniston - Wray Castle
Saturday 0406hrs, 36.78 miles
Last year, I was feeling quite broken by this point, and had a long pitstop to refuel and manage feet. Dawn was about to arrive and I had been desperate for a sleep. This year, it was a brief and routine stop; I shovelled some rice pudding down, filled my bottles, and set out purposefully again. Claire messaged, and I said I'd meet her at the next planned rendezvous at Elterwater, after Wray Castle and post-breakfast.
I was wondering where I might grab a short sleep. Last year, I'd found a patch under some fir trees, but this time round some light rain had been falling and the ground was wet everywhere. I thought I'd delay until later.
As I made my way over to Hawkshead, my knee started giving a clearer message - it was very unhappy, and rapidly getting painful to the point where I couldn't run. As the pain increased, I'd been distracted from eating and drinking for a while. My mood was plummeting, but I hadn't quite realised. I'd been running with a small group as the sun rose, but had to slow and they disappeared off. Acknowledging the remaining distance, I concluded that I couldn't run 70 miles in this state, and with the prospect of a new best time evaporating, I wouldn't have the will either. I formed a plan - I'd pull out at the next checkpoint, get Claire to pick me up, and enjoy the remainder of the weekend supporting my friend Rob and the other runners, and sitting in cafes enjoying the views. But before that, I'd try a quick sleep to see if it helped a bit. I dragged myself off the trail, under some trees, set a 15-minute timer on my phone and reclined on my pack.
It wasn't much of a sleep, if any at all. I got up feeling very grumpy and frustrated, and continued planning my retirement from the race. As I made my way along the trail, it dawned on me that my knee wasn't actually hurting much, I was just grumpy and negative. The voice of experience returned and told me the obvious: I hadn't been fuelling. I set about shovelling food and drink in, as well as a couple of ibuprofen tablets.
Sure enough, as I reached the shores of Windermere, my mood was starting to recover, and I was running ok. I took some pics of a beautiful sunrise, and set about getting to the breakfast checkpoint.
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| Windermere shore at dawn, just below Wray Castle |
Leg 6: Wray Castle - Stickle Barn
Saturday 0710hrs, 46.10 miles
The friendly volunteers at Wray Castle brought me food and drinks and filled my bottles. I had coffee and as much food as I could stomach. I took the opportunity for a sock change and re-lube, in an attempt to fend off the blistering I suffered last year. I remained weary as I set out, but was managing to run.
Periodically, the knee pain came and went. I concluded that it was eased by rest, so I just needed to take adequate breaks at the checkpoints and whenever required.
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| Heading towards Skelwith Fold |
I reached Skelwith Fold, and was suddenly on familiar territory; I'd been here two weeks prior to recce the middle section of the race route. I tracked along the waterfalls and the shore of Elter Water, and as I picked up the straight path to Elterwater village, I saw a familiar dog. I called her to me, and got an excited greeting. The kids joined me for some running and I briefly chatted with Claire. I continued on, as she'd be meeting me shortly at the Stickle Barn checkpoint.
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| Elter Water, looking into the Langdale fells |
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| Greeted by a familiar face near Elterwater village |
Leg 7: Stickle Barn - Rosthwaite
Saturday 0909hrs, 53.59 miles
I found myself frustrated at the lack of savoury options at the checkpoint; I avoid sweet foods on long runs as they get tiresome. I only ate some crisps, and continued relying upon the Tailwind I'd brought with me. That wouldn't solve it, as I'd only brought half of what I'd need, expecting to be able to eat more at the stops.
Rob's partner appeared and said he'd had a fall and injured his knee on a rock. He was still going, but not in a good state.
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| Great Langdale |
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| Dungeon Ghyll, near Stickle Barn checkpoint |
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| Dungeon Ghyll |
I headed out along the Langdale valley, knee still unhappy, but also suffering for lack of fuel. It was hard work, even along the flat. The terrain was beautiful as I headed under Langdale Fell, but today I didn't appreciate it much. As I started up Rossett Gill, I found myself frustrated by the number of hiking groups and their incompetence at making space for me to pass. A friendly group offered some encouragement, and asked if I'd like a home-made protein ball; I accepted, knowing I really needed such a thing. It quickly made a difference as the climb got tough.
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| The ascent to Rossett Pike up Rossett Gill |
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| Looking back along the Langdale valley from Rossett Gill |
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| Weather closing in at Sprinkling Tarn, after Rossett Pike |
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| Above Taylorgill Force, looking down to Borrowdale |
Hikers were looking a little lost as the path evaporated, the route requiring a bit of scrambling up by the waterfall until something path-like reappeared; knowing the route better now, I pushed on up to the pike, and continued immediately to descend to Angle Tarn and up again to Tongue Head. Rain had set in, so I had my jacket on and hood up. My mood still wasn't great, but I was making progress and catching up with other runners.
I relished the challenge of the technical descent to Sty Head, the jagged rock field down to Taylorgill Force and the rocky descent beyond. It wasn't the first time I'd done it in the rain and I seemed more confident on my feet than other runners around me. I was still moving well as I entered the familiar youth hostel grounds at Rosthwaite but I had no recollection of the checkpoint venue from the previous year.
Leg 8: Rosthwaite - Grasmere
Saturday 1301hrs, 64.66 miles
Things were going well. Last year, I'd arrived here at 1631. My estimate for today was 1400 but despite my knee issues, I'd arrived at 1301. I was on for a really good race time. I made no assumptions, there was still a long way to go, and the second night presents the biggest challenges.
I made good efforts at fuelling at the checkpoint. One of the volunteers recognised me from the previous year, and I finally started recovering some memories of this point in the race (my tired brain hadn't seemed to keep a good record). As I set out, the rain had started coming down again so I put my jacket back on and hood up.
I was managing the occasional knee pain. I finally twigged that I'd reverted to heel-striking when doing my slow patter, something I'd trained myself out of. The solution was simple; go back to mid-strike running, and the knee pain fades. I had a plan, I could get round.
The section from Stonethwaite up to Greenup Edge was where things got a bit wild last year. I'd been reduced to a plod on the difficult ascent up Greenup Gill, had struggled to track the route up the waterfall and ended up climbing up a steep grass bank in the rain and fading light. Hallucinations had begun, my tired brain failing to interpret what it saw.
I was faring much better today. I passed several other runners, ones who had been ahead of me until this point, as they walked the flats and I was committed to holding a slow jog. As it got steep, I kept a confident pace. I knew exactly what was to come, so I kept it gentle on the steepest bits, but was not stopping at any point.
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| Looking back from Lining Crag at the ascent, with Greenup Edge to the right. Last year, navigational error in bad weather had found us clambering up the grass to the right |
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| The strange lumps of Greenup Edge, from Lining Crag |
This high section and the descent to Grasmere Common were where the horrific rainfall last year, in the darkness, really presented a challenge. This year, the rain was intermittent and light, and it was a long way from dusk, so I was picking along the route with a steady but constant jog. When we hit a section that traverses a bog, with no clear path, other runners were getting confused by the plotted route and meandering around. I knew what to do, but still got caught out by the awkward footing and slipped on a rock, putting some big grazes on my little finger, blood pouring everywhere. I cursed the pointless detour through the rutted grassland, but kept pushing. I led the way for some other runners as we skipped over the stream and tracked back towards a more sensible path. My feet were now soaked through.
I knew I was closing on Grasmere because of the houses, and then I joined the road down to the village. Glancing at the time, I knew it was going well, and I was over 3 hours ahead of last year.
Leg 9: Grasmere - Ambleside
Saturday 1718hrs, 72.88 miles
The tiredness was starting to hit, and this checkpoint was my chance for a sleep, as well as getting access to my drop bag. Having found my support crew, I set about eating, drinking, changing my clothes and doing some foot maintenance. Kit had to be swapped between my bag and my pack, including torch batteries, spare socks, Tailwind powder for my drinks and snacks. It was a lot to think about, and took some time. I ate some lasagne and rice pudding.
Unlike last year, there was no room for sleeping, instead there were a few small tents in the car park. As with last year, it became apparent that nobody was taking the opportunity to sleep - they hadn't even set up the sleeping mats. Claire asked the marshal if I could sleep in our van instead, which seemed a reasonable request given the situation. I grabbed a comfortable 15 minutes.
When I got up, I was surprised that other runners who I thought might have set off again were still at the checkpoint. Clearly, most people were in need of a bigger rest and time to sort equipment out. I wanted to get back on it; it would be a great boost to have passed through Ambleside in daylight too.
I was feeling pretty weary as I tracked along Grasmere and Rydal Water. I remembered them being a ponderous walk/jog in heavy rain last year, and encouraged myself to keep a better pace. I passed my support crew at Pelter Bridge but continued straight on towards Rothay Park.
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| Grasmere, with Loughrigg in view to the right |
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| Grasmere, looking back towards the village |
Leg 10: Ambleside - Hayeswater
Saturday 1824hrs, 77.54 miles
It had been quite a short leg from Grasmere, and having eaten hot food there, I didn't really feel the need to take on much at Ambleside. This would prove to be a mistake. I was also struggling with the lack of savoury choices, grabbing some crisps and a Babybel, but nothing of substance. I paused for a few minutes on a bench to rest my knee and drink a cup of tea, and then set off.
Darkness fell as I left Ambleside and worked my way round to Troutbeck. I passed my support crew near the Kirkstone Pass road, then headed across the valley to join the trail up to High Street.
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| Windermere from above Waterside |
Eventually, I arrived at the familiar monument at Thornthwaite Crag. Here my familiarity with the route ended, as my previous recce left the course a different way. I followed the route on my watch over the indistinct High Street summit and onwards to The Knott. I couldn't identify either, and the contours of the hill were not as I expected; I was a bit confused about the direction and repeated ascent, expecting soon to be descending to Hayeswater, but it never seemed to come. I didn't have the benefit of a view of the water below, so was just following a line on my screen.
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| Thornthwaite Crag, after a challenging ascent |
The descent eventually began, and I quickly became frustrated. The ground was now really wet, and the path was very rutted and muddy, rocky in parts. As it got steeper, I was having to take a lot of care not to slip, but also having to really pick my feet up and skip around; my body was feeling very stiff and tired, so this wasn't welcome at all. The path got even more steep and awkward, turning into grassy clumps. My feet were beginning to blister from the constant shoe movements on the uneven ground. My sense of humour departed; I really wanted to get to the checkpoint.
I was aware that a bridge had been washed away in recent storms, so people had been devising alternative routes, prior to the event, to get across the river. I couldn't see an appropriate path anywhere, so decided to take my chances and head for the original bridge location, which still involved skipping across a field of clumped grass. The river was quite wide and intimidatingly noisy, but after a very quick assessment I determined that it wasn't particularly dangerous and I could skip across some rocks. Seconds later I was ploughing on, at least feeling glad I hadn't wasted more time. The last awkward track to the checkpoint was the final straw, and I arrived feeling annoyed and vowing I would never take on this event again.
Leg 11: Hayeswater - Glenridding
Saturday 2320hrs, 90.01 miles
A marshall asked how it was going, and I gave a monosyllabic response, reflecting my disgruntlement. I set about remedying my fuelling mistakes as best I could. I was feeling pretty weary, and felt like I'd gone backwards with my timings. On reflection, I was actually still an hour ahead of my estimate, and nearly 5 hours ahead of last year - it might have helped me to know this. I should have invested more time in refuelling.
When I left the checkpoint, I was not in a good state. I was struggling to persuade myself to jog, doing a lot of walking down the long road to the village. I knew an uninspiring section lay ahead. Eventually arriving at Hartsop village, I picked up the trail to Patterdale, where my family were camping. It took far longer than I'd predicted, and was not as flat as I believed. When I eventually found the van, Claire was surprised that I was later than my prediction; this also led me to believe things weren't going too well. I stopped for a 5 minute sleep in the van, to try and give me a boost.
As with last year, the plod from Glenridding village to the checkpoint up the hill was painfully long and demoralising; at least I wasn't cold this time. I arrived in the room with the roaring fire feeling a bit rough, but certainly nothing like last year. I was trying to refuel, but struggling. Soup and rice pudding proved the best options.
Leg 12: Glenridding - Threlkeld
Sunday 0213hrs, 95.91 miles
No waiting for dawn this time, I set out into the night. The zigzag path up to Sticks Pass was steep and hard going, but I knew it wasn't far to the quarry. I reassured another runner that once we'd got this over with, it was just the slate path along the top followed by a tricky descent to Thirlmere. I hope he made his own assessment as I was quite wrong, despite having run this route twice before.
After we'd tracked over the old quarry, the actual pass involves repeated zigzagging in and out of the brooks flowing down into Sticks Gill, each followed by a steep climb. As I took on the first, I grabbed my poles out, as with all the steep climbs in the run. One wouldn't assemble, and I realised the lock button had broken. Poles back in bag, my tired legs would be doing this unaided. I cursed myself for forgetting such a significant series of climbs; it wasn't really a problem, but the length of the sequence became another thing to demoralise me.
The descent to Thirlmere was as unpleasant as I remembered. Wearing new trainers helped as at least I didn't fall on the slippery mud, but such steep descents that lack rocks for grip are the hardest on the knees and especially toes as you are pointing feet downwards, relying on your laces to prevent your toes hitting the ends of your shoes. I'd used a lacing technique to hold my heels back in my shoes, but it still wasn't effective against the steepness of this slope. I hoped my toenails would survive yet another battering (my right big one having not recovered from being half killed off in a previous ultra, and further blackened when I broke my toe on a rock a month ago). When I finally got off the muddy slope I breathed a sigh of relief, and my knees rejoiced.
Next up was the plod along the relative flats until Threlkeld. There was some snaking up and down around farms until we hit the floodplain. Wet feet were inevitable. I was feeling rough, but not as weary as last year; I wasn't quite staggering along, but I was slowing.
The route markers indicated that we should traverse what was basically a swamp. I tried my best to skip along the clumps of grass, but it wasn't possible all the way, and I got completely caked in mud up to my shins. As I appeared at a road, Claire arrived just in front of me, so I stopped for a hello and a can of coffee. My mood wasn't good. I was very keen to get this over with now, and knew I was on a decent time.
Leg 13: Threlkeld - Keswick
Sunday 0622hrs, 104.83 miles
At the checkpoint, I was torn between desperation to get to the finish, and acknowledging that there was still a not insignificant number of miles to go; fuelling was required if an extended period of suffering was to be avoided. I recalled my mistake last year in not tending to my bisters, and utterly destroying my feet in those final miles. I determined that my feet were not bad enough to warrant attention; some blistering, but not awful. I'd previously slapped a few Compeed patches on, which hadn't fully held, but seemed to be doing enough to manage.
I took on some fluids and snacks, but didn't carry as much for this final section.
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| Dawn under Blencathra |
I had been dreading the horseshoe that heads north under Blease Fell, and south under Lonscale Fell; with blistered feet last year, it had taken an eternity, made more unpleasant by being able to see the exit point miles before actually reaching it. I pushed myself to hold a jog, and was surprised how quickly I reached the north-most point. The return was a more interesting rocky trail, providing some distraction. As I neared the end of the horshoe, I realised there were still 5 miles to go, more than I expected. I had to tell myself that was fine, just relax and hold a steady jog.
Finish: Keswick
Sunday 0917hrs, 113.44 miles
The descent around Latrigg and down to Keswick was a different experience this year; it was still early morning, and a grey day, so only a few dog walkers were around. The town was quiet, so there were not many people to cheer us to the finish. I was very glad when my kids joined me for the final stretch to the finish. The optimism of the early parts of the race had entirely gone from my brain, and from Troutbeck onwards I hadn't been in a great frame of mind. I just wanted to get to the finish; it had felt like a mammoth endurance effort.
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| Finish line |
The final section had been a slog, and I'd lost some more time, falling a bit behind my estimated finish time of 0900hrs, but I'd taken a full four hours off last year's time. It was a successful mission and despite the knee troubles, three quarters of the race had gone really well. As ever, fuelling struggles accounted for the latter challenges, which seems so obvious when analysing the race, but not so much at the time. At my next race, I'll be making better use of mood as a gauge for whether I'm fuelling well. If it is going wrong, spending an extra 10 minutes at a checkpoint to fix it would be a good investment. In any case, at the next race I won't take any chances, and will be carrying my own cheese sandwiches and sausage rolls.
As I trawled through the events of the race to write this post, looking at my checkpoint timings and finishing positions, I became aware that only 40 of the 113 starters of the 180km event finished, a 65% DNF rate. Given the moderate conditions, this seems very high. This year, the final cutoff had been extended by 1.5 hours, and the interim checkpoint cutoffs adjusted from the inaugural event. Last year, the High Street section was dropped in favour of a bad weather alternative, a change made during the race as the weather was extreme, including some flooding. However, only one person who made it beyond Ambleside this year retired, so this tough part of the route wasn't the reason. Most of the retirees abandoned at Grasmere or Ambleside, over the 24-hour mark and facing the prospect of another night. Recalling my own first attempt, that is where severe tiredness really starts to hit. I wonder if the lack of experience requirements on the entry criteria is a factor; runners may have been surprised by the difficulty level or unprepared for the impact of sleep deprivation. I also wonder why people don't take the opportunity for short sleeps; the benefit is clear to me - after a 15-minute nap, I find that, within an hour or two, I pass the runners I was previously alongside. In any case, I once again found this a very tough event. To any first-time 100-mile runner, I'd recommend starting with something flatter and less technical; this isn't because of the leap in fitness (I'm not sure you need a huge fitness improvement to go from 50 to 100 miles), but rather to get accustomed to managing yourself through sleep deprivation and learning to fuel well for that duration. It is always about the fuelling.
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| With support crew |
