Classic Quarter 2013 - 44
miles Coastal Trail
Lizard Point (southerly most point in England) - 08.06.13 - 4:58am
As we stand around, Vaselineing, limbering and sun tan creaming, the
lightning strikes finally touch down out at sea. The world has turned a deep
charcoal and a hard rain has been falling for an hour now. The starter’s orders
come as if from underwater to us and with seconds to go, I place my right foot
forward, as if to toe the line for a dynamic start, and a steady trickle of
water beads out from my porous fell shoes as I put the weight through
them. Realising what a futile gesture
this is, I adopt a more resigned, relaxed position. Looking over my shoulder at
the other, some 200 hundred odd bedraggled specimens, I remind myself how far
44 miles is and of the terrain we are going to cover and rejig my race rucksack
nervously. When the gun finally does sound and with the lightening beating on
the waves of the English Channel to our left harder than ever now, it was with
a somewhat chastened approach that I set off.
I chuntered along at what seemed like a steady old pace for the first
few miles whilst the day which seemed in serious danger of returning into a
nocturnal slumber was intermittently shocked back into life by the vertebrae of
electricity that spread itself across the sky. I had set off in the lead group
of roughly ten runners and over the next 15miles, another ten runners overtook
me. Bottling up the irrational urge to
push on, I reassured myself that I was running my own race and that, if they
had got it wrong, I would by hunting them down in the second half of the
race. I separated from the chasing group
as we approached Loe Bar; an exposed and very beautiful stretch of deposited
sand and gravel interspersed with grasses that separates Loe Pool from the
Atlantic and watched them dance off across it, some 300 meters ahead.
With a refill of water in my hydration system, I climb out of the still
sleeping fishing village of Porthlleven, laid siege to by the passing storm,
passing one car with its windscreen wipers beating a faster BPM than my own. I
cross a stile and, seeing a decent fast and flat section infront, covered only
by a thin veneer of water I stride out, more eager now to not lose any placing.
This is when it happens. A spasm in my leg is the first I know of it and then a
big splashing noise. The puddle gives way and proves itself to be a 5foot
trench engulfed with water. I should have known better. The course gets meaner
here. Snaking harder; rising more aggressively and disguising its contours in
unsavoury insidious ways which nearly devoured me. I am aware of my breathing
for the first time and watch as my chest sends ripples across the water, as it
rises and falls. I marvel at the incongruous sensation of being afloat
suddenly, bobbing silently now. The stench of the pete is strong and my leg
feels stiff and strange like when you have taken a step down but find that you
are already at the bottom of the stairs. I breast stroke to the bank.
Tin mines pepper the coast line now as I approach Prussia Cove. Here
there comes a headland like a crocodile’s snout which leads you out on a one
way peninsula to the Atlantic. Knowing from my reece that this is not the way
to go and baring my own teeth, I look out at the view that is afforded for this
first time, across Mount’s Bay to Michael’s Mount and Marazion, Penzance
beyond, Mousehole and then, well enough, towards Land’s End and the finish. I
find my sunglasses still attached to my hat and pull them down over my eyes;
the first rays of sunshinenow breaking through the clouds and feel warmth
spread up my back for the first time. There are 24 miles to go and I have
plenty left in the tank: it’s time to give it some beans.
3:42 I go through halfway and I can’t ask for better than that. As I
come though, Richard and a girl who I didn’t catch the name of, shout my name
and cheer me on. That was really nice of
them as they barely knew me but for a brief conversation in the campsite the
night before, yet it made me feel really great. The station is super crowded
and a little chaotic but the marshal who records my dibber tells me I am in
tenth position. I also open here my secret weapon race snack of salted and
roasted whole almonds and stash a whole assortment of other goodies into my
bumbag. I let out a little ‘WHOOOP!’ of excitement as I leave the aid station,
which was probably terribly cheesy, but at that moment it felt right to be
greeting the next leg of this journey in this way.
Now comes 11 miles of pretty much flat before a final push of a further
11 miles on much more broken terrain to the finish. This is where I planned to
capitalise and although I only caught one runner, what happened later makes me
think that I made good ground on the others here. Marazion could do with a marshall or two I
think as I weave in between cars as everybody is waking up now. Quick stretch
of sand dune. Then its all road for five miles. Penzance goes past. Then
Mousehole before a 2 mile stretch of pretty technical rock hopping to the next
check point.
The marshal at the checkpoint was a dude and laughed as I ingested one
of the energy ‘shots’, declared it disgusting and then chugged another. There was a runner just infront who was in
8th place and I set off to track him down. Immediately, I was taking my weight
in my upper body and reduced to a very slow speed as I manoeuvred between
rocks, sidestepped and generally tried to maintain forward progress without
twisting my ankle. After passing and
asking several groups of walker, I hoped that I might just be closing in on the
next runner, but this came with a warning: ‘She’s a girl’ they said ‘and she is
moving very fast.’ My legs I could feel
were also still gnawing on almonds or oat cakes rather than just that horrible
glucose caffeine crap and I managed to hold a good pace on the intermittent
flat sections that we rolled through. Increasingly now, whilst it was flat, the
path was completely obscured, however, by tall grasses that lapped at your feet
with a soothing swishing sound but which simultaneously hid insidious rocks and
unseen undulations. To maintain a good
pace it was blind faith at times that the footing was good that kept you moving
along.
It’s very easy to slack off at points like this I imagine in long trail
races when you don’t know how far infront the next person is. You might be
charging on at what you think is a strong effort but they are still moving away
from you. This expense of this could be a complete blow up at the finish and
you could lose minutes or even position by the dozen. Making a game of it, I tried however as I
approached each incline to tell myself ‘the runner you are chasing won’t have
run this bit, so RUN it!’ After what seemed like a very long time for someone
who I was assured was only minutes ahead of me, I reeled her in.
The last 6 miles from the water stop at the very long awaited Portcurno
were mentally very tough. My legs were still ticking over nicely but for the
next two miles I floated along, more mentally exhausted than physically and
this really started to show itself when I took a wrong turn and ended up
running back past Lizzie, the female runner I had worked hard to overtake. I
had been concentrating for seven hours now. And really concentrating. The
scenery had been flowing by and frequently I had been looking around me. The
weather had been in revolution around me too and the brooding and atmospheric
thunder storm that I had run through, to the brilliance of the light that was
now reflecting up off the now calm sea, was a reminder of how long I had been
out for. I wanted to finish for the first time, and, as this thought came to
me, with three miles to go, I saw for the first time the buildings at Land’s
End and the finish.
It was around this same time that I took stock of my physical
condition. My bag smelled from its complete submersion earlier in the day;
growing fetid now in the full glare of the sun. My skin was starting to feel
tender from the beating rays that were coming down as hard as the rain had once
fallen. My hands were sticky from where I had taken to dipping a finger into my
electrolyte pond (which had formed in my bumbag after the rainwater had caused
them to fizz together creating a crazy melting pot of toxic colour and
proportions) which I would then stick in my mouth and dilute and swallow once
mixed with a swig of water. My body was still holding together and I remember
feeling very thankful for this. Appraisal complete; I caught site of 4th place.
Finding myself surprisingly close all of a sudden to him I locked in with my
game of running what he wasn’t. Dipping
like a maniac still into my electrolyte broth and brandishing a purple finger
before gobbling down its residue to the last, I tried to chase him down.
There was less than a kilometer to go now but he still hadn’t seen me.
Some walkers who must only have seen the spectacle at the finishing line to
understand the crazed plight of the specimens before them stopped to clap as we
went past and then he knew the race was on. I thought this would really kick
him into life and the game was up because I’m a good one for always imagining
that everyone else has always got more left in the tank. I kept at it though and on the next rise out
of a small cove I forged on running when he slowed to a walk and allowed myself
to think that I might just have him. It was close to the finishing line now and
we passed a woman, me some 10metres behind him who shouted ‘you are racing for
3rd place, go guys GO!’
Putting all thoughts of cramp to the back of my mind I opened it up as
much as I knew how and shooting warning pains sparked up in my legs
immediately. I knew that this could be really costly even with just two hundred
metres to go to the line now, but I thought that a place on the podium was
worth it. I was huffing and chuffing with deep desperate intakes of wild breath
as I drew level and I felt the electrolyte solution foaming slightly at the
edges of mouth like some rabid wild donkey as I moved past. Sofia, who had
caught sight of me because of the way this sudden injection of energy had
caused my already eccentric running style to turn spasmodic, ran down the grass
bank to the trail and ran alongside me with wonderful encouragement which made
me feel teary and wild eyed with the wonder of it all. I was so happy that she was there at the end,
especially after we had spent three days of our holiday walking the start of
the course and even though we didn’t do the whole thing together, it felt
complete. I reached the finish seconds later and a marshal wrestled my dibber
into the slot; me too breathless, too exhausted, too emotional to do anything.
I stumbled around for a few seconds, hands behind my head sucking in breath and
considered the preposterousness of an all-out sprint finish for the line after
some 44miles and 7hours 39minutes on the trail.
………………………………………............................................................................................................................
Land’s End (westerly most point in England) - 08.06.13 – 2:04pm
I enjoyed being at the finish whilst the runners came in and the
coincidence of a practice cliff top rescue by a hovering helicopter some 30
metres away and a wedding with its music spilling out to fight the propeller
blades’ roar from the nearest building, made for a rather surreal marriage of
events.
I was fourth overall and third in the men’s race as another girl who
stormed ahead in the first 11mile leg came home 2nd in the overall standings. I
think it is inspiring and indeed fascinating that women in these events come so
close, or even out outperform 99% of men, as was the case in this field.
This morning, before pulling my finger out and writing this first entry
of what I hope to be many entries to this new blog, I was already online and
looking for the next race. I’ll hold on for a few days I think and see what
comes my way. Overall what I liked most about this event was the journey. I
liked being out in it all day long: drinking it all in great big greedy gulps.
It’s an indulgent thing to run all day and I’m very thankful to my kind friends
Kakay and Andrew who helped me make the journey, Sofia for coming along for the
whole ride and the very generous people at Wellsway School who sponsored me and
who raised funds for Cornish Hospice Care.
