Written by Chris Singelton - https://csingelton.wordpress.com/

Written by Luke Latimer - https://jurarunner.wordpress.com

As usual it’s taken me far too long to get this written down, but with the Crawley 12 hour race in a few weeks I thought this was the perfect time to remember what I did wrong.  It would be nice to have a list of things I did right, but sadly, no. I still managed to cover about 107 miles, which isn’t bad but falls short of what I think I should be capable of (although past performance isn’t nessesarily an indicator of the future!). The race itself is very simple (how many times can you run round a 400m track?), and is a perfect example of everything I love in an event. It’s small, extremely well organised by incredibly friendly and approachable people. The low key approach engenders a great atmosphere and the motley collection of runners were packed with interesting stories and enthusiasm. Being able to run shoulder to shoulder with a 80+ year old on course to complete 100 miles, and a trio of superhuman ladies who smashed records and crushed the entry level for team GB Ultra was both humbling and inspirational. This is a true, and (mostly) serious list of tips for running your first 24 hour track race. Some, if not all of the points are totally obvious, and normal people really shouldn’t need the advice.

I’m no elite

Make sure you actually have a place in the race

Yes, yes, obvious. The thing is, I sent my application off and promptly got stuck into training and planning. As the  weeks went on, and I languished on the waiting list, the mental focus that an imminent race gives you just wasn’t there. This meant that training was half hearted at best, and I figured that I’d pretty much wing the planning part: running in circles for ages: I’d just done the GUCR, how hard could it be?

If you don’t have a confirmed place, then at least pretend you have and train accordingly. Finding out two days before doesn’t give you nearly enough time.

One chap even turned up on the day and snagged a last minute place, though he crashed out in a bent-double vomiting state after a short few hours. Another arrow in the back of the last minute race entrant.

Don’t start the day with a massive hangover

Again, not something that should really need to be spelled out. However, the lack of concentration and general over confidence given #1, plus having heavy drinking friends round the night before culminated in a very not-ready head and body come race morning.

It’s hard to say whether this is the biggest mistake I made, quite possibly though, as it led to most of the others.

Work out your target pace sensibly, based on reality

Final results

For an elite athlete, calculating your goal distance using last year’s winner is a very good strategy, particular if you’re also aiming to secure a place in Team GB.

If, on the other hand, you are not an elite, and last year’s winner was other worldly Marco Consani, who covered 154 miles, then your sights have more than likely been set far outside the range of your physical capabilities.

In practice this means that you’re constantly berating yourself for going too slow, when in fact you’re going about twice as fast as you should be.

I would say to pick a comfortable marathon pace, then drop that by about 25%, probably more.

Don’t set off too fast

Lack of planning, large hangover and ridiculous ambitions and yes, you’re already going way too fast. I did the first marathon in under 4 hours, was near the top of the score board and felt great.

Obviously it didn’t last and my pace halved very soon after.

Having a bleary eyed notion of “go out as hard as possible and hang on as long as you can” is just daft, glycogen gets instantly depleted leaving you running on fumes way too soon.

If you’ve lapped James Elson, you’re going too quickly

Say no more!

To be fair to James, he looked to be suffering from an injury and pulled out before the end. Plus I was clearly going to blow up.

Don’t try new food on the day, as lovely as it might look and taste

Hangover to blame again. I remember thinking how delicious the melon and grapes on the food station were. They were cool, refreshing and gave me a nice little boost.

Fast forward 10 hours and I’d pretty much set up camp in the men’s room, and when I wasn’t  there I was painfully dragging my sore and bloated belly back as fast as I could hobble.

Not a good idea.

Do try and remember your lap counters name

More generally, be nice to your lap counter, they’ve got a long gruelling night ahead of them, and sense of humour failures don’t make for a pleasant atmosphere.

Chances are they are looking after a few runners, and when a lap only takes a couple of minutes they’re hard at work.

On the odd occasion when they are distracted, being able to call our their name will save you valuable seconds, and is a whole lot polite than yelling “Did you get me? Luke here, hello?! HELLO!”

Having support really… helps

My wife and child stuck around for the first half hour, but when my 3 year old daughter had seen me run round in circles and not win or even finish, she soon got bored. Not before entertaining everyone with happy shouts of “daddy!” every time I passed her.

They also rocked up again for the  last hour, and that alone kept my spirits up for at least 4 hours.

Other people had whole families camped out all night, feeding and watering their runners regularly. Not sure how I’ll persuade mine to do the same, but I think it would give a massive psychological boost, especially in those famously miserable hours just before dawn.

Don’t underestimate the mental aspect

I honestly hadn’t given much thought to what it would actually be like running for 24 hours within such a confined area.

All the big races I’d done in the past were huge loops or “epic adventure” point to point routes.

The key difference, which was obviously clear to every person who commented on my upcoming loop fest, is that every step forward, every second spent moving, takes you one tiny sliver closer to the end.

When it finally dawned on me that I could just sit down and the race would still end at midday, regardless of whether I did any sort of moving or not, was a revelation.

A revelation that took a lot of willpower (and two 30 minute snoozes in the back of Hughs car) to purge and get back into any kind of constant forward motion.

In summary

It was a lot harder than I thought it would be, deserved more respect than I gave it, and was absolutely bloody brilliant.

I’ve got a confirmed place for September, so that’s one item ticked off the list already!

Geoff, the legend

Written by Jämes Campbell - https://jamescampbell78.wordpress.com

The Hardmoors 55 is an ultramarathon starting in Guisborough and finishing at Helmsley, taking in the Western half of the Cleveland way and some 2,700m of ascent.

I decided to enter this one almost immediately after my DNF in the Hardmoors 60 as a stepping stone to another attempt at the 60.

For this race I gave myself a set of targets based around my learnings from HM60:

• Carry no more food and equipment than I will reasonably need
• Recce the course in advance
• Use a pacing plan based on recces of the course
• Run with a group where possible
• Eat every 15 minutes
• Spend as little time at checkpoints as possible, if practical don’t stop moving

Over the last few months I’d pared my equipment down to the bare minimum and had done the same with my food.  I’d recce’d all but two sections of the course, the first being the gate at the top of Battersby Bank to Round Hill but I was confident that this stretch was straightforward having spent a lot of time there as a youth.  The second was the stretch between Square Corner and Sutton Bank, this was more concerning because I’d be doing it tired and in the dark but I’d picked the brains of people who knew this stretch and I was assured it was straightforward and well signed.

I printed out and laminated my pacing plan, this was to go into my pocket on race day for reference:

My final training session before the 55 was a 20 miler round my usual East Durham Coastal loop a fortnight before the race which saw me post my 3rd best 20 mile time.  I wanted to try and get another couple of shorter sessions in before the race but work commitments prevented that.

In the week leading up to such a race, I’d normally try and get more sleep than usual, again work demands came into play and I had substantially less than normal but despite that I felt reasonably rested and comfortable going into the weekend.

I’d decided to camp in my car at Helmsley early on because the weather is so unpredictable this time of year and I knew I could keep myself comfortable and warm for the duration in the car.  I travelled down on Friday afternoon, stopping at Clay Bank to get a feel for the weather and again at Chop Gate where I bumped into Gill Crane who I ran the final few miles of the Osmotherley marathon with and stopped for a chat.

I got into Helmsley early and had a wander into town for a huge tray of sausage, chips and gravy before setting up my nest in the back of the car.

After that I got my head down for an hours kip.  I spent the rest of the evening alternating between short naps, chatting with other campers and eating.

Around 2:30am I was disturbed from my slumber by an owl and by around 3:30pm I give in to the fact that I couldn’t get back off so I started to slowly sort myself out for the big day ahead.  I eat a pot of porridge and had a cup of coffee while I applied BodyGlide liberally to my toes and other areas of the body that might rub or chafe then applied blister plasters to my heels.

I then put on some of my running kit before having a wander out to chat with Rosie from Drinks Stop who’d just arrived (and a cuppa of course).

Soon it was time to get on the bus to head up to Guisborough and the race start.  The journey up was uneventful and I passed the time chatting with Dave Kamis and Chris Lyons before getting quickly through kit check and registration when we arrived.  After that there was some time to kill so I alternated with catching up with various people I hadn’t seen since ta least the last race or the one before and nipping outside to stretch off before Race Director Jon Steele gave the race brief.

After that we trouped out to the road for the start and we got quickly underway, with the mass of bodies carrying me up to a bottleneck at the steps up onto the disused railway line which was to take us up to Guisborough Woods.  Up on the railway line I thought the pace was very quick and made a conscious effort to slow down, dropping quite a way down the field as I did so.  However, as the path began to rise into the woods I was soon gaining those places back despite my calves feeling very tight.  I trotted along conservatively chatting with other runners until I managed to hit a significant downhill at pace to loosen them off and catching up with Dave Cook, Dee Bouderba and Jason Hayes in the process.

We jogged along at a steady but comfortable pace, chatting away and soon we were over the top of Highcliff Nab and on our way to Roseberry Topping.

As we came off Little Roseberry and headed towards Roseberry Topping itself, I spotted Ady Benn coming the opposite way having already made his climb up and down.  As we passed each other we high fived and wished each other well.

On the climb up Roseberry I adopted the climbing tactic that I hoped would serve me well on the many similar climbs to come.  This mainly involved taking the smallest steps with the absolute minimum vertical movement in my legs.  I lost ground to Dee (who rocketed up like a mountain goat) and Dave but wasn’t worried as we bunched back together at the top, grabbing some sweets from the marshalls and rounding the trig point before heading back down the hill.

At this point I’d already realised that the cold wind blowing out of the north could be a significant factor and had pulled a buff up from round my neck and over my chin as we came down from the top.

On the way back up Little Roseberry, Dee spotted the SportSunday photographer and managed to trip over while distracted but she wasn’t hurt and cam back up laughing and smiling.  Once through the gate at the top of the hill, our little group continued our steady progress along the Cleveland Way towards Gribdale.

As we passed the Gribdale Gate checkpoint I walked ahead on the climb to Captain Cooks to buy some time to send my first update text to Natalie and was joined by the rest of the group as we reached the top before picking up the pace for the very nicely runnable downhill stretch into Kildale.

At this point I was happy with my pacing, I was slightly ahead of plan but happy to push the pace a little faster because I had the benefit of being in a good group.  My food was going perfectly to plan, I’d eaten every 15 minutes and I was just about out of my dry roasted nuts, had couple of Wine Gums left and two gels.

We cruised into the Kildale checkpoint at 2h:33m where I said hi to Ruth Whiteside and quickly binned the almost empty foodbags and started looking for the dropbags only to be told that a logistical mistake meant they were 10 miles along the route at Clay Bank.  I quickly retrieved my bags from the bin and started loading them up with supplies from the checkpoint to last me another 10 miles.

At this point Dee had dropped back to use the loo at the cafe in Kildale and still hadn’t joined us, with my aim of keeping moving in mind I told Dave I was going to walk on and he assured me that they would catch up.

I started off up Battersby Bank which is on tarmac and quite runnable in places and about halfway up I looked behind me to see no sign of Dave, Dee and Jason.  There was a short line of runners following me up the hill but not particularly close so I stuck my headphones in an cracked on to the beat of my very random selection of music (I plugged the MP3 into the computer before I left and let the computer choose 125 random tracks).  One of the first tracks was “The Only Way Is Up” by Yazz and the Plastic Population, very appropriate.

As I pushed across the ever more exposed moorland towards Bloworth the temperature dropped and I was forced to used my spare buff as a headband on top of my two hats to keep my ears warm and my cap from blowing away in the wind.  I was quickly overtaken by the group behind me but this did not bother me.  I was still ahead of my pacing plan at around 8:30m/km to 8:50m/km so I stuck to this comfortable pace allowing the group to head off into the near distance.

As I approached Bloworth I remembered reading one of John Kynaston’s blog last year where he described gaining benefit from repeating a mantra of “I am strong, I am fit” as he ran.  Since I was alone I decided to try this myself.  I started repeating “I am strong, I am fit, I am running well and I am running pain free.” over and over.  I had done this for over a full kilometer and was starting to feel really good when I came across an amusing sight.  The group ahead were taking turns to lift each other up to clip the numbers they’d attached to their lower bodies at the self clip that Jon Steele had left comically high on the sign post at Bloworth crossing.

I casually tipped up giggling and removed my triathlon belt holding my number, clipped it and got on my merry way repeating my mantra for a few minutes then singing along to my music for a few minutes more, much to the amusement of a couple of ladies running ahead of me who I’d chatted to earlier in the race.

At this point I started to feel really strong and really good about myself, so even though I was roughly 10 minutes ahead of my pacing plan I allowed myself to go with the flow and picked up the pace.  I overtook one runner, then another, then another.  Just before Round Hill I decided to walk and send Natalie another text update.

When I got running again I felt like I was dancing down the descent towards Clay Bank and my MP3 obliged with a nice, fast track for me to skip down the rocks to.

I rushed down to the roadside where Dennis Atherton was manning the drop bag pickup and finally dumped the rubbish from my previous food.  I filled my now empty juice bottle up with the can of Red Bull from my drop bag and quickly packed food into my back pockets including a bag of Bombay Mix, a Chia Charge Flapjack, a mixed bag of Wine Gums and Midget Gems and 4 gels.

At this point I also decided to give my “You are running pain free” mantra some chemical assistance and grabbed some paracetamol from my pack before heading over the road and up the side of Hasty Bank at 4h:45m, 5 minutes ahead of my planned arrival time at Clay and having spent a few minutes there already .

My climbing plan for this stretch was very much the same as Roseberry.  Slow, steady, minimal movements and minimal stress on the legs.  I was overtaken by a couple of runners but this didn’t bother me.  I was feeling good and strong and seemingly climbing without effort.  I’d just got onto the top when I started thinking my pack felt a bit odd.  As I got running again, the feeling got worse.  I stopped and took it off and realised what the problem was just in time.  When I’d got the paracetamol out, I’d left my pack unzipped in my hurry to get going again, my headtorch had been swinging from the pack and was only hanging on by the buckle on the strap.  Another few metres and it’d have dropped into the heather without me noticing.  This may not have been an issue in itself because I was carrying a spare hand torch (although being forced to use a hand torch in HM60 had slowed me a lot) but the psychological blow could have been bad.

I quickly zipped my pack up having been overhauled by two runners while stopped and cracked on to the Wainstones where the runners who had overtaken me were slowly picking their way down through the rocks.  Having trained extensively on this stretch I knew the Wainstones well and quickly percolated like water finding the shortest most efficient route through the rocks and picking up a couple of places in the process.  On the descent I really let fly putting a decent gap between me and the runners behind.  At the bottom I even had time to stop and fasten my laces without being caught before heading up the next climb of Cold Moor.  Again, being slow, steady and minimal caused me to be overtaken but again I wasn’t worried.  I had never felt so good on these climbs, hardly out of breath and relaxed, I realised I was actually enjoying climbing.

I got onto the top and decided to have some Bombay Mix while I was trotting along at a nice clip (my average at this point for the entire race was well under my target) and decided it tasted foul.  I shoved it back in my pocket and resolved to use my Chia Charge flapjack instead.

I flew down the descent where a very cold looking John Vernon and Flip Owen were checking off runners outside their tent.  I got a high five from Flip and a reassuring comment that I was looking strong as I started on the ascent of Cringle Moor.  Again I enjoyed the climb, the technique of preserving the legs obviously working well and the mantra reinforcing my positive feelings. It seemed I was over the top in no time at all before rocketing down the other side towards the Lord Stones checkpoint.

I was now repeatwed my mantra loudly and unashamedly as I finished the last of the Red Bull and cruised into the checkpoint at 6h:00m.  A whole 8 minutes ahead of time, smiling as I passed Jo Barrett and I was laughing and joking as I filled my bottle up with coke at the checkpoint.

As I crossed Raisdale Road, I was anticipating some pain from Carlton Bank, I’d really suffered on there in the Osmotherley marathon at a shorter distance in.  As I arrived at the bottom of the steps, Objects In The Rear View Mirror (May Appear Closer Than They Are) by Meat Loaf came on my MP3 player.

Awhile ago I’d made some videos to use while on my cycling turbo trainer and I’d used this track overlaid against a video of climbing the White Horse Bank (which I’d cross the top of later in the race).  I’d found it a bit of a dirge for the turbo trainer but it seemed perfect for me on this climb.  I was cruising up in time with the music and my body seemed to expect to have to work with this song in my head, I was running past the trig point at the top in no time at all and as I reached the top the sun came out and I had a moment of what can only be described as euphoria.

I was now belting across Holey Moor an Live Moor with ease enjoying every minute of this race, I actually felt something close to bulletproof as I was bouncing down the descent from Live Moor and clattered onto the tarmac at Huthwaite Green in 6h:47m, now tracking 16 minutes ahead of plan.

I had it in my mind that this section would be psychologically difficult, there was an uphill stretch across the field into Clain Woods to do but, I’d even decided to ford the river instead of using the bridge on my way into the field.  I couldn’t believe how well I was going.

I seemed to reach the point I’d been dreading quickly, the steps that are hidden in the wood that stretch for 300m at a grade of over 20% in places up to Coalmire Lane.  As I got onto the steps I was caught by one of the ladies I’d been chatting with earlier and pretty much on and off since the start and got talking again as we made our way up.  The steps were conquered in no time at all and I seemed to have the ability to run straight away so I obliged my legs again.

As I arrived at Scarth Nick, I took the time to text another update to Natalie before starting on the climb to the woods above Osmotherley.  I passed the time chatting with the two runners I was to run into Osmotherley with.  We jogged along, self clipping again at the TV station before enjoying the descent into Osmotherley.  Shortly before the village the battery warning started beeping on my Garmin so I started planning what I needed to do at the checkpoint:

• Toilet
• Drop Bags
• Top up drink bottle
• Get head torch out and into my back pocket
• Take more paracetamol
• Hook my Garmin up to the charger

I arrived in Osmotherley at 8h:03m feeling positive at being almost 15 minutes ahead of plan.  I quickly got through my list of tasks before plugging the Garmin in and my mood took a nose dive.  The bloody thing wouldn’t charge.  I couldn’t work out if it was the wire (which I’d found had been getting leaked on by coke from my bottle), the cradle or the charger.  I swapped new batteries into the charger and still nothing.  I’d tested the whole set up the previous night and was furious with myself.  I hadn’t brought a second watch to manage my eating every 15 minutes and pacing so was facing some guesswork when it ran out.

I packed up as quickly as I could and set off having lost several places in my 16 minutes of faffing about (not that I was bothered about places but it was getting dark and I’d wanted to stay near a group for this bit and felt I was gong well with the couple I ran into Osmotherley with).

As I left the checkpoint Emily Beaumont arrived, the last I’d seen of her was on the railway track at Guisborough where she’d pulled up in apparent pain and was stretching.  She now looked very fresh and soon caught me on the climb out of Osmotherley.

As she passed, I realised that in my rush at the checkpoint, I’d forgotten to take some paracetamol so sh very kindly got it out of my pack for me and saved me stopping.

During the climb onto Black Hambleton I was caught by Andy Nesbit and we got chatting.  I told him I was walking for a bit as I’d allowed myself 4 hours to get to White Horse and my current walking pace was comfortably quick enough to get me there faster.  In fact it was quicker than some of the running I’d done earlier.  We decided to walk to High Paradise and then get moving again on the descent.

We cracked on at a steady pace, telling each other about how our day had gone so far, chatting briefly with runners who overtook us and estimating how far ahead other runners were as their headtorches came on as well as speculating whether the headtorches we could see behind us would catch us.

We left it as long as possible before turning ours on to conserve batteries but it got to the point where the gravel track was getting tricky in the fading light.

Soon we hit High Paradise farm and I gave my first top up of the day to my water and chia bottle, rather fittingly from the Chia Charge wagon there.  As we were jogging off from the checkpoint Fran Jeffery and another runner arrived.  I was pleased to see her as Emily had told me that she was local to these parts and would be a good person to follow if I was struggling with the navigation.

Andy and I pushed on jogging and walking in equal measure keping ahead of the lights only a few hundred metres behind us.  We moved quickly across Sneck Yate having a few friendly words with a gentleman who was waiting for someone there and got going along Boltby Scar where Andy spotted a deer on the cliffside.  Seeing wildlife up close like that always spurs me on and it took my mind off the growing pains in my feet, in particular, what I suspected were a couple of blisters on my left little toe.

We were caught and overtaken by a runner just before Whitestone Cliff and just started to follow him up a left hand turn that appeared to be signposted Cleveland Way when Fran shouted us both back.  We tried to shout the runner ahead back but he was alread on his way across the Gallops.

We followed Fran at her amazingly quick walking pace to Sutton Bank and down towards the cruel out and back loop to White Horse passing runners now coming the other way.

As we descended the scrabbly bank down to the woods around the White Horse (which had some painful challnges for our tired knees) I was surprised to see that my Garmin was still working and we were at 11h:56m which was still looking slightly ahead of budget for White Horse.  A few minutes later, my Garmin gave up the ghost and I was now reliant on Andy, not only for witty banter but reminders to eat and timings.

We soon arrived at what I called the fun checkpoint.  They had disco lights and music booming out of their car stereo but informed me sadly that they were out of coke.

I filled my coke bottle up with water and waited as Andy refilled his bladder, trying to have a dance to the music but my legs were not playing ball.  Just as we were about to crack on, John Vernon arrived in his car and the checkpoint crew told me he had coke.  I very quickly ditched the water and substituted it with lovely sugary caffeine and E number goodness.

Andy and I had been dreading the climb up the steps back to the top of the White Horse but I didn’t think they were that bad.  We got to the top and I suggested a bit of a jog to loosen our legs which we did for about 200m before fast walking again.

In the distance we saw a group of lights heading down to White Horse and we speculated whether that was the final group running with sweepers.  At this point we made a pact to get away on our toes if we saw any lights coming up behind us as a bit of an incentive to keep our pace up and make a final push for Helmsley.

I was confident in this stretch having recce’d it in the dark with Dave, Dee and Aaron Gourley a few weeks earlier.

We banged on at a decent walk/run rhythm and just after the Hambleton Inn we spotted lights ahead of us.  This surely couldn’t have been Fran as she had left the checkpoint well ahead of us and was going well.  We pushed on faster to catch up and found two runners taking a slight detour round the horse training track at the farm there.  One of them looked tired and unhappy, as we jogged on together he dropped back.  I asked the man who’d been with him if he was OK and he said he thought he was having some food, so we pushed on.

I wanted to make the most of these country lanes so I tried to get the group jogging at every opportunity, Andy was now sharing my determination to finish well and I knew that there was no doubt about us finishing now.  My spirits were back on high.

Andy refreshed his torch batteries in Cold Kirby and we jogged on into the woods, the other runner caught us shortly after this and I got chatting to him.  He seemed very tired, so I asked him if he was eating and drinking OK.  He told me he was out of food and water so I gave him some fig roll biscuits and the last of my coke which seemed to perk him up but you could tell he was running on pure force of will now.

The stretch of road we were walking along by the river seemed to drag on forever and as we turned right into the woods and started on the final big climb I checked time with Andy again and did some mental maths.  We were in with a very good chance of a sub 15 hour finish if we played it right.  I suggested jogging again at the top of the climb which we managed for a bit before we reverted to our power walk. As we’d slowed to a walk, the group was still together, but such was our walking pace, Andy and I somehow snapped the elastic on the other two.

As the terrain started to point downhill I asked Andy how he felt about a strong run in, he said he’d give it a go and we did.  We got moving at a gravity assisted jog, only stopping to walk briefly on a really stoney path which seemed to cause serious grief to our feet just before Helmsley, we pushed harder once we got onto the tarmac at the end of the Cleveland Way and we saw Marc Hewison waiting at the end of the Way for Andy.

We didn’t stop and jogged on harder, pushing our way over the final hundred or so metres to achieve the sub 15h finish.  When I checked in with Shirley, she told me I’d clocked 14h:48m:33s.

I was elated!  We walked up the stairs, chatting briefly on the way to Gary Thwaites before being presented with our medals and T Shirts by Jo Barrett.

As I sat down to some very welcome chilli and gave a final update to Natalie I began to wonder how Dave, Dee and Jason were doing.  It didn’t take long to find out.  They made it up the stairs just as I finished my chilli and I was pleased that all three were intact and happy.

In the days after the race I’ve given some thought to what I’ve learned from the experience and summed it up:

• Pacing – I was right after HM60 to blame not having a proper pacing plan.  While I spnt a lot of the day ahead of plan, splitting th distance down and trying to moderate effort gave me the structure I needed.
• Food  – Eating regularly kept my energy, mood and motivation high.  i still took too much food and Bombay Mix was a poor choice (I binned all but two mouthfuls), so were the dry roasted nuts in my second drop bag.  I didn’t use them at all.  The fig rolls and Chia Charge flapjacks were perfect.  As well as that the Wine Gums and Midget Gems were nice enough but not too sickly to keep me happy all day.  Also a gel per hour seemed about right.
• Clothing – I was worried about being too hot in my fleece but needed it to keep my food and other stuff handy in the back pockets.  I needn’t have worried, if anything it kept me just warm enough.  Leggings, trisuit, hats, buffs etc all served me well as per previous races and runs.  My shoes were equally as good with my feet only suffering two blisters (one on each little toe as a result of my feet swelling).  Looking forward to HM60, I may need to consider a standard cycling jersey or maybe a more lightweight cycling jacket depending on the weather in September.
• Positive Thinking – My big take away from this race is the power of positive thinking.  Repeating my mantra had a definite impact.  I went from a place where I could feel my body starting to hurt to being fresh, positive, strong and pain free within a few miles and powered over some of the more difficult terrain on the course on mental strength.  This is something I’ll be looking to utilise more going forward

Final Thoughts

As with all races, nobody gets to run them without them being organised.  Jon and Shirley Steele have not disappointed me yet with a Hardmoors race.  They are always well organised with a family atmosphere that I have now started likening them to an all day party that you get to spend with friends you only ever see once in awhile.

Jon and Shirley of course, could not do this without the extensive team of ever growing volunteer marshalls and helpers that form the heart of the Hardmoors family.

I will confess right now to being addicted to this series and having seen Nikki Carr’s big smiles at hitting the 1,000 Hardmoors miles mark I now have my own long term goal for the future.

To everyone who was part of this day.  Thank you, it was brilliant and I look forward to seeing you all soon.

Written by Tom Wright - http://life.tomwright.me.uk

Nadia proposed a race abroad to celebrate my 40th on the proviso there was sun and it fell in March. The grandparents/babysitters were in town. Only two races fitted the bill: Antiparos 100km - a lap race around a Greek island; or North Face Transgrancanaria. I didn’t have a qualifying time for the former and while the latter was full, being the third leg of the Ultra Trail World Tour, it’s shorter sibling, the Advanced course, had spaces. At 85km and 4800m ascent this was as big an undertaking as I had faced and once registered I hastily got to work running up and down hills to get elevation experience in my legs after a lethargic start to winter.

First views of Gran Canaria’s volcanic mountains on the flight in. Roque Nublo is just visible in the centre of the image.

We found a package tour for a long weekend, flying from Birmingham, and staying at the H10 on Playa Meloneras just a 10 minutes walk from the Expo centre where the race registration and finish would take place. The grandeur of the event was apparent from the outset as celebrities of the ultrarunning world convened on the small resort. Before we even left Las Palmas airport I had introduced myself to Talk Ultra’s Ian Corless who just happened to be stood next to me at the baggage belt. His voice had rung through my ears on countless long runs as I plugged in to the de facto ultrarunning podcast so it felt surreal putting a face to the voice and I will admit I was a somewhat starstruck as I fumbled my introductions. Not without taking heed of Ian’s warnings of the technicality and difficulty of the course I would face. The press were based in H10 so we got many more opportunities to chat running with Ian as well as spotting Nuria Picas, Brendan Davies and a few other big names from the sport at the Friday morning press conference.

Friday lunchtime I jogged over to the Expo centre to hand in my drop bag while Nadia made far more sensible use of the sun’s rays to top up her vitamin D. A chance to acclimatise to the heat of the day perhaps. Ten minutes in and my back was dripping with sweat. The air temperature was around 24 degrees and there was little breeze. The Expo was buzzing with anticipation. There was no queue and I regretted registering the previous evening when Nadia and I, both exhausted from a 5am journey, had queued amongst a throng of Spaniards for 30 minutes to collect my race number and timing chip. The Advanced race formed part of the Spanish Ultra Cup hence seventy percent of the field was Spanish. The organisers announced that athletes from 71 countries were taking part across the five races that formed the weekends challenges so despite the Spanish dominance it was certainly an international affair.

An afternoon sat poolside in the shade ensued. Having come from an English winter, I didn’t want my race curtailed by sun stroke! Dinner was a sedentary affair at the all you can eat buffet for fear of food poisoning and by 10pm, thanks to a cerveza and house red, I was, for once, actually sound asleep. Thanks to several weeks of early morning commute reciting my race day routine I had expectations of a smooth affair. Surprisingly, despite a lack of caffeine, the 3am start went well. Awoke to the ringing chimes of Major Tom; scoffed a Lizi’s granola (just add water); contact lenses applied to squinted eyes; 10 minutes lubricating; 5 minutes applying sun block; another granola; teeth brushed; donned kit; checked pack; jog to Expo for 4:10am coach…

I was drifting in and out of sleep as the coach came to a sudden halt and we were ushered on to the dark streets of Fontanales. I had shared the journey with Martin, an English runner currently residing in Norway, who had chosen this event as his inauguration into ultra running. The chit-chat had been interspersed with brief spells of reflection. The last time I ran Spanish mountains was Montgo’s rugged pathways. I was excited at the prospect of visiting similar terrain and bringing some of the expertise I had developed there to this challenge. The start was still an hour distant and time drew slowly. At first I composed myself in a dark corner of the village nibbling at a Chia Charge bar mentally reciting my strategies. The air was cool and I huddled under both my Montane marathon jacket and Minimus smock, being the only two layers I chose to bring.

For the past few weeks, as usual, I fastidiously studied a map of Gran Canaria and virtual fly overs of the route on Google Earth. I had a broad idea of the main challenges and where opportunities to make up time would arise. Simply stated the course was an uphill marathon followed by a downhill marathon. The contours gave clues to a few hurdles over the second half. The main unknowns would be: the terrain and the sun. The longest I had previously run under a Spanish sun was twenty miles but that was self supported. Most feed stations here were close together. There was, however, a long ten mile section on the back half of the course we would face in the heat of the afternoon. My plan was to eat solid food on the long climbs, try and eat a hot meal at the half way point and turn to shot blocks and gels on the more arid back half. I would keep drinking regularly with a mix of Nuun (calorie free) and High5 (calories). There you have it - a plan of sorts.

I reconvened with Martin for a quick coffee at an overflowing café. Before converging on the slow-moving queue for the toilet. We made our way down the steep hill to the start and as our reckoning drew closer time accelerated. The sun was just starting to pierce the blackness of night. A relief as I chose to leave my Black Diamond head torch tucked away in the bottom of my Salomon pack. Huddled towards the back of the five hundred strong field the countdown begun.

Ready and raring to go

Cinco… cuatro… tres… dos… uno…

Fontanales to Teror (752m ascent)

The hooter sounded and we were off. Well, the elite athletes were off at a sprint back up the steep road. We had several minutes wait before finally shuffling under the starting gate, to the pulsating thump of the DJs music, past the throng of cheering spectators and off into the hills. 

As the road quickly gave way to trail I learned the value in jostling for a position on the start line. We hit a severe bottleneck. It was single file traffic at best on a gradual incline and pace was very slow. Worryingly the pace hardly picked up as we went downhill! 

So for the first few miles I struggled my way past runners at every opportunity sometimes squeezing by on the inside with an expressive gracias, other times making use of short sections of road to run fast. It was gratifying to finally stretch out the legs after several weeks of tapering but Dave’s words at the RAT the previous summer still weighed on my mind and I was wary of exerting my quads so early in the race.

The first long descent was a sharp collection of switchbacks underlaid with smooth boulders. I threw caution to the morning breeze on several tight bends opting to leap over boulders simply to gain a position eager that I might free myself from the procession. But to little avail. The trail bought us into a desolate village and the first long climb of the day. Barely a spike on the profile yet on the ground it felt long as we weaved up the lush wooded valley in the shadow of Mount Lentisco.

Looking back at the line of runners I estimated I had moved into the middle half of the field. The exertion of the ascent had me sweating heavily and I was relieved I chose to run in just a mesh vest and arm warmers. I tried to keep focus in the moment but couldn’t prevent my frenetic mind wandering to the much bigger climbs to come beyond Teror. At least the legs and the back showed no sign of tiring at this early stage and once over the summit it was more downhill queues into Vallesco and the first feed station.

A crowd of runners were gathered around the water/coke vats in the village and I saw little need to stop as I switched my handheld to a full bottle from my pack. So I ran straight through the feed station and hit the next small climb. 

As the long descent to the first checkpoint began I hit more bottlenecks and this time it was far too narrow to overtake. We weaved through some fairly dense and lush vegetation on the easy going trail. I heard a frustrated shout in English from behind as we moved very slowly down hill, limited by the pace set by those in front. Descending is my strength and I too began to feel exasperated as the minutes seemed to slip away. Unfortunately, as trail gave way to tarmac and the road widened, I continued to neglect my quads and ran fast down the steep tarmac slopes into Teror.

Entry to the feed station in the town square was lined with a bizarre collection of giant inflatable cartoon characters. From the Simpsons no less! Yet far more impressive it stood in the shadow of the Basilica de Nuestra Senora del Pino - the cathedral to the patron saint of the island. A marshal stepped forward and scanned my number with a high tech looking, but oversized, laser gadget while a young helper kindly filled up my water bottles. Tables were lined with nuts, crisps, cheeses, fruits and meat cuts. Conscious of my heavy sweating I grabbed a handful of salted nuts and set off on the first big climb of the race.

I would like to have explored this pretty little town if only there had been more time!

Teror to Cruz de Tejeda (1275m ascent)

Specificity! I hear it all the time but repeatedly fail to apply it to my training plans. Besides, how can you train for a 1000m ascent in Cornwall? Eighty metre hill repetitions just aren’t the same. I learned this in 2014 running the Black Mountains and Brecon Beacons. That realisation was about to reach a whole new level as I set out from Teror on the first major climb.

Teror seems a fitting name for the town at the base of 4000 feet of climbing that would take us past El Penón at 1640 metres. The tarmac road gave way to steep steps. I was moving pretty well amongst a group of runners and felt comfortable with progress at a steady pace. We briefly joined the GC-42 road and then bore right onto a track lined with eucalyptus. Simon Darmody, fifteenth at last year’s Lakeland 50, came up alongside me. He was that frustrated English man but embarrassingly noted that the runner holding us up had in fact been running the 125 km course. We chatted briefly. I started to feel the lactic acid building in my legs and a slight sensation of cramp in my quads so, as Simon jogged on I bade farewell and resigned to power walking. We passed Cruz de la Hoya Alta and I took a few moments to take in the sweeping view back down the valley before continuing the climb.

The two crosses, one wooden and one metal standing proud over Teror.

We took a rolling path along the mountain ridge. The climbs short and steep with numerous switchbacks interspersed with brief descents. Two steps up, one step down!

There was little protection from a building Saharan breeze on the crests and this added to the challenge but kindly kept the temperature bearable. The sun was obscured by an omnipresent haze. The calima I later learned - a rare annual event that sweeps dust in from the African desert. Unfortunately it looked like visibility would be poor today and the colours of the mountains a little desaturated. So with my sightseeing plans disrupted by meteorological anomalies I buried my head down low, pushed hard on my thighs and soldiered on.

It felt alien having so many runners in close proximity well into the race but gave opportunity to gauge my progress and everyone appeared to be moving slowly. I occasionally glanced at my watch as the average pace rapidly fell from 12 minute miles to 15 minute miles. My heart sank a little. This was well outside my projections for a finish in daylight. There were distance markers on the course every 5 kilometres and it felt a very long time since I had seen one. Contemplating this I came upon the feed station at Talyon. It was bustling. There were a few runners sat in chairs. This was enticing but before the temptation consumed me I hurriedly topped up my electrolyte infused bottles, grabbed another handful of nuts and took flight.

Just down the road the 65km sign finally came into view. It was scant consolation knowing there was still so far to go. With all this climbing my cup was certainly half empty today. Negativity was having a big impact on my confidence and my performance.

Great only 65km to go!

Then the climbing returned in earnest. A really steep slog weaving through a desolate landscape of felled and scorched trees. My speed through the feed station saw me break away from the group of runners I had been with but now as my inexperienced legs grew weary I was reeled in. If I pushed hard up hill I felt pangs of cramp again. I put this down to the salted nuts and vowed to stay clear of them for the rest of the race. The track briefly joined road where a small crowd of spectators had gathered. The atmosphere was exciting and this gave me a brief lift amidst exclamations of vamos and animo. Then the climbing just got worse under the shade of a pine forest. As the straight path became further switchbacks my pace slowed to a crawl. Twenty runners must have overtaken me on that stretch. Nearly all of them, bar a couple of ladies, using poles.

It was a lot steeper than it appears! Or at least after nearly 1000m of climbing it felt a lot steeper.

The focus hides the pain I was feeling inside!

Finally, after 10km of almost continuous climbing we hit the summit. It took a few minutes to feel my legs again and I eased into the descent aware of the exertion my quads had already undergone and very aware of the steep drop off the narrow path (were one to trip). Not being a feed station the checkpoint, and another large scanner, came and went.

Cruz de Tejeda to Roque Nublo (917m ascent)

The next two miles were easy going rocky trail as we plummeted into the Tejeda caldera. A chance to pick off runners that had bettered me on the climb. Legs restored I felt comfortable with a little gravitational assistance. The panoramic mountainous terrain reached into the hazy skyline. The Spanish philosopher, Miguel de Unamuno, described the region as ‘a tremendous upheaval of the entrails of the earth’. Rock formations spewed out across the landscape and holding court the monolithic Roque Nublo. An impressive basaltic plug majestically rising 80m above the plateau. The landscape truly was a ‘Petrified Storm’ and I was excited at the prospect of visiting the rock. Although it looked another very long, big climb!

Looking up to Roque Nublo with El Fraile (The Monk) the smaller volcanic neck on the left.

Arriving at Tejeda feed station my thoughts turned to nourishment. I was hot, thirsty and hungry but reluctant to consume more salted nuts. So I turned to large quarters of fresh, home grown, oranges. They hit the spot as I consumed two whole oranges worth, sucking out the juice and discarding the pith and skin. Not sure this would greatly benefit my calorie intake but it tasted succulent and was readily digestible. I had been struggling for some time to eat Clif bars and flapjacks which were all too dry. There was a queue for water and I found myself having to stand firm to hold my place in the bustling pack. The route continued downhill on tarmac as we battled an incessant wind whipping through the valley. One sudden gust took my cap off which fortunately landed in the face of a runner on my tail rather than blowing clean over the edge into the valley below.

Fortunately the unforgiving tarmac was short lived and we were back on a gravel track which gave way to more steep rubble strewn switchbacks as we took a trail up the valley and around the western side of the Roque Nublo plateau. Sheltered from the wind the temperature quickly rose. I struggled to eat a Chia protein bar - too dry also. Again the same runners were overtaking as my pace became sluggish.

Even an elderly man just out for a walk moved faster than me up the steep ascent! This at least made me chuckle and I texted the fact, along with my progress, to Nadia. 

11:39: “an old man is going up hill faster than me now! x”

I allowed photo opportunities as a means to catch my breath and let the legs rest convincing myself that once on the plateau it would be a short run to the hot feed station at Garañón where I could recuperate. Despite the haze the views were inspiring. There was even an occasional eccentricity. High up on the mountainside, a green wooden door cemented into the hillside!

There be hobbits living here

Slow ascent on rubble switchbacks

In the shadow of the rock we passed through more pine forest with rock and root strewn trails.

Looking south-west Mount Aserrador rises out of the haze

The last part of the climb was gradual and I found my running legs. The terrain dramatically changed from root laden wooded trails to a bizarre volcanic amalgam of sharp protrusions and rounded boulders on the plateau.

It was a short diversion to the timing control under the rock. Once my number was scanned I asked the marshall to take a photo for me. I had studied Roque Nublo on Google Maps with my daughter, Olive, and here was proof that I had succeeded in my climb.

Roque Nublo to Pico Nieves (492m ascent)

The track descended quickly off the plateau followed by some undulating woodland trail before dropping down to the impressive Los Hornos dam. Crossing a reservoir of cool water was a cruel twist when feeling so parched. Around this point I started feeling decidedly queasy. I stopped to drink some electrolyte and moved on slowly.

The heat of the midday sun was getting to me, despite being 5000 feet above sea level. I tried to convince myself it would soon be downhill all the way but the foreboding climb to Pico Nieves and another marathon of distance was overwhelming. I had already ascended and descended the equivalent of our highest Welsh mountains twice - this felt like more than my legs could handle. One more short climb and I stumbled into the feed station at Garañón to a large supportive crowd. Several people called out ‘Animo Tom’. At first I was confused how they knew me until I twigged the letters T.O.M. were engraved across my number around my waist. I don’t know if it was hydration or not enough calories but my mind was confused and I really needed to sit down.

Collection of my drop bag was efficient, I found a spare chair and took the weight off my legs. My bag had a change of clothes, a USB battery cell to top up my Ambit, some food (mainly gels and shot blocks), more Nuun tablets and sun cream. I helped myself to a bowl of pasta with a few new potatoes and observed those around me.

The hut felt a little like a war zone. There were beaten up bodies everywhere. Some runners were on mats in the corner stretching. A few nursed bloody wounds, others had their heads buried in their hands groaning. A few were packed up ready to get a lift back to Meloneras having volunteered their own DNF. Tempting! But the pasta was an instant hit and I shook myself out of this malaise. We had flown 1800 miles to be here not accounting for the road miles at both ends. Considerable time, effort and money had gone into my entry. My family were following me at home on the live tracker. They would have seen me go past Roque Nublo. I owed it to them to continue. Olive would be asking why had I not reached Pico Nieves yet. After all it was only 5km.

I stood up with determination, hurriedly doused myself in suncream and smothered block on my nose and lips; discarded my wind jacket in the drop bag and grabbed some spare electrolytes; handed in my drop bag; topped up my bottles and bladder. Reinvigorated I departed Garañón ready to tackle whatever the island dished out.

First up, the steep climb to Pico de las Nieves, the highest point on the island at 1949m. Once again the path was lined with pine trees the track littered with woodland debris which at times made grounding quite challenging in my deep lugged Roclites. Having spent twenty minutes at the feed station I found myself surrounded by new faces and everyone was taking the ascent very slowly. My legs appeared grateful for the rest and took to the challenge with some aplomb. We climbed 250 metres in just over a kilometre. Finally 6 hours 52 minutes since leaving Fontanales I stood in the shadow of a giant golf ball at the top of Gran Canaria. This time there was no handheld scanner, we just ran through a gate that registered the chip embedded in our numbers.

Relief flowed through me. I had reached the highest point of Gran Canaria. Now a chance to test my mettle against the technical descents. 

Downhill all the way!

Pico Nieves to Tunte (251m ascent)

Before starting the descent I felt the urge to go to the toilet for the first time all day. A chance to assess my hydration behind a pine tree. Dark but not deadly! Assurance that I was sipping enough water. Then, I decided to check the live tracker on my phone. I was 170th overall and 47th (out of 132) in the M40 category. Being the only British representative in this category I felt it was my duty to improve over the back half of the course. I also knew the kids would be checking the tracker at home and I had slid quite a few places since Teror due in part to my slow climbing and the twenty minute rest at Garañón. So jumping a few places might raise some excitement on the sofa.

Initially the descent was rocky, steep and technical before levelling out in further pine forest with plenty more roots obstacles. From Llanos de la Pez we joined Camino de la Plata, a well walked route used by pilgrims to traverse the island. I had watched YouTube footage of the cobbled trail winding through the cliff side and looked forward to the experience. For now, concentration was called for on the uneven terrain as I watched every footstep and maintained a good pace, picking off runners one by one. There was enough breeze to keep the heat at bay. 

Then we left the woodlands behind and a surreal lunar landscape, devoid of any vegetation, revealed itself.

I couldn’t resist stopping to take a photo and a few more on the cobbled switchbacks. Despite the calima dust, the landscape was imposing and it was incomprehensible the challenge involved to build this path up such steep cliff  faces. The cobbled stones appeared to be resting atop each other which allowed plenty of opportunity to catch toes and further batter the feet. The sharp switchbacks were also steep and punishing on my quads.

The cobbled pathways of steep switchbacks intersect the near vertical cliff as a well trodden access route between the fertile north and the arid south of the island.

Camino de la Plata follows the ridge line south to Cruz Grande.

Looking back at the cobbled switchback that veers up the side of the mountain

The visual spectacle was enough to overcome the pain I was feeling in my quads after four miles of descent on rock hard terrain. The flora was quite different to the northern pine forests with all kinds of unusual succulents and flowers. Maybe it was the light reflecting but one plant actually appeared covered in silver spray paint. Deceived by my heat addled brain?

Much of the flora of Gran Canaria is unique to the island

We cut south across a ridge to Cruz Grande and then a rubble track wound down to Tunte. I found I was catching my toes repeatedly and both big toenails felt bruised. The wind faded and temperature rose rapidly as we descended. Despite regular sips of liquid my mouth and throat felt parched from the dry, dusty air. How I longed for an ice-cold drink. Sucking my way through a pack of Clif shot blocks did little to energise me. Mentally I had enjoyed this section but physically I was feeling exhausted again and the legs and feet were aching. Perhaps a bit more climbing wouldn’t be a bad thing!

A tarmac road led us around the town’s periphery and another short quad burning descent finally bought us into the feed station.

I made a beeline for a bucket full of ice water and put my hat in it. Then I scoffed a handful of orange quarters, grabbed some ice cubes and placed them under my cap, filled my bottles and made a hasty exit before a spare chair enticed me.

Tunte to Arteara (706m ascent)

At fourteen kilometres this was the longest section of the course and it started with another long gradual ascent as we cut through the mountain side to the Degollada de la Manzanilla pass. A gradual incline took us under the impressive rock faces of Morro de las Vacas. I tried to jog a few sections but generally found myself power walking. Runners spread out quickly after Tunte and no-one was passing me now. For the first time I really felt like I was out here by myself.

Another switchback leads to the Degollada de la Manzanilla pass

Nearing the end of the climb I saw a little card on the path saying “smile”. This was the cue for an official photographer. I did more than smile, I even put in a little jog - probably the last time I ran anything steeper than level for the rest of the race!

From the pass I had an opportunity to look down through the dust laden haze on the giant caldera which houses San Bartolomé (Tunte). Before joining a gravel road that ran for several miles in the eastern lee of the mountain. I have little recollection of this section of the course. It was dry, barren and very hot while the brume restricted panoramic visibility and dampened the visual experience. The vegetation was a lot less diverse than the fertile subtropical valleys north of the mountains. My legs were tired but so long as the track was level I continued to run, clinging on to two runners in sight about 200 metres ahead of me. When the track descended I found myself catching and then overtaking them despite my downhill speed being heavily restricted by aching quads and battered toes. Roclites weren’t such a good idea after all. Something with a little cushioning would have been most welcome on these gravel tracks.

Then as my mind wandered my right foot caught another rock and I lunged. The cramp was agony, the toenail torture. But somehow I managed not to hit the deck. I was determined to get through this race without bloodshed. 

I was longing to reach the heady drop-off to Arteara. This was the steepest section of the course and I had naively assumed an opportunity to make up some of the time lost climbing the central mountains. 

The descent looked treacherous, long and very steep. This was not the kind of terrain for making up time! The rocky path was similar to the Cornish coastal trails I train on and my experience appeared to help, as, despite a slow pace, I was picking off a lot of runners. Most were walking. I was hopping amongst the stones trying to pick out the safest path to land my feet ahead of me. A couple of times I almost overran the tight switchbacks and ground to a halt as loose rubble spilled over the steep precipice. It was pulsating and exciting. What a thrill this would be on fresh legs!

By the time I arrived at Arteara I was up to 125th place overall.

Arteara to Machacadora (358m ascent)

Once again I settled for a handful of orange slices and was immediately on my way. The day was fading fast with approximately 2 hours of daylight remaining and 19km to the finish.

As I followed the dry river bed of Barranco de Fataga through a line of tall palm trees, memories flooded back of the dry river mouth in Valencia. A sudden change in vegetation heralded our pending departure from the mountains as the course now gradually wound downhill to the urban sprawl of Maspalomes. Do not underestimate this last fifth of the course! 

I think I mis-managed my nutrition throughout the day and all energy was spent. I walked and was content to continue to do so for the final few miles to the finish. It would seem an ultra cannot be run on oranges alone!

Then a text came through from Nadia.

5:16pm: ‘Ella has just shouted “come on dad” at the computer’

Instantly I welled up. It was Ella’s strength and resolve when she was incubated in Spain that first allowed me to conquer my irrational fears of mountain running. Then around my 40th birthday in November Ella had been frightfully sick and intubated for several weeks. This combination of events had bought me to where I was today. I challenge myself with these events to inspire my children and test my own strength and resolve. Ella is only just learning to talk and briefly visualising her, curly mat of hair, shouting at the computer bought tears of joy. I had purpose again and a race to finish.

A man of spiritual inclination may have looked deeper into what happened next.

There were near 3000 competitors taking part and before the race I had only met one of them before. That was Michael (Carraz) who I had briefly run alongside after the hot feed station on the Brecon 10 Peaks. He, and his wife Laureda, were far stronger than me that day and went on to top ten finishes. I knew, via social media, that he had returned to run the 125km course for the second consecutive year. What were the odds that as I looked to my left there he was walking along beside me! Perhaps, statistically, the fact we both had intent to run sub 12 and 20 hours, to earn our respective miniatures would suggest there was a chance we may encounter each other over those last slow miles.

The conversation helped another unexpected climb pass quickly. We had both resigned to the fact those miniatures were unattainable. Eleven miles of gradual downhill in 90 minutes would be tough on a good day. But with heavy legs, hungry and probably dehydrated a thirteen hour finish would be achievement enough.

On reflection only once had I run with another runner for any length of time and that was my inaugural ultra on the Gower in 2012. Mike dictated when we ran. Getting going was the hardest part for me on painful legs but once I had rhythm it got easier and I would dictate our pace. So we both bought unique prowess to this temporary alliance and through our collective experience the journey’s end came closer.

But how long did that final feed station at Machacadora take to arrive! 

We passed one runner from the 125km lying on the side of the road. He said he was fine and just needed a little rest. Mike admitted that he would have gladly lain down alongside him. Mike also confessed he was having trouble with his kidneys and peeing blood. That did not sound good. What that guy, and all those runners had been through. My tribulations pail into insignificance in comparison! In honesty this dusty, rocky leg of the course provided little satisfaction. Lack of views as we just ran through the barranco with high cliffs on either side. I really just wanted to get out of the mountains now. I had had enough. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my throat was dry from the calima. I was spent!

Machacadora to Maspalomas (52m ascent)

I walked in to Machacadora. Michael jogged in ahead to meet up with Laureda. The feed station, in the middle of nowhere, was a hive of activity with pumping music and a veritable feast of nibbles to fuel runners for the last few miles to the finish. I topped up my bottles scoffed more orange and was raring to go. Michael was comfortably sat in a chair and I said my farewells. What a surprise when he leapt up and declared he was with me. We headed off the access road onto a track as Laureda honked her car horn in support. I was feeling broken but the fact Michael had joined me I felt necessity to run. The underpass looked a kilometre distant and I promised myself that if I could just run to the bridge I would have a break. There was urgency to this plan as the sun had now drifted below the horizon and dusk was rapidly falling. Mike assured me once in the river bed we would have street lights to guide us the last few miles to the finish.

The underpass came and went. I tried to sustain momentum as we entered the river bed but I felt mentally weak and the urge to walk was overpowering. Michael was concerned about our pace and, determined to break 21 hours, ran on ahead. I promised I would catch him after a short break. So after sharing the last 100 minutes of the course I watched Michael gradually fade into the distant darkness of the never-ending river bed. As courses go this was certainly a tough twist to end the adventure. The dry bed ran for two kilometres over uneven paving stones. While the terrain was nothing compared to the rugged paths of the mountain, on tired legs it took great concentration. And quite frankly I had very little concentration left to give. I noticed a lot of broken bottles littered along the bed and this was enough incentive to rally one last time and stay on my feet. 

Following Mike’s departure it took some time to gain composure. I consumed a caffeine gel and put some trance on my iPod. Light was fading fast and the distant street lights did little to illuminate the way. Gradually I picked up my pace. Relief came when I scrambled out of the bed and onto the promenade. Despite everything my body had endured I promised myself I would run the final two miles. More fool me as the organiser’s had one final surprise. An apparently unnecessary detour across 200 metres of beach! As I ran into the soft sand I sensed surprise from a few spectators on the promenade. This added to my determination to keep running and the pace might have been slow but I dragged my legs across that soft beach and back onto the final stretch of promenade. Passing the lighthouse I banked right along the shop fronts overtaking another couple of runners. Pace was improving as I sensed the finish approaching and a last pulse of adrenaline fuelled energy flowed through me. Then I was marshalled across 200m of gravel track with no street lights. I couldn’t see a thing but it was too late to start rummaging around for my head torch. Why I didn’t just dig out my phone I don’t know. I lifted my legs high in the hope I didn’t catch an unsuspecting rock and break blood so late in the day.

The music was pumping as I rounded the final bend. The atmosphere was like nothing I have experienced. It was inspiring. Crowds of spectators still cheering runners in and I put on a little burst of speed to the finish line passing a few more runners as I went. Somewhere in that throng was Nadia. For the first time she would see me finish a race. Again tears welled up. I wondered if the kids were still awake at home watching the live stream of the finish. 

Then, in the space of a few seconds. It was all over!

I finished Transgrancanaria Advanced course in an official time of 12:50:49. I was 129th overall and 36th in my class (M40).

The Aftermath

It has been nearly three weeks since we flew out to Gran Canaria and as is so often the case the adventure feels like a distant dream. This report has allowed me opportunity to cling on to that dream. When I started running coastal trails, and then marathons and finally stepping up to ultras in the UK, I never imagined I would one day run an event on the scale of Transgrancanaria. 

Would I go back? Michael said: “It will be easier to think about doing again in a couple of months when we have forgotten the suffering :)”

After the race I found Michael slumped on a step. He may have been beaten inside but on the surface he carried a huge smile and looked like he could do it all again! 

The race was excellent value for money. We got a wealth of goodies - teeshirt, buff, visor, finishers gilet, medal - and a good selection of photos at a reasonable price (compared to some of the UK events). The support on the course was exceptional. I really felt I was part of something, rather than just out for a very long run.

The course was as challenging as expected. The climbs long and steep and the descents really technical. The last 10 miles were not fun! For a race they bought an additional challenge since the terrain really allowed fast running if the legs were capable. For a plodder they just bought more pain!

The legs are still suffering but maybe one day when the pain has gone I will start contemplating another attempt at earning one of those sub 12 hour miniatures. Or maybe even tackling the monstrous 125km course!

Another hard-earned medal for the collection

Written by Michael Carraz - http://mickrunningliving.blogspot.co.uk

descent to Tunte. I could feel that my legs were not going to hold strong till the end of the race but made the decision of taking advantage of the downhill while it was not too gnarly to cover ground. The legs took the beating I was expecting and I reached Tunte pretty broken wondering how I was going to cover the 30 or so kilometres left.

Tom and I in the final push

I am not sure I will go back to do it again…although I still really want that sub 20 hours trophy! J

Written by Matthew Hearne - http://www.svp100.co.uk

If you think there are no mountains in Paris, think again!

I had been aware of a race in Paris that historically finished up the Eiffel Tower and I’d always been fascinated by the idea of competing. Over the last few years the race had finished near to the Eiffel Tower, but this year the finish line returned to the first floor. As soon as I heard, I immediately signed up and was excited to visit the city for my first time since the Paris marathon in 2005. Back then, I’d run the marathon with James Bingham (Ring O Fire) and we decided to climb the stairs of the Eiffel Tower immediately after the race. I guess we are not the only people to have good ideas!

I travelled out on the train with fellow Serpentine member Peter Bowles. On arriving in Paris via the Eurostar we headed to the Expo and registered. The whole sign up process was not entirely straightforward as the registration area was hidden at the back of a huge outdoor expo, and we later found out that we could have had our races packs sent through the post. Good to know in retrospect.

After walking 13.1 miles to register, find food and our respective hotels, it was time to hit the hay. This was one race where an early night was not necessary though. With a start time of midday, the next morning was going to be relatively civilized and leisurely compared to most other long distance events.

On the morning of the race we headed out to Saint Quentin-en-Yvelines via the Metro, train and coach. The journey was straightforward, with Eco Trail de Paris signs at the train station and plenty of coaches to transport us to the start. The morning was exceedingly chilly and we tried hard to keep warm whilst waiting for the start of the race. As midday approached, we were raring to go, keen to generate some body heat.

I’d met up with a few other Serpentine runners, some of their running friends, and also Tobias Mews who I’d met during the Marathon des Sables in 2011. Tobias had not done any ultra running for a while and claimed to be out of practice, so we decided to set off together to keep one another company.

We started the race wrapped up in waterproof layers and beanies, but after a couple of miles we were both overheating. We stopped and stripped down to t-shirts before continuing. As we were running in a field of approximately 2,000 or so other competitors, the front of the pack had shot off at an incredible pace and it was hard not to go with the flow. I looked at my watch at one point and noted that we were running at a 7.5 minute per mile pace. This was going to be too fast for me over a distance of 48 miles, but I figured it would be interesting to see how long I could keep it up.

The route was most definitely trail and there were many rutted paths and tree roots to avoid. Tobias momentarily lost concentration whilst taking on board food and went down hard. Fortunately he was not too badly hurt, and with only his pride dented, he dusted himself down and continued. He was not the only person I saw trip or fall throughout the day, so I imagine where must have been quite a few sprained wrists, twisted ankles and grazes amongst the field. Having injured myself a week earlier in a snowboarding crash, I decided to be extra cautious, as I was already running with an immobile shoulder. I knew any trip could easily end the race prematurely.

After around 10 miles my legs started to feel heavy, so I bid Tobias farewell. A week of snowboarding ahead of an ultra is probably not the best way to taper, but life is short and there are too many fun things to do. I plodded on and hit the first aid station at approximately mile 13. The aid stations on the whole were very well stocked with fruit, chocolate, cake and various other snacks, along with Pepsi, energy drinks, water and hot drinks. However, this might be a tough race for a complete beginner, as the initial aid stations are a long way apart, and the subsequent aid station was at 27 miles and only had water. This is one race where you definitely need to carry your own food and ensure that you have an adequate water supply. The race suggests that you should have the capability of carrying 1.5L which makes absolute sense.

If you love undulating trails through woodland, you will absolutely love this event. The route is very undulating and the scenery does change every now and again as you run past an observatory and are treated to some stunning views over Paris, along with a tantalising glimpse of the Eiffel Tower around 28 miles in. The last 10k was also nice and flat alongside the river Seine on hard paths, to add a bit of variety.

Given the midday start time, most runners will be finishing in the dark and head torches are an essential piece of kit, both to navigate the woodland trails, and for safety along the roads leading into the centre of Paris. The route was really well marked with reflective tape and it would have been difficult to take a wrong turning, even in the dark.

The real USP for this event is the finish at the Eiffel Tower. From 6-7 miles out you can see the tower looming in the distance with search lights rotating around the upper platform, making it look like an oversized lighthouse. It’s hard not to increase your pace over this stretch as your excitement grows with every step. On approaching the tower there were thousands of spectators and tourists, and there was a festival-like atmosphere at the base.

I sprinted the last section under the base of the tower as I felt so euphoric. On reaching the furthermost foot of the structure, I was handed a ticket which provided entry to the staircase. It was only a matter of climbing ~370 stairs and the finish would be in sight. Having completed the Tower 42 challenge a week and a half earlier, in addition to doing some mountain running whilst away snowboarding, my legs felt strong as I hit the staircase. I passed at last 5 or 6 other runners who were struggling hauling themselves up. As I rounded the final corner, I dashed to the line, where I was handed a medal and finisher medal by some brave volunteers stood out in the cold. The views from the finish were spectacular and I was relieved to finish, despite the stomach problems, blister and fatigue I experienced during the race, on top of the snowboarding injuries. I was slightly disappointed with my finishing time of 9hrs 43, but this still resulted in a place of 693 out of 1,559 finishers. Special mention goes to my friend Ali Watson who came 20^th overall with a spectacular time of 6hrs 42. He was aiming to finish in time for the second half of the rugby!

In summary, the race was very well organised and clearly marked. The route was beautiful and the finish was iconic and highly memorable. This is a tough race for absolute beginners with ~1,400m ascent over the 80k and not as friendly as most British ultra marathons I’ve experienced, as other runners did not seem very chatty. However, it’s definitely one to add to the bucket list. If you don’t fancy running 80k, there are also 50k, 30k and 18k options, so there really is something for everyone.

Lessons learned from the event. Don’t run long distances without plasters in your backpack. Running any distance with blisters or worse is absolutely no fun at all. Make sure you have a decent head torch if you are going to be running over technical terrain in the dark. Finally, if you are having stomach cramps, continue to try taking on board food and water. The cramps will hopefully subside, but you don’t want your energy levels to completely crash at any point during the race.