Written by Stuart Mann - http://runningmann.co.za

[MARATHON #180 / UNIQUE MARATHON #97 / 10 MARCH 2018]

The Kosmos Marathon in Secunda is an easy 90-minute drive from Johannesburg – this is below the “stayover for the night vs. drive on the morning” threshold so I was up just after 3am to get to the 6am start. After eight consecutive Friday nights away from home to run different marathons around the country, I enjoyed the novelty and comfort of sleeping in my own bed before a race – although my daughters were not impressed that their weekly camp out with mom was cancelled!

The race starts at the Lake Umuzi Lodge and Resort – despite this being a big race, traffic and parking were not an issue as there is plenty of space and there are multiple access routes into the resort. The resort benefits wonderfully from the event – there are several accommodation options but all sell out with runners and their families making the most of a marathon weekend.

Lake Umuzi looks like a great place to spend a weekend. While mom and/or dad are running there are plenty of activites for the kids like a water park, adventure golf and play areas at the resort. I had parked in front of the Lake Umuzi Box Office, noting that the resort also doubles as the town’s cultural hub and that an artist delightfully named “Snotkop” (Snothead) would be playing later that week. If you want to see what you missed out on you can watch the video for his hit song “Cool soos Koos Kombuis” here.  Not my taste in music but he does have about 129,000 more Facebook followers than The Running Mann– so who am I to judge!

I follow a Just in Time approach for races and joined the back of the field as the gun fired. It was a slow start as over 2,000 runners headed out into the mean streets of Secunda. I was in no rush and slowly moved through the field, enjoying the singing and chanting from the many pacing busses that were helping runners get to their Comradesseeding goal times.

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The marathon route is very flat – a total change in elevation of just 237m over 42km (to put this in perspective my standard 15km route around Bryanston is 232m) – and is a single lap (which I prefer) around the suburbs.

To fit one full marathon lap into Secunda you run just about every residential street which means there is constant twisting and turning – it felt like you never ran more than 500m in one direction before making a turn. The race is organised by the Secunda Marathon Club and I think that they designed the route to make sure you run past every one of their club members’ front door!

What the race lacks in natural beauty it more than makes up for with its spectacular support tables. The 21 tables are coordinated by the local schools, businesses and churches – a lot of effort had gone into decorating and branding each one. Every table had a buffet of snacks to choose from – I tucked in and think that this was the first race where I finished significantly heavier than when I started!

There was a large contingent from the Fat Cats athletics club – they are one of the more festive clubs in Gauteng and always seem to be having a good time whenever you see them. As the name would suggest, they are naturally attracted by the large amount of food on offer at Kosmos. In fact, I understand that before they started making their annual binge-eating trip to Secunda, the club was just known as the “Cats”.

I managed to have a bit of fun at (the expense of the) KPMG table. There were a number of smart young gentleman manning the table and I asked them quizzically what the acronym KPMG stood for. One of them screwed up his eyes in concentration and proudly produced what sounded like a plausible answer. His proud look turned to one of disgust when I retorted, “Oh, I thought it was ‘Keep Paying More to the Guptas’!” and trotted off.

Speaking of auditing firms, it’s nice to see that the title sponsors of the race are the very reputable firm of PwC. It’s great that one of the big consulting firms sponsors a (fairly) small town race – well done and thanks PwC!

Along the way I got chatting to Anton from Randburg Harriers. Anton is an Eastern Cape migrant who tries to return home for a run as often possible. I met him earlier in the year at the Bay Ultra in Port Elizabeth (Randburg runners have sophisticated sense of humour and Anton is no different – he highlighted the fart jokes as his favourite part of the race report). I was informed of a great small field ultra in April that I “had to do” – the Bruinjieshoogte 50km in Somerset East. I was pleased to reply that a family holiday has already been planned around this race (along with Oteniqua Marathon the following weekend).

However, our conversation was somewhat stilted – Anton seemed distracted and kept looking over his shoulder. He told me he was looking for his wife and every now would stop to wait for her – after a few minutes he would come charging past me again so I can only assume he was actually just making sure that his wife didn’t finish ahead of him. Note: I saw Anton at the finish but have yet to meet his wife. Well played Anton!

The official name of the race is the Kosmos 3-in-1 as it has a 42, 21 and 10km. For most races it is an either/or choice but Kosmos caters to the craziness of the common South African runner. After the morning’s marathon, you can run the half marathon at lunchtime and then the 10km at 5pm. So just how many people go for the full 73.3km? Amazingly, out of 2245 marathon entrants, 1945 went on to do all 3 distances.

Kosmos is a popular choice as a Comrades long training run – most Comrades long runs are 60km long but I guess it you are having rest breaks in-between you need to do an extra 13km. The good news is that if you’ve done the full 73km 15 times you get free entry in future years (and you also get a jacket when you complete your 10th, 15th and 20th races).

I normally enter the longest distance on offer and did feel like I’d taken the soft option by wimping out with “just the marathon”! I did have a valid excuse though – it was “Dads & Daughters Day” at my eldest daughter’s dancing school so I had an unbreakable afternoon date. I was not born with any rhythm in my DNA so dancing is a real challenge (much harder than running a marathon in my opinion). If you had to walk a mile in my shoes you would probably start running after the first few metres but wouldn’t be tempted to pull out any dance moves.

Although hardcore South African runners will tell me that I haven’t “really done” Kosmos until I’ve completed the full 73.3km, I am still claiming Kosmos as my 97th unique marathon. However, this does obviously mean that I will be returning to Secunda in future to do the full 3-in-1 and remove this blemish from my running CV!

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

For ten years I have ritually travelled the AP7 from Altet airport to Denia and marvelled in awe at the strato-volcanic semblance of Puig Campana - Costa Blanca’s second highest mountain. Rising to 1400m from sea level this giant monolith takes on a more congenial form as the toll road bisects Benidorm’s suburbs, but the vast gully draining into vertical scree appears just as uninviting. A most intimidating proposition and that is where the fascination ended. Besides my true love was Montgó, a little further up the coast. 

Then one evening in 2016 I watched the Vuelta tackle the long steep climb to Aitana which, at 1558m, is Costa Blanca’s highest summit. Being only a giant’s stone throw away from Puig (pronounced Putch), the seed of an idea was planted. I googled for a race that might take in both these great summits of the Marina Baixa. There were the relics of a mountain race last run in 2016 and footage of the ISF Vertical Kilometre up aforementioned gully. Finally in early May, as I was feeling the withdrawals from completing Madeira, I stumbled upon Costa Blanca Trails. A new brand and a new race based on what was already well established. No sooner had entries opened I was enrolled. No companions on this trip. A solo adventure into new territory as I would discover how majestic the Costa Blanca truly is for mountain running.

The flight into Alicante offered a bird’s eye view of the three summits I would target over three days - Puig Campana, Bérnia Ridge and in the background Montgó.

Finestrat would be my initial base, and, courtesy of booking.com, Ian and Olwen Reid my adopted parents for the first two nights of a long weekend. I don’t use that word in jest either as they cared for me beyond the call of duty. Ian got up at 5:15am race morning to make me a “breakfast of champions”; they both greeted me at the finish and revitalised me with beer and food at La Barra; drove me back to their wonderful villa nestled in the shadow of Puig itself; and prepared an evening meal - which was foiled with Rioja and highlights of the afternoon’s rugby internationals. The kindest couple and I cannot recommend enough Casa Puig as a base for anyone wanting to explore the mountains around Finestrat.

Casa Puig - (from top left) View of Puig Campana from the bedroom window; the swimming pool; the breakfast balcony; Serra Aitana from the balcony.

Anyway to the Costa Blanca Trails. There are four distances to chose from: Trail 18km; Marathon (2850m+); 65km Ultra (4200m+); and 102km Ultra (6500m+).

I chose the entry level ultra at 65km which took in both Puig Campana and Serra Aitana but excluded the Serrella range beyond the Guadalest valley. Reasons being: I was keen to have functioning legs the three days following for further exploration; I had already proved my 100km mettle in Madeira; and ultimately I wanted to see the sun rise from the summit of Puig Campana. Since the 102km started at 11pm it was not an option.

Registration was Friday evening in a small office tucked a short way down one of Finestrat’s narrow alleyways. This allowed me time to share a welcome cerveza in the November sun on Ian’s patio then familiarise myself with the one kilometre track into town, which happened to be the route off the mountain for all races and was already well marked with Scarpa branded orange tape.

Familiarising myself with the final downhill sprint. Although, with the short autumn days, there was considerable likelihood it would be dark when I came to finish (unless I managed to break twelve hours).

Close to 900 runners had registered for the four races, nearly all Spanish. I was the only Brit in the 65km and only one of a handful of non domestic runners in the entire series of races. I am sure that will change as word the spreads. 

The organisers are evidently keen to make this the de-facto event for the area and worthy of holding its own on the grand stage of global ultra running. The goodie bag had all the makings of a major European race. Tee-shirt and socks, both in my preferred tango orange, along with a light beer from subsidiary sponsor, Amstel, and the usual selection of bag tags, number and timing chips were just reward for my 60 euro entry fee. I saw little need to use the bag drop at 45km but decided a bag at the finish would be essential since Spain is “a cold country with a hot sun” (not my words) and sundown was 6pm.

Yes Tango Tom is one happy customer!

Ian is actually a former runner himself having lived and raced in Benidorm and the surrounding area since the 70’s. He clearly understood the need to carb up before a race as he served up yoghurt, raspberries, honey, toast, tea, fruit and sponge cakes for breakfast at 5:30am. I had intended on munching a banana and Gu waffle so this was a most unexpected treat. 

I jogged down to the start line just after 6am by the light of my Petzl Nao wrapped in my Montane Prism coat to take away the slight chill in the air. One by one we were marshalled into a caged area via a kit inspection. A happy Spaniard expressed some happy Spanish which I did not understand but suspect was along the lines of - 

“you have a very big bag, a lot of water and nothing else”! 

Which would be true. Kit list as follows: cup; head torch with spare battery; wind jacket with hood; foil blanket; bag min 3 litre capacity; at least 1 litre of water; emergency food; buff or hat. So not needing the full waterproofs, gloves and spare layers typical of a British race in November I had plenty of space in my 10 litre s-lab pack to add additional water vessels. Two soft flasks up front and a hand held in my kangaroo pouch. Along with quite a selection of Spanish gels, which I had picked up in Consum on our previous visit two weeks earlier, and the aforementioned Gu waffle that was now surplus to breakfast requirements. Learning from my previous experience at MIUT, I had packed away my wind jacket and donned just a mesh vest and arm warmers. This race was only going up so, despite the low air temperature, I expected to break sweat in no time. I also abandoned a tradition of my long distance running… 2XU compresssion and trail shorts. After all this is Spain and the quads deserved a bit of vitamin D!

Pre-race lacing - a nervous disposition!

Profile of the Costa Blanca Trails 65km. Two major climbs, the first being a VK; a couple of deceiving climbs in the middle; one very steep descent to Sella; and a 5km downhill finish.

Finally ahead of 6:30am we were marshalled out of the cage and under the starting inflatable. This time I did understand the Spanish as the announcer asked us to move forward as all but the elites hung a comfortable distance back. I had no intention of getting stuck in the usual melée of a European sprint start and nestled near the back casually making my way over the start line following the hooter. As soon as we were away from the crowd of villagers that had awoken early to support us I took to walking the tarmac road out of town.  

Is there any point running when you imminently face an ISF VK? Beyond Font del Moli there was even a sign, adorned with ISF logo, heralding the expectant change in gradient. I probably should have taken a photo but feared stopping even for a second may have a drastic knock-on effect on the single file line of traffic that had now formed behind, and ahead of, me. So we would climb 1000m in 3.5km - yes this VK really meant business! 

What a way to start a morning’s mountain running on the Costa Blanca!

I had no expectations or plans for the day other than to enjoy myself and discover some new hiking trails that I could return to and expand on in the future. The VK, scree and all, was just a taster of the climbing that lay in store as our route meandered through the Marina Baixa interconnecting a number of cols that allowed as to bisect ridge lines of sharp uninviting pinnacles and tall buttresses of white rock. The tracks a mix of fire road, Mozarabic trail, indiscernible mountain trods and tarmac, led us through olive groves, mountain pastures, rocky boulder fields and several mountain villages. Water and aid stations were well placed along the route although I quickly found myself turning to the gels in my pack for energy as the heat of the sun made dry food unappealing. 

Cresting Puig in the orange glow of a Mediterranean sunrise and the realisation that Benidorm’s skyline is eclipsed by the majestic mountains concealed behind. A just reward for anyone venturing to Puig Campana’s summit. At 1408m, and only ninety minutes into the race I had already climbed higher than The Ben.

Ponotx’s kinder side, Bérnia and Montgó omnipresent in the background.

A marshal had been camped out on Puig’s summit since the 100km race had passed through in the early hours.

Puig Campana made excellent work of dispersing the field however I rarely found myself without company and as fate would have it saw the female race unfurl around me as I shared the Penya de Sella ridge with the second lady, who would eventually go on to win, and the long climb back to Puig along the PR-CV 12 with the, then, leading lady. Conversation was sparse as my Spenglish did little but confuse! 

Heading for Col del Llamp below Ponotx’s western ridge.

Penyo de Cabal and Bernia

The tall white buttresses …

… and jagged pinnacles make up El Carrascal

The view from Port de l’Arc. One of the lesser but none the easier climbs in the middle of the course.

Of course the pinnacle of the day was Aitana. The climb was long and tiresome. Fortunately the aid station, just 2.5km out of Benifato, was complemented further up by fuente’s (water fountain) that offered a refreshing dunk under ice cold runoff. There was always an impressive vista to distract from the exertion with the Bérnia ridge and Montgó omnipresent on the northern horizon. Approaching the false summit of Aitana (the true summit a closed military installation) we passed under the shadow of pine trees. At 5000 feet and with an absence of heat as the winter sun passed too low through the sky the trail was littered with frost. A first for me in Spain!

One of the tall pinnacles comprising the Partagat

As the climb briefly levelled off the track gave way to boulder fields.

Imposing buttresses on the Partagat looking across to the Serella

Looking back across the Guadelest valley to Serella and Bernia

The “golf ball” on Aitana’s summit

The scree and scramble to Aitana’s summit in the company of one of the two Brits on the 100km course.

From the summit the view was impressive! Far away across the water we could make out Ibiza (not in the photo though!) while to the north-east Montgó was omnipresent. 

The terrain on top was similar to Montgó’s own plateau with a barely discernible path over sharp and jagged limestone rock. I was in my element and once again picking off runners. 

The back half of the course was dominated by fire road and long gradual descents/ascents. Which probably explains how I managed for the first time in a race to negative split as my average pace fell from 20 to 15 minute miles. Fortunately the ever changing landscape was a distracting lure from the monotony of the road. It was also broken up by a couple of very exciting descents.

The start of the descent to Sella. Puig in the background.

Of which the barely perceptible track from Coll de Travessa to Sella was the most technical of the entire route with plenty of insecure rock and scree to lose footing on. Ahead of me a runner fell hard on his back. “Estas bien?” I enquired. He did not respond. “Vale?” I tried. Still no response. Third time lucky: “You OK?” “Yeah but this is no fun with 80km in my legs!” It was another Brit, in fact I believe the other Brit of the two that were in the longer race! I had no time to stop and talk. I was putting into practice the techniques and skills I had perfected mastering Montgó’s eastern descent, and again passing numerous runners, as I skied the scree and tip-toed over the jagged limestone. The legs felt good and in no time I had covered the 2000 foot drop into the hot feed station at Sella. My confidence in my descending only grows and as a little race within the race I was stoked to find my way into another Strava top 10 (despite a long overdue toilet stop half way down!)

The jagged towers of the Castellets

The dream finish wasn’t to be as, no sooner did I hit the long downhill to Finestrat, I cramped up. The fire roads and the steep switchback ascent onto Puig’s north-western wall had taken its toll and the legs were exhausted. I refused to give up though and following some painful stretching I was able to run the cramp off and maintain enough pace to cross the finish line in under ten hours. A race with no expectations other than to enjoy myself and finish before sundown and I just finished in the top 10 veterans!

First time my name has made the first sheet at a European mountain race

It was the usual electric atmosphere at the finish with music pumping and Spanish voices filling the air. A vast dish of paella was under constant supervision. I was starving, it was free, so I did not object picking around the large chunks of meat that dominated my plate! Sometimes it helps to be British as the barman saw my needs and kindly gave me a second beer on the house. 

Tired, dehydrated and a little deranged how lucky I was to be whisked up by Ian and Olwen for food, more beer and ultimately a long night of sleep ahead of three more days of hiking in the Costa Blanca. Having been in my peripheral vision for much of the day, the Bernia Ridge and Montgó were calling.

I hope the photos and my words have done this event justice as the Costa Blanca Trails is a truly excellent race with challenging climbs and ultimately stunning views. Well worth checking out!

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

Since Hardmoors 30, I’ve changed my approach to training fairly radically in order to first recover from injury and then rehabilitate and strengthen myself while still preparing sufficiently for the 55 and the 110 milers that follow in quick succession.

In doing so, I’ve incorporated a lot of technique work on the treadmill, which built up into speedwork culminating in me recording my best 10k time in over 6 years just a couple of weeks before the race.

I also got myself out for two key recce runs, one from Helmsley to White Horse and back with Dave Cook which we ran at the effort I wanted to maintain during the race and carrying all of the kit I intended to carry in the race. The temperatures that day were sub zero and snowing.

The following week I did a similar out and back in icy conditions for the last section of the route, Guisborough to Kildale and back, starting at 9:30pm and finishing around 3am in order to do the final section on tired body and mind.

I then had a very long taper and planned my race around splits that I thought would be achievable on the day (but also understanding that something would blow that plan out of the water somewhere) and was aiming to finish in 14 hours.

I planned to camp at Guisborough Sea Cadets before the race and the night after, so in aid of making sure everything went right on that front, I camped out in the snow during my taper period, however as race week approached, the weather forecast made the prospect of camping look increasingly scary. My mind was taken off the race for much of the final week due to the eventual decision to part with my car, which had served me well since 2011 both as a family car and a race camper, but was pretty much falling apart at a rate of knots and buy a new car. Sadly, as much as I love the new car, a Corsa is not as easy to camp in as a Zafira, but at least the process of sorting the car kept my mind away from the usual mental stresses of tapering.

I travelled to Guisborough on Friday afternoon, arriving about 5pm to breezy weather 3 degrees with snow already in the air. Being the first vehicle on site, I headed into town for some food and returned to find another car had arrived containing Duncan Bruce. Shortly after, a gentleman from Guisborough Sea Cadets arrived and upon hearing our plans to camp in the field told us not to even consider it and sleep in the hall, an act of kindness that made sure that I not only got onto the start line without a difficult night of camping, but in hindsight, probably saved me from hypothermia on Saturday night.

After unpacking kit and getting myself set up near a radiator in the hall, I made a couple of adjustments to my kit choices in view of the howling gale that was driving snow against the window above my head and replaced my usual compression shorts with fleece lined thermal compression shorts (which I’d intended to use for camping) and added my waterproof socks to the pile of clothes to go on in the morning.

After a couple of mugs of hot chocolate, which I drank as the hall filled up with a couple more campers, I then tried to get my head down to sleep. I think I woke up pretty much every hour on the hour and at 4:20am, gave up the ghost and made myself a coffee to go with my porridge. I had only eaten half of my porridge and a banana when my stomach started churning and feeling awful. I made a dash to the gents and only just got there on time. This was not a good start to the day, but following my dash, I was able to hold food in, although I continued to feel queasy as I got dressed for the day ahead and stashed my kit in the Sea Cadets office we were kindly allowed to use to keep our kit in so we didn’t have to pack and then unpack after the race.

After getting dressed, I walked down to the bus pick up point and wandered around in search of Mark Dalton as I’d agreed to help with the bus marshalling. I couldn’t immediately see or hear Mark but spent some time chatting with a few familiar faces until he arrived. It wasn’t long before the coaches arrived and everyone was swiftly boarded. I spent the first few minutes of the journey checking names off against the register, which took my mind off my increasingly rebellious stomach for a short while then barricaded myself into a seat and sipped on Lucozade Sport all the way to Helmsley.

Upon arrival at Helmsley, I managed to pass through kit check and having my GPS tag fitted inside of 8 minutes, which was unbelievably slick, but also left me with almost two hours to kill so I found a side room with a few others, too off my warm jacket, hats and gloves and tried to chill out.

Helmsley to White Horse

Eventually it was time to go outside for the race brief and without too much ceremony the race was started under bright sunshine, but cold crisp air and a bit of a breeze, which as we turned west towards the Cleveland Way, became a nice tailwind. The first section leaving Helmsley is across two usually muddy fields, but today the ground was frozen solid and it was possible to keep a decent pace up to the gate that leads to the trail proper, as expected there was a bottleneck here before we could pass through and get running again. In a short space of time, I found myself running alongside a series of familiar faces, Paul Burgum, Dennis Potton, Tom Stewart and Angela Moore through Ingdale Howl and out onto the road through Rievaulx where a number of people were shedding the warm layers they’d put on before the start of the race due to the bright sun and becoming warm through exertion.

Having run this section in similar weather, I knew this warmth was only temporary (and partially false due to the wind being behind us) so took off my top buff and wrapped it around my poles with the two I intended to use later when it got really cold and unzipped my jacket a little. We soon hit the bottom of the first climb of the day, which starts as a rocky, muddy incline that leads onto a steadily climbing farm track towards Cold Kirby. As soon as we were out of the treeline, the wind made things feel a lot colder and snow began to fall, a lot of people then had to stop to put layers back on, while I simply zipped back up and added buffs as required. I passed John and Katrina Kynaston and said hi then cracked on further up the road until I reached what I affectionately call Dead Body Farm for no other reason that on a night recce of this section in 2015 Aaron Gourlay, Dave Cook, Dee Bouderba and I had climbed out from Cold Kirby to find two men manhandling a cylindrical shaped black bag out of a van here.

Once past the farm we dropped down into a gully that was ankle deep in water and for the first time I became glad of my choice to use the waterproof socks, on the way up into Cold Kirby the trail was slippy enough for a few people to take falls but I managed to get up and at the top decided to have a Chia Charge bar as the Wine Gums and salted nuts I’d been eating so far weren’t easing my iffy stomach.

Once through Cold Kirby the trail cut left and for the first time runner experienced the strengthening wind as a crosswind biting into the left side of our faces and driving icy snow at us. Thankfully the path soon turned right and we had a tailwind again.

Before long, we were approaching the horse racing stables at Hambleton where Wayne Armstrong was marshalling to divert us through Hambleton Plantation, a section of the route designed to keep runners safely away from the Cleveland Way path on the verge of the A170 near Sutton bank.  Although less well travelled and a little overgrown, covered in snow, with heavy snow falling it reminded me of movies and documentaries set in places like the Ardennes Forest in winter.  As I climbed out of the plantation, a team of marshalls saw us safely across the road and I took the opportunity of tree cover to answer a call of nature before picking up the pace for the steady downhill path that runs along the side of the glider station towards the White Horse at the same time, doubling up the buffs on the left hnd side of my face to protect my bare skin from the wind driven snow.  The route diverted right on this path down a rocky, scrabbly and usually muddy steep path down the side of the escarpment and round to the back of the White Horse car park.  On my recce run, this descent was frozen and it was possible to descend quickly, so I had it in my mind to push hard on this bit, however I was no more than two steps onto the descent when a pair of runners in front started slipping on ice and I decided caution was the order of the day.

As I reached the bottom of the slope, I was overtaken by Chris Lyons, who I ran and chatted with for the final stretch into White Horse, as we approached the car park, I thought I could hear drumming and assumed somebody had the car stereo turned up to 11.  Upon cresting the final rise, we were met by a man in Druidic costume beating a drum for all he was worth and it brought a smile to my face as I hit the checkpoint bang on my target time of 1h:55m.

White Horse to High Paradise

At the checkpoint, I got my water bottle topped up as planned and headed up the steep steps that run by the side of the Kilburn White Horse with encouragement from Race Director Jon Steele ringing in my ears.  I was now in a group that contained 1,000 mile club member Harriet Shields who kindly helped me get my headtorch out of my pack during my torrid day at Hardmoors 30.  As we hit the top of the steps, I pulled a Snickers bar out of my pack to find that it had frozen solid and let it slowly defrost in my mouth while I fast walked/jogged back uphill towards the road and re-arranged my buffs to cover the right side of my face to provide protection against the prevailing wind.

Once across the road, I stayed close to the group containing Harriet through the first km of undulating and snow covered paths, content with my pace but not wanting to push much harder due to the continued unsettled state of my stomach.  The group thinned out as the path turned into single track and gradually rose to the ridge line, once on the ridgeline, we were shotblasted with snow blown across the fields on the stiff breeze from the east.  The view on this section is spectacular, on a clear day you can see right across to the Pennines, however my view of the world was now reduced to a small gap between my cap and my buffs. There were a couple of sections of the path which usually dipped and rose, but it was clear that walkers and runners had avoided these for a couple of weeks due to the pockets of snow that had drifted and remained in them since the ‘Beast from the East’ storm a couple of weeks ago.

I was now trundling along back and forth overtaking a couple running together but unable to really chat with them due to the strength of the wind carrying words away and not really wanting to lift my face to expose flesh to the bitter cold. I estimated that the windchill was already a couple of degrees below zero, but my clothing was keeping me comfortable and only exposed skin felt cold.

I passed through the Sneck Yate checkpoint on the three hour mark without stopping and was enjoying the cover provided by the trees in Paradise Wood, up to the point where I hit the Paradise Road, where the wind was catching the lying snow on the ground and in the trees and blowing it into me at great strength.  I fast walked up the hill to High Paradise Farm and hit the Hambleton Road junction at 3h:17m, a good 3 and a bit minutes ahead of my target.

High Paradise to Osmotherley

I rewarded myself for being ahead of time with a short walk break and had just started running again when I spotted a familiar dog headed towards me and realised that Jayson Cavill was out running on the course with his dog Indie.  I shouted a quick hello that I hoped wasn’t lost in the wind and cracked on, popping a couple of Wine Gums into my mouth in the hope that pushing food down my neck regularly would deal with the stomach issues.  As I got toward the end of Boltby Woods, I fell in with Andy Nesbit and Emma Giles who were running together and aiming for 14 hours too.  I saw it as a good omen to be running with Andy on Hardmoors 55 on this particular section of the Cleveland Way, as it was on Black Hambleton we joined up and ran all the way to the finish together in the 2015 edition of the race.  We went through phases of fast walks and running as the terrain and weather allowed, passing through a series of squally snow showers and enduring some turns into the strengthening wind.  We hit the section where the terrain began to rise towards Black Hambleton around the 4 hour mark and I squeezed a protein gel down my neck which seemed to be more palatable to my stomach than the Wine Gums and Snickers.  At this point I decided to stick to Chia Charge and protein gels on the hour for food rather than the more sugary treats I was trying to eat every 15/20 minutes.  We had now hit a section with a wind in our backs and although uphill, we were running to make use of the tailwind. 

As we reached the top of Black Hambleton, a really heavy squally came down and reduced visibility to almost zero and I was glad to be started to lose altitude as there seemed to be a definite worsening of conditions above a certain height.  As the snow abated slightly, I pushed hard down the hill, picking up a nice fast pace of 5m:30s/km to 6m:00s/km and reached Square Corner at 4h:25m with my head down and missed Ann Brown taking this amazing shot of me.

Photo courtesy Ann Brown

As we descended down the hill towards Oakdale reservoirs, the snow on the ground bcame patchy and less frequent and it was possible to move quickly along the flagstones.  Once over the Burnthouse Bank road I found myself running with Harriet Shields again on the greasy, slippery and muddy descent towards Cod Beck, however Harriet pulled away from me with ease on the steep steps after the beck on the way into Osmotherley, where runners were being greeted enthusiastically by marshalls and spectators.  Once inside the checkpoint, I picked up my drop bag, binned the Wine Gums and nuts from my pocket and debated leaving the new bag of Wine Gums on the table for someone else, but decided to take them just in case.  I downed my can of Red Bull and re-stocked my pack with Chia Charge bars from my drop bag but left my bottle of Luczade Sport on the table, opting instead to top my bottle up with checkpoint cola to see if that had a more positive effect on my stomach.  I spotted Dave Cook who was marshalling and said hi before heading back out up the road bang on the 5 hour mark, about 10 minutes behind plan, but not too worried by this.

Osmotherley to Scugdale

I had originally planned to get my poles out in the Osmotherley checkpoint, but decided on the hoof that my legs felt pretty decent and that I could run at a decent pace on the downhill section between the TV transmitter and Scarth Nick if I didn’t have the poles in my hands being blown around by the wind.  To that end, I kept them stowed in my pack and fast walked up the muddy climb towards the TV transmitting station.  Once up on the top and in the shelter of the drystone wall that runs by the path, I got a steady jog on until I hit the top of the descent then I started running at a steady pace down the side of Scarth Wood Moor, as I did so, I bumped into Marc Short and we ran together across Scarth Nick chatting as we went.  The wind had seemed to calm and the sun was shining as we ran together through the woods heading towards Scugdale, dropping through the field before the Scugdale Road, we pulled apart again and after the beck I got my poles out ready for the climbing that lay before us in the next section.  As we arrived at the Scugdale checkpoint (6h:10m) I realised I’d run my fastest Hardmoors marathon (I passed 42.2km at 5h:54m) but even better I spotted that the checkpoint had both cola and dandelion and burdock where I’d been expecting only water. While the marshalls topped up my water and cola bottles, I managed to gulp down a cup of D&B and noted that my stomach was feeling OK now.  Once the bottles were topped up, Marc and I moved off to start the really big climbs of the day. 

Scugdale to Lordstones

As we climbed up through Live Moor Plantation Marc, and I chatted about various things and caught up on bits and pieces from each other’s lives, since the last time we met a couple of years ago but once on the top, conversation became impossible in the face of a block headwind that must have been blowing 30-40mph.  Again, the peak of the cap came down and the buffs went up as we pushed hard against the wind for little return.  Marc pulled away while I plugged on behind just trying to maintain a steady pace, using the poles to keep myself steady in the buffeting wind but my work rate had increased a lot for very little return and as we climbed higher, the wind seemed to get stronger, with some odd swirling effects as the wind deflected of various escarpments and cliff faces.  Once back above 350m, the snow returned and driven into the small gap between my cap and buff, it was stinging.  As I passed the weather station by the old glider runway, I noted the wind gauge was turning at a ridiculous speed and I wondered how the weather station stayed anchored into the ground in the weather that hits up here. 

Soon I had passed he trig point and was descending towards Raisdale road with another runner.  I remember saying to him ‘At least the flagstones are dry and free from ice’, which of course was a total curse as about 30 seconds later we rounded a bend and hit a patch of ice that sent me flying down a couple of steps.  I turned to pick myself up and retrieve my poles, (which I had instinctively thrown away from my body as I fell) then had another comical slip on the same patch.  Having got up and dusted myself off, we were able to warn a couple of following runners of the ice before moving on more cautiously.  I eventually crossed the Raisdale Road on 7h:10m tracking around 20 minutes behind my goal time, but knowing that I was certain to lose a lot more time in the next few hours. 

Lordstones to Clay Bank

The next section of the route contains the most climbing per km than any other part of the route and even on the best of days, is hard, slow going.  Today, in snow, high wind and with icy surfaces, it was going to be a big tester.  Running through Lordstones Country Park I rejoined Marc and we made our way up the side of Cringle Moor together, Marc being faster and lighter pulled away from me again, but once on the top we found ourselves running together into the savage wind and snow.  At some point we were caught by John and Katrina Kynaston and a loose group formed just before the descent which, on the flagstones, was ridiculously icy and almost impossible to descend without slipping.  We took the decision to use the grass and heather at the side of the path, which had a covering of snow and offered more traction and a softer landing in a fall and made our way down into the lee of Cold Moor and out of the worst of the wind.  We jogged between the hills, making use of the reduced wind until we reached the base of the next climb, which for me is the hardest of the climbs on this stretch.

I looked up and noticed the clouds scudding over the ridgeline ahead at great speed and realised that the weather was now far worse than the forecasts I’d seen in the days before the race.  Again, Marc gapped me as we climbed the hill, but the group came back together at the top and on the descent, which was far more icy and treacherous than the Cringle Moors descent (all snow that was hitting the flagstones was now freezing on contact and I noticed it was doing the same to my leggings and jacket).  At this point, we had merged with the group that contained Harriet Shields and we all descending very slowly and carefully. About halfway down, I decided to take a sip of my water and was frustrated to find that the water had frozen in the nozzle of my bottle and I couldn’t get any water out.  I tried the coke and thankfully, that was still flowing, albeit with ice crystals in.

As we reached the bottom of the hill, we were again in a weird calm spot sheltered by The Wainstones/White Hill and due to the slow pace, the group had gained a few more runners. I looked up towards the ancient rocks as I was climbing, hoping to get a sight of the Eagle Owl that has been seen nesting here, but even the owl had enough sense to hunker down and ride this storm out. 

Going through the rocks on the Wainstones, I encouraged everyone to maintain three points of contact with the rocks to reduce the risk of slipping, which made things slower, but at least I was hopefully going to avoid a repeat of the arsebruise I picked up here while spectating last year’s 55. At the top of the Wainstones, a runner whose name I didn’t catch helped me up out of the rocks and did the same for a few others in the group.  We got moving again and along the plateau at the top of White Hill, I noted a real change in the feel of the temperature.  I checked my watch and saw that it read 3 degrees.  Given that it was on my wrist and usually read a few degrees above the real temperature due to my body heat, I judged the air temperature to be several degrees below zero and the wind chill much more than that. All this considered, I still was not cold anywhere apart from my nose.  I pulled my buff up over my nose and noticed the front of the buff had frozen solid so I spun it back to front and the unfrozen part that had been on my neck was now at the front.  As we descended off the side of White Hill, several runners, including myself resorted to sitting down and bumping down steps to avoid slipping on the ice.  About halfway down, it was possible to run with caution and Marc and I did so, eventually reaching the checkpoint at 8h:46m.  My original checkpoint plan was to spend a couple of minutes getting my bottles filled up and my headtorch out ready for the next section. 

I handed the marshalls my bottles and noticed they struggled to open the water bottle as the top couple of inches of water was entirely frozen in the bottle.  The coke was in better state, but still had chunks of ice in.  While the marshalls sorted my bottles, I asked Marc to help get my headtorch and a spare pair of gloves out for me, as I expected it to get colder after dark.  I stripped off my outer gloves and put the new gloves in between my skin layer and put the outer layer back on over them.  Marc was also putting extra gloves on, but was really struggling with them.  While we were at the checkpoint, a heavy snowfall blew over and dumped about an inch of snow on the road in the 10 mins or so we were there.  I stuffed another Chia Charge bar down my neck and checked all my buffs to make sure the absolute minimum skin was exposed and we eventually moved off. 

Clay Bank to Bloworth Crossing

We were only about 400m out of the checkpoint when my fingertips started going numb and I realised that using my poles was leaving my hands exposed to the bitter winds.  I needed Marc to help me stow them, such was the speed at which my fingers became useless. 

Once my poles were stowed, I grabbed a handwarmer from my back pocket and activated it and also used the plastic bags I’d carried my spare gloves and headtorch in and used them to cover my hands to create a bivvy bag effect and alternated that hand warmer between hands as we marched further up the hill toward the highest point of the moors (Round Hill 454m), it slowly got dark and much, much colder.  The wind was now howling and even running did not feel much more than walking.  Conversation between Marc and I was reduced to:

‘Fancy trying to run?’

‘Yeah, let’s go’

‘I’m knackered, let’s walk’

‘How far do you reckon Bloworth is?’

‘I dunno, I can normally see it, but this snow man…’ 

‘Fancy trying to run?’ 

This continued for a few kms and when we turned our headtorches on, visibility didn’t improve much and all we really got was the same view as the cockpit of the Millenium Falcon as it enters hyperspace. Despite all this, I wasn’t feeling bad or weak.  I’d done very little running since Scugdale and the legs felt willing, I was just hoping that at Bloworth, turning side on to the wind would allow some running.  The plastic bags and handwarmer had done their jobs and my fingers had feeling again and were warm through.  We hit the slight downhill into the dip that crosses a beck about 400m from Bloworth and the combination of the downhill and the positive landmark in relation to Bloworth got me running, for all of 10m before I hit some ice and ended up on my backside just short of the beck. I was busy scrabbling around making sure I didn’t lose my handwarmer and Marc came up behind to see if I was OK and went flying himself.  Satisfied we were both OK, we got up giggling and cracked on to Bloworth, turning the corner at 9h:57m. 

Bloworth Crossing to Kildale

Once round the corner at Bloworth, the wind was at our back and side and we got through more prolonged stretches of running, although I did at one stage try to point something out to Marc and realised that I could not straighten my arm because the right sleeve of my jacket had frozen solid.  Taking water was pointless as the bottle had frozen and I was only getting coke out by holding the nozzle between my lips to de-ice it before sucking the slushy coke through.  I was feeling strong and each walk break was done at a decent pace, each time we ran, we overtook groups of runners.  At some point we passed Andy and Emma, I only really noticed due to Andy’s distinctive reflective jacket and Marc and I turned our attention to cut off times.  We knew cut off was 12 hours and that we’d been moving a lot slower than usual.  I estimated that we were about 7km from Kildale and I made the time at 10h:15m so we would likely land comfortably ahead of cutoff.  Marc told me he’d just talked himself out of quitting at Kildale and wanted to have a decent stop there to have a pork pie and phone his wife. I told him that ideally I wanted to move through the checkpoint quickly, but I’d wait for him and take the chance to have a hot drink.

We pushed on with the increasingly shorter walk breaks and increasingly longer, faster and more downhill running stints and it seemed like no time at all before we hit the unusually welcome tarmac at the top of Battersby Bank.  At this point, another heavy squall blew in and at some point I’d fast walked away from the group we were in and before I’d realised it, I’d done at least two stints of running and walking on my own.  I looked over my shoulder and there were headtorches about 300m behind me so I made the assumption that Marc would catch me if I took it easy.  At the start of the descent into Kildale, I started to run again but halfway down, my bladder (which I had been holding since Clay Bank, not wanting to expose myself to the wind) forced me to attend to attend to the matter or have an accident.  I stopped by the roadside and created some worryingly yellow snow and as I sorted myself out, Andy and Emma passed, but no sign of Marc.  Still thinking he was just behind me, I pushed on. 

On the final stretch down toward Kildale, I noticed two sets of blue flashing lights heading slowly up the road towards Kildale from the direction of Easby.  A fire engine passed by as I hit the main road and I commented to the runner beside me that I was glad it wasn’t an ambulance as I was worried that an ambulance would be for a runner.  As I arrived at the checkpoint, I noticed the fire engine stopping further on in the village, but an ambulance car was outside the checkpoint.  This was not unexpected since we knew the race did have ambulance cover.  What I did not expect were the scenes in the checkpoint.  I checked in with Andy Norman who was marshalling and immediately bumped into Paul Burgum, whose first question was ‘Are you going back out?’  My answer was ‘Of course I am.  I’m feeling great, why wouldn’t I?’ and Paul told me to look around the room and at the huge pile of GPS trackers on the table handed in by retirees.  The room was full of people in foil blankets taking on warm drinks, some shivering, many having discarded kit and clearly not intending to continue.  I got a bit of a negative vibe from this and decided I wanted to be out of the checkpoint quickly.  I quickly got my dropbag, ditched the untouched Wine Gums, downs my Red Bull, loaded back up on Chia Charge and put my dropbag fig rolls into my pocket before battling off the frozen top of my coke bottle and topping it up.  I moved to get a coffee, but there was none in the coffee flask on the table so I left it be.  I looked up and saw a frozen looking Angela Moore being looked after in a side room and was a little shocked, Angela is a tough cookie with a lot of seriously hard race completions under her belt. 

There was a group of runners preparing to leave, including Tom Stewart who invited me to run with them, I agreed, and said I’d wait by the door for them, I wanted to keep moving so as not to cool down.  On the way to the door, I saw Marc arrive and I told him I needed to move on fast to avoid cooling off, we wished each other well and I moved to the door.  The other group seemed to take forever to get organised so I shouted to Tom that I was going to move on and that they’d probably catch me on the climb and at that I headed out of the door.  As I did so, I saw a Mountain Rescue Team member heading into the Village Hall, which should have triggered alarm bells (and perhaps did subconsciously).

Kildale to Finish

I jogged out of the checkpoint and down the road, noting that the clock time was now 8:32pm, I saw the fire engine further down in the village, I thought it was dealing with an RTA, but I was more focused on the firefighters, I had a vague feeling that they would try and stop me running off into the night.  I ran hard down the road towards the railway bridge and got out of sight of the village.  I decided to have a fig roll, sip of coke and some paracetamol.  I also took a salt tablet, which I’d been taking about every 90 minutes during the day to keep my electrolytes in check.  I made up my mind to run to the bottom of the hill, then keep setting myself targets all the way to the race finish. 

As I approached the start of the climb, I noticed a sole runner ahead, I caught him quickly and on the snow covered road, I thought he was taking a wrong turn (he wasn’t) an led him on a detour through the driveway of a farm house by the road.  Once back on the road, I noticed another group about 400m ahead and decided to bridge across to them with a fast walk/jog up the hill.  I decided this would be my mental game to get me through to the finish.  I’d  found during the Lyke Wake Challenge in 2016, that playing mental game gave me a bit of extra motivation to keep moving quickly in the later stages of a race.  The premise being that unless I had a mechanical injury, I was fairly capable of moving at a decent pace and that the only blockers are those from the brain telling me that I’m tired or my legs hurt.  This game was simple, bridge to the group in front, overtake them, bridge to the next group and continue this until the finish.  As I turned left into Pale End Plantation, the group in front was only 100m ahead.  I jogged on and caught Paul Burgum among the back markers with another runner (Andy Cole?).  I had a really positive conversation with Paul and I wished him well before running off chasing half of the group who’d broken away.  I pushed hard following them up towards Captain Cook’s Monument, just before the final steep bit I was only 50m or so behind, so I walked and stuck my hand into my pocket and realised that my fig rolls had gone.  Even that didn’t bother me, I just hoped somebody behind me would find them and make use of them.

I pushed on harder and as I hit the top of Easby Moor I used the howling tailwind I picked up once out of the treeline to get closer and noticed that all took the short angle cutting inside of the Monument.  I never do this, not because it’s wrong or anything, it’s just I have some sort of superstition about always going around the Monument, the same as I have about NEVER skipping the out and back to Roseberry Topping (after an infamous run of bad luck on a night when Brenda Wilkin, Dave Cook, Dee Bouderba and I did exactly that). Rounding the Monument, there was a ferocious roar of wind through the railings on the Monument and the wind was clearly still as strong as it was earlier. 

Now round the Monument, I bounded down the descent towards Gribdale Gate.  The group in front had split into a pair and two single runners.  I overhauled the single runners quickly and went after the pair.  Close to the bottom, the pair were stopped by a man walking up the hill.  As I got closer, he asked if I’d heard.  ‘Heard what?’ I asked and he told me that Roseberry Topping was closed and to just turn right at the gate and head to the finish. 

I wasn’t sure if this was a wind up and wasn’t sure what to make of it.  I pushed harder and overtook the pair just before Gribdale Gate and pushed hard up the steps onto the path towards Roseberry, opening up a gap quickly.  I noticed a pair of headtorches about a km ahead and decided that they were the next target to bridge to and that I’d see what they did at Roseberry and follow suit.  I pushed hard along the path and took about 20-25 minutes to get to Roseberry Gate.  The pair of headtorches were nowhere to be seen, but if they’d done Roseberry, by rights, they should be coming back down or be on the way back to the gate.  They weren’t so I pushed on over towards Hutton Moor Gate.  There were no targets in front, so I decided to give myself a new target of creating an unassailable gap on the headtorches behind me. 

As I arrived at Hutton Moor Gate, I noticed a pair of headtorches way off course over towards the Hanging Stone, I flashed my torch at them a few times in the hope of bringing them back on course, then forged on towards the Black Nab path.  Halfway along the path, I met a male runner heading back along the course, presumably to meet someone and as he passed, I looked over my shoulder to see the pair of wayward headtorches back on course and about 500m behind me.  I clattered along the slushy path towards Highcliff, walking only where the surface or grade forced me to, again having to shield my eyes from the snow before eventually turning off the path and into the treeline before Highcliff Nab.  I climbed the steps up the Nab following the tape laid the night before by Lorna Simpkin and the reflective stickers Jon Steele had used to provide direction and made the top at 13h:02m. 

I looked down and saw two headtorches emerging from the treeline below Highcliff and took off like a scalded cat into Guisborough Woods, but found it hard to see due to the Millenium Falcon effect of headtorch and snow.  After about a minute, I realised that the ambient light from Guisborough and the lying snow meant, that I could get better visibility by turning my headtorch off (a couple of years ago the woods were so dense that this wouldn’t have worked), so I decided to do this and gained an immediate increase in pace.  I was pushing hard through the woods, finding it hard to gauge what progress I was making against the lights behind me due to the twisting nature of the trails.  Occasionally, I could see a group of 4 or 5 torches, other times just a pair, so I forced the pace as hard as possible.  About halfway through the woods, the trail forks left and right.  Both routes come out at the same place, but one, the official Cleveland Way, takes a pointless down and up.  I was hoping and praying that the tape would stay on the fire road, but Lorna had been taking instructions to the letter and the more cruel route was taped.  I endured this section then pushed hard through the darkness on the steep downhill that followed.  The trick to running without a headtorch in the dark, is to not look directly at what you want to look at.  The parts of the eye that interpret colours are toward the centre of the eye, the parts that interpret black and white towards the edge.  These are the bits that are used in the dark and therefore, if you look slightly above, below or to the side of your target, you see it clearer.  Your peripheral vision is your friend and the longer you run in the dark, the more your night vision adapts. 

Because of this, I now avoided looking behind me or towards the town or roads to try and preserve my growing night vision and was only focused on the trail ahead and not missing the sharp right turn up into the bush and onto the next fire road up.  I found it easily and crossed over to the next trail before cruising all the way downhill to the concrete farm road which leads toward the final stretch. 

On the concrete road, I was back out of the wind, so I put my headtorch back on and chanced a look back along the trail.  I could see several groups in the woods, but not the pair I thought were behind me.  I bashed my way down the hill to the disused railway line. 

I now knew I was only 2km from the finish so I walked for 60 seconds, then run for 60 seconds.  I did this twice then upped the intervals to 120 seconds.  At some point I saw the lights of the farm on Belmangate and just kept running, over the railway bridge, down the steps, down Belmangate and into the Sea Cadets Hall stopping the clock at 14h:03m. 

As my tracker was taken off me and my time taken, the sudden stop from running hard, the heat in the hall and probably a bit of emotion all hit me at once and I had a bit of a wobble.  A paramedic came over and I insisted I was OK.  The next few minutes were a bit confusing because Harriet Shields and the group I’d last seen her in at Kildale were all there helping me to a chair and someone said ‘Well done for escaping Kildale’.  Marc appeared and explained that after I’d left, all runners had been held at Kildale, the details of that I will go into shortly.  I sat and had a hot drink and just sitting in that group of people in that hall gave me a great feeling of contentment, friendship and satisfaction.  One of the race finishes, I will remember for the rest of my life. 

After awhile, I got showered and changed and sat and had a beer with Paul Burgum, who finished shortly after me, Mark Dalton and Duncan Bruce while we waited for the hall to empty so that Duncan and I could sort our sleeping arrangements out.  In that time, I observed the interactions between the race team and Mountain Rescue that allowed me to piece events together, further information became available over the next few days and tonight I had a further chat with race director Jon Steele to clarify exactly what happened. 

Press Coverage

Most people reading this will have seen the negative press coverage of the race. In my opinion, almost all of those reports were exaggerated and were very selective with the facts. 

What actually happened was that all runners got off the moors by themselves, but at the Kildale checkpoint, after stopping, a number of people cooled down rapidly and suffered minor hypothermia symptoms.  Between 8pm and 9pm there had been significant snowfall onto already icy roads in the Kildale area and many were only reliably passable using 4×4 vehicles.  Mountain Rescue were in the area to assist a driver whose vehicle had been stuck in the snow and being aware of the race, they stopped by the checkpoint to check up on things.

A joint decision was taken at around 8:30pm to stop all runners at Kildale due to the risks imposed by the weather conditions.

Race Control suddenly had a situation where they needed to transport anyone who’d stopped to the race finish 5 miles away in Guisborough. This would normally be done by the volunteer marshalls and race control support vehicles (I’ve actually used this support twice myself and it works well), however due to the state of the roads, the support of Mountain Rescue was needed to help transport people to the finish safely and provide additional minor medical assistance to some runners.

All runners in this race had GPS trackers and Race Control knew to within 10 metres where we all were so were able to quickly close the race down in a controlled manner.

By the time I’d run from Kildale to Guisborough (2h:40m according to the tracker), all runners who’d been stopped had been transported to the end, which to me is an awesome logistical feat.

At no point did I feel that my safety or that of others had been compromised and nobody needed any hospital treatment.

I slept at Guisborough Sea Cadets following the race and the Race Director, Jon Steele sat in the same room and personally made numerous telephone calls up to around 1:30am to satisfy himself that not only were all runners OK when they left Guisborough, but that all had got home or to their accommodation for the night and were fine.

To top all that, Cleveland Mountain Rescue praised runners for their equipment and preparedness and the race organisers for their contingency planning.  To me, the Mountain Rescue praise, speaks volumes.

Performance Summary

My race did not go exactly to plan, however, I’d have been very, very surprised if it did in those conditions, I did however improve my 50 mile Personal Best by just over 6 minutes to 13h:15m:42s.  More pleasing was being able to overcoming stomach trouble that dogged me for over 30km, something which would have stopped my race a couple of years ago and that all of the recce work I did to test kit in foul weather paid off.  That means the awful 6 hour slog in knee deep snow over Bloworth in December, the icy night runs over Highcliff x2, Roseberry x2 and Captain Cooks x2 in Feb and all of the other grim, awful training runs were worth every second because I learned a lot about mental toughness and self management.

I also give credit to the speedwork and speed endurance sessions on the treadmill.  Whilst I have been a huge detractor of the treadmill in the past, the consistency it has offered has clearly improved my overall ability to move at a faster pace for longer.

Kit Choices

For those who are interested, the kit worn on the day was :

Thermal Skullcap

Cycling Cap

Base Layer

Thermal Cycling Vest

Windproof Fleece Lined Cycling Jacket

Fleece Lined Compression Shorts

More Mile Lycra Leggings

Compression Socks

Calf Guards

Waterproof Socks

Gaiters

Adidas Kanadia TR8.1 Shoes

Buff used as gaiter between base layer and neck

Buff used as gaiter between jacket and neck

Buff wrapped around face

Buff wrapped over cap and head

Skin Layer Gloves: Wilkinsons Full Finger Cycling Gloves

Outer Layer Gloves: Karrimor Running Gloves

Mid Layer Gloves added at Clay Bank were Karrimor Running Gloves too

All other kit, including compulsory items were carried but not used.

Thanks and Acknowledgements

I owe a continuous debt of thanks to my wife Natalie and our family for their continued forbearance with the long hours of training and weekends away.

I’d like to thank Guisborough Sea Cadets, without whose hospitality in allowing me to sleep indoors, I probably wouldn’t have started the race, I certainly wouldn’t have finished and if I’d stayed outside on Saturday night, I’d have probably been in a bad way by Sunday morning.

As always, Jon, Shirley and their huge family of helpers have put on a great race and dealt with adversity on the day with so much strength and organisation and afterwards with grace.  I keep saying that this race series is special, it’s special beyond words. The friendships made and the experiences had at these events are beyond value.  The way the Hardmoors family has pulled together this week should be a message to all involved about how highly regarded and valued Hardmoors is by a lot of people. 

Thanks also to Cleveland Mountain Rescue and Yorkshire Ambulance for their help in ensuring that the race ended as safely as possible.

Thanks to everyone I ran with or spoke to out on the course, you guys helped make this event what it is.  In particular, Marc Short, one of the nicest guys you will ever meet, thank you for your company and I’m certain that you saved my race by helping sort myself out when my fingers went numb.  I’m gutted that you were stopped while I managed to continue, you had the finish in you and I wish we could have finished together. Also thanks to everyone, even though my memory is hazy, who helped me at the finish when I went all wobbly. 

I look forward to seeing you all at Hardmoors 110!

Written by Neil Bryant

Race Report by Dion Leonard, winner of KAEM 2017

Photography by Hermien Burger Webb

A few thoughts from my last race...

In 2012 I bought my wife Lucja a book titled ‘World’s Toughest Endurance Challenges’ and jokingly said to her whatever page she opens up to we’ll do the challenge. The page opened to a race in South Africa called Kalahari Augrabies Extreme Marathon.

The ‘Kalahari Augrabies Extreme Marathon’ (KAEM) is a self-sufficiency, 250 kilometre (155 Mile) race held over 6 stages during 7 days in the Kalahari Desert. I had never run a real marathon or an ultra marathon before I began this race in 2013, and little did I know back then how much buying that book would have an impact on our lives.

In November 2017 exactly 4 years since my first KAEM I was on the start line of my 3rd KAEM. It had been 15 months however since my last desert race, one where a little dog (aka Finding Gobi) would join me during the race and would change both of our lives forever. I was pretty nervous at the start and worried that my rushed last minute training for the race wasn’t going to see me through the full distance. However, the chance to run in a stunning and secluded location in South Africa’s Kalahari Desert and Augrabies National Park which grants special entry permission to race entrants was too good an opportunity to say no to. I went with the thought that if nothing else I would enjoy the adventure and sunshine on offer.

After having run stage 1 enduring plenty of sand, rocks and a long hill climb to the finish I came across the line in a comfortable 2nd position, and was pleased with how I felt after being long away from running competitively. At the beginning of stage 2, and what was going to be a much easier and quicker stage, I was keen to put a marker down for the day and really see what the main competitors’ pace was. From the word go it was a hectic pace, neck and neck until the first checkpoint but then I went for it and pushed hard as the temperature also started to rise. I was thrilled to go on and win the stage, my first ever stage-win at this race in 3 years of entering it. This meant I now had a small 7 minute overall lead. I wanted to increase this lead going into stage 4’s 70km long stretch, so on Day 3 I kept the pressure on and pushed hard again. The terrain was stunning, with a technical gorge descent, desert sand beds and a climb at the end of the day that made for hard work all round, but it was the temperature that really pushed everyone to their limits and the dropouts rose during the day. I ended up increasing my lead to 1hr 20 minutes. Our campsite was beside the Orange River separating South Africa from Namibia and I enjoyed the afternoon swimming and washing my clothes for the long stage the following day. On day 4, the front runners of the race, myself and main competitor Tomas Sundman had the unfortunate pleasure of starting the day last in the middle of the scorching lunch time heat. This is our penalty for being quicker and to make sure that we also end up running in the heat and dark of the night. I wasn’t clear on how to attack the day. I had a solid lead and didn’t need to push myself too hard but as I started the stage I felt strong and lead through the early checkpoints. Unfortunately Tomas had to withdraw at checkpoint 3 due to heat exhaustion and dizziness and upon hearing the news I realised I could take my foot off the gas and enjoy the 70km stage a little more. The early evening thunderstorms were extraordinary to watch as I ran through the runners ahead of me and I spent some time talking to them on my way to the finish. The race was effectively over as my lead increased to 3 hours so the remaining stages involved me chatting to the other runners and checkpoint staff. To run the final short stage back a couple of days later into the Augrabies National Park as the race winner was something 4 years earlier I would never have dreamt of, let alone achieved.

The Kalahari Desert has the most amazing and beautiful scenery. It’s the perfect location to run in, and this race should be on everyone’s bucket list. Running with Giraffe, Zebra and Springbok in the top end of South Africa is simply breathtaking and life changing.

I met some truly inspiring and incredible people during the week, from all walks of life doing this extreme event for their own reasons. I’m so grateful to have been involved with KAEM. The organisers and volunteers do a world class job organising the event, and it’s a tribute to the race having been held 18 times, the second oldest multi-stage race behind Marathon Des Sables.

Thank you to everyone who emailed me during the race, supported and has followed my up and down running journey. Big thanks to WAA Ultra who not only make awesome running clothing and gear but continue to support me.

Written by Eliot Weatherill

Photography - Zoe Salt

The first thing that I should get out of the way here is that I am not a hugely experienced ultra runner in the grand scheme of things. I think the Arc was to be my 8tt …… but and there is a big but…. the last one was in 2014. In the 4 years since, I have had a long and frustrating return from injury. I’d gone from running 50 miles p/w just in my daily commute to work (without long weekend runs on top of that), to almost no running for a couple of years and then a very gradual easing back into regularish running. For my previous 100 the NDW, my longest training runs had been a 40, 50 and a 60 miler. Here is my monthly mileage for the 12 months leading up to the Arc-

Feb – 60.3

Mar – 30

Apr – 22.4

May – 13.8

Jun – 56

Jul – 44

Aug – 40.9

Sep – 61

Oct – 107.1

Nov – 108.1

Jan – 107.5

The biggest week in my Arc training was just 42 miles and the average was much less than that. In the first half of 2017 I had covered little more than 200 miles so what in the hell was I thinking? 

Well to answer that, I badly needed a challenge and I was genuinely interested to know how much I could compensate for a lack of running with a solid (and trust me… I mean solid) cross training and conditioning regime. Most people would probably agree that it wasn’t even enough mileage for marathon training let alone a very tough 100 miler.

Turning up at the Blue Bar for registration was a nervy affair. Registration is always a bit nervy but off the back of such little mileage and in full knowledge that my furthest run in the last 4 years was just 27 miles and that this was a serious race… it was even more so. It didn’t help when we boarded the coaches to take us to the start in Coverack. I was surrounded by discussions about past races and achievement, talk of the spine, talk of the Arc in previous years and just generally anything to make my race preparation seem ridiculous. I don’t think I said a word for the whole journey and just had a focus on the task ahead. I just wanted to get going. I knew deep down that I was physically very strong despite little actual running and that my pure determination would see me through most things.

There wasn’t much waiting around at the start and the sun was out. A minute silence for Matthew McSevney who tragically lost his life before he was able to return and wrestle the Arc once more and then we were off. I settled in to the middle of the pack and just switched off and ran. A lot had been made of the conditions and it was very obvious that mud was going to play a big part in the race. With extra distance for course diversions and the strength sapping nature of the mud, anyone completing the Arc this year was going to be very deserving of that buckle.

After a while I had a surprise to be running with a group of runners from my hometown (or just next to it), which is always nice and had a good old chinwag about the differences between Sussex mud and Cornwall mud! Stephen Cousins and Richard Shlovogt went on to earn gold buckles and I will hopefully catch up with them and Jay McCardle on the Downs some time.

Nearing the first CP at Porthleven meant negotiating the last of the official detours and it was a beast. A couple of miles through thick mud to avoid just a few hundred meters of coast path is the sort of thing that really plays with your head. It was a relief to finally arrive in Porthleven.

I was lucky enough to have crew and don’t generally like wasting time at CP’s so my rules are straight in, straight out and definitely no sitting! I had told my crew that I didn’t want to see them before Marazion as that was just the warm up as far as I was concerned, so I filled my water bottles, put my headtorch on, grabbed a banana and was back out again.

The next couple of miles were fairly uneventful until Praa sands when there was a classic random ultra experience. I was running through Praa Sands along a dark empty lane with another runner a little way in front. We came across a dog with a flashing dog collar on that looked very lost and there was nobody else around and no houses close by. The other runner (I think it was Benjamin Jenks) managed to grab the dog and I was able to see a contact number on the dog collar so I got my phone out and switched it on. We tried a couple of times to call the number, the first time didn’t connect and the second time went straight to voicemail. We weren’t really sure what we could do but the most sensible plan seemed to be to find the closest house and see if they would take the dog as we needed to be somewhere else! Then the dog got restless and managed to wrestle free so we gave chase again down the road. After a couple of hundred yards we came to a parked car with an old man staring at his phone and it was at this moment we realised that the dog wasn’t actually lost but just had a really irresponsible owner who parks the car up in the middle of nowhere at night and just lets the dog out!! Anyway, mini drama over we continued.

Heading into Marazion I had wanted to avoid the beach that everyone always ends up on. When I reccied this stretch, I had done exactly that before retracing my steps and finding the correct path around. Well now in the race, I just blindly followed the runners in front on to the beach but at least I wasn’t far away from seeing my crew for the first time.

When I got to them they had everything I needed laid out on a wall for me. My brother and sister-in-law are both very experienced runners and my wife is always right behind me on my crazy ventures so between them they are an awesome team to have. I quickly changed my shoes and socks and said that I would see them in Mousehole to change back. It felt great to have fresh shoes and socks on and I was moving well. Straight in and out at the Penzance CP and on to Mousehole.

Another quick shoe change at Mousehole and then it was off into the mud again. I’d been running for quite a while without seeing anyone else and although I was aware of a couple of lights behind me, they weren’t getting any closer so it was really frustrating when I took a wrong turn just short of Penberth. After climbing up a hill for a while I found myself in the middle of an assault course before realising my mistake. I couldn’t hear the sea anymore and started back tracking. By the time I reached the path again and found the correct route, I was faced with another climb and a couple of runners had slipped in front of me and I could see them making the next climb. This was probably my lowest point of the race so far but compared to what was still to come, nothing major.

I kept plugging away and was still moving pretty well. I was looking forward to getting to Lands End so that I could change my contact lenses as I had become aware that the ones I was wearing had started to get a bit foggy. As I got closer, my headtorch went into battery saving mode which made things a little trickier and gave me something else to sort out at the CP.

Not having stopped at any of the CP’s to this point, I had decided to get some hot food inside me for a lift so waited eagerly for my sausage and bacon roll. I had also asked if someone could re-tape my feet. My feet looked great and I’d made it over halfway without a single foot issue so a new tape job would hopefully see me to the end. I had taken my contact lenses out as planned and had some spares in my bag but was a little surprised to find that it made no difference and my eyes were still foggy without the lenses in. The medic gave me some water to try and clear my eyes but it didn’t really make much difference. By now I had spent much longer in the CP than I normally would so rounded my thoughts ready for the next push. Heading back outside, the cold was immediately much more noticeable after the long stop so it was important to get running and warm up again.

Pushing on through the early hours towards daylight I next saw my crew at Cape Cornwall for a quick bottle fill and straight back on it. My vision had been slowly getting more foggy and had started slowing me down but as I left Cape Cornwall I knew it was only going to be about half an hour before the headtorch would be switched off and hopefully that would make it easier to see.

How wrong could I be! I knew that it was going to be a grey day and daylight would therefore be slower to appear with a grim forecast of rain settling in for the day but what I wasn’t prepared for was that the light would render my vision almost useless. A little way before Pendeen I had met up with Allan Rumbles and it was helpful to have someone to follow as Nav was getting harder and harder.

I had a quick coffee with my crew at Pendeen and told them that I was really starting to struggle with my eyes but pushed on. The hot coffee gave me a nice boost but after about another hour or so I could no longer make out any headlands and in order to see any of the trail in front of me I was having to constantly hold my arm up to block out the light from the sea and the sky. At this point the weather really started to come in as well and what would have been pretty bad visibility anyway was for me now becoming a serious danger. It was now Mr Magoo goes ultra running. At no point in the race had I ever considered stopping but now the last words of my wife before I set off were ringing in my head ‘just stay safe……’. I was now anything but safe and was continually stumbling and falling but pushed on because I didn’t know what else to do. Every now and then I would hold my hand in front of my face to try and gauge how much of my sight was left….. very little.

I must have looked mad running along with my arm in the air to shield the light and occasionally when I stumbled across a route marker, I needed to kneel right down and put my face a few inches from the sign to check I was still on course.

Having reccied the section from Sennen to St Ives, I was well aware what was still to come. It can give you great confidence when you have already covered the trail ahead but now it was having the opposite effect and my mind started to play out various rescue scenarios. Had this been a survival situation, I would have found a way. I would have slid along on my bum or on all fours or done whatever was required to keep moving without hurting myself. This wasn’t a survival situation and I could hear my wife again and the rest of the sentence ‘just stay safe…. Don’t be a hero’. Carrying on now was not heroic, it was bordering on stupidity and I didn’t want that to be the last thing my wife ever said to me before I fell of a cliff.

I was surprised when I caught another runner and explained that I was almost blind so would he mind if I followed his feet. It was a relief as the mental fatigue of trying to stay on the right course and keep my footing with each footstrike was now eating away at me. We pushed on together for a while. As we climbed some rocks towards Gurnard’s head he told me that the race photographers were at the top. It was at this point that I knew my race was over. At the top of the climb I could just about make out two figures in front of me. I asked them that if they were there taking pictures that must mean that there is a road and their car nearby somewhere and perhaps they could get me back to the HQ…. it was only when they started speaking that I realised it was my own brother and sister-in-law standing in front of me!!! I told them that I needed them to get me to safety and they didn’t argue. Between them, they paced me the last 50 of the NDW 100 and they know that I wouldn’t stop if I had a choice. My brother looked at my eyes and said that they didn’t look right and were all white which would certainly explain why all I could see was a thick white fog.

I felt miserable to be ending my race and it was a really bitter way to DNF. I couldn’t stop thinking that if I had just made it to St Ives, I wouldn’t have needed to see as much after that. My body was willing but my eyes had let me down.

After a trip back to race HQ to drop off my GPS tracker and a chat with the medic, it was off to Truro hospital to get my eyes checked out. The drive there was terrifying, my wife asked if I could read the number plate of the car in front and I told her that I couldn’t see the car. It took about 3 hours before my sight started to return and after a good going over by the ophthalmologist it was clear that I had suffered with corneal edema in both eyes and had significant abrasions to both corneas.

The Arc is a tough race for sure and you may be surprised by what the elements are capable of doing to your body if you take it on but it is also an amazing race. The event organisation is right up there with the best that I have experienced. The fact that there are as many helpers as runners is incredible in itself but each and every one of them did a fantastic job. The scenery and ruggedness of this coastline is breathtaking and even when I could no longer see it, the power of the Atlantic is with you every step of the way.

I’ve never been beaten by a race before and feel a bit cheated as it beat my eyes and not my body but it does give me an excuse to come back and do it again.