Written by Mick Farrar - https://runningoffthemadness.blogspot.fr

Race date: 7th April 2018
Run Walk Crawl
Location: Wales Coastal Path starting at Penarth and finishing at Ogmore-by-sea
Weather/Conditions: rain, waterlogged, overcast, muddy, local flooding, getting the picture?

2018 had started damp and by the end of March, the ground was extremely waterlogged.  The final email from Run Walk Crawl and their Facebook update all recommended trail shoes with lots of grip, even though there are a good few miles on path and road.  I had planned to run Manchester marathon over this weekend as I initially wanted to beat my PB and run with a very good friend, but then remembered I hate road racing.  Having run the race last year I knew this was not an easy route and as the final race prior to TP100 I wanted to push myself a little, but also enjoy it.

Friday night arrived and the forecast changed to show yet more rain, yay!  I spent a night in an Airbnb on Bridgend, preparing my kit and my mind for the race.  Time to send the Black Dog off and relax.

The murky view from the start


I arrived at the car park in Ogmore-by-sea where the race finishes and the coaches pick you up and take you to the start in Penarth.  I sat on the bus and zoned out, using meditation techniques to help me relax.   After arrival, we had a quick kit check, down to the pier for a brief and then out to the race start.  The rain continued to fall as the horn sounded and we were off!

 
We turned left off the pier and climbed along the coastal road and then picked up the path, already muddy and waterlogged, the hundreds of feet churned the ground even more.  At 2 miles the path turns west, the thin row of bushes and trees barely hiding the cliff edge and giving no protection from the weather.  As the route headed through Swanbridge the path winds its way around caravan and holiday home parks, much to the amusement of the Easter holidaymakers.
 
As we approached the outskirts of Barry, at about five and a half miles, we hit one more muddy section and then out onto the road, my trail shoes finding it hard to get much traction on the hard surface.  The course loops around the docks and then further on into Barry, where the path became tiled and extremely slippery at times, I crossed the road and found the cycle path a lot easier to run on.  Looping right out around the outskirts of Barry Island we passed through the finish of the local Parkrun to cheers and clapping, I knew full well that some of those runners had fought their own battles this morning and thanked them back. 
 
Finally, the sections around Barry were complete, we ran around the harbour towards The Knap and at thirteen miles, through the first checkpoint I actually noticed, and the first real climb was upon us.  At this point, I unleashed my secret weapon, I unhooked the Leki poles strapped to my hydration vest and powered up the hill. I can remember from last year feeling shattered at this point but my legs were still strong and I pushed on towards Porthkerry.  The rain finally stopped.
Barry Island Pleasure Park

 

Waving goodbye to Barry Island

We dropped down through Cliff Wood and then steep steps into Porthkey Park, where the 18 mile runners were due to start, there also a food and water checkpoint where I grabbed two jaffa cakes and kept going.  I had arrived ahead of them starting, last year they had already started, and I crossed the rocky beach, climbed the next "hill" at 15 miles and was almost into the next caravan park by the time the whippets passed me.

Passing through Rhoose we headed across the beach to flat section of path with a small seawall at 18 miles, this stretched out around the power station.  I stopped and took time to strip off the cold and wet tops I was wearing, put on a dry top and stashed my waterproofs and poles.  Even after attempting to wring them out, the wet tops doubled the weight of my hydration vest.  Hey ho.  The path should have enabled us to pick up some pace but it had flooded, very deep in places and so we climbed up on to the narrow seawall and shuffled along.

Canoes would have been helpful along this section
At 20 miles we had passed the Aberthaw B power station and I stopped at the checkpoint for the first of my flat coke for the day.  With only around a half marathon to go, now the hard part of the course.  The route drops down into many coves and most of them you have to cross a few hundred meters of pebbles, the smallest being fist-sized.  The whole process of crossing these sections was made harder by the fact the stones were wet and slippery.  But hey, it was fun.

One of the many rocky "beaches"
From 21.5 miles the few miles of flat gave way to hills again, all the way to the end.  I extracted my running poles again and attacked the first hill.  The paths were both as treacherous downhill as it was steep uphill the other side, often with no steps and water running down what was left of the path.  Many narrow streams were now swollen to small rivers, the water pouring down off the hills, making the crossings tricky.

As we followed the coastal path, at times only a few feet across and wedged between the fields to our left and cliff to our right.  The path was often worn into a deep rut and after weeks of rain ankle high standing water stretched across the path, mixed with mud as hundreds of runners slipped their way through the unplanned obstacles.  I used my poles to stabilise me through these sections, allowing me to keep some pace.

Dropping down into yet another cove.

At Marcross we passed through the grounds of the lighthouse at 27 miles and the route then turned to follow the coast north-west towards Southerndown.  I started to notice that I was catching up runners that had passed me earlier, slowly but surely I was picking off runners again.  The hours of training and 30-mile runs may well be finally paying off.

 
As we dropped down into  Dunraven Park, the final cove and last checkpoint, I drank two cups of flat coke and double checked the distance to the finish.  With around three miles remaining, I set off again, picking up the pace from somewhere deep and again began to pick off runners yet again, occasionally checking my watch, until I rounded the last corner and saw the finish line.  I checked over my shoulder but the nearest runner was a few hundred meters behind, I didn't slow but pushed on even harder.  The cheers, cowbells and clapping filled my ears as I finally crossed the line.  33.5 miles, 2,326ft of elevation and 5,903 calories burnt.
some bloke

I had run harder and dug deeper than in any of my previous ultra races, my legs burnt and my core ached.  A bottle of water was pushed into my hand and I sat drinking it, my head clearer than its been in years.  I smiled to myself, I had not run much faster than 2017 but managed to knock off 25 minutes and in conditions way worse.  Then the realisation struck me that the next time I would be  lining up to start a race will be in Richmond on 5th May.




A few climbs, mostly towards the end





Result
06:44:21.4  65/248

Kit
Saucony Koa ST trail shoes, Dirty Girl gaiters, Drymax Cold Weather Running Socks, ASICS 2-in-1 running shorts, Kalenji cold weather top, Eyepod Sports Sunglasses, Salomon Adv Skin3 12 Set  and Leki RCM running poles.

Nutrition
Tailwind, 3 Torq gels, salted peanuts, a handful of jelly beans and a few jaffa cakes.

Again? 
If you've never run it before I wholly recommend it.  One of the few races I have returned to.

Written by Christian Maleedy - https://runningchristian.wordpress.com

I have been blessed enough to have run and raced in many hilly and scenic areas of the UK – the Lake District, the Peak District, Cornwall, the Yorkshire Dales, Snowdonia, the Brecon Beacons, the South Downs. However, I’d never done anything significant north of the border.

The Highland Fling follows the first 53 miles of the West Highland Way, from the official start in Milngavie (a small town just a few miles north of central Glasgow) up past Loch Lomond finishing in the mountain village of Tyndrum.

I’ve had my eye on this race for some time, but now finally have the chance to run it. It’s almost 6 o’clock on a cold Saturday morning. We are standing in the car park of Milngavie train station, waiting for the race to start. My flight up from London the previous night had been delayed and pre-race excitement meant that I hadn’t got very much sleep. Drop bags have been deposited in the relevant vehicles, a pre-race bacon roll and coffee consumed; now’s it just a case of waiting the last few minutes for the race start.

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This race began in 2006 with less than 20 runners as a training run for the 96 mile West Highland Way race. Today there are 800 runners nervously awaiting the start (making it certainly one of the largest ultras in the UK). Due to the number of runners, the race begins in three waves. I pick the middle pen and wait for our turn to start.

The mournful sound of bagpipes drifts out from the speakers. “Do you want something louder?” asks the guy controlling the music. Having got a positive response, the crowd is soon swaying to Avicii’s “levels”. As tributes to the late Swedish DJ go, several hundred lycra clad ultra runners bopping up and down in a Glaswegian car park must be fairly unique!

Having watched the first wave of elites and faster runners dash off, it’s now our turn to pass under the bridge, through the pedestrianized centre of Milngavie and turn onto the official trailhead of the West Highland Way. The trailhead is narrow and it’s evidently why the organisers don’t want all 800 runners descending on it at once.

These first few miles trend gently uphill initially through woodland, before later passing holiday cottages and opening out onto a wide track alongside Craigallian Loch.

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The early morning mist gently rises off the water creating an ethereal atmosphere. Here we are only a few miles north of Glasgow, yet this already feels so remote; the occasional electricity line the only real sign of civilisation.

The first checkpoint of the day is at Drymen after around 12 miles, which I hope to get to in around 2 hours. This first section is a mix of gently undulating trails and country lanes. It reminds me a little of the start of the North Downs Way back home; nothing too technical or challenging so far! It’s not long before the first mountains come into view in the distance, still capped in snow thanks to the long late finishing winter.

On the way into the village of Drymen, we’re sent through a field up a hill to a mid-race kit check. Unlike most of the races I run that have very comprehensive mandatory kit lists, this race only has two mandatory items; an emergency blanket and a mobile phone. Whilst these items could easily fit into a runner’s back pocket, all the runners have opted to carry significantly more items than this in their race vests and backpacks. As well as water and food, I’m carrying various items of clothing; enough to deal with whatever the Scottish climate decides to throw at us today!

Kit check is quickly negotiated and we descend into the first checkpoint of the day. There are five checkpoints along the way, at four of which we can access our own drop bags, which contain the food and drink (aside from water which is provided) that we might want during the race. There are no drop bags at this early check point; just water. As I get my bottles filled, one of the volunteers spots my UTMB t-shirt and we chat a little about that race.

“There isnay bag here, get oooooooout” declares the next volunteer. [Translation: “This is not a drop bag location, therefore please feel free to continue along the trail at your earliest convenience, my good sir”]. He has a point and I’m soon on my way.

This first section has been straight forward but much sterner tests lie ahead. First and foremost of which is the biggest climb of the race; Conic hill which comes in this next segment. The trail begins to trend uphill again as we approach the climb.

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These ascents are difficult to judge; they don’t feel steep up enough to justify walking but an attempt at running them leaves my legs objecting strongly. I settle on a run/walk strategy until Conic hill looms immediately ahead. The climb itself is a slog and reminds me of the many climbs on UTMB last summer. Thankfully the difference here is that this climb only takes a few minutes to reach the top (compared to the 2ish hours that many of the UTMB climbs were taking me). Race photographers are snapping away at the top and the views over Loch Lomond are simply breath taking.

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Having been overtaken by a few runners on the way up, I throw caution to the wind and pick up some speed for the descent, gaining a good few places. I can still feel the adrenaline coursing through my body as the descent starts to flatten out leading us directly into the next checkpoint at Balmaha.

This is the first drop bag location and as I enter the checkpoint I can see it operates like a finely tuned machine. A volunteer checks my number and shouts it along to the crew waiting by the drop bags. By the time I have progressed through, my bag is ready and waiting for me. I’ve packed the same items in each of my four bags, a can of coke plus a mix of savoury and sweet snacks. I gratefully drink the coke and although I’m not really hungry, eat a little and stash the rest in my race vest for later.

We are now on the south eastern corner of Loch Lomond, Scotland’s biggest loch. The race will follow the shore of the loch for the next 20+ miles, before heading off deep into the highlands. This next section through Rowardennan Forest is undulating again but relatively runnable. However, I’m unable to take full advantage of this as I hit a low patch. My body if feeling the effects of the South Downs Way 50 followed by a week of running in Snowdonia just two weeks before and my hips and legs object every time I try and get any kind of decent pace going. I know I’m struggling as I’m glancing at my Garmin every few moments, grumbling angrily to myself when I see only another 0.1 of a mile has passed. Again, I’m back to run/walk here and by the time I reach the next Rowardennan, I’m behind my schedule and feeling dispirited.

Retrieving my drop bag, I spend a few minutes sitting and lying on the grass by the loch as I refuel and try to refocus mentally. I’m approximately half-way through the race, with the significantly harder half still to come. I try not to think too much about that and just focus on the moment.

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After a fairly disappointing last section, the next few miles are a big improvement and pass by quickly. The trail alternates between hugging the shoreline closely at times and deviating some way inland at others. I’m struck by how much this lochside running reminds me of the South West Coast Path down in Cornwall; no large climbs, but many many short sharp ascents and descents with stunning views over the water.

Above us to the right looms Ben Lomond, the most southerly of Scotland’s famous Monros (Scottish mountains over 3,000 feet). In front of me a runner gets caught by a tree root and goes sprawling, but not before executing a near perfect stuntman roll. I help him to his feet and make a mental note to myself to watch my footing too.

Another forest section brings us to CP4 at Inversnaid. Here volunteers radio ahead runners’ numbers resulting in a massively slick and professional checkpoint process. I open my drop bag and immediately turn my nose up at the savoury items I’ve packed. The only issue with this drop bag format is that it relies on you being able to work out in advance what kind of food you are likely to want at various points in the race. Savoury snacks are normally a good bet for me from past experience but today my body is craving only sweet stuff. I take the chocolate from my drop bag and also visit the table at the checkpoint. Here the leftover contents of the drop bags of faster runners are put out for the others. Half the table consists of various gels. I remark to another runner that these always seem like a great choice at the start of the race but trying to force them down your throat when you’re 30+ miles into a race is another matter entirely. I help myself to a chocolate miniroll which really hits the spot and continue onwards, feeling upbeat again.

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As the saying goes “if you’re feeling good during an ultra, just wait a minute”. This next section comes as a massive shock and not an entirely pleasant one. My research of the course was limited to looking at maps and course profiles. Accordingly, I had a good idea of the climbing involved and where the big hills come during the race. What maps and course profiles can’t tell you is about the underfoot conditions. This section is massively more technical than I was expecting. A plethora of rocky scrambles, deadly tree roots, boulder hopping, stream crossings, ascents, descents and mud ensues. Any pre-race ambition I may have held with regard to a finishing time now dies a death on this brutal lochside terrain. Any attempt to get into a rhythm is hopeless as I’m invariably forced to walk. This is single track trail and I’ve now joined the back of a long procession of runners. It’s impossible to overtake anyone and, as it happens, I have no real desire to anyway. I accept that my time goals aren’t going to happen – but that’s ok. I’m nowhere near the cut offs and even a slow walk would get me to the finish within the 15 hours allowed. Having recently committed to adopting a more “mindful” approach to life, I put thoughts of finish line celebrations out of my mind and focus on the moment and the job in hand. Yes, the terrain is tough, but it’s also absolutely stunning and I do my best to take it all in.

Soon, we leave behind the loch for the last time and start heading uphill again. “Two easy miles to Beinglas Farm” declares a volunteer that we pass. I frown to myself, I’d counted on it being more like one mile….hopefully he has got it wrong as I’m now really ready for a cheeky sit down at the check point.

Turns out the volunteer was right about the two miles, but wrong about the easy part! Beinglas is the final full checkpoint with drop bag access. Red and white tape funnels us through the farm and towards the check point. For a moment I’m taken back to UTMB, and the mountainside checkpoints there. I’m really thankful that today is “only” 53 miles and not the 104 miles of UTMB.

Having retrieved my bag, I collapse into a camping chair with a groan of delight resulting in ripples of laughter from the other runners and volunteers. A volunteer confirms what I’d suspected – a slow walk would could comfortably get us into Tyndrum in time. From past experience, sitting for more than few short minutes will result in my legs stiffening up and making getting going again very difficult. I sit as long as I dare before slowly making my way down the farm track.

After a really technical few miles of single track, we are now on runnable double track again. The overall trend, however, is most certainly upwards as we head into more classic highland terrain. I run the flattish sections and walk the steeper ascents.

Soon we hit the notorious “cowpat alley”; a quagmire of mud and the afore mentioned cowpat. Here runners are frequently known to disappear to their knees in the stuff. Fortunately footprints in front of me mark a safe route taken by other runners through the danger.

Uphill slogs are met with lovely runnable downhill sections. Ordinarily I’d be pounding these downhills with joy, but today my body says otherwise. The sound of live music gently drifts from some trees; violins, bagpipes and accordions have been just some of the instruments that have encouraged us along the way during this race. It’s so lovely that people have taken the time to come out. As the afternoon has worn on, we’ve past many curious (if slightly bemused) WHW walkers who have all been encouraging and happy to stand aside as we passed by.

I pass the last minor check point at a road crossing and am immediately met by stunning views of the mountains ahead. I stop for a moment to take a picture and another runner notices my t-shirt declaring “this must be easy compared to UTMB”.

“In theory”, I reply, “though it doesn’t really feel like that at the moment”.

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Jess and I get chatting and run/walk the last 3 miles of the course together. Having not run with anyone else for a more than a few minutes all race, it’s nice to have some company. Incredibly these last 3 miles of the course pass by the quickest as we chat about running in Cornwall, races we’ve done and races on our bucket lists; UTMB, Western States, the Arc of Attrition, the Goat, the Spine. I even manage to gleam a few clues for how to enter the infamous Barkley marathons though I don’t really have any ambitions in that department.

Before long, we’re met by the sound of bagpipes and, as we turn a corner, we see the finish and the famous red carpet ahead. Another runner, who I’ve been leap frogging all day, is keen to entertain the crowd with a 3 person sprint for the finish line. Jess and I both decline as he sprints off and we jog over the line.

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12 hours 35 minutes definitely wasn’t the time I was envisaging at the start of the day, but I’m happy enough given this wasn’t an “A” race and it’s come hot on the heels of a PB at the SDW50. My next race in May is the North Downs Way 50 (which I’m treating largely as a training run) followed by the South Down Way 100 in June (which is an A race and I’m hoping for a good time on).

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As I sit by the road in Tyndrum waiting for the bus back to Glasgow, I look up at the snow capped mountains. The West Highland way has captured my imagination and I can’t help thinking about returning. Past Tyndrum, the WHW goes through Glen Coe before finishing at the foot of Ben Nevis in Fort William. I can definitely see either the “Devil o’ the Highlands” (a race starting here at Tyndrum and finishing at Fort William, ie the second half of the trail) or the West Highland Way race (the whole 96 miles) at some point in my future. But for now, the Fling has fully lived up to all expectations and left me enchanted.

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!

Lake Umuzi is also the cultural centre of Secunda.

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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Over 2,000 runners head out into the mean streets of Secunda.

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.

Kosmos Marathon route profile.

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!

The single-lap route winds you through the residential streets in Secunda.

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!

You’ll never go hungry in Secunda. Biscuits, boerewors, Easter eggs, pretzels, jelly babies, marshmallows and potatoes (but thankfully no polony) – and that’s just at these two tables.

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”.

Fat Cats AC sent a large team to Kosmos. Before they starting making their annual binge-eating trip to Kosmos, they were just know 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.

I gave the KPMG table a clean audit but they didn’t appreciate my line of questioning.

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).

A quick stop to inspect the state of the art fire fighting equipment in Secunda.

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.

I felt very lonely in the “marathon only” finishers chute being one of only 290 (out of 2,245) that wimped out with just a marathon!

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).

Spotted a patch of wild Kosmos flowers towards the end of the Kosmos Marathon.

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.

Maroon 5 sang about “Moves Like Jagger” but someone still needs to write (a satirical) song about “Moves Like Jogger”. I survived the dancing and was rated as “Better than expected” by my daughter. The added bonus was that my first foray into freestyle and rock & roll dancing was great cross-training – and worked off much of the food I had consumed during the marathon.
On show (and almost finished) at another great table (thanks Rawson Property Group) during the Kosmos Marathon.

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 Stacey Holloway

I had not intended to enter the 2018 Fling, with the West Highland Way race in the same year. Back in 2016 it took me 6 weeks to recover enough to even want to run again. I was scared I could not recover in time for the WHWrace, just 8 weeks later. Neil my Chief Crewman, however, advised I run the Fling as my longest training run for the WHWrace. Against my better judgment, I entered and got a ballot place. So the race was not a race, but a dress rehearsal for June 23rd. I am so glad I listened to Neil.

This year my training had been perfect for the Fling and I felt so ready for it. Then, 4 weeks out from the race, things got a bit hectic and I was travelling a lot. I lost sleep, training was not my highest priority and fell apart, as did eating well. I got pretty run down. I was back in Cambridge for a week and despite sleeping 8-9hours for a few nights I could not shake a deep fatigue that had settled in. Those who know my past will understand why this feeling scares me, a lot. Max helped to dispel my paranoia and we headed to Scotland. The day before the Fling it became apparent I was unwell; I could not keep warm and was extremely tired. I spent Friday on the sofa under blankets with Kirsty’s hot water bottle. Despite this, I could not help getting carried away in all the excitement for the next day as competitors and volunteers began to arrive. I met some WHWrace runners who had plenty of advice. I hung on their every word.

I was asleep by 9pm but woke at 11pm and I could not sleep again. At 2.30am Max made us breakfast and we caught the bus to Milngavie for the 6am race start. My tummy was in a terrible way! However, it was all great training for the WHWrace! No sleep and 53 miles of running on the course – perfect!

Max was in the first start wave so we kissed goodbye with the barrier between us as Johnny Fling and Jez Bragg counted down from 10. The horn went and I watched Max run off under the Milngavie rail-bridge. I joined the front of the final wave, observing the contrast between the runners in Max’s wave and those in mine. The front-runners were all in dark, serious colours of red, black and grey, and mostly lean men, quiet in anticipation. In my wave it was mostly women, of all ages and sizes, kitted out in bright colours with kilts and tutus dancing and singing as the count down begun. Someone behind me tells their friend ‘these are the real tough runners’ and I feel proud of where I belong in this race, firmly a back of the pack runner. By the time we are under the arches and on the Way, we are introducing ourselves and making friends.

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Just before the race briefing

I dropped right back to be one of the last runners as I was struggling with pace and brutally aware that I needed to finish as if to go on. I met another WHWrace hopeful and everyone was in a bonnie mood. The morning was perfect, cool, windless and sunny. The first views after Carbeth were breathtaking. You could see the route laid out in front of us crystal clear, Conic hill in the distance and the summit of Ben Lomond beyond. I wondered if the snow topped peaks behind that were Ben Vorlich or Ben Lui.

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View out after Carbeth, perfect morning

Heading into Drymen I caught up with a group and one of the women says to me ‘you are from Cambridge, you told me that.’ A statement that must be true, but I cannot remember telling her! From then on throughout the race I would hear a holler ‘Cambridge!’ and turn round to a group of smiles. I ran with Jen, Fiona, John and Jan all the way to Inversnaid and their banter kept us all laughing and indifferent to time. I saw familiar faces at every checkpoint, Michelle and Carla at Drymen, Donna at Balmaha and Neil was waiting to see me in at Rowerdennen. He tells me I had arrived within 30seconds of my predicted time! By Inversnaid I was feeling a lot better, my unwellness from the day before had lifted and I pushed on.

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When you can see three peaks you know you are finally near Inversnaid. Only two  means you are not there yet!

The Inversnaid checkpoint was good fun! Firstly, I finally met John Kynatson in person, which I had been looking forward to (John has been interviewing me for the WHWrace podcasts). John introduced me to his wife as ‘this is Stacey, you may sometimes hear her voice coming from my basement.’ I have a double take, but John is oblivious to anything odd in that statement. I also saw Martyn, which was wonderful as I have not seen him since near the end of the Fling 2016. It was talking to Martyn after his WHWrace that inspired me to enter myself. While talking to the two of them another runner I had met the day before came bounding over full of excitement to loudly proclaim that he was quitting. We all stare at him startled, for this is a huge decision to make and not one that normally comes with enthusiasm. Without thinking I tell him not to mention the ‘Q’ word and get moving to Beinglas. I am not sure if he finished, but I hope that he did.  Upon opening my drop bag I was disappointed to find a peanut butter and jam sandwich, and not the cheese and pickle I was craving. Martyn came to the rescue and asks if I want mature or mild cheddar. I just stare at him. He tells me he is utterly serious. Loaded up with cheese and bottles filled with Active Root (OMG this stuff is AMAZING!!!) I headed off towards Beinglas.

On the training run a month earlier, I had finally made peace with the technical lochside portion of the course and thoroughly enjoyed it this time round. It is a beautiful and wild section that takes a lot of focus to move over. It was brilliant fun and I stopped now and again to watch water falling from rocks above my head or to look out through tree roots at the still Loch surface. Coming off the lochside, Ben Lui stood ahead in the distance with rain falling on its top. The sun shone all day on us.

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Rain on Ben Lui, Sun on me 

I mentally struggle with the last section into Beinglas and the road out up to the river crossing so I promised myself some iPod time once I made the checkpoint. I was quite close to the cutoff at Beinglas and Neil was there waiting. He may have been a bit anxious, as he was pretty insistent I could not use the loo until after I had crossed the timing mat. I am so grateful to Neil for being out there checking on me, I felt very looked after and I am so comforted to know he will be there in June.

Along the river and out towards cow poo alley I had my music on loud and let my mind switch off. I entered a point where my brain began to fail to distinguish feelings of euphoria and suffering, it was only the pain in my legs that kept me grounded. I had slowed a lot to stare blissfully at the mountains so turned off the music and got moving. I met a lady from St Albans (near my birth town, Watford, but posher) and it was quite comforting to hear a southern accent, even if it was more upper class than mine. I enjoyed listening to her perfect home county accent as she waded undeterred shin deep through cow shit.

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Starting to get a bit euphoric…

Out into the Roller-coaster forest I met Chris, who was a WHWrace finisher and another hopeful for this year. He was moving slower than me, but I wanted to hear his stories. We walked together up to the red carpet where I told him to run ahead so he could have his own photo finish. Walking with Chris was probably one of the best things I could have done that day. Taking the last 6 miles slow meant I did not trash my already trashed ankles and legs more than I needed to so I could recover well and get training again. Also, Chris told the WHWrace for what it was. He told me about the realities of sleep deprivation, and its impact on your crew. About midges and food and what had made people DNF. About the importance of stories when you can no longer talk. It was what I didn’t want to hear, but what I needed to hear and exactly when I needed to hear it, after 52miles and over 14hours on my feet.

The finish was not like 2016 for me. This fling had been amazing, I had so much fun and I really mean that. I was so happy to be out there, talking to everyone and hearing their stories (more people than I have mentioned here and I am grateful to have met all of them). I took it slow and easy and never stressed. I waited at checkpoints to make sure my friends had made the cutoffs (so pleased when I found out Kirsten had made all of them!), enjoyed the scenery and catching up with people I had not seen in years. The community is outstanding. But it was not hard, I had not endured or struggled, I felt tired, cold and a bit sore, but I was fine. I felt underserving of the calls of encouragement from onlookers as we neared the finish. I was fine. This was a huge win for me. However, Chris’s words rung in my ears and I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of 44 more miles. I went to bed thinking I should quit and drop out. By morning I felt fine with very little pain and in a better mental state, excited again at the prospect of the entire West Highland Way.

A huge thank you and congratulations to John Duncan and Noanie Sam Heffron, and every volunteer and sponsor for pulling off such an incredible event and its devoted following in the Scottish Ultra running community.

Finally, a special thank you to Liz Bennett in Cambridge for sponsoring me in the lead up to the WHWrace. She has gone above and beyond to keep me injury free.

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The end is nigh

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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Pre-race lacing - a nervous disposition!

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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. 

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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.

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

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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! 

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

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Penyo de Cabal and Bernia

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The tall white buttresses …

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… and jagged pinnacles make up El Carrascal

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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!

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One of the tall pinnacles comprising the Partagat

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

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Imposing buttresses on the Partagat looking across to the Serella

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Looking back across the Guadelest valley to Serella and Bernia

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The “golf ball” on Aitana’s summit

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

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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.

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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!)

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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!

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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!

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