Written by Jodie Laird - http://itsonlyrunningjodes.blogspot.fr

I'd said from the outset that this one was a training run. In all honesty, this was me giving myself a bit of an out if things went horribly wrong. I'm not  competitive insofar as I want to beat other people (that would be a case of ambition outstripping ability), but I do always want to be the best that I can; or at least feel as though I'm improving. I'd been pleased to come away from the Lakeland 50 more or less unscathed  (apart from some quite spectacular toenail damage) and had eased myself back into training in the hope that I could avoid a recurrence of the injuries which had plagued me for the best part of 18 months. So I hadn’t done any very specific training, just upped my miles gradually, reintroduced speedwork for the first time in over a year, and switched back to road running for some of my longer outings - the logic behind this being that Ennerdale is very runnable and you're not allowed to walk the hills on tarmac. It's the law. Fortunately, there are plenty of hills in north east Cumbria.

Even so, I did treat it as part of my week's training by not really tapering. I ran a 5K PB at Carlisle parkrun the day beforehand and did my scheduled track session on Thursday.  When I say scheduled, I mean I texted Wes  (him of death by PT sessions notoriety) and told him I was going to the track. Telling him meant I couldn't 'make up a twattish excuse and go for a nice run up a hill instead.' As luck would have it, we ended up sharing a session  during which he lapped me on his recoveries.  Always encouraging.

There are worse places to run. Photo by High Terrain Events.

Ennerdale is beautiful. It’s one of the less welll visited corners of the Lake District but that’s certainly not because it’s any less lovely. Despite this, the superb weather conditions, and the fact that I had a chauffeur for the day (thanks Sharon!), I was in a stinker of a mood from the off. I went out far too quickly (for me), which it’s hard not to do because the first section up to Black Sail Youth Hostel (about 8 miles) is on fire roads and is very runnable and, even though I hadn’t had chance to recce the route, I knew there was a fairly technical section on the opposite side of the lake that would slow me down significantly in the second half of each lap (it’s a two lap course). There are a few undulations, but nothing very taxing on fresh legs. My legs didn’t feel fresh though, my breathing was all over the shop, and, more significantly I think, I’d seen my arse.* I ran with a couple of guys who were having a great time and clearly making the miles tick by really quickly by chatting to each other, and I leapfrogged a bit with another woman who seemed lovely and would probably have been willing to natter away, had I been in the mood. I really wasn’t though – apologies to anyone who had the misfortune of putting up with my shit craic. Or lack of any craic at all.

Faking it to make it. Photo by Grand Day Out Photography.

Then the chafing started. I don’t know why; I wore the same shorts as I did for the Lakeland 50 and which gave me no problems whatsoever on that, far longer, day out. I had some Vaseline in my pack but decided I’d wait until I got back to the main checkpoint to sort myself out. Stupid really, just another bad decision which added to my crap mental state. At one point my internal monologue went something like:

This is really fucking horrible, I’ll just pretend my shins are playing up and pull out at 25K.
No Jodie, look around you, it’s beautiful.
So fucking what? I live in Cumbria, I can look at the sodding hills every day of my life.
Oh so you’ve got sore feet? What did you expect might happen you silly bitch, stop twining.
I’m totally stopping when I get back to the Scout centre.
PEOPLE WITH ARTIFICIAL LIMBS FINISH STUFF LIKE CELTMAN, YOU BIG SOFT SHIT.
Three women have just gone past me coming off Angler’s Crag because I am basically shit at anything more technical than a mucky track. That’s it. I’ve really had enough now.
*Two minutes later *
Ah, but they had yellow numbers on – they’re doing the 25K.

And then, say what you like about social media, but when you’ve told people on the internet you’re doing something, you do look a bit of a knob if you then don’t finish it, just because you couldn’t really be arsed on the day.

The main checkpoint was back at the start, which should’ve been a bit demoralising, but in reality it was nice to have a bit of banter, get my bottles filled, and rectify the chafing. Given that I ate naff all (nutrition was shocking, as per usual. I need to stop making it complicated and just eat some fucking pies), I should’ve been in and out in about 2 minutes, but I think I was craving a bit of chat, despite not being very sociable while actually running. 23 MINUTES WASTED IN CHECKPOINTS (here, Black Sail second time round, and a couple of minutes at the additional 25K CP on the first lap). The one positive I’m taking from this is that I can shave loads of time off by just not being a fanny.

Weirdly enough, the second lap was much better. Obviously I’d slowed down: intentionally, but also out of necessity. I did walk a couple of the steeper inclines, but told myself seeing as I’d set out to do a training run, I might as well run as many as I could and if I crashed later then so be it. Once I got to the youth hostel I had a real sense of having broken the back of the race and felt much more positive (helped by the very nice marshal – general theme for the day was the friendliness of the event), but I’m still cross at myself for dicking about here for much longer than necessary. No point banging on about it; just be quicker next time.

The next few miles were fairly uneventful. I definitely got a bit of a second wind and was in a much better place mentally. One of the guys I’d been running with earlier caught me up just as we were leaving the hard tracks and heading along the riverside. I wouldn’t say I was in full on verbally-amputate-the-donkey mode, but I was mustering more than the odd grunt. Until just after 26 miles that is, when they could probably hear me swearing in Whitehaven on account of THE CRAMP. I could actually see my adductors going into spasm. Couldn’t move for a few moments, but then managed to talk myself into walking it off. Within a few minutes I could run again, but then the other leg did exactly the same thing when I stepped up onto a bridge. This was pretty much the pattern for the next couple of miles. Every time I had to really pick my feet up the cramp would start again. This section takes in some fairly uneven ground so I wasn’t having a whole lot of fun. That said, I wasn’t anything like as grumpy as I’d been earlier on, which just goes to show that getting your head in the right place is equally as important as anything else. Not a groundbreaking observation, I know, but it bears repeating.

Nothing much eventful in the final miles, just nice to get Angler’s Crag out of the way without breaking my face (I fall over curbs so I’m always delighted to finish with my nose intact) and the last bit is easy trail. I couldn’t persuade my legs to do anything very fast, but I didn’t get caught by any other girls, so that was another small thing to be pleased about. I finished in 5.57 and some change. Sub 6 hours had been my lower end target so it wasn’t an absolute write off, but I do need to get my act together on the checkpoint front, and try not to be such a mardy cow!

5th woman and 18th overall (out of 46 starters). Well organised, friendly, low key event in a great location. The marshals couldn’t have been nicer or more helpful, so big thanks to them.

Recovery squat. Not shitting in the lake, as my delightful husband suggested it looked as though I was doing.

Both coach and sports therapist (AKA sadistic inflicters of unspeakable pain) had suggested a dunk in the lake afterwards wouldn't do me any harm. I'm not sure if they really thought it would be of any benefit, or if they'd cooked up an evil conspiracy between them, just to see I would do as I was told. I actually found the notion quite appealing though, and the water felt soothing, rather than cold. Attempting to get my trousers on afterwards led to a recurrence of the dreaded cramp - in my toes, as well as my inner thighs this time. Unpleasant for me, hilarious for my audience. I'd cheered up enormously by this point though, so I managed to see the funny side. Or maybe it's just that I enjoy pain?

I arrived home to a magnificent roast dinner, courtesy of him indoors, and to the following bed time exchange with my five year old son:

Did you enjoy your race mam?
I did after I was finished.
How far was it?
A little bit under 32 miles.
Just a short one today then.

Perspective, thy name is Rory.


* Seeing one’s arse is possibly a regional expression, but it might also be something only my parents say, I’m not sure. It just means being in a foul mood, which I’m sure was probably quite easy to figure out.