Race Report: Jurassic Coast 100 Miler

Written by Jamie Chaffey - https://mountaintrailrunning.com

The Jurassic Coast 100 follows the historic clifftop trails along England’s southwest coast.

I’m in the process of accumulating points to eventually enter the UTMB one year. The furthest I’ve ever run was last year’s 101km CCC so I figured that a non-mountain trail like the Jurassic Coast 100 might be an easier introduction to the 100 mile distance than some of the Alpine monsters on my doorstep.

Climb South West are a Devon-based organisation who deliver a range of rock climbing and mountaineering activities, but have recently branched out into hosting fully-supported ultra distance trail races including 50km and 100km races along the Jurassic Coast in South West England.

The Jurassic Coast trail covers some of Britain’s most scenic coastline – apparently.

2018 saw the first incarnation of the 100-mile event – taking in the whole of the Jurassic Coast Trail between Studland Beach near Poole, in Dorset, to Exmouth in Devon. The route would also include the 100km and 50km races which would start at later points and follow the same trail, from Chesil Beach and Lyme Regis respectively.

Although not particularly high (the highest point is around 150m), the route is like a row of hacksaw teeth with constant steep ups and downs as the paths trace the cliff edges of the coastal trail and the 100 mile route accumulates 5000m of vertical height gain. Still, that’s half the height gain of the UTMB so I figured this would be manageable within the 36 hour cut-off limit.

Amy and I had spent the week in the UK visiting friends, and luckily we have some good friends who live close to the start line in Poole which meant I could avoid an early start. Mark and Amy accompanied me down to Studland beach where I managed to avoid the rush and get registered quickly and efficiently. That just left some double-checking of kit and rampant abuse of the National Trust toilets before the pre-race briefing, after which we were off at 9am sharp.

Pre-race briefing at Studland Beach in Dorset

The start of the race on Studland Beach. Photo courtesy of www.NoLimitsPhotography.co.uk

The weather was misty and cool, but this suited me fine as heat has always been my nemesis in ultra marathons. We left Studland beach and ran along the hardpacked sand where the sea meets the shore for a couple of kilometres before making our way up onto the coastal path. In theory the route was easy to follow. Keep the sea on your left and keep going for 100 miles and eventually we should end up in Exmouth. In reality there were many points in the early stages where the route deviated, or where it was easy to miss a turn – especially around the many seaside towns and villages, and at one point about 30km in, where myself and a few others carried on oblivious in the mist until two runners ahead came back towards us having checked with some hikers – we’d managed to add an extra 4-5 miles on top.

Still smiling despite the extra miles after getting lost. Photo courtesy of www.NoLimitsPhotography.co.uk

Specatators along the route

On the first day the mist obscured a lot of the great views – Old Harry Rocks, Lulworth Cove, Durdle Door. However it had the advantage of keeping the temperature down and meant that the running was fairly easy.

Only 63 runners signed up for the 100 miler but in the early stages we stayed bunched together and there was lots of chatting and camaraderie.

The trail was generally easy to follow but sometimes it was all too simple to take a diversion.

The view from the trail

The checkpoints were basic – water, Coke and homemade cakes with a few crisps. However the help and attention was second to none with volunteers falling over themselves to help fill your water bottles. Luckily, being half term in the UK, all of the seaside towns and villages were packed with visitors and full of shops and cafes selling fish and chips, crepes and snacks so it was easy to stock up on other food.

The first main checkpoint was basic but the homemade cakes were delicious.

I’d asked Amy not to join me at the 40 mile mark at Chesil Beach – I would have access to my drop bag and I didn’t want the problem of having to wait for her if the journey took a long time like I did last year at Champex. However she’d been overruled by our friends Mark and Christine who were keen to come out and visit, and it was a pleasant surprise to see their faces after a long day on the trail. I was still feeling fresh (or at least as fresh as you can be after 12 hours and 40 miles of trail) but the run in from Weymouth had been quite a monotonous drag and they were also a big help in getting me fed so I could concentrate on changing into dry clothes and tending to my feet. This was also the start of the 100km route and I’d arrived about an hour before that started so the place was buzzing with dozens of fresh runners.

Fed, watered and into a dry change of clothes I felt quite refreshed on the way out, although the road back towards Weymouth was pretty bleak and on my own it was a little depressing. However after 30 minutes or so I caught up with Dave, Nick and Mathieu who I’d ran with briefly earlier on in the race and settled in with them as we ran into the night.

As night fell, the first 100km runners gained on us and we stood by to let them speed through. The night dew was making the long grass really wet so we stopped to wring out our socks and try our best to keep our feet dry as we were only really just over the halfway point at this stage.

Mathieu mentioned that he was planning to sleep at the next checkpoint which we would get to at around 2am. However when we got there it turned out to be little more than a table of food in a car park with no shelter or anywhere soft to lay apart from the grass. He was ready to give up at that point and the organisers mentioned that he would have to wait for the broom wagon, which would take him to the next checkpoint at Lyme Regis, around 25km away. The rest of the group managed to convince him to keep running, at least until Lyme Regis where there would be hot food, and somewhere to sleep – so off we went.

Thankfully the hours of darkness at the beginning of June in England are pretty short, and by 4am it was starting to get light again which lifted our spirits, and eventually after around 22 hours and 120km of running we made it into Lyme Regis Rugby Club. There were already a few 100 mile runners ahead of us taking a quick sleep on the floor.

No sooner were we through the door and the volunteers were taking our water bottles to refill while we sat down, and fullfilling orders for tea and coffee. Out came the cook who asked how we wanted our chilli and potato wedges which were quickly brought out and despite my initial misgivings that it might not be the best food to have on an ultra, it did the trick.

Dave reminded us that what had once seemed like a generous 36 hour cutoff limit was getting closer and we weren’t moving hugely fast so it would be best not to hang around too long. Mathieu seemed happy to continue running and had given up on abandoning so we all quickly taped up our feet and got back on the trail.

After running through the night, the potato wedges and chilli, washed down with sweet strong tea at Lyme Regis Rugby Club were sublime.

As the sun rose on the Saturday morning it was shaping up to be a beautiful summer’s day.

The descent into Seaton golf club and another checkpoint.

Mathieu, Davem Nick and I had now been running as a tight group for the beset part of 12 hours so we’d pretty much made an unspoken pact to stick with each and see this through.

More checkpoints, more villages and towns as the day wore on. By now as we answered the common question of “Where have you run from?” to passing tourists, the answer of ‘Poole’, 80 or so miles to the east prompted more and more incredulous looks. We also got lots of enthusiastic encouragement not just from tourists, but from other runners on the 100km and 50km trails as they sailed past, and then noticed our red numbers and shuffling gait.

After 100 miles, 60 of which we’d pushed through together, we’d made it onto Exmouth seafront.

Somebody taking a breather with a view.

Amy texted me to say that Mark and Christine had insisted on coming to offer more encouragement along the way, and would meet me at the Sidmouth checkpoint some 18km before the end, rather than just seeing me at the finish. I was glad of the friendly face at this point because the lack of sleep and general fatigue meant that I was feeling dizzy and disoriented, and the balls of my feet were so sore that I was struggling to keep up with the others.

The peaks in this race aren’t high, but there are lots of them and they’re very steep.

After changing into clean socks, I told the others to go ahead and I would catch them up – it was more of a Captain Oates style way to say there’s no way I’ll see you guys again and I think we all knew it. Amy is quite used to seeing me in ultras now and literally force-fed me salty chips, and then popped out and got me a bottle of Coke and a chocolate milkshake to take out on the next section. She also ran with me on this one – not hard as I wasn’t moving fast. However she made sure I drank and ate regularly, and also badgered me into running the downhills, and just generally having some company meant that just after Budleigh Salterton, where she switched places with Mark as my pacer, we caught up with Dave, Nick and Matthieu.

Grinding out the last few KMs with Amy

I was having a new lease of life but Nick, who had knee trouble for the whole race was struggling on the downhills. However we all stuck together and after the long drag into Exmouth we finally made it over the finish line as a group, with 90 minutes to spare until the cutoff.

Crossing the line as a group after 24 hours together, and 34 hours non-stop running. Photo courtesy of www.NoLimitsPhotography.co.uk

Photo courtesy of www.NoLimitsPhotography.co.uk

Finisher’s buckles and very relieved faces

Relaxing the next day while waiting for a coffee and a bacon buttie.

As a first attempt at 100 miles I’m still buzzing from the experience of having made it through, especially when the clocked distance was closer to 110 miles. It was hard, and although I had some very negative patches, not once did I ever feel like giving up or that I couldn’t finish – it was really just a constant re-evaluation of how long it would take.

A large part of the success came down to the other competitors. Everyone along the route was really friendly, and then running with Nick, Dave and Mathieu for the final 24 hours we helped each other through – by encouragement, distraction, or just simply knowing to ignore each other when it was time to retreat into your own personal space.

Obviously my first goal was to complete the race and avoid a DNF. In the back of my mind, based on my CCC time I thought I might be able to complete in 28-30 hours so the 34 hours this took on first glance seems like a bit of a disappointment. However looking at the results, coming in (joint) 26th out of 59 starters the abandon rate seemed quite high, but I think that just underlines how deceptively tough the route was.

Jurassic Coast 100 Mile Results

SOUTH DOWNS WAY 100 – RACE REPORT

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

I was expecting to find you hunched over your poles, headphones in, grinding through the dark miles with gritted teeth.

Are you sure you’ve just run 85 miles?  I don’t think you’re supposed to be smiling.

This was my greeting from Olly as I came into the Southease checkpoint to find him tucking into the huge buffet laid out on the trestle tables.  As is now usual I didn’t hang around and within 2 minutes we were hiking up the next steep ascent to pick up the now familiar rolling trails of the South Downs way.

I would have been smiling if I knew I was in Cocking

Apart from the blistering heat, and a recurring, searing, breathtaking pain in my left knee, it had been a nice and easy day.  Plenty of friendly people to chat to, some cyclists to banter with (I kept overtaking the same ones on every uphill), and lots of well stocked aid stations to break up the miles.

It wasn’t as hot as it had been on the Thames Path, but there were still plenty of people falling by the vomit streaked wayside.  There was less shade perhaps, the bulk of the route follows a high ridge without much tree cover. Also we weren’t far off the longest day of the year so the delicious cool of the night took an age to finally arrive.

Even then it wasn’t actually cold, apart from a brief chilly moment when I changed my vest for a t-shirt, and that was mostly because I’d been walking for a while as a concession to my complaining knee.

Just making it harder by keeping my eyes shut

I’d never had a pacer before, and this was Ollys first time pacing someone, so I think both of us were a little bit apprehensive about how it would work out.  There was always work to fall back on; he recruits data scientists for a living, I am an aspiring one. So we could always bluff about how much statistics we knew and trade mutual acquaintance related gossip.

Thank goodness it didn’t come to that.

The nicest thing about having someone join me for the last 20 odd miles, was that I could pretty much turn my brain off and let them navigate and remind me to eat and drink.  Also having someone to talk to was great.  I might be a bit quiet at work sometimes (it’s called being focused, actually), but stick a pair of running shoes on me and I’ll talk the arse off a donkey (not that that’s a thing, but you get my point).

This was Ollys first proper night run too, so it was actually a proper adventure for him, not just an exercise in keeping me moving fast enough so he didn’t get too cold.

My knee pain was a mystery, it really had come out of nowhere and was ridiculously painful.  Not the deep, sharp stabs of the red-hot needle of a stress fracture, nor the instantly disabling agony of a torn muscle.

I’d kept it under control for 15 hours with a mixture of friendly and understanding chatter and easy walking when it really made a fuss.

The talking aspect was bolstering my budding theory that one can strengthen the neural pathways involved in sorting out attention-seeking body parts without cadging drugs off strangers (how could I think that was a good idea?).

No, I reckon that by just thinking hard about the sore parts, and speaking to them out loud, you can encourage your brain to send whatever the rights things are needed to sort things out.

It certainly provides a form of distraction and can pass for a twisted sort of entertainment on very long runs.

Having a deep conversation with myself

I was patiently explaining this to Olly while we were on another pain induced walking break, when he just looked at me with his head tilted sideways (as anyone would look at a dusty simpleton, in a field, in the middle of the night) and interrupted with:

Mate, stop talking bollocks.

Your hamstring is tight, and it’s pulling that stretchy thing on the side of your leg, and that’s pulling some other thing which is making some knee bone-but-not-bone pieces rub together.

Which hurt like hell.

Stop and stretch, you’ll be fine, I promise you.

(It may have been more anatomically accurate, but that’s how I remember it).

No no no, I patiently admonished, you’re missing the point, it can’t be my hamstring, because…

Actually, he was right, of course he was right.

I might have found a way of dulling the pain to ignorable levels, but the cause was indeed my hamstring.  I was too sleep deprived to be anything other than sheepishly grateful, and after a really long stretch at Alfriston (91 miles) we picked up the pace and flew along, banging out 11 minute miles to the finish line (they felt like 7 minute miles in my defence).

“Flying”

Done!

In terms of kit and food, I’m very happy with splashing out on a very fancy Salomon rucksack (“It’s not a bag, it’s a carrying solution”), which was really comfortable, could fit loads of food in the front pockets and after some initial fiddly faffing had easily refillable soft flasks.

Again, like the Thames Path 100, I didn’t eat very much, and again nothing from the aid stations apart from the hot food at the half way point.  I’d rather carry more weight than risk eating what was on someones hands while they’d rummaged through the crisps, but then again I can be a bit OCD about that sort of thing.

I did get a bit bored of saucisson and flapjacks, so finding a bag of crunchy M&Ms in my final drop bag probably made my race.

Massive shout out to the Centurion crew for superb organisation, there were a lot of runners out on the trails, and keeping everyone safe and on course for (just under!) a hundred miles is a truly impressive achievement.

Champions!

https://www.strava.com/activities/1628930636

Spartathlon 2018

Written by Will Rivera - https://willrivera-ultra.tumblr.com

“Pushing your body past what you thought it was capable of is easy; the hard part is pushing yourself even further … past what your mind wants to let you. That’s what ultrarunning is all about; introducing you to a self you’ve never known.” 
– Rex Pace 

So here we are back in Greece for the 2018 Spartathlon!! It takes a very special place or race for me to come back but having completed this race last year and knowing that I left so much out on this iconic course (guided PR teammate Jason Romero) it was important for me to return, to really see how I would perform running at my full potential supported by the best crew I could have, my lovely wife Madeline. 

Last year having the opportunity to represent my beautiful island of Puerto Rico, was very important to me especially after what had just happened with Hurricane Maria just weeks before. It made it even more special to dedicate my run to all of the people of Puerto Rico. This year I was once again honored and privileged to follow in the footsteps of Pheidippides from Athens to Sparta as part of the United States Spartathlon Team! Having served in the U.S. military this meant so much to me and I knew I had to be in the best shape of my life to represent well not only my country but all of those that have supported me along the way this year. 

Training: Going into 2018, I knew I had to make a decision on which race would be my “A” race. I was on the fence between Tahoe 200 or going back to Greece for a second round. So typical of me I went ahead and put my name on the waiting list for Tahoe 200 since the race had sold out before applying for Spartathlon and not knowing I still had a auto-qualifier from my 2016 Badwater performance that is good for 2 years. Fast-forward a couple of months and here I was signed up for both Tahoe 200 and Spartathlon….could I have done both? probably, but with only 3 weeks to recover it was a “no brainer” I had to choose which race was more important to me. So I contacted Candice Burt RD of Tahoe 200 and she helped me defer my entry for 2019. (so I know now what my “A” race is for 2019). So all my focus this year was towards Sparta! I knew exactly what I needed to do to be ready. Last year my goal of sub 30 finish was sacrificed when at a last minute PR teammate Jason (legally blind) asked if I could guide him on his third attempt (DNF’d previous two years) since his official guide didn’t make it out of the Island due to the hurricane. It was a hard decision to make since I had trained so hard all year round for this race and I knew that running someone else’s pace/race/guiding would affect my personal goals/performance. Fast-forward recap; we ran together for over 112 miles, he got his first finish and I ran a strong last 40 miles to the finish with a time of 31 hours and 19 minutes. 

So early every year for the past 4 years my entire focus has been on the Boston Marathon and little I knew with this year’s horrible wet, windy and cold conditions it would become perfect training conditions for this year’s Spartathlon (more on that later…) After Boston, my entire focus shift to Spartathlon, 3 key priorities were my focus on training; Volume, Strength (to run all the uphills) and a solid nutrition and hydration plan. I looked at the calendar at what races I needed to do as “Training Runs” that could simulate both the heat and type (point to point races). Lots of shorter Ultras/marathons were on my calendar this year; Lovin the Hills, Derby, Strolling Jim, Flying Pig, RUTS… just to name a few but my main two were War Hammer 100 (1st OA) and Burning River 100 (3rd OA). Both point to point ultras offering everything from heat and humidity with a nice mixture of trails and roads sections that served as excellent training races for Spartathlon. My nutrition for both was identical focusing more on a OFM (Fat Adaptive) approach using minimal calories keeping focus mainly on hydration and efficiency off the aid stations. Volume weekly miles from June to mid September (14 consecutive weeks) were an average of 100-120 miles. I knew that for my sub 28 goal this year I would need to be both ready for the heat and run ALL of the elevation (except for the grueling mountain climb) so I added lots of elevation training on the weekends to really simulate the late climbs at Spartathlon that begin after mile 80-90 mark right before the mountain base. Luckily this summer was of record high temperatures which helped on training to be ready for what a traditional Spartathlon race would be, hot and humid conditions. 

Race Week: Compared to last year, our trip to Greece was much better. We did not have any delays but we did encounter baggage problems not arriving with us. Luckily the airline arrange to have all our luggage delivered to our hotel by the next day. Weather was perfect that week but looking at the forecast for race day it was looking like something was brewing off the Mediterranean with lots of rain, high winds expected for the weekend. Next day, Wednesday, I checked in early to ensure I’ll be able to relax and go sightseeing around near Athens before the race.

Thursday was the main day for everyone else to register and take part of safety briefings conducted in many different languages. The English briefing was scheduled for 5pm and our team decided to meet beforehand for team photo and to accommodate team member Dean Karnazes which had a very busy agenda with local interviews. He is like a rock star among all the runners and locals evident by how many want it to take photos and autograph his most recent book “Road to Sparta”.  I was one of the 15 lucky runners representing the USA Spartathlon team and meeting all of them was awesome as everyone seemed so relaxed and confident about the race. There were a few veterans, rookies and some that had DNF before and were back for redemption including world class 24 HR runner Jon Olsen. Race morning came pretty quickly with a quick trip from our hotel to Athens for the scheduled 7am start. The energy at the base of the Acropolis start was electric with competitors from all around the world mingled and going through their pre-race routines. I then met with our team for a quick team photo and to wish everyone a great race. My plan was very simple, trust my training, run my race and to let the course and conditions dictate my pace. On a traditional day, Spartathlon is a hot race during the day with harsh fast cut-offs early forcing a runner to run smart and conservative early to be able to finish strong at the end.

Being that this year was going to be different with the much cooler temperatures, I made a decision to run by “Feel” using my heart rate sensor as the indicator keeping all my effort at Zone 3 (121-137 BPM). My Hydration and Nutrition plan were also very simple, one cocktail serving (8-10 ounces) of Ucan Protein mixed with Vespa and Right Stuff every 3 to 4 hours with UCAN bars in between. This approach was used for both Warhammer and Burning River allowing me to run to my full potential keeping me relaxed at an aerobic and metabolic state allowing my body to slowly burn fats for energy. Well, as the day went on I felt incredibly strong. Maddie was spot on meeting along the way at designated checkpoints keeping me fueled and hydrated according to game plan. I was so proud of her for being at CP’s on time and a huge boost to see her for moral support as well since I knew that was a concern for her.

Compared to last year I was cruising along making it to the following checkpoints in personal best times:

Splits:

C/P# / Km / Mile / 2017 / 2018

C/P No 11: 42.2 / 26.22 / 4:04:34 / 3:28:46

C/P No 22: 81.0 / 50.33 / 8:03:39 / 6:48:34 (PR)

C/P No 28: 100.0 / 62.13 / 10:11:03 / 8:46:11 (PR)

C/P No 47: 159.5 / 99.10 / 18:34:02 / 15:58:08 (PR)

C/P No 60: 195.0 / 121.16 / 24:27:28 / 18:41:08 (PR)

C/P No 69: 227.0 / 141.05 / 28:57:48 / 24:56:59 (PR)

Even though I was moving faster that last year the weather was a the big elephant in the room this year with occasional rain and wind along the way early but I knew things would start to get worse through the night and the next day with Medicane Zorba (Mediterranean Cyclone) forecasted to be making landfall during the race. It wasn’t until the sun was settling after CP 35 (Mile 78) that things started to get nasty. To top it off, that’s when the early climbing of the race begins so I was mentally getting ready for the worst. U.S. teammate Jon Olsen soon gained on me on the climbs which to my surprise I didn’t know at that point I was the first American leading the race. It was great having Jon run together for many miles but eventually he was stronger on the climbs and saw him fade away right before CP 47 Mountain base. Last year the climb to mountain was brutal with high and cold winds taking Jason and I almost 3 hours up and over so we took no chances on dressing up warmer this time. Other than the rain the temperature were much warmer with the clouds over the mountain this year helping me make it up and over the mountain to CP 52 in 1 hr and 49 minutes. I felt pretty good knowing I just ran my fastest 100 mile split ever at sub 16 hours and to have survived the hardest part of the race healthy and feeling good was a great sign.

I still had a LONG ways to go and the weather was just now beginning to get wicked. Lot of the CP’s were flooded as rain was now coming down hard. I felt very lonely running and started to feel the lowest point of the race between CP’s 52 and 60 (Mile 107-121) which I typically tend to do late at night with sleep deprivation and the accumulation of been out on cold, windy rain for hours was taking a toll on my brain and body. I started to now use coca cola at CP’s to give me quick energy and the caffeine to help me wake-up. All I kept thinking was daylight will come and we are going to run strong to Sparta! Shortly after I started feeling alive again when I saw Jon Olsen coming out of a CP on the last climbs which are brutal right before CP 69 (Mile marker 141). I quickly checked on him as I past by him, high winds, rain and the effects of Zorba were now been felt but I was still riding the wave of feeling great off my low just a few hours later and I want it to take full advantage of it. All I could think off was Boston Marathon conditions this year and what a great preparation training run that was for this race. I picked up a few positions along this stretch making up what I had lost before and was very much looking forward to the last descent down to Sparta. I kept fueling mainly on coke for the last part of the race as it kept me moving strong. Once I made it to the bottom of the long and grueling downhill (6-8 mile downhill) the CP confirmed I only had a 5K to go to Sparta. The problem was the streets were now flooded, I had water at times to halfway to my calves. So running was now difficult but I knew the Statue was just ahead and I could see runners ahead. I picked up a few more positions to include the first place female Hungarian runner that I had met earlier in the race when she flew by me on a descent.

Taking the last right turn to King Leonidas was the moment I had dreamed most for the entire race and here making the last turn when suddenly I looked to my right and I see U.S. teammate Bob Hearns also making the right turn and blowing pass me!!!! I was in shock first but then so happy to see another American at this point of the race! Before that I had only shared many miles with Jon but knew that Bob would be making his usual Spartathlon assault as he has done his previous two finishes. I quickly caught up to him and told him he was looking great, he quickly replied he wanted to achieve a sub 27 and that we were very close. I told him lets run it together!!! From that point we only had a half mile or so to go and I was running strong thinking Bob was right next to me the entire time. When I made it to the steps right before the statue I looked back and Bob was a block back, he had fallen back since he had pushed so hard on his final assault that simply didn’t have anything left on his legs.  

This year’s finish didn’t have the glorious atmosphere I had last year with hundreds of supporters, locals and kids screaming following me on bikes down the stretch to the finish. Instead it was empty flooded streets, with heavy rain coming down and with no announcer calling your name repeated times. At the end I was once again touching King Leonidas feet four hours faster that I had done last year at 27:02:02 (31:19:49 last year). I was honored to be the first American to finish placing 15th Overall on a very deep international field with Bob Hearns only 41 seconds behind me. What an incredible performance!

This run would not had been possible to achieve without the incredible support of my Madeline driving all over Greece meeting me at every checkpoint keeping me fed, hydrated, dry and warm making this finish more special than any other race I’ve ever done in my life! Love you baby!!!

Thank you to all the U.S. runners and their families and crews! You all made it a fantastic experience and I was proud to be part of the U.S. Spartathlon Team. I have made some friends for life and I hope to see you all at some races in the future.

Finally a massive thank you to all of those who sent positive messages, comments and supported before leaving home and social media both for the race and my birthday. All of your positive vibes and motivation kept me going strong all through the 27 hours of this race! Thanks and much love to all of you!

Congrats to all finishers and everyone that made it to the start line. We are all winners for taking part of this iconic ultra race. I feel truly privileged and honored to have participated and I am profoundly grateful to everyone involved in staging and organizing what is without doubt the greatest and most historic ultra race in the world!

Photo credits: Sparta Photography Club

Strava link (128 miles before battery died) 

https://www.strava.com/activities/1873822818

Average pace 10:36 per mile (7:32 fastest pace), Average HR 125 BPM with 82% at Zone 2/3, overall average cadence at 166 (182 running)

With Auto-Qualifier hope to be back for a third round in 2020.

Happy Running!

Will Rivera

The Arc of Attrition 2018

Written by Jean Baptiste Rouvelin - http://jbrouvelin.blogspot.com

Kit checked and got my number

Well, where to start. 

The Arc of Attrition is a point to point race which forms an arc following the South West Coast Path starting from Coverack to Porthowan. There are 4 Check points, which you need to visit and lots of mobile Mudcrew support teams with different goodies to help you move forward and keep you topped up. 

It is my second time in this race and the apprehension was huge. 

Last year, I didn’t know what it was to run a 100 miles and all my training and preparation was taken from guess work, my normal training habits and old friendly goat advice!!

This year was different, I knew the course and where I went wrong and knew my mistakes, between the right clothes, shoes or food intake. I knew I could improve my time and do better than last year. At least that was the plan A, but let’s be honest, I had plan B, C and D on the back burner if things went south. 

So knowing what I learn from last year and seeing what works for my girlfriend Laura, I changed my training with more miles per weeks, but slower with the odd speed work, more longer runs too and a weekend recce from Mousehole to St Ives. For people who don’t know the race or this part of the coast path it is a tough part of it and my advice would be to see it before turning up in the middle of the night on race day. That was the advice  given to me last year by Mudcrew runner Duncan Oakes and bloody worth every penny I spent to go down there and run it with Laura. 

 

Training went well, apart a DNF at wendover Wood 50. I over did it with too many long runs too many weekends on the trot before, and didn’t recover well enough. My left calf decided to give me grief and I had to make the hard decision to bail after 20 miles to concentrate on recovery and my A race, the Arc. I am not sure I have the discipline to turn up at a race and not give it my best shot.  Lesson learnt on that one, and I decided to do less races in my training. First DNF ever, and it did knock my confidence to be honest. 

 

Marty, Craig and me at the Blue Bar

 

So come back to the Arc, at registration I met up with a few running buddies; Craig MacAlpine who deferred from last year and Matty Hart who were running their first 100, Duncan Oakes, who is a local legend around here ( he won the arc twice and finished third last year) and Mark Brooks, part of Puretrail race organisers and all friends of course. 

 

Felt overwhelmed to talk and was looking forward to jumping in the coach to relax for the hour travel to Coverack and the start line. 

I sat in the coach next to Craig, we exchanged our doubts, vision and expectations for the next 30 hours +. 

I confessed of my doubt and couldn’t put my head in gear and into the race. The question of why I was putting myself through this race and what was I trying to prove to anyone was right in my face. 

 

Last year, I knew nearly no one at the start and was full of nerves and excitement, but this year, I felt I had to prove I could do it better and obviously put way too much pressure on my shoulders.  I just forgot why I am a runner and that I am supposed to enjoy the challenge coming. 

More to come later on my head not screwed right on my shoulders... 

 

Coverack at the start

 

The start was warm with a small wind, compare to last year which was cold and windy, I decided to start without my waterproof on and be on the lighter side.  Not a typical February winter day in Cornwall and I knew it wasn’t going to last until the finish. Heavy rain was planned during the night with a wind increasing and pushing everyone to the finish. 

 

At midday I took my place in the back ish of the pack with 150 other runners. We had a minute of silence to remember Matthew McSevney who took part in the last two editions of the Arc and was supposed to be here but unfortunately had a cycling accident and passed away. Mudcrew is sending a finisher buckle to his family, which shows just how this club and the running community are.

 

We all set off straight after that and were lead by Andy Trudgian (one of the three race director) out of Coverack to make sure the pack find the coast path okay. 

I always try not to start too quickly and let the pack make the pace they want, we all have 100 miles to go and I am certainly not planning the win, so nice and easy for now. 

 

It turns out the weather from the last few weeks (wet, wet and wet) made the coast path really muddy, and slushy. In France we call this kind of mud, a “loving mud” because it really sticks to you and can’t get enough of you!! It is going to be harsher under foot this year. 

 

I followed Stephen Cousins for a while, he is my hero from last year's  Arc, he completed the race while making a documentary film. I mean, I ran it last year and it was bloody hard to be honest but making a movie in the same time... what a star. You can find his different runs on YouTube and I advise anyone to have a look at the one from the Arc, it really gives you an idea of what is ahead of you with the ups and downs morale wise. 

 

The pack spread quickly and we went through the first diversion.  I caught up with a few runners and the pace went up when we hit the road missing the lush section of the Devils frying pan. 

I caught up with another running legend from last year's Arc ( at least in my eyes) Geoff Partridge. He finished the Arc last year and in 2016.  He was one of the 28 who managed to finish when there were two storms on race day. Last year stayed dry so we had it pretty easy. We shared a few experiences and details from last year and we pushed on. 

13 miles and not too happy.

That is when I started to struggle, and way too early to my taste to be honest. My head wasn’t in it, I could see I wasn’t moving as quickly as last year and I started not to enjoy my day whatsoever.  The sticky mud was a part of it but everyone had the same conditions. 

I arrived at Lizard point.  Lots of people were there cheering and encouraging and some Mudcrew marshals to top up water and coke. I didn’t hang around, my crew was three miles further away with hot coffee and encouragement at Lion rock.  I mentioned to them my not so great general feeling and they pushed me forwards with a kick in the back side and told me not to worry too much what everyone else was doing. 

The next time I would see them would be before Porthleven (CP1). We planned where I was meeting them and it was at regular intervals, avoiding the first two CP, thinking I would be looked after by the Arc angels there.  My legs loosened up and my head relaxed, just the fact to see some common faces made me feel great and made me enjoy the moment more. For now...

 

Focus going down

 

I met up with my crew at Church Cove, around 20 miles in, the fact I felt much better and up for the duty ahead of me reassured them I think. A quick coffee and a sandwich to eat on the go and I was on my way. 

I was with a few different runners then, but we didn’t exchange much, until I entered the longest diversion of the SWCP just before Porthleven. The coast path collapsed three weeks before or so, and I think we all knew there were going to have added  miles to the race. 

2 to be exact and that played with me a bit, but like I said earlier that is the same for everyone. Mudcrew decided to give 30 min more for each cut off for all the diversions before Porthleven, the race was 36 hours and 30 min long now. 

 

Sunset time

 

At the Loe Bar, just before Porthleven a Mudcrew marshal sent us inland to avoid the damaged coast path section. I decided to fuel and eat something.  I heard a runner catching me up. When he caught me up I decided to run with him, that was a while I had no company and a chat would nicely push me to the first CP. So I met Paul Core, we exchange a few different experiences and past achievements and we arrived in Porthleven, easier miles when your mind is a bit distracted. The last year CP was moved up into town for capacity reason I imagine. A new thing introduced by Mudcrew was a valet runner who led the way to the village hall where the CP was. Great innovation and great touch. We could see they all had fresh legs though, compare to our very conservative ones with 28 odd miles on them!!

 

I sat down, the Arc angels topped up my water bottles, gave me some melon, coffee and soup (I think). I had a quick chat with Justin Nicholas from Climb South West and I saw Geoff here, but not anymore in racing gear. I could see he had dropped out and felt so sorry for him; knowing the feeling to DNF, and after the chat we had early about a hat trick for him. I didn’t say a word to him, but acknowledged him by holding his shoulder when I left. No words could have made anyone feel better then. I hope if you are injured it isn’t too bad and you can come back stronger next year. 

Paul and I fuelled for a maximum of 5 mins and left again together, clapped out by all the Arc angels. 

 

Not a shortcut, i promise.

Head torch time was soon and the night was coming, 13 or so hours of it. So I made sure my head torch was already on me when we left Porthleven. I have a couple of Petzl head torch which do the job well for the night.

 

The coast path goes up and down in the narrow way at some time but I am moving okay and managed not to get lost so far apart from going into the wrong field after only 5 miles and had to jump a fence where a cameraman was on the other side. He took a cool picture and reminder to look where i am going and not follow other runners. 

 

So when I arrived at the Trenow Cove beach, last year I didn’t realise the coast path wasn’t on the beach but up on the cliff. I missed the path again and passed 5 others runners who decided to turn around and find the right path. Because of my last year's experience I knew I could get to the coast path if I push forward. Not the quickest way but quicker in my mind than to turn around and look for the path in the dark. 

I arrived in Marazion and my crew were just after the town centre into a  sea front carpark with my road shoes. I drank some coffee and had some chicken soup. I decided to put my waterproof on, the temperature is dropping and I was feeling pretty good and moving well after 30 odd miles. 

It always feels nice to change shoes and socks. The change of pace and hard ground made my legs loose up and I am moving okay until Penzance and the second CP. 

 

Penzance

Another Mudcrew valet run me to the CP which was in the sailing club this year. I arrived there with a bit of a sore tummy and not really sure what to eat. I had a bit of soup again, coke and coffee. Ang Martin was one of the Arc angels in Penzance, we ran a couple of times with the Puretrail group. She cheered me on and told me I am way ahead of the cut off. Thank you so much to look after me so well. I soldiered on, by not staying there too long and getting too comfy. 

I left Penzance on my own and still managed to move okay on the road. The pubs were busy and I was cheered on by some drunk people who let me know I am nearly there.... if they knew... haha!!

 

I met up with my crew at Mousehole for new socks and fresh trail shoes. No need to top up, I am full of food and liquid from Penzance. Lovely to change shoes , it made my feet feel fresh again, like I had not run so much, and that made me happy as strange as it sounds. I could see Paul Core in the distance before I stopped but we split again during my pit stop. 

 

Curry time with a beer(s) for my crew. Laura, Nik, Don and my dog Basil

 

Entering Mousehole you run into the centre and pass the port before climbing out of the town. I remembered last year feeling so so at this time but this year my legs felt good and I was moving okay. I always feel I come alive when night falls and during the night. I left the road and entered the muddy coast path and heard a runner coming by behind me and moving pretty well (better than me) it was number 95 and he wasn’t really happy, he took a wrong turn and had just done a loop in the field. Not really sure what to say to him and let him run away at the first hill we found. He definitely had better legs than me. 

 

The trail at this part seems to go on a bit but with a good rhythm. Going up to the cliff and down, the running is broken by boulders and big steps at some point but I was covering ground well. I caught up Paul and we exchanged a few words in Boskenna (I think) where we got some coke from a Mudcrew support team. We left together and enter the Coast path, climbing back to the path through a few big boulders. 

I find my legs were still with me and I sped away from him, I knew my crew where going to be waiting for me at Treen or at the Minerack Theatre carpark. 

 

Half way and still looking okay (ish)

 

Three head torch were at Treen cheering me on when I was coming down the path, some hot soup and a  warm coffee waiting for me (I like it like that so I can down it quickly) and Don, Nik and Laura told me I was doing really well. I don’t ask more details because I still have a long way to go and only racing myself.  Up the stairs to the Minerack theatre, and I know at that point I am roughly half way and around 6 miles to Land’s End and CP number three. I am at that point on my own, no light behind me, no light ahead or a really long way away. One light house made me think that someone was just behind me a few times and I started to hallucinate a bit. Feeling the strain of the night a bit and my stomach is giving me grief. Food is starting not to be appealing whatsoever. Just need to move forward and the light of Land’s End appears on the horizon and I know I am close.

 

Land's End, sore stomach with cramps

When I arrive my crew was there and I decided to change my tops, buff, and socks. I am really organised when it comes to race day and I put all of that in a separate bag so it was well easy to find.  There are three runners in the CP, my friends Duncan, Marty Hart and someone else but didn’t know him. I am still blister free, but my stomach is starting to go south. My crew ask me to eat something so I put some soup down and another coffee but I am starting to be unhappy to be honest. My stomach is cramping and it is only the beginning of it. 

I stayed 10 or so minutes ( not really sure to be honest and left after everyone was gone) I am more forward in the field that I had imagined and my crew make me aware of where I am.

 

Next stop is Cape Cornwall, 5 miles to go and the terrain is becoming a bit more twisty and up and down. I first go through the old mine and I made sure I stuck to the path and followed my gps watch well, there are some disused mine shafts to be careful about. I could see head lights in the distance but I had no idea who it was. When I arrived at Cape Cornwall my stomach was cramping and I wasn't sure what to do about it. My crew were there all happy to see me and cheering as usual, i mentioned my gastric worries and they gave me a pill to help my digestive system to kick in a bit more and off I went toward Pendeen light house. 

 

Coffee break before the brutal section.

 

The weather was clear at first with the sky full of stars and a bit of wind. I don’t remember being cold, I wore a skin base layer and a OMM fleece top (brilliant couple piece of kit) shorts and leggings on top, gloves, buff around my neck, a warm hat and a light waterproof jacket for nearly the entirety of the event. The rain came during the night, not much at first and I knew the Saturday weather forecast wasn’t going to be as kind as what we had for the start. I arrived in Pendeen and I knew I had the worst part of the course ahead of me. 13 miles of boulders, slow muddy trails. I recced that section twice and the pace has always been slow, really slow. 

 

My crew were brilliant and decided to park the van close to the path and walk down to it to bring me some food and warm drink. Not sure where the first time I met them but after 4 to 5 miles I would say and the second time at Zennor and that's where I had a really bad time. My stomach was cramping so much then that no food was getting down, I was feeling really sick and I asked my crew if I could sleep a bit on the side of the trail.... My head was telling me my body at enough, and it took me a massive effort and a little cry to get up and crack on with the job. Funnily enough, when the sun came up I felt much better and moved okay. My legs were letting me part time run and st Ives was in sight. I had beat the worst part of it and was looking forward to a sit down but decided really quickly not to power nap even after pissing off my crew about it for the last three hours. 

 Laura and Don ran towards me just before St Ives and Don told me I looked much better than last year at the part of the run. 

Arriving in St Ives, 82 miles in on my watch

 

A mudcrew valet ran me into the checkpoint which is a big hall with a balcony. I tell you that because when I arrived inside I started to feel really nauseous and became really pale. I felt I had a couple of hot points under my feet and asked one of the medics to have a look. I lied on the ground and felt horrible, really cold and sick. Fergy (second race director) looked at me and asked me how I was, my only reply was I will get out of here in a bit. 

 

St Ives drama, second time in two years.

Brilliant medic who sort out me feet and gave me strenght back

 

The quick pit stop turned into a 40 mins plus and my last year's St Ives CP recovering time repeated itself. I decided not to worry too much and managed to get geared up and get out of the door. My feet had suffered with the wet ground and the skin in the bottom of them folded on itself and rubbed. Too much skin there apparently, and not sure how I can deal with that better than I did, by changing socks and hardening the skin beforehand.                                                                           

 

On the way to Portreath, my dog is keen to follow

 

The first few miles out of st Ives towards Hayle aren’t the best to be honest. A mix of path, road, going through the garden of an hotel and a dual carriageway (short sections). My legs weren’t responding really well and the running changed from a fast walking pace. Even with my training which I hoped would let me run longer stronger I was nearly out of fast movement and that frustrated me. A couple or maybe three runners went by. I wished them luck and congratulated them to move past me. I was a bit spent to be honest. 

 

I arrived in the back of Hayle where my crew were and the rain was properly following then. I changed into warmer close and put my waterproof trousers also. Followed the notorious Dunes of Doom and to be honest they didn’t feel that bad. I liked the change of ground, the rolling section of them and the fact to be a bit easier under foot. Godrevy was in sight and the last 10 or so miles. My gps watch was just clocking 95miles and I was cursing the inland diversions at that point. 

The coast path and the mud come back more apparent after the town of St Ives and Hayle and the dunes. 

 

Just want to finish at this point 95 miles in.

There are lots of carparks and the road isn’t far so my crew is there nearly full time walking with me and force feeding me soup. My stomach gave up a while ago and I had the feeling nothing was going through anymore. I have never been worried too much where I was in the field and my vision of doing a race is to pace myself to be spent at the end but still have enough to move forward and don’t get passed too much. I find it better for my head, and if my head is right everything works better. On the two Arc of Attritions I did and only 100 milers I failed and haven’t achieved that. The last miles were a bit of a drag but I had to push hard within and crack on with the job. 

 

Portreath. My face said it all, I have not much left

Portreath was in sight and I could see a runner catching me up. My girlfriend Laura went up the hill from Portreath to bring me some coffee and told me to not worry and keep going. Michael Robinson passed me going down the hill leading in town, we exchanged a few words but he seemed in better shape than me and he was the chaser not chased... sigh... but I did my best. I passed him back when his crew gave him some food and we got out of Portreath together. The coast path is just up the steep hill, a Mudcrew team made sure we went the right way. Michael ran and pretty well, I shuffled and knew we were three miles ish to the finish with two massive sets of steps to climb. Last year I felt good when I arrived there and managed the last climb without a stop. This year my legs and stomach made it a proper struggle, I cursed myself to not be able to finish more in style but I gave it all. 

 

Running to the finish

 

The last mile was lush, rocky path rolling in a general down way, before hitting the tarmac and feeling the relief to see the Blue bar, my crew and Jane Stephens (the third race director) with her famous big hug (Anyone need to finish to know how good there are). I finished in 28 hours and 7 minutes. Nearly 40 min slower than last year, but so happy to have my second buckles on this tough race. Managed a 13th place which is amazing in a field of 150 odd runners and i definitely done much better than i imagined. 

 

At the finish with Jane Stephens

 

This Buckle belong to my crew (Nik, Don and Laura) , without them I wouldn't have been around.

 

The experience was different from last year, I had already been through it all and I knew what was ahead of me. 

At the end of last year's  race, I changed, managed to cheer a few runners and had a beer and a burger at the blue bar. This year, I changed and felt horrible. I managed to make my way in the back of my girlfriend car, and before that was just sick... Everything my body didn’t digest went out, and we stopped on the way back for more sicking time. My nutrition was my down fall and I will have to work on it to not experience this again. The next day of the race I still felt poorly but apart from that I was in one piece compare to last year when I had a right shin splints, a buggered left knee and two massive feet. So pretty happy finishing in one piece. 

 

The Mudcrew are brilliant in the organisation of this race. A big thank you to the three Race Directors, all the Arc Angels, the Mudcrew mobile support teams and everyone who cheered and was out there during the two days. Thank you so much for my support crew to have been there and understanding when things were going well or not so well. I need to add a word for the people who start this event whatever you finish or you DNF. It is a toughy, do not think it is going to be a walk in the park because it isn't, I find dark moment out there and anyone who sign up to this event are or need to be aware of it. So well done to anyone who took part, and i wish all the best to everyone to get this so cherished buckle.

Next year I will be on the support crew team side to push forward Laura and take a break of this race but I will be back for sure. 

Now quick apologises for taking so long to write this report and don’t be too harsh it is my first race report ever. 

See you all on the trail :)

My proud possession

 

Love and Hate on the Lavaredo Ultra Trail

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

No medal, no finishers photo but I did complete the Lavaredo Ultra Trail. No really I did… I have my coveted bin bag to prove it! 

(Note Lavaredo has a new sponsor in 2019 - La Sportiva - so much of what I have to say below may be immaterial)

Too bloody cold to dress down for the money shot!

Apologies for the sarcasm! As much as I would like to beguile you with glorification of yet another epic ultra race on the global circuit I just wasn’t feeling it at LUT.

I did approach the proposition with a certain apathy not expecting to make it beyond the ballot. Ironically, Wayne had been instigator and he was left wanting. Becky was on cloud nine - finally she would run her dream race. Dave and I were just left contemplating what we had signed up for. 

Training, of the high mileage variety, never really started in earnest but I did race the Camins de Cabres, an extreme Spanish night marathon, three weeks prior where I managed to slice open my hand and smash up my kneecaps for the umpteenth time of the year. Give me technical, give me vertiginous ridge lines, give me scrambling. I was ready. Wrong race fool! 

Described, by some, as UTMB’s little sister, Lavaredo Ultra Trail is Italy’s offering on the Ultra Trail World Tour and accredited as one of the pinnacle five races that make up the Series. Perhaps had I taken heed of this I would have been a little more prepared for the thousands of athletes and all that comes with them. 

Looks kinda hilly but most of these climbs are pretty long and gradual averaging 10% gradient. Apparently the real race starts at Malga Ra Stua. Certainly from there on in the course was a lot more fun. 

So here is a list of what you can expect to receive for the 120 euro entry fee:

• The majestic beauty of the Dolomites on a well marked route along mountain passes and forest tracks
• Countless volunteers and medical assistance
• Hot showers and changing rooms
• Efficient bag storage
• Personalised race number with timing chip (hot-wired directly to live trail for real time tracking at each checkpoint)
• A rather sparse race pack containing a nicely designed cotton tee-shirt and a fruit bar
• Two beers - one cold on draft at the finish and one warm from bottle at the post race meal
• A “pasta-party” with a small ration of food that barely filled an afternoon quota of carbs but did supply Tequila Dave with race bottles
• A post-race meal that failed to cater for any non-carnivorous participants
• The coveted finishers gilet which must have been cut under the assumption all ultra-runners have very long bodies and extremely short shoulders (although Becky affirmed the ladies “gadget” was a very comfortable cut)
• The most chaotic and soul-destroying feed stations I have ever encountered (I will get on to that later!)

(Don’t think I have forgotten anything?)

Photography comes at a premium - an extra 30 euros. With cameramen dispersed across the ranges, and some exuberant post production, possibly worth budgeting for if your social media gravatar needs an update. Even an official LUT BUFF comes at an extra 15 euros! Hoodies, a requisite purchase at every big race I have done, were non-existent. Sold out, or pre-order only, I guess? Probably should have read all the newsletters that trickled through pre-race.

Small bonus was a £62.75 return flight from Gatwick to Venice and twelve euro return bus journey to Cortina d’Ampezzo. Unfortunately that was about the only things that came cheap and the rest of the trip would burn colossal holes in the pockets.

As far as registration goes I would recommend arriving early since the queues are very long. Also, take a doggy bag to fill up on cake, breadsticks and other local delights from the many race promoters in the Expo which you are obliged to march past after collecting your bib. After all you are unlikely to find your usual pre-race snack in the Cortina kwik-e-mart.

Team Truro. It might only be 11am but Tequila Dave is already in his race kit ready to roll ;)

Getting better at kit organisation. Still left Dave and Becky waiting indefinitely in the campsite café as I made a few last minute alterations.

The euphoric atmosphere and glowing starlets radiating from iPhones and GoPros on the start line had me questioning whether many of the competitors had mistakenly turned up for an Ennio Morricone concert. The smell of tiger balm, mostly emanating from a muscle strain in my back, was reminder of our real purpose. The Ecstasy of Gold rattled from the loud speaker. No doubt Haydn Hawkes would be feeling that in just over twelve hours as he went on to smash the course record in near perfect running conditions. Did I mention we were this close (holds arms at length) to that perfect Haydn moment on our first night as Mr Hawkes came waltzing out of Pizzeria Restorante as we gazed blearily into our first five euro German beer. No-one else appeared to recognise the trade-mark moustache! Opportunity missed.

I didn’t take this photo but I might be in it somewhere!

Anyway… when the music stops, the countdown begins. Uno. Then we wait patiently for a few minutes to cross the start line with the other 1608 runners and begin the parade through town. 

This bit is fun and like nothing I have experienced - MIUT being my largest race to date with less than half this field. For a mile the streets are lined with spectators cheering, snapping photos and high five-ing runners. Eventually the crowds give way to runners standing and squatting at the side of the road to finally relieve themselves of too much hydration after the sixty minute wait in the starters pen. Well for those who weren’t prepared to scrape soggy seconds of carta igienica from the floor of the solitary toilet cubicle in the mess hall.

So. What did I learn on the Laverado Ultra Trail?

1. Camping at 24 hour races is ill-advised! 

The logistics of getting tent poles and pegs through two connecting flights meant a shared 21 kilo trunk on wheels. Wheels that didn’t take too kindly to 2km of dirt track to our base at Camping Rocchetta. Complementary haulage is no way to spend race morning. 

Sleeping in a tent in 20 degree sun is no way to spend race afternoon. Dave and I resorted to champagne table tennis and crazy golf. While Becky, having chosen us the solitary sunny pitch on the entire site, retired to the shade. Probably to recite a plan of action which would see her tear through the field and leave Dave and I unequivocally chicked. Come race evening I was ready for bed. I would have to rely on some fine Italian coffee at the checkpoints to get me through this night. Wrong!

The only caffeine on offer throughout the course appeared to be Coke. Really!? Perhaps I should have scrutinised the regulations which read: ‘it will also be possible to make use of the mountain shelters along the route where athletes can purchase food and drink (at their own expense)’. Go buy your own hot beverage at a refuge, sucker!

What have you done with Tango Tom? Tired means cold and I wore everything I had ahead of the start. Of course once I was out of town most of it came off again and spent the rest of the night in my pack.

Who is your money on out of these two? A sharp eye might be able to make out the spiritual nature of Barefoot Dave’s borrowed shoes.

2. Big race = a lot of crowds and a lot of queues! 

This is no way to escape the bustle of modern life. Within ten minutes of leaving Cortina’s streets we were bottlenecked by a gate at the start of the first woodland path and the first ruck of the night ensued. The next four hours were a stroll. Fine on the uphills, frustrating when you intend on making up time on the descents. No sooner did gravity compel the group to accelerate then pace was disrupted by another tight switchback that bought our train to a grinding halt. Of course, the narrow paths and densely vegetated steep banks did little to deter the odd enthusiast from barging past hollering some typically gruff italiano. I intentionally chose to start slow and was unaware of how far back in the field I was. I have only myself to blame  - more walking race than running race - and that is what you get for failing to appreciate the impact dumping several thousand runners on the Dolomites single tracks would have.

At least I got to share some early continental trail time with Dave before a call of nature broke our soirée.

Got to see the lighter side of it somehow!

3. As for the feed stations… tirade time! 

I arrived at Ospitale at 1:50am keen to top up my water, grab a quick snack and be on my way before the biting chill of a sub-zero night took hold. So I patiently queued. And waited… and waited… and waited. After a few minutes it dawned on me the only way to get served was shout rudely and thrust your bottle in front of those in front of you and wave it in some poor attendants face. Ok everyone is tired and keen to get on their way but how can anyone in the back third of the field justify an urgency to get served before those who have been queueing longer. It was a farce; it was a fight; it was going to get a lot worse at the second aid station in Federavecchia. Here the focus was hot soup and the atmosphere ferocious. After much pushing and shoving I made it to the table and took it on myself to distribute bowls to those who had clearly been waiting longest. But getting your soup was one thing, making it back out of the melee without spilling any was a fresh challenge. I left depressed, hungry, and hopeful that dawn might bring sense or at least spread the field enough to reduce the volume of runners passing through a station at any moment.

(Editor’s note: It would appear this is very much a timing issue. Becky’s experience of the night stations was a far more congenial affair and chatting to the Ferginator he had no such recollections from the previous year.)

Dawn in the Dolomites. Hellooooooo mountains!

Lake Misurina - looking north…

Lake Misurina - looking south…

The night is short, two hours shorter than MIUT, and it was a blessing to see the dawn twilight not long after 4am. Another bloody forest track and to my delight I had caught up with Dave for a jolly good moaning session as can only be expected from a couple of miserable Brits in the beautiful Alps! To be honest Dave had considerably more cause than me - his toe was hanging out of a large tear in the front of his borrowed La Sportiva while his poles were reluctant to lock rendering them useless. So here is the next lesson - the one every other ultra runner has ingrained in their psyche.

4. Prepare your kit well in advance.

The weather forecasters had thrown every possible element our way in the build up to raceday. Thunderstorms, snow, hail… we might expect it all. 48 hours prior it became clear it was going to be dry and sub-zero on the high passes. So gloves became an essential piece of kit. Could Dave buy a pair of cheap gloves in Cortina? No chance! It came down to 35 euros in the North Face shop on a pair of Etip™ Gloves that unstitched hours into the race. They did have a button on the index finger though which had a strange effect on Tango Tom when pressed. The humour was lost on the North Face staff and, further to the injustice, they refused to refund Dave’s faulty gloves after the race. The official sponsor of Lavaredo showing disregard for a competitor. What a shame! So, if you don’t have the kit list or forget to pack an item make sure you have a credit card ready to burn.

Another tip from the “man who runs in other people’s gear” is don’t leave your race shorts in the drop bag. Thanks to that comic faux pas, Dave’s quick drying, anti chafe, breathable, lightweight shorts were in a van heading into the heart of the Dolomites. While Dave was left attired in a pair of cotton combat shorts, which, I should add, he chose not to trade in when he finally reacquainted himself with his drop bag. I have never known anyone so cool, calm and collected despite having the wrong gear. Well fortune favours the brave as a bird kindly pooped across Dave’s face on our way to the pasta party! This left Becky in stitches. A few days later Dave had been offered a lucrative new job in the bright lights of the big city and the black shoes and blazer I had been hauling around in our trunk were justified. 

Perhaps one old wive’s tale worth heeding?

Yuk… snow!  

And here are a few more photos from the climb to Rifugio Auronzo in the shadow of Tre Cime’s southern faces.

Looking back along the fire road to Rifugio Auronzo

5. This is NOT a technical race

This is going to be subjective. Coming off the back of the Camins de Cabres which entailed countless hands on scrambles, rope aided slabs, bouldering river beds and near vertical switchbacks, the Lavaredo trails felt somewhat tame. 

The backdrop was at times stunning but I found a lot of the paths repetitive and many of the forest tracks surprisingly similar to home. A runnable root-laden trail that snaked through the pine forests of Pian Maccetto could have just as easily been Denas Road. The long fire road that gradually climbed to Cimabanche resembled the track that bisects Idless Woods. Boulder hopping around Forcella Giau a mirror for Penwith’s crooked coastline.

Tre Cime. Described as one of the most beautiful mountains in the world. I wasn’t quite prepared for how big these rocks are!

It was only in the higher passes when we climbed above the forests that the Dolomites finally stole the show. The triple pinnacles of Tre Cime, the vast walls of Val Travenanzes. The abandoned caves and ruined buildings of the Falzarego Military Hospital which offered glimpses of the traumatic struggles of the Great War.

I am not denying there are some challenging, runnable, sections on this course. The long descent from Tre Cime is fast and exciting with tight switch backs, plenty of loose rock and occasional steep drops which are best avoided. This eventually runs out into Val Della Rienza before the long slow climb to Cimabanche on yet another fire road. 

It was about this point in the race I found myself trailing a British runner with Lipton on his race bib. The suggestion was something, the fact no such runner appeared in the results list meant the hallucinations were kicking in early. However, at Cimabanche my newly discovered treat for the rest of the race became iced tea (or cold tea at least). It might not have had quite the caffeine level I desired but it kept me going for the final marathon. 

Of course this was not before standing gooseberry once again. This time at the bag drop as the attendants were too busy having a conversation to assist me. Yet quick to help another runner who shouted at them in the local lingo. If only I knew a little Italian.

Castel de Ra Valbones from Forcella Lerosa

Death Valley ☠️

6. Altitude is not a threat

My biggest fear ahead of the race was the high altitude. My highest summits to date were Pico Arierio (5965 feet) in Madeira and Pico de las Nieves (6394 feet) in Gran Canaria. Making me a 2000 metre virgin. I had assimilated the online tips: arrive last minute to skip acclimatisation; avoid alcohol at all costs. I had failed on both counts.

The race route barely crests 2500m and does spend a considerable portion of the last marathon above 2000m but I never felt incapacitated by lack of oxygen. Sure there is a good chance of feeling exhausted on the long arduous climb out of Death Valley ☠️ but quite frankly after the best part of 36 hours without sleep and 15 hours of hard running and hiking who wouldn’t want to sit at the side of the path and bury their head in their hands. Dig deep and get the job done!

And maybe put some cheesy nostalgia on the iPod to drown out the omnipresent and metronomic reverb of poles.

7. Oh my god… Poles.

Did I mention the chaos these created on the first climb of the night? Too many people, too many poles going wayward, how did no-one get seriously injured? I took one for the team on the first ascent as the runner in front waved his pole aimlessly across my face. I am massively in the minority here. At least restrict the use of poles until the runners have dispersed a little. I counted less than a dozen fellow runners without poles over the entire course and since most of these were in Death Valley ☠️ they may well have been part of the Cortina Trail Race.

Could poles have helped me when pace fell below 2mph on the steepest climb of the course to Rifugio Averau at 2413m. Becky’s expression when she tried to initiate me to her Black Diamonds in the campsite suggested probably not! 

8. Stay on your feet!

Obvious really. But I am rarely one to shy away from a fast descent and the risks that come with that. My knees had taken the brunt of my indiscretions in 2018 and Lavaredo was going to be no different. On a course that rarely deviated from an occasional root and boulder fast downhills should come easy and having been held back in the night I was keen to make the most of every metre on offer. 

So, it really didn’t help that I ran into the fence entering Rifugio Col Gallina and once again smashed my kneecaps on the road. It really bloody hurt. Time briefly froze, while the hot tarmac felt comfortable. I lay with my eyes closed grimacing in pain. “That’s it, race over”, I told myself. “Finally I can sleep.” Then the silence was broken by fellow runners and medics shouting over me. I brushed down the trickles of blood, pulled myself up and, unsure of what everyone was shouting at me, hobbled on to the feed station undeterred. Unfortunately this mishap would haunt the rest of the race and the rest of the vacation as the right knee swelled up, tendons inflamed and my gait became a hobble.

9. If you are gonna be picky about food you really have to fend for yourself!

By the time I crested Averau, I was indifferent to the beef broth being the only sustenance on offer. Calorie intake would have to override dietary requirements this once. Besides I had no idea what was in the soup I had been consuming for much of the day. Based on the terse negative response of one aid worker to a lady who asked for something “vegetarian”, I suspect it was not to my liking. Again I chose to carry little with the intention of relying on a diverse selection of food stuffs at each aid station. Perhaps my brain was addled by the air or the exertion, but when I wanted savoury there was only sweet, when I needed sweet there was only savoury!

10. Lonely… so lonely!

I tried desperately hard to find a friend on that last undulating marathon. The legs were shuffling, time was going very slowly and I was feeling a tad catatonic. Everyone seemed paired off though and whenever I tried to strike up conversation I got little more than a nod or a concerned expression at my apparent impertinence for interrupting! At one point I recovered a pair of gloves from the track and put on a protracted and painful sprint to catch the runners in front to see if they had inadvertently dropped them. The reaction was one of rejection at best. Ouch!

Some consolation came from the realisation that Rifugio Averau was not the mountain hut sat atop Nuvolau in full view for much of the last blistering climb over loose scree and rock but actually hidden in a col some 150m lower down the mountain. Downhill all the way now - well most of it!

On that killer climb to Averau

I contemplated my friends who I assumed were both still making their way up Death Valley ☠️. Unbeknownst to me Becky was minutes from the finish line and a well earned birra. 

So, as the sun gradually sunk back into the mountains, some nineteen hours after setting off, lonely old Tom finally crested the col at Forcella Ambrizzola and, in the shadow of the high fortress of Croda da Lago, began the long descent back to Cortina. I was confused and a little bit excited by my overall time. My target had been 24 hours, and as the kilometres had ticked by I had reduced that to 22 hours. Now I was wondering if twenty was possible. A glimmer of hope that had me hurtling unsteadily through the forests of fir that concealed the unexpectedly long distance still to cover to reach the finish. Unfortunately I had little energy to tackle the gradual climbs and flat roads that broke up the passage and the minutes ran away from me. 

Cortina was a long time coming…

Those queues that had plagued me throughout the previous night came back to taunt me one last time at Lago d’Ajal. My bottles were dry, I had no food and was desperate for some energy. A crowd was gathered around the sole distributor of water at this final feed station and there was little chance of penetrating the wall of people - were they even runners - that guarded the table. So I reversed straight back out on to the course in the hope a little stored reserve would see me through.

Frustrations aside, this was perfectly contrasted and complemented by one of my enduring memories of the race. On the fringes of Cortina, a pop-up feed station where a couple of local villagers handed out Cola and what looked like something considerably stronger. For once there was no queue, no disregard. Just pleasure at helping us weary travellers in the final throes. Not that it was really needed with one mile to go, I couldn’t turn down such a kind gesture and stopped for a glug of glucose. 

The road through town to the finish did little to lift my mood. Tourists going about their day to day routine or hanging out of the bars that littered the street. The runner in front appeared to be holding back, perhaps timing the perfect finisher’s photo. Well that was one last orc for me as I raced past and under the arc. Stopping briefly to do some embarrassing semblance of the Orange Justice. Some English bloke mumbled something at me on the mic and then brushed me aside as quickly as my race had come to an end. 

And that just about sums up LUT!

LUT is a ballot. There is a 66% chance of actually getting into the race. I should feel lucky to spend quality time on the beautiful Dolomite trails. But when events grow this big the challenges of management also escalate. The hundreds, or was it thousands, of volunteers out on the course, whether marshalling or trying to hold their own at feed stations were, in most instances, fantastic and I hope they have all been duly rewarded for their time, dedication and effort. Clearly there is a major issue with management of the feed stations where a simple FIFO queuing system would be beneficial. At least Rifugio Auronzo had a queue forming. Unfortunately, they briefly ran out of hot soup at the moment I joined that queue. 

At the finish. Relieved and just a little bit tired!

I wouldn’t want my own experiences to put anyone off entering Lavaredo Ultra Trail. At least if you are better prepared and know what to expect you can probably enjoy it a lot more than I did. My previous outing on the UTWT was Madeira and personally that was on a totally different scale of enjoyment and wonder. There isn’t a single person on that small island that doesn’t want to help and see you reach the finish. The landscape, in my opinion, surpasses the Dolomites. Plus there are crashing waves which, as a wannabe Cornishman, makes me feel at home. And I got to spend the best part of a day with big Bri! 

Will this be the last mass global race I enter? Maybe… 

Am I becoming a miserable sarcastic git in my forties? Quite possibly yes…

This was not cheap and I expected more. Perhaps I am just looking for a different kind of race… 

But, this wasn’t just about me. It was a weekend away with friends and we tucked into the german beer in earnest the following day accompanied by World Cup fever. In 2015 I had run with Becky for the first time as I led her and Dave on a wild, thorny, excursion of the Badlands in deepest Penwith. Gorse is still a topic of much amusement now but I would never have predicted then that, three years later, we would be supping steins and sharing stories in a bar in Cortina d’Ampezzo. In fact I am amazed either of them ran with me again!

Becky was celebrating her fortieth birthday with her dream race and what a performance she delivered. Finishing in 19:48, 28th female overall, competing with the elites and setting a Cornish record. Hats off!

Dave proved his resolve simply by finishing in 21:55 and confirmed those dilapidated La Sportiva had at least another 100 miles in them. 

I bettered my own expectations crossing the line in 20:36.

All the results are here.

Of course the real competition was decided on the crazy golf course on Monday once the hangover had been cleared by a cable car ride to Tofana’s summit. This just left a day touring the delightful sights of Venice before heading home to Cornwall. 

On top of the world… well the Dolomites at least. Only a few footsteps from the summit of Tofana di Mezzo at 3244m.

Morgan showing off her golfing prowess

Bridge of Sighs in Venice. You wouldn’t know behind the camera there were several thousand other tourists!

Hang on a minute you may well ask… “Death Valley ☠️”? Well… there is no point giving everything away now is there. You will just have to go and find that one out for yourself ;)

My official race statistics.

MB90k 2018

Written by Paul Baldwin - http://pbracereports.blogspot.com

Let’s start with the finish

View of the Mont Blanc massif and Chamonix below from Planpraz

Background

Training and Preparation

On the start line at 4am

Sunrise over Mont Blanc as we climb to Bellachat

Does trail running get any better? Running along the Balcon Sud in the Aiguilles Rouges with Mont Blanc behind

The Route and Conditions

View of Mont Blanc from Tete aux Vents

From the Tete aux Vents looking ahead, the Emosson Dam and the top of the Tete de Balme are clearly visible

The steep climb up to Emosson

Even the alternative route at Tete de Balme was snow covered

"Skiing" down the Charles Bozon black piste from Brevant to Planpraz

Staying ahead of the Dreaded Cut-Offs

Leaving Le Buet behind time

Emosson Dam: jaw-droppingly beautiful but a brutal climb

Leaving Emosson with only 30 minutes to spare

Logistics and Nutrition

Arriving at Le Tour and back on track

Leaving Le Bois aid station as it gets dark and a long climb ahead

Finish line at 2.30am

Highlights

• Finishing, and the beer that I inhaled when I got home at 3.30am
• “Skiing” down the black piste from Brevant
• The fountain shower before Chatelard
• The riotous welcome from the crew at the Le Tour aid station
• Sarah’s noodle soup and nectarines

Lowlights