High Peak 40, Buxton 20th September
Given that the longest training run we had managed since London was 14 miles, we were under no illusion that we could be in for a whole world of issues. Nevertheless we had our goals, Clare wanted to finish sub 8 hours, I was hoping for sub 9. The first thing that struck us as we walked towards registration was all the sponsors flags and the athletic physiques of the other participants. Things have certainly changed since we last competed in 2000, back then half of the field were walkers and the event had an almost placid atmosphere at the start line. Not this time, the energetic buzz was quickly replaced by the tramp of 200 odd pairs of trainers stampeding through the tranquil setting of Pavillion Gardens and Serpentine Walk. Clare and I set off together, complementing each others pace for the first 3 strides, then she scarpered.
The morning was simply beautiful, clear bright skies, razor sharp visibility and just that hint of coolness associated with an early autumn sunrise. It seemed to have given everyone a spring in their step and the procession quickly passed through the residential areas and made the turning for Goyt valley. I was in a group of runners that were more than happy to share a bit of jovial banter between gasping breath. Clare was in a more focussed group surging up the first hill, desperate to get to the stiles ahead of any bottleneck. Hopping across boggy sections and a slippy downhill, we found respite on the old railway line and made Checkpoint (CP) 1 pleased with the speed and the fact that I had kept my feet dry.
Back out onto tarmac and the steep road decent to Fernilee reservoir, my pace was matching that of another lady. Karen and I became buddies for the next 20 odd miles talking about our common interests as we ran all but the steeper climbs. It really is a great boost having someone to help pass the hours, the conversation kept us both motivated and the pace remained comfortably good. Not that I needed much motivation today; the mirror like reservoir reflected the colours of the trees brilliantly and the paths alongside the river made the gentle woodland contours to CP 2 a pleasure. We now moved out into farmland, a bit of dew on the grass and the odd cow pat being the only concerns although I have to admit that one decrepit wooden stile didn’t like my 15 ½ stone frame vaulting over it and I was lucky not to end up in the barbed wire. Another mile or so on hilly tarmac and CP 3 appeared below us.
‘A nice checkpoint’ I boldly stated ‘You get jam butties here’.
Memo to self, keep your trap shut, the last time I did this event they did jam butties here, no butties but at least we got half a banana each.
More tarmac through the 10 mile point and then a turn up a rough track to gain height for the big hills ahead. CP4 makes up for the jam butty disappointment with a humongous piece of moist flapjack. I have to set off again at a walk as my gob is well and truly clarted with sticky oats – I’d sooner lose a few seconds than suffer food based asphyxiation. Having gained all that height there’s the woe of losing it all again as we drop into Roych Clough and gain another chance to climb right back up again. CP 5, progress still good but now there’s the numbing ascent of Rushup Edge, the drop into Mam Nick and then the climb over Mam Tor. Image is everything here as there were lots of people out enjoying the Peak District’s tourist traps. So it’s chest out, steely determined look welded to the face and exaggerated leaps across the ruts and bolders whilst trying to look like you’ve got bags in reserve. No one said anything, but I could tell they were impressed. The descent from Hollins Cross into Castleton was tricky for me, those rocky steps simply do not accommodate size 14 feet and I was basically some sort of freefall experiment with the odd bit of snagging on rocks and shrubs. The tarmac finally rescued me and regaining composure I ran along with Karen into Castleton. She was wanting to be the first woman to complete the Vasque series grand slam, 12 ultras in 1 year. The HP40 was race number 10 and the next race was just seven days later, the tarmac was not kind to her though and I became a pharmacist popping 2 ibuprofen into her mits to ease the discomfort. My own discomfort is eased by more flapjack at CP 6. Castleton is a game of dodging the absent minded day trippers busy gawping at quaint things and Cave Dale is a game of dodging the fastest mountain bikers I’ve ever seen, they must have been on some herbs or something. Cave Dale gradually opens out, but it’s still uphill, and tiring, and hot. I’ve got problems with sweat in my eyes and rubbing them makes it worse thanks to the sweaty hands. On the top at Bushy Heath there’s respite as a cooling breeze wafts us dry. We’re still moving well but my stomach was announcing it’s displeasure with the odd jabbing spasm. This combined with a developing stitch to halve my cadence and I waved bye bye to Karen before dropping back into solo jogger mode.
Others passed me and at CP 7 I treat myself to another flapjack, orange juice and a severe knuckle rub of my stitch to try and get things dissipated. It seems to work and I set off again, plodding the steady tarmac descent to Tideswell. I was not comfortable for long, I appeared to be wearing a vest made of sandpaper, judging by the sensation I’m getting from a couple of sore points getting more painful by the minute. The good people of Tideswell quickly closed their doors when they saw me whip out a tub of Vaseline for a shamelessly indulgent mid street lubing session. CP 8, Tideswell Dale and I was treated to a cup of tea and a Penguin. Appropriately I waddled off and passed more participants involved in some running repairs.
Millers Dale was very muddy, quite a test for me as I had opted to run in road shoes, I know, I know, - I had chosen them simply because they were the most comfortable and 40 miles is a long way. Remarkably I got through both unscathed and still with relatively dry feet. It feels good now on the old Monsal Viaduct line, CP 9 is the 30 mile point and I jog alongside the river with a lad from London. He’s pleased to be accompanied by someone with knowledge of the route; quite a few people had gone off course here and lost twenty minutes or more. Our conversation was muted by the effort of keeping going, but the camaraderie was certainly helping. By the time we crossed the A6 he had starting to move in front but by the long ascent of Deep Dale I had overtaken him and reached CP 10 a couple of minutes ahead. Hearing my name called out, I stopped gorging flapjack to see Jim Noone grinning at me. He had an entry for the event but an injury was preventing him from taking part. He’d not seen Clare but our little chat gave me a boost and I managed to jog along the road to Chelmorton, still in with a chance of sub 9:00 hours.
My phone buzzed, Clare’s text indicated that she had finished in 7:05 and 3rd lady, I was staggered, that was 1 ½ hours faster than the last time she did it. I was elated by the next bit of news, ‘There are pies at the finish’. Clare has a way of motivating me; another text, ‘The pies are going, run faster!’. Crossing the pastures beyond Chelmorton was pleasant but climbing the stone wall stiles was becoming an art form of sorts as I moved like Wallace wearing the wrong trousers.
On to my nemesis - Deep Dale 2. I caught a chap on the descent largely because my road trainers, the mud and wet rocks do not appear to have any friction at all. They might have broken the ‘Large Hadron Collider’ at Cerne, but I’m sure my speed down that treacherous bank was approaching the velocities that those scientists are interested in. What goes down must go up but at least the ascent was dry. Unfortunately the legs were shot, I was getting slower and slower. My eyes were level with the top of the climb but I just stopped. A woman looked down at me,
‘Come on your nearly there’ she laughed,
‘Throw me a rope then’ I replied, my head involved in some internal battle at my legs inability to cooperate.
They needed a brief rest before carrying me steadily to the top and over the stile. It was a flat grassy field, just 400m to CP 11, but it took me about 5 minutes. Deep Dale 2 had just cost me a sub 9:00 and, as for my thoughts about that diminishing pile of pies, I had just entered a very dark place indeed. It’s at times like these that hearing someone else’s tales of woe actually make you realise that it’s not that bad. The lad sat in the chair at CP 11 had just gone off course by 4 miles and instead of being comfy at the finish he now had to contemplate the final stage. Still, it’s not a bad final stage, gently undulating farmland, a couple of stiles and a caravan park.
At last I dropped down into Buxton and there was Clare waiting to guide the last mile to the finish. The discomfort had lifted again and Clare kept me at a jogging pace across parkland and down College Road. The climb into the school grounds was made easier by the number of people clapping and cheering me to the finish in a time of 9:18. We have both had a really good day, neither of us have had any significant problems and we were soon in the shops selecting a bottle of isotonic wine. Eight years since our last ultra, are we going to do one again? You bet we are, but it could have been a different story if they had run out of pies.
Clare coming in 3rd
And here's the book review by Jamie that got him back into Ultra's after an 8 year break!
‘Ultramarathon Man’ by Dean Karnazes
The title and the American author alone would normally be enough to put me off, I really lose interest in narcissistic types with their ‘look at me / look what I do’ approach. On the contrary I was captivated by this book and found myself hooked from the first couple of pages; Clare would often look across to see me shaking my head in wonder at his antics. For instance, how many of us can claim to have had trainers actually melt whilst running because the tarmac surface was so hot? Some really useful tips came across too, like how to fold a pizza into quarters so it’s easier to eat whilst running! (Seriously, Dean argues that it is simply not possible to ingest the calorific requirements needed for ultras by healthy foods alone, hence pizza and cheesecake get top billing).
It is an easy read, both of us finished it within a couple of days, but above all it is an inspirational read. The last time Clare and I did an ultra was 8 years ago. Having read this book we are back on the trails again and have completed the High Peak 40 on 20th September.
If you are on the lookout for a cheap little Christmas pressie put this on your list.
