Section 2: Threlkeld to Ambleside. 18 miles
I knew the second
section of the race, which went over Helvellyn Ridge, was going to be
the hardest part, but I had no Idea of just how tough it would turn
out to be. I left Threlkeld still feeling strong, focussed and full
of (jelly) beans. I was running by myself and kept my pace light as I
came to the A66 that intersected the run route. There was a mandatory
part of the route here. The A66 is an extremely busy and fast road
between Penrith and Keswick, so the race organisers didn't want anyone
to cross the road, in fact it was an instant disqualification (or a
quick death) if you did. I could see why as the cars whipped past at
about 70mph. We were to use an underpass that ran beneath the main
road, over a small river and onto an old, disused railway line. I
followed the path, slowing occasionally to take a bearing, the path
in front of me looking and feeling longer than its map counterpart.
It wasn't and I soon found myself trekking through Threlkeld Common
up to the Old Coach Road which crossed the fell, far below Clough
Head.
I looked up and could
see a pack of runners ahead of me, on the fell side, moving slowly up
the slope. They didn't look to be very far ahead of me as I climbed
the fence at the foot of the fell. I got excited for a moment,
thinking I had closed the gap. My gaze lifted beyond the runners, the
gigantic Clough Head loomed high into the sky and I instantly knew
this was going to be a tough, tough climb. I started out, making a
switchback route up the hill. It was extremely steep and hard going.
My calves started to scream and burn as they quickly filled up with
lactic acid, working harder than ever to push my feet up the steep,
green incline. About a quarter of the way up I found the trail which
led to the top, well I say trail, it was a series of footholds in the
hillside, carved out by the thousands of walkers and runners who have
traversed this path over many years.
Each foothold was a
good step up and I had to lift my shoe and drive it into each tiny
alcove on the slope. It was exhausting and utterly soul destroying. I
just felt as if I was going nowhere, constantly spinning on a
sadistic grassy treadmill set to level 99 - “nightmare” ascent. I
had to stop for a moment, get a breath and have some water,
desperately trying to calm my racing heart beat. I pushed hard again,
determined to reach the top, to escape the beastly slope. I searched
inside myself, to find more power, to drive ever forward, to work
harder. I strode up in a rhythm like the beat of a drum, left,
right..., left, right.... breathe deep. I struggled onwards, wasting
more of my valuable and very finite energy. I quickly drained about
half of my water, drinking to cool myself down. The heat was still
rising and my body temperature started to soar, my breathing became
fast and my heartbeat started to red line. In parts I was clawing the
dirt, bear crawling up the grassy wall. This was really tough and all
I could think about was how much it was taking out of me with still a
good 37 or so miles to go. I dug deeper into my resolve and pushed
for the top hoping my normally excellent recovery would meet me at
the summit. Up, forward, grab, step, up, breathe, up, step, breathe
was all I seemed to be doing until finally after what must have been
15 minutes, the slope slowly levelled out and I found myself on a
path. I had done it, but at what cost? I would more than likely find
out later.
I slowly jogged along,
letting my heart beat settle to a more normal running rhythm and
pushed on past Calfhow Pike towards the Dodds. From the top I could
see the summits of the next few climbs, the twisting path snaked
across the landscape like a giant serpent, slithering through the
hills as it moved its long and thin body over the undulations. Great
Dodd was first. It was another climb but only half way up before I
skirted around its circumference and over a fell to Watsons Dodd. The
slope was a bit more forgiving and I power walked up the well trodden
path. The trail was quite soft underfoot and my shoes were picking up
the claggy mud, weighing my feet down, making life a bit harder. I
had another flapjack and an energy gel then went for my water bottle.
I had two 500ml
bottles full at the start of this section and I was down to half
already. It was a long and hard section about 18 miles long with no
checkpoints or water stations along the ridge. I had to really hold
back from drinking any more liquid, I had to conserve and ration
myself or dehydration would quickly get hold, especially with the
tough technical terrain still to come. I bunched up again with two
runners and we silently plodded across the ridge line towards
Stybarrow Dodd.
The path here was
really boggy, with long stretches of mud and water covering the
ground. It was really heavy going and I had to push hard on the
extremely soft and malleable ground. Just before the trail led us up
to the Dodd, I stepped across a puddle, right up to my muddle! Well
virtually, my right foot broke the surface of the brown murky water
and continued down until my knee was fully submerged in the mire. The
forward momentum of my body carried me into the hillock on the other
side, slamming me against it and knocked the breath from me. I stood
and shook my leg, It looked and felt like I had donned a heavy, muddy
plaster cast, my foot and lower leg completely encased in the brown,
thick sludge. Not even the laces on my shoes were visible. I needed
some water or a stream to wash it off but nothing was around so I
kicked of what I could and squelched on behind the other runners, my
breathing just as heavy as my leg.
I made my way along
the ridge, encroaching slowly upon Helvellyn that was perched high in
the distance. The midday air was really clear, giving me 360 degrees
of amazing and inspiring views. The Lake district stretched out in
every direction, offering a spectacular, natural masterpiece, painted
with a pallet of autumnal gold and green, worthy of hanging in any
art gallery. Hills, mountains, valleys, lakes, streams, forests and
fells seamlessly weaved together to create a vast and beautiful
tapestry across the horizon. There was so much beauty to look at, it
was almost overwhelming as I stood and took in the vista before me. I
looked upon the world around me, letting it fill me with its energy.
I drank in the pure air, it calmed my breath, it soothed my soul.
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| The mountain race route |
This is the reason
why I run. Why I push myself over and over again. Running in nature
pushes me beyond what I ever thought I was possible of, reaching
quite literally for new heights, searching for that elusive high. In
these races I find the real me, hiding deep within my being, on top
of the world surrounded by stunning mountains and fells. I find out
something new about myself every time I run. Its wonderful. Its
uplifting. Its now a part of me, ingrained into my personality,
defining who I am.
I pushed on towards
the highest point of the race; Helvellyn. At nearly 950m high I was
glad that I was most of the way up already. I gently ran down past
Lower Man through the ever increasing masses of walkers who were
taking advantage of the unseasonably warm and clear weather. Whether
my mind was wandering or I was looking towards the summit of
Helvellyn, I don't know but I kicked a protruding rock on the path.
I was just starting my
stride cycle so my left foot was behind me. All my weight and
momentum had shifted to my right side, ready for a foot strike that
didn't come. I fell forward and slammed full weight into the hard
rocky floor. I threw out both my hands and felt a heavy force on my
right palm. My sternum was punched by a hard granite fist, knocking
the wind from me. I tried to roll with it but my knee smashed into a
stone before landing on my side, more stones riddled my thigh with
hard, bullet like impacts.
A group of hikers had
a look of horror and concern on their faces as they came towards me.
I stood quickly and gave them a thumbs up and noticed blood running
down my hand. My right palm had a nasty cut, in the fleshy part that
tends to bleed a lot. The worst thing was, I had completely winded
myself and couldn't get a proper breath in. I walked slowly up to the
summit and saw two men running towards me. They looked muscular and
athletic as they ran down the slope, I`d say almost heroic, yet there
was something familiar about them (ok, don't milk it!!). I was so
relieved to see it was my amazing friends, Michael and Ricky,
concerned and bombing towards me. They had parked the car at Dunmail
Raise and hiked up the trail just to see me pass for literally two
seconds. It meant so much to me to see them there.
 |
| Ouch! |
 |
| Plasters out! |
 |
| A helping hand. |
We ran together for a
while and introduced ourselves, chatting as we gently crossed over
Helvellyn. The pace was perfect for me and we got to know each other
as we came around Nethermost Pike, headed for Dollywagon Pike. The
trail was still very technical and I was glad I had someone beside
me. I steadily padded across a rocky section, still unsure of my
footing and if I'm honest, being a little over cautious. I lifted my
second bottle and swilled some electrolytes around my mouth, letting
the cool liquid refresh me before realising I was nearly out of
water. I scolded myself and stopped drinking, leaving myself about a
quarter of a bottle for later and I would need it!
Dollywagon Pike came
and went before we dropped down a steep and technical switchback path
to Grisedale Tarn. I remembered this as the 40 mile mark of my last
ultra and looked down the valley at the route I had taken that day. I
had resigned myself to not racing for now, I couldn't get up to pace
because I couldn't breathe properly and I was happy running with
Chris. He was extremely easy going, light hearted and we got along
really well. The path down was slow and tricky and we passed a few
mountain bikers headed up, carrying their bikes above their heads. My
legs were getting tired and my thigh shouted at me with every heavy
step down.
My mind suddenly
became a jobs-worth health and safety officer. You know the type,
dressed in high vis, packing a clipboard and tutting at everything.
He risk assessed hazard after hazard as I made my descent. Every
stone was painted bright yellow, highlighted as a trip hazard. At
every patch of mud a wet floor sign suddenly appeared warning of an
impending slippery accident. Every steep section was roped off and
“CAUTION SHEER DROP TO YOUR DEATH” notices hung on the yellow and
black tape. The mountains started to close in around me as I became
over cautions and fearful of everything.
Come on Lee, breathe,
focus, relax, be confident, believe in yourself, I said silently in
my mind. I tried to calm my racing heart and tried to stop over
thinking everything or I knew I would be in trouble. I concentrated
on taking small steps, padding safely down the rocky trail. I tried
not to think about the dangers all around and just concentrated on
running. Left, right, left, right, breathe.
At the bottom, the
second place woman came down the switchback behind us looking very
strong and determined. She stopped to take a drink from the tarn and
we pressed forward, up Grisedale Hause, turning sharply east,
straight up another monster ascent to the top of Fairfield. It was a
very steep path up the side of the fell and looked almost vertical
from where I was.
As I started the long
climb, my lungs started to heave as I tried to suck in some air. The
pain and the pressure on my chest was horrible and I had to release
the straps from my race pack so I could try and expand my ribs. It
felt like a massive weight was bearing down on my sternum, crushing
my capacity to take a deep breath. I was getting a little worried and
sincerely hoped I hadn't done any lasting damage. I think Chris
sensed I was struggling and held back a little, chatting away to me,
taking my mind off it. He told me he was looking out for the final
flight of a Vulcan bomber. It was due to pass Ambleside that
afternoon. As we talked, we found out we both had a background in
engineering and talked candidly about it for a while as we trekked
towards the summit.
 |
| Struggling up Fairfield |
The climb up Fairfield
was long and winding, with loose rocks everywhere making footing
difficult. We ascended slowly but surely, gradually getting closer to
the top. It was very a very tough climb indeed and took more and more
of my energy reserves as we moved up. One good thing in all this was
my posture. Because I had worked so hard in training, my solid core
supported me, letting me climb without leaning forward, helping me to
open my chest cavity as much as I could, helping me to breathe a
little easier.
 |
| To the top of Fairfield |
I ate another flapjack
as we walked up Hart Crag and had to finish my water, I was so
thirsty. There was still 5 miles to Ambleside and the feed station
which meant at least an hour without water. I had to be careful. A
few feet later Chris drained the last of his water too. We were now
in the same, very dry, boat. He knew this part of the route very well
and stuck to the right hand side of the wall which split the descent
across High Pike and Low Pike. I had been down there before with my
good friend Gareth and we had struggled to find the best path down,
which ever side we crossed onto it was the wrong one!
High and Low Pike were
littered with bogs, rocky outcroppings and steep, grassy slopes for
most of the way down. Negotiating the hazards was no mean feat and
took a massive toll on my already depleted reserves. About half way
down the second placed woman caught us. She looked on a mission and
ran strongly as she powered along the trail making every step look
effortless. My head was starting to feel fuzzy and my mouth became
dry from the lack of water. Dehydration was a very real danger and we
were both desperate to reach the checkpoint. We came to a very steep
section along the path that required climbing down and a jump. The
second place woman has slowed here and we ran along just behind her.
She was also desperate for water.
My eyes started to
feel very dry along with my mouth as the lack of water started to
tell. If felt like my brain was rattling around inside an empty skull
with no fluid in it, my stomach sent me all sort of signals from
hunger right through to nausea. My body started to sway a little as
we climbed a style and I was really light headed for a moment. I had
to keep moving. I had to get to water, to the feed station and rest,
get something down me. My right foot started to get sore under the
footpad as my laces loosened off from the constant barrage of
descents over the last few hours. I really needed to stop and collect
myself, but not until I reached Ambleside, it was so close and I felt
if I had stopped, I wouldn't have got going again. I concentrated all
my will on reaching the checkpoint. As we ran over Low Pike, Lake
Winderemere shimmered in the distance looking still and tranquil in
the early October afternoon.
A thunderous noise
blasted and bounced across the valley to my right and a mysterious,
dark triangle came into view. As it grew closer, the unmistakable,
sleek winged shape of a Vulcan Bomber majestically soared past,
giving us a very special air show. We slowed down as she banked
gracefully in the air, sweeping towards the Lake, showing us the
camouflaged fuselage beneath the massive wing. It was perfect timing
and Chris was ecstatic at seeing the cold war plane at such a good
vantage point.
We watched the jet
fly into the distance and Ambleside came into view. It beckoning us
towards its busy streets, far below at the head of Lake Windermere. A
mile or so later, after some easier paths through the bracken, we
finally, mercifully came down off the fell into the very busy honey
pot. We got a few strange looks as we followed the road into town and
followed the race arrows round a corner to the Parish Hall. As we ran
down the street, I was greeted with the most amazing reception I had
ever had at a race.
 |
| Battered and bruised coming into Ambleside |
I can't do justice
in words to how important having support at an event is, whether its
a 5k, school sport or an ultra. Hearing your name shouted by someone
that's gone out of their way to see you, albeit for only a brief
glance, makes a truly massive difference. You can be down and out, on
the bones of your arse, ready to drop out and suddenly a voice you
know lifts you above it all. Its powerful, emotional, uplifting and
makes you feel like your someone, not just a number in a race but
someone people care about and want to see do well. It is a wonderful
and energizing experience. If you know anyone that is doing a race,
event or competition, make the time. Get to the line and cheer them
on, the louder the better! Take flags, make placards or blow up
balloons and make them feel special. Even better jump out on the
route somewhere unexpected, like the top of a mountain, (Ricky and
Michael!) for the maximum uplifting effect!
My friends and training buddy's from GB Bootcamps, some with their partners, were gathered in the street, cheering me into the checkpoint. It was emotionally uplifting and I was so relieved to reach the checkpoint, that I stopped and hugged each and everyone of them. I was amazed and shocked to see so many people there to cheer me on, instantly boosting my deflated spirits. Ricky and Michael were there too, there never ending concern and support for me showing through. They asked me how I was then updated me on the race. I had dropped to 11th place but I really wasn't bothered by it at the time. I was going to run the rest of the race with Chris and enjoy the last section. I didn't think I could lift my pace any more with the pain in my chest.
 |
| GB Bootcamps posse |
I made my way into the
hall and necked half a litre of water straight away. It had an
immediate impact, refreshing my body and clearing the haze from my
head. I sat down and a first aider came to change my dressing. He
sprayed an antiseptic foam on my hand and my mind sharpened up, the
stinging pain shot straight through my hand. “Oh I never told you
it would sting did I” he said as I grimaced in mild pain. Chris had
sat down with a bowl of pasta. I soon joined him and tucked into the
tomato twists. The feed stations were, without doubt, the best I've
had the privilege of eating at. It was a pure smorgasbord of energy
and sustenance, offering everything from fresh fruit and Clif Bars
through to hot soup and packets of sweets. An outstanding, helpful
and friendly feed station indeed! So good I think it needed a tourist
board rating! *****
I ate my pasta and
sipped a lovely strong coffee whilst I removed my shoe. There were a
few bits of mountain floating around in it and a hot spot had
developed from all the descending. I took off my shoe and the ball of
my foot was bare, I had worn a hole in the sock. These are moments
that I prepare for, when planning pays off, for when a curve ball
comes your way. What's the famous saying...”Fail to Prepare and you
Prepare to fail”, not today thank you! I stripped my socks off and
took out the spare pair from my pack. My old faithful 1000mile socks
fitted like a glove (but on my feet! Its a bit of a stupid saying in
this instance). I slipped my fresh sock covered feet back into my
completely shit up shoes and tightened the laces. I felt a million
times better. I stood, put my pack on my back, grabbed a bag of
midget gems and headed out of the door.
 |
| Feeling better |
My concerned friends,
stood outside the door, noticed the difference in me straight away
and I offered a double thumbs up signalling I was ready for the
penultimate section, through Claife Heights to Finsthwaite. It was
about 15 miles of relatively flat terrain, well, it was flat compared
to what we had just traversed. My brother in Law appeared with his
family and I hugged him, cheekily covering him in my muddy stench
haha! I gave all my spectator ladies a quick kiss and made my way out
of Ambleside with Chris, ready for round 3, re-energised, refuelled,
focussed and motivated.
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