Section 3: Ambleside to Finthswaite - 15 miles
I
was a new man. I felt much better, my energy levels had refilled and
my spirits lifted by my amazing friends. My feet felt comfortable
again and the hot spot had disappeared, giving me confidence back to
run and descend. This first part of the section was relatively easy,
both Chris and I had both recced the route here and didn't need to use
the map. We ran out of Rothay Park down to the main road and out of
Ambleside.
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| Leaving Ambleside |
Now, we both had running gear on, bottles, belts,
electronic tracker and a bloody big race number. It was obvious we
were in the middle of a race because we had a bloody big race number
on! Not one car stopped to let us cross and I thought at the time it
might have been a good place to put a marshal or at least a “slow
down, runners crossing sign” to give the ignorant drivers a hint!
Eventually we had to take a chance and nip through the traffic to the
cycle path on the opposite side, not ideal after 29 miles.
The
stop had done us both well and we skipped down the path full of
adrenalin and food. We ran along and the pace gradually increased as
we made use of the flat and solid surface. Ultra marathon alarm bells
started to ring in my head. The safety announcement in my head went
off “TOO FAST, WARNING TOO FAST, SLOW DOWN”. I motioned to
Chris, who was running abreast of me, “lets slow this down”, I
said “we are going too fast” I warned as I slammed on the
anchors. He agreed and admitted he wasn't feeling too good after
eating at the waypoint. We slowed it right down and plodded through
Clappersgate and out on the paths towards High Wray. It was getting
near early evening and the temperature was still really warm and
humid, the sweat was dripping from me.
We
ran through a small wooded area and my friend, Alastair, was there,
crouching down taking a picture. I love it when people show up,
unannounced and support me, it gives me such a buzz and a lift. I
thanked him again and we pushed on up a small hill. My chest clamped
down on my chest, stopping me again from taking a deep breath. I
struggled up the tiny hill and said to Chris if he wanted to push on
without me I was alright. He admitted he wasn't feeling great after
the stop and we both agreed we were happy running and finishing the
race together. It instantly released us from any pressure, Chris has
a target of Sub 14 hours and I had one for Sub 12 and a top ten
place. That was highly unlikely now with my bruised and sore sternum
anyway so I sat back and enjoyed the company, the running and the
rest of the race.
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| Through the woods |
Blelham
Tarn soon came into view as the cycle path twisted and turned around
the small B road it was running parallel to. The tarn in the distance
was beautifully framed by the trees behind and the western fells in
the distance. It was a stunning view, if a lot lower than the ones
we`d had just an hour ago on the high fells. We power walked up the
steep hill into High Wray and passed the magnificent gatehouse and
entrance to Wray Castle. Its stone turrets and mini battlements
perched high above the road, like it was a smaller replica of the
castle itself. We turned down a corner and up a steep climb into High
Wray. This was about the last of the road and cycle path sections and
it was good to get back to some trail running.
The
map lead us up a track and started the gentle ascent towards Claife
Heights, nestled high on the western shores of Lake Windermere. We
were only about 500m from the water but we had hardly see it since
leaving Ambleside. The trail, still climbing up, led us into a
heavily wooded area full of evergreen trees. The incredibly fresh and
unmistakable smell of moist pine conjured up images of winter,
Christmas trees and of a warm glass of mulled wine, cupped in my
hand, steaming in the early October afternoon. The pace we set and
the steady, undulating path made the going quite easy. We chatted
more as we ran and the miles ticked by almost effortlessly. We talked
about our jobs, music and our lives, the conversation deepening as
the distance and our friendship grew. I really enjoyed his company,
each of us taking the lead from time to time and occasionally
reminding the other to have a gel or something to eat.
The
wooded area gave way to a massive pasture, spotted with small tarns
and grazing sheep. The path led us through the middle of the small
bodies of water, skirting between them. I looked over Moss Eccles
Tarn, imagining the famous Ms Potter, sketching and writing there in
the beautiful summer months. This area was so inspirational to so
many people, Potter, Wainwright and Wordsworth to name but a few. It
was so easy to see how the natural landscape helped them to contemplate, compose,
write and paint, or just to spend time there, ambling through the
stunning scenery all around, letting it absorb into their work. I
love the way ultra running makes me think, makes me question and
wonder about the world around us. I truly do love it.
Far
Sawrey was near or was Near Sawrey far? I wasn't quite sure as we ran
over the main road and down towards our rendezvous with Lake
Windermere. We opened a gate out onto a common and there she laid,
still, serene and beautiful in all her splendour. The great water
course rippled and shimmered in the bright autumnal afternoon pushing
a calm but cooling breeze over my moist skin, cooling and refreshing.
From the path I could just make out Stoors Hall on the far banks of
Windermere and knew we were about half way down this section. I still
felt good as long as I didn't try and breath too hard or push the
pace. Chris and I pushed along the deserted track along the western
shore of the Lake, not really being able to enjoy the view. We had to
keep out wits about us and our eyes on the ground. The path was quite
rough in parts and had lots of exposed and gnarled tree roots stuck
everywhere, ready to trip us up like a prankster sticking a foot out,
the slick and muddy surface not helping matters.
One
of the things you have to get used to in ultra marathon running is
going for a poo in the woods! This run out was no exception and only
a few minutes later, I got massive stomach cramps and I had to go. I
nipped in the bushes, well away from the path and squatted out of
sight but overlooking the water. Seconds later, a bloody small boat
with three men in it sailed passed. All three men looked in my
direction, pointed and jeered loudly across the peaceful water. Damn
it, busted! “Cant a guy get any peace out here” I thought as I
finished my business and listened to a “weyhey” from my floating
cheerleaders (bastards!). :)
After
my “inter-loo-d” (see what I did there) I re-joined the path and
we pushed on a couple of miles through the overgrown single track,
towards the YMCA centre before a large climb up to High Dam. The both
of us were getting short on water again in the warm afternoon heat as
we hit the trail, ascending steeply over leaf covered pathways and
steps. Several of the wooden steps which linked the pathway were in
disrepair and we suggested the YMCA outward bounds should fix them on
their courses. The climb wasn't easy but nowhere near as tough as
what had come before so we pushed on up through the golden hillside
forest. I had to stop half way for a breather, I still couldn't get
enough air in to let my body work hard and I felt quite unfit when we
set off again. My legs were getting tired from the climb, especially
my right thigh which was sore and bruised from the earlier tumble. A
direction arrow was hung high in a tree towards the top of the trail.
It pointed forward to a sheer scramble, about 10m long, up to the top
of the hill (which was starting to feel like a cliff!). We both
looked at each other and went for it, power hiking and scrabbling all
the way up. We had done it, that was the last big climb of the day,
the rest just being “undulations” until the finish.
The
top of the trail led towards High Dam, a small tarn in the forests
above Finsthaite. The race organisers had way marked this section for
reasons that were obvious if you're ever been up there. With its
close location to the YMCA, the High Dam area is riddled with
pathways, trails and tracks all used for orienteering. Not a single
track appears on a standard 1:50,000 map, which we had our route on
and according to the race director “If you follow the wrong one you
end up in Narnia!”. The bright arrows would also help those runners
behind us who would soon be hitting this area in the dark in just a
few hours time. The trail twisted and turned through the leafy glades
until it lead us to the main tourist path which runs around the
circumference of the tarn.
The
path felt almost smooth to what we had been used to in the mountains
and we moved along to the end of the tarn where the dam is located.
The water rushed out below us as we crossed over the path creating
that wonderful roaring noise that is both so calming and so loud. The
path dropped quickly down, towards the tiny village of Finsthwaite.
The stream flowed along by the side of us, matching our pace as it
flowed to the old bobbin mill far below in the valley. My quads tired
quickly as we made the steep descent, feeling heavier and heavier
with every step. The mountain descents had chewed me up today and I
was certainly feeling it now. The path levelled out into a lush green
field and we trundled along, over a couple of styles (feeling like
major obstacles after over 40 miles) and ran into Finsthwaite. Ricky
and Michael popped out from behind a wall and I beamed a smile across
my face. Seeing the lads out on the route made me feel so good and
well supported throughout all of the day, I was so grateful to them.
They said they would see us at the Swan Hotel and I joked saying we`d
race them there. Through the lovely village in the Parish Hall laid
the final checkpoint and feed station in our epic journey.
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| 43 miles and still smiling! |
As
I entered the feed station, the two runners that had been so far in
front of us were still there, just about to leave. Chris and I looked
at each other but said nothing. We both new what this meant, we had
caught up and could possibly pass them. The two runners said hello
and we all enquired how the other was. We parted ways and they set
off. Chris and I filled our water, grabbed some food and walked to
the gate, which led to the woods beyond the Hall, only about a minute
behind them. There was only 7 miles left in the race, over the fells
into Cartmel and the finish. We looked at each other and said almost
synchronised “we can have these two you know”. A plan cracked
open and hatched between us. We would keep back a bit, pushing them
all the way up the fells then try to catch them as they tired. A
second wind rushed out of the trees, filled us full of spirit and
determination, blowing away the memory of the mountains and focussing
us on the two competitors ahead.
I
turned, closed the gate and spotted a runner coming into the
checkpoint behind us. This was getting tasty and I wondered if it
looked as good from the satellite view of us, beamed from up high
into all my friends and families computers and phones back home. The live
tracking enabled everyone to watch the races progress from home,
keeping an all seeing eye on our every move. One thing was for sure,
the last section was going to be fun!
The
two lads pushed up the next hill and into the woods beyond. It was a
really intricate trail leading through the forest and I was glad it
was way marked. I had previously tried to find the correct race path
on two occasions and failed both times. We ran along at a comfortable
rate keeping the two runners in our sights and gently gaining ground
on them. Every hill or climb they came to, they ran up, drawing more
and more energy from their depleted tanks. Chris and I sensed this
and power walked up each climb, conserving our energy for later.
After a fast decent down a switchback path through Water Side Wood we
came out on the road behind The Swan Hotel. Ricky and Michael were
about to get stuck into a drink outside as we ran past. They cheered
us on, telling us we were getting quicker and catching the runners in
front of us. I waved them goodbye and a massive wave of energy washed
over me, empowering me for my final assault on the course.
The
main A590 road was unusually quiet as we nipped over its tarmac
surface and up a side road to Canny Hill. It was a short but steep,
winding road so we power walked up it. My legs, aches and pains had
disappeared with the sudden rush of adrenalin, injected from the
chase. I was going to enjoy this. Chris and I both suddenly felt
great, ready for a battle and a game of team tactics. A bridleway
took us off the road and over the fell to Backbarrow. The race
suddenly seemed to shorten into 5 miles and we both kept good pace,
in tandem, pushing each other along through the bracken. The guys
were in front of us again, just up on the hill only 150 yards ahead.
We opened the gate in our way and Chris closed it quietly “we don't
want to panic them do we” he said, sneakily dropping the catch as
lightly as he could. We were both enjoying this so much. It felt like
the race was between just us four, that we were the hunters and they
were the prey. Something ancient and bestial about us resurfaced in
that ferny landscape, a primordial need to chase down. The ultimate
persistence hunt full of endurance and unbelievable terrain.
The
path led to a small forest full of muddy, twisty paths that looked as
if it had held a Grand National that afternoon. It was littered with
the biggest hoof prints I had ever seen, I commented that it must
have been a stable of shire horses that galloped through looking at
the size of the tracks. It was
hard going on the soft surface and we had to slow in parts to
negotiate the boggy path.
Eventually we cam out at Brow Edge onto a
minor road and up a hill to Bigland Hall. We could see our prey just
ahead, ascending the hill quickly and using up the last of their
energy. Suddenly dusk was upon us and we had hardly noticed the
encroaching darkness. It would be time to light up soon and don the
head torches, but not just yet. At the top of the hill, before
Bigland Hall was a black 4x4, stood outside it was a very excited
Ricky. “You've got em, they are knackered” he said in the half
light. I thanked him and moved through the gates of Bigland Hall,
towards the Tarn and a showdown.
The two lads in front
had ran out of steam and had slowed to a walk just up the path. We
quickly reached them and they ran in front of us for a while before
gracefully stepping aside to let us past. For all our posturing and
tactics both Chris and I felt a little guilty for overtaking them.
But at the end of the day, this was a race and we still had some
energy left to burn. A gate blocked our path onto the Cumbrian
Coastal Way and it was soon opened. We didn't look back as we took
off over the hill, leaving the two competitors behind us. That gave
us a massive boost of energy and focus. It would just get us in the
top ten if we kept going and not let anyone else pass us. It pushed
us forward with renewed focus and power. The grassy trail descended
down as did the fading light so Chris asked me to get his head torch
from his pack. He lit it up and took us through the dark woods, down
to the road crossing at Grassgarth. We walked for a short hilly
section while I foraged around for my head torch in a tightly packed
bag. On the other side of the road, both fully lit, we forged our way
across Speel Bank, under a forest canopy and out to a farm track and
the last two miles of the race.
I took off my head
torch and glanced behind into the dark hills. I spotted a single light as it bobbed and tracked its way across the black. Was it the
runner who had caught us at the checkpoint or had one of the lads
decided to chase us down? We weren't about to find out. Both Chris
and I started to accelerate on the gravel path, picking up pace and
hopefully putting enough distance between us and the runner behind.
The final corner came upon us and the white, sharp sign
pointed towards our goal, Cartmel 1 ¼ miles. I had ran this a few
weeks ago and knew it was a steady downhill, all the way into the
Town. The pace quickened again as we both sensed the end was in
sight. Our head torches bounced and weaved down the small country
road, bringing us closer and closer with every step. I joked as we
passed the famous racecourse “and its Plews and Winter, they're on
the final furlong, here they come, nearly at the finish”. It felt
amazing, pushing the pace this late in the race, not knowing if
someone was on our heels. A sharp left hander at the sticky toffee
shop pointed straight through the town towards the priory. Only a
quarter mile remained and we were strong, together in the night,
pushing each other towards the finish, towards our ultimate, ultra
goal. Two bright arrows directed us towards the school and we spotted
the finish line. My amazing friends were there again, beckoning me
in, willing me to finish. Ricky, Michael, Diane, Izzy (Michaels
family) and Gareth gathered there, clapping and cheering, looking
pleased and proud as I passed them. Chris and I slowed down, it was
important to us to finish together. We held hands and crossed the
line ecstatic and jubilant. We hugged and were congratulated by the
race director before he hung our well earned medals around our necks.
What an amazing day. We all made our way inside for some food and a
seriously well earned rest.
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| Chris and I = 10th place! |
As we entered the
school the organisers cut the racing tracker off me and handed over a
meal voucher. I was suddenly famished and grabbed a hot potato with
tonnes of cheese and beans. I sat down with my amazing friends and
tried to convey the race to them. I felt amazing and chatted to them
and some of the other finishers. The first three women had now all
finished and I watched them in awe as they received their awards.
Helen, first placed lady had smashed the women's course record and
won herself a few hundred pounds in the process. I have to say, I
couldn't congratulate the women enough in their amazing achievements,
they were so strong and determined out on the course and proved that
as the distance gets greater, the difference between men and women
gets less and less. Its no coincidence so many women are competing at
such a high level in ultra running and coming first overall, winning
outright in major races.
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| Gareth, Ricky, Michael and a Potato |
I had been through it
all, through the mountains and trails, through tiredness and pain. It
was an epic journey, so brutal yet so beautiful and I had made a good
friend in Chris. It was a completely different race from my last
Ultra Marathon. I had been alone for 99% of the race that time, alone
with my hopes and fears, contemplating and thinking my way around the
course. This had been totally different, running in close groups then
running with another person was an uplifting experience, creating a
bond in such a short space of time but in such a harsh environment. I
loved the race and the course, the mountainous terrain was very
difficult and has given me some great experience I sorely lacked
before the race.
I'm learning so much
about racing and myself in these Ultras and I genuinely cannot wait
for my next one. I would definitely recommend this race to anyone
contemplating an ultra marathon, just make sure you get some hills in
first! In the end I shared 10th place with Chris. I
completed my goal that I had set so long ago and my training and
preparation were spot on. I felt like I was just getting into my
stride about 40 miles in so its a great sign for next years 100
miler!
It was a fabulous and
uplifting experience running the - Lakes In A Day.
Lee Winter - Ultra Runner
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