So, the history of this one goes back a while - a decade in fact. There's lots of little branches and tributaries that combine into this story, so it might be a bit long and rambling. Grab a brew and some biscuits if you're reading - or even if you're not. Biscuits and a brew is always a good thing.
Starting with the oldest bit of backstory: Back in 2010 I went from pretty much no running at all, to completing Janathon in January, to upping my distance again in Junathon (in June, surprisingly enough), to running 50 miles with 5,000m of ascent in the Grand Raid des Pyrenees in the August - a pretty momentous change for someone who hadn't really done much running since they knackered an ankle in 2004. I kept it up for a while, but a year of niggling injuries I never got treated and a DNF on a repeat trip to the GRP ended my erswhile Ultra career at 1 out of 2.
A bit more recently: Sometime in 2018 I started Orienteering again. I've discovered over the years I don't actually like running just for the sake of running, but I love navigation and it takes my mind off how much my legs hurt. After surprisingly winning a long-but-easy-navigation Orange course at a local Saturday event I started doing the Airienteers Autumn and Winter 1hr Score format events and found that, after a while, I was running a decent distance in the hour, and having fun with it. Entered the Northern Night Champs on Ilkley Moor and had a slow but accurate run and decided I probably wasn't as bad at it as I thought, and I was enjoying it again.
And even more recent: Through the early months of lockdown I even started heading out just for a run at intervals. I'm lucky enough to live somewhere with good access to trails and footpaths across fields, and it took my mind off the drudgery of work and the stress of the pandemic. When the orienteering club started to put 'virtual events' on using the MapRun app I ran a load of those, and found I'd got a bit faster. I'd lost a bit of weight, gained a decent bit of fitness, and started thinking about a few things, one of which was turning 40 later in the year. I don't go in for 'bucket lists', the idea seems a bit wrong to me, but the thought of having another crack at an Ultra started to vaguely appeal - and not seem as stupidly unrealistic as it had 2 years previous when I'd hit 15 stone. I'd worked on Lakes in a Day in 2019, it's my home county, it starts 20mins from where I grew up, it's a darn sight closer than the Pyrenees, and, you know, it just might be worth a punt eh? I mean, what's the alternative, a high powered motorbike and a free ticket to the organ donor register?
I decided to put my money where my - surprisingly quiet for once - mouth was, and my entry went in when they briefly re-opened in November '20, after various cancellations and deferrals. That gave me the best part of a year to get prepped - more than the 7 months I'd had from Janathon 2010 to the GRP that August. I got some decent longer runs in, and while I didn't do the same length of long run, I did more back-to-back days - 100km over three days on the Leeds Country Way in March and 75km over the three day of the Great Lakeland 3-Day being the highlights, really. Coming off of the GL3 I was happy, and finishing LIAD started seeming like it was a pretty realistic aim. I'd roughly said that since I did 22:56 for the GRP that 'finishing in the time limit was Bronze, finishing under 22:56 was silver, and finishing in 20 hours was Gold', but that said, weather conditions would always dictate just how that went.
Kit choices were very deliberate but only fully locked in the night before the event as I was never 100% sure what the weather was going to do, even if the forecast generally looked pretty good. UD Adventure Pack for all my gear and food, though I'd have switched to a bigger FKT pack if the forecast had been worse and I felt like more kit was needed. Icebreaker merino top (the same one I ran the Pyrenees in all those years ago) because it doesn't chafe and works for me, Montane windproof gilet because merino is very porous in the wind! Runderwear long boxers and OMM Flash shorts, the latter mainly for the two extra stash pockets for map and stuff. Skins calf guards - again, same ones from 10 years ago - to try and help keep my calves in a decent state, Injinj socks to try and do the same for the toes. Spare layers were a Montane fleece and a Haglofs insulated gilet, waterproofs were OMM Kamleika smock and Montane Podium pants, shoes were Inov8 X-Talon Ultras for the first half and TrailTalons for the second. Petzl Nao and backup Actik headlamps, Leki trekking poles, and probably too much food, but that's about it.
After registration in Cartmel, a lift up to home from my Dad, a decent night's sleep and an early get-up it was onwards to Caldbeck and readying myself for the off. We parked the north side of the river which is the border of the National Park, so walking up to the start from there made it a full proper end-to-end of the Park, since Cartmel actually sits just outside the southern boundary. It was good to catch up with a few friends before the start, either those working on the event or those running, and a good chat with Paul (working) and John (supporting a mate) started settling my nerves, with paddling mate Ted and Siobhan - the quietly hardcore Manchester GP who finished LIAD 2019 in 22hrs having fractured her knee at the river crossing - stopping by and saying hello on the way. Up into the square by the Oddfellows and accosted by Jeni, Sharon and Emma (on her first ever trip to the Lakes - what a baptism of fire...), and bumping into Ed who I've crossed paths with multiple times but never really spoken to. Nice to see so many friendly faces, and knowing they were around and that I had so many other friends working on the route meant I would never really be 'alone' on this one. I tend to be pretty self-contained on events, it's hard to run or ride with others without one person either having to work harder to keep up or someone else getting annoyed at having to slow down, but that 'self-containment' means I can be my own worst enemy mentally some times. Company does help, I guess.
We started at bang-on 8am, and I set off with the crowd up the lane from Caldbeck towards Nether Row and Potts Gill. We were soon strung out, and I was back to the mental state of 'not lonely but alone'. Plenty of people around still, but plenty of headspace to focus on the route and keeping myself happy. I upped my pace a little bit when a guy just behind met up with a none-competing friend and they started chatting away about mates in running clubs, gigs, bands they had seen recently and life in general. I needed to get away from that, just because I like the quiet to try and focus: I sure as hell wouldn't ever tell someone they should stop their chat, but it's easier for me if I'm not around it, so I moved forwards a bit to create some space. We were climbing up into the clag and soon the insulation was visual as well as auditory, trotting forwards on a vague trail, just about able to make out the spectres of other runners in front and behind. That poor visibility would become a big theme of the day, all the way to Ambleside and a bit beyond as well.
Soon enough, High Pike trig pillar was behind me and then Lingy Hut loomed out of the fog, and not long after we were dropping down to the crossing of the Caldew. I worked on that crossing a couple of years ago and was a bit worried that the level would be up - I'm pretty confident in the water, but a spill and wet layers could properly spoil the day. As it was, it was nothing more than knee-deep, and a quick bit of chat with both Jim and Dave as they manned the crossing was a nice pick-up, even if Jim's opening gambit was "Jenkins says you're too slow..." I'll be honest and say I had no concept of the time, I'd put my Garmin watch into a mode that turns the screen off to save power, and hadn't even bothered looking - that may not have been the best thing, but I'll come back to that. Anyway, the long drag from there up to Blencathra summit was a lot softer underfoot than I'd been expecting. It was one of the few bit I didn't know and hadn't recced, and was a bit harder going than I'd been expecting, just soft ground and a long continuous gradient. After what seemed like a long time, we finally hit more solid ground and started the last ramp up onto the summit, and were greeted by the sound of cowbell dragging us the right way.
After a very brief hello to Matt, marshalling on the top as part of the Nav4 safety team, I stuck my poles away and set off down Halls Fell ridge. This bit's fun but sketchy, and I managed to pick decent lines and pass a few other people just by keeping moving and not standing in a queue for a single path when there are multiple available. Some bits are better than others but making decent progress down here was fantastic fun. I had a couple of small slips, one when I caught Jeni and looked round to say something and momentarily took my eyes off the ground, the other on a grassy slope just above where Stu (also Nav4 safety) was marshalling. Fortunately he didn't have to catch me! I kept it right-side up from that point and made it down from summit to feed station in a touch over 40mins, which is about as fast as I'd ever want to try it in 'mildly moist' conditions.
Mum and Dad had come out to support at Threlkeld and I dived into the feed station, grabbed coffee, pastries and some bits for later on, patched a small hotspot on one heel and said hello to a Jill, two Pauls, a James and a Joe. A check of the time put me up on what I'd wanted - the next section from here to Grisedale Tarn and the 17:30 cutoff there was the pinch point time-wise, and I knew I needed to be ahead of Threlkeld cutoff (13:30) to be able to not rush too much across the tops. I needn't have worried too much, it was only 11:15 so I was well up on schedule, 45mins ahead of what I'd wanted. Jeni appeared and started pushing me to get sorted and leave with them, and while I could maybe have done with a bit more time - and I didn't manage to actually stay with them for long once we were moving - it kept me from sitting too long, wasting time and seizing up. I opted to switch my windproof gilet for my waterproof jacket, knowing we were going to be climbing into the clouds again and staying there for several hours. I'd be warm on the steep drag up Clough Head, but the wind and waterproofing would be very welcome. Steady plodding soon saw me at the trig, and I felt a bit happier knowing that even in the mist, I'd recced the section and was happy with my nav. There were a couple of points I needed to focus on, none of which were massively consequential but would cut out little bits of ascent or descent and could just save some energy. Getting the smaller path that skips Great Dodd summit was the first of those, and I hit it very neatly. Wasn't quite as neat on the more direct right-side path just after Helvellyn trig, but I had more pressing priorities at that point - getting into the summit shelter to pull an extra layer on and some food down (pork pie - ace stuff). I pulled the Haglofs gilet out and stuck it under the waterproof just to separate the damp merino from the equally clammy Kamleika top, and swapped my Headsweats cap for my fleece hat, and those made enough difference for me to feel happy pushing on.
I was soon down off Dollywaggon Pike to Grisedale Tarn and plodding towards the next big haul up Fairfield, right knee starting to twinge a little but still moving steadily. Joe and Paul were sat in a little tent-shelter at Grisedale Hause waiting the cutoff time there to direct any stragglers down off the course to Dunmail Raise and onward transport, and I was glad to be well ahead of that point - 1:30 up on that pinch point was more than enough margin. Fairfield was a drag, but once you're over the top and skirting Hart Crag and Dove Crag the long descent to Ambleside begins. This was another one of those nav points: most of the time there's one main line, but at one point there's a nasty step, nearly head-height, that we'd met and scrambled down in the recce. I knew it was avoidable, there were a couple of route options. My knee wasn't hugely happy with me so I popped some food and a couple of paracetamol down and trekked on, in the company of another gent who was moving at the same pace and seemed happy to have me on the front navigating. We chatted a little bit and he'd not recced the route at all and was just out to enjoy the event. The pair of us hiked together, found a better route down past the bad step (and helped a couple of others down it as well) and then both jogged down the tarmac together from Nook End farm, out into the streets of Ambleside and into the feed station - 30 miles done.
Mum and Dad had popped down to Ambleside as well, and it was lovely to see them. I was definitely starting to hurt, and part of me was thinking "I could call it a day here, get them to give me a lift down to Cartmel, pick my car up and be back home and in bed by 9:30", but that's the balance of these kind of events. I know that by continuing I'm committing myself to several more hours of pain, and I know I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself, but that's the whole point of this particular run for me:
I have something to prove to myself. That might sound stupid to some people, but to a lot of my friends it will make some kind of sense - I'm not racing for podiums or prizes, I'm racing (in the loosest sense of the word) for personal satisfaction and achievement. So, with another catch-up with Jeni, Emma and Ed and a bit of chivvying I sorted myself out, changed shoes, shoved a few slices of pizza and some pasta down my neck, grabbed my headlamp out and got ready to get moving again. Just as we were about to leave, the gent I'd been alongside since Fairfield wandered over and said "Are you getting ready to go?" and joined the party.
As we made our way across Rothay Park it occurred to me that I should probably ask my new running mate's name - Ian, as it turns out. It wasn't long before the other three were specks off in the distance, so he and I trotted along, the odd bit of conversation, the odd bit of jogging, but mainly just decent, steady forward progress. I'd recced this section with Steve as well, though in daylight, so was pretty happy that between signage and knowledge we'd be alright through here. Pull Woods was a nice section of trail, but the cloud was still very much down and even once we came out of the woods by Wise Een and Moss Eccles tarns, you couldn't see a lot even with a decent headtorch - across the grassy sections with no reference markers, it was just keep trotting and looking for the worn line on the ground. We passed a young lad somewhere along the way who tacked on the back, but was struggling with stomach issues and wasn't managing to keep food down - it's a long 21km to Finsthwaite if you can't put any food in. He jogged with us for a few minutes, but then dropped off the back to retch into the bushes again.
We trotted onwards, seeing other runners intermittently and were soon at Sawrey, Another gent joined us who was having knee problems and well and was struggling on the descents - he stayed with us a while but dropped back as we started descending on tarmac to the first section of lake shore path, I'd been wondering about the levels - could have been anything from ankle to knee, but fortunately the worst we hit was mid-shin puddles and the majority was relatively clear. Out onto tarmac again and a nice treat, some trail pixies had left a little treat out, a tin of Haribo and some bits of cake on a lit-up table by the road. We paused and grabbed a little bit of sugar and then settled in for the tough road climb up to the next section of trail. We were both using trekking poles quite heavily, and as we started winching up the gradient, the click of the poles on the tarmac slowed. Ian commented on this, and my first thought was "yup, either the metronome is f**ked or I am...", but I think I kept it to myself.
The next section of singletrack was tough, overgrown and a steep descent, and my knees and quads were starting to properly object to the way they were being treated. I popped another couple of paracetamol and kept plodding. The next section of lake shore path has an awkward tree that needs a high step to get over it, and that definitely made me wince, though the shin-deep water preceding it at least kept my ankles nice and cool. I knew once we were out to Lakeside YMCA camp, the climb up to High Dam was going to be a painful grind and the descent to Finsthwaite feed station probably not much better, but I also knew that once I was there, finishing was almost a certainty. We weren't fast, but we were also going to arrive nearly 2hrs ahead of that final cutoff time, and the last section - while still not a walk in the park - could easily be just a steady walk.
We arrived at the feed station to see Jeni, Emma and Ed getting ready to leave, and that picked me up a bit too - not that we'd caught them time-wise, but that they were still well on track too. Jim gave me some friendly abuse, Hilary quoted Peter Pan at me ("Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning" - seemed very apposite at that point), and the other lovely feed station staff provided leek and potato soup and cheese on toast to dip into it. Again, knowing I was ahead of time it could have been easy to dither, but having company kept me right. As it was, looking at my GPS data, none of my feed station stops were longer than 15mins, and I think that's a good thing.
We headed out into the last section, an unknown for both of us. Only 12km, but still not going to be easy, and actually the very first descent to Newby Bridge was a steep and slightly slippy narrow woodland track that tested the last of the resolve in my quads. I was leaning heavily on my poles and wincing if my foot placement was wobbly, the jerky motion spiking off pain in my knees. We made it out on the tarmac alongside two young lads who were also having a hard time of it , reaching "that point where things just stop working", as one of them commented. Over the main road and climbing again, first on road and then onto grassy footpaths crossing fields. Out onto road again and into the Bigland Hall estate, terrain I orienteered on plenty of times as a kid but haven't visited in years. through the estate and round the edge of Bigland Tarn, pausing for a sec to marvel at how bright the stars were now that the cloud had lifted, the electric lights had receded and I could actually see the sky!
One more road crossing, a couple more km of fields and we were finally at Speel Bank, and the final tarmac run down to Cartmel - except neither of us were running. We hiked steadily, a couple of more enthusiastic/able pairs passing us, but we trotted on down a seemingly endless road descent, coming into the village past the Race Course where our cars were parked, cheered onwards by the marshal at the gate with a "well done, only a few hundred metres left!". I think I replied with a slightly petulant "but my sleeping bag's
right there..." and a grin. We kept going through the sleeping village, with an occasional "well done" from other competitors heading back to the campsite, and finally into the school yard, headlamps off and stopping directly under the finish arch so we could pose properly for our finish photo. Finish time: 19:02 - an hour up on my 'Gold' time despite the knee problems, and nearly four hours up on my decade-old 50 mile PB. Not too shabby, even if I do say so myself...
So what can I conclude from all of this?
1 - I am still capable of these things, stupid as they might be. Stubborn enough, at least.
2 - Company helps, the right company even more so - I can't thank Ian enough for helping keep me right though we actually didn't chat that much, and Jeni, Emma and Ed's chivvying at feed stations helped keep me on track. That and seeing so many good friends from so many events over the years meant I genuinely never did feel alone, even on the occasions when I was.
3 - On the downside, I probably didn't drink as much as I should have done, nor eat as much. Having the screen off on my watch meant I couldn't check to eat each hour like I normally do, and I lost track of time easily. That probably lead to my one little medical issue... Ahem.
After the finish, while sitting down with my finishers meal, I got a sudden wave of nausea (not linked to the catering, I hasten to add), and with a desire not to throw up on Ian's shoes, I made an attempt at a quick dash to be sick in a bin, only to pass out, fall short and hit the deck. I came round with Charlotte, the event doctor, greeting me with "Oh, it's only you" which is (genuinely) the type of sarcasm I appreciate when I feel like hell. I pointed out I was quite comfortable down here on the floor, but she still looked bemused and a little concerned, so after a little chat I was escorted inside to sort my life out, get some fluids and some food down while being monitored, then bound to a 'no passing out in the showers' rule while getting myself warmed back up and into clean clothes. I felt better after all of those, and eventually made my slow, shuffling way back to the campsite to gratefully pass out in a slightly-but-not-much-more dignified manner in the car for a short few hours.
So that's it - I'm up to 2 out of 3 (ain't bad, as Meatloaf would put it). Massive thanks to everyone from Open Adventure, all the volunteers and safety staff, all the marshals and medics, all the cheering spectators and all the other runners for a lovely if somewhat long day out.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the biscuits. See you out there sometime!
The next section of singletrack was tough, overgrown and a steep descent, and my knees and quads were starting to properly object to the way they were being treated. I popped another couple of paracetamol and kept plodding. The next section of lake shore path has an awkward tree that needs a high step to get over it, and that definitely made me wince, though the shin-deep water preceding it at least kept my ankles nice and cool. I knew once we were out to Lakeside YMCA camp, the climb up to High Dam was going to be a painful grind and the descent to Finsthwaite feed station probably not much better, but I also knew that once I was there, finishing was almost a certainty. We weren't fast, but we were also going to arrive nearly 2hrs ahead of that final cutoff time, and the last section - while still not a walk in the park - could easily be just a steady walk.
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