The things you hear on the Lakeland 50

THE BUILD UP

Entries for the Montane Lakeland 50 opened on 1st September last year. I'd been toying with the idea but was galvanised into action when Paul Redman messaged me within hours to say it was almost full already. You'd think I'd have learned after being cajoled into signing my life away to the Fellsman a couple of years ago by other club mates. But no, within ten minutes I'd stumped up £70 and got on the list.

Unlike the Fellsman, I pretty much put it to the back of my mind immediately figuring I had the best part of a year to prepare. Unfortunately a combination of injury, having a new-born in the house and very little free time in between meant that instead of training I virtually gave up running. Not the best build up to a big event like this!

The week before the LL50 arrived. Ten months without decent regular running plus the resulting serious lack of fitness meant nerves kicked in big time. Part of me was tempted to pull out. I've never had a DNF and didn't want to start now. How could I run 50 miles over hilly Lakes terrain when I'd been averaging 15 miles a week at best and my longest run of the year to date was a paltry 13 miles?

I think I lost a few pounds through anxiety alone in the days before the race. Paul Redman was still well up for it and had been training well, plus the Haworth brothers and Ian Winstanley were also on the entry list and chomping at the bit. Paul offered to drive for the weekend so I couldn't let the side down in the end, I had to give it a crack.

The weather had been glorious and hot and promised more of the same for race day. So on a beautiful, warm summer's evening we made our way up to registration at Coniston, not arriving in the village till almost 9pm, three hours too late to see the crazy fools running the Lakeland 100 set off.

Free camping was guaranteed for all competitors...or so we thought. On arrival three marshals warned us that the field was full and neither we nor they had a backup plan. I could see Paul wasn't too chuffed, I wasn’t to be fair, but we trudged off to register. Half way across the campsite we soon realised there was a decent amount of space left, so I collared another marshal who radioed down to say we could come on. There was room at the inn after all! Paul went back for the car and we were directed to a spot right next to the school which was HQ for the whole event. After a shaky start that could have been a lot worse!

We hastily pitched the tent and went in for kit check and registration. We emerged unscathed with a black mark of death (proof we’d been checked) and SportIdent dibbers strapped to our wrists. Our race numbers had our weights scribbled on them so they could check for dehydration or over-hydration at the finish (I came in at 68.8 kg). We also received our Road Book and waterproof Harvey's map of the course. There was just time for a nerve-quenching pint in the pub before a listless few hours in the tents. It was all getting too real now…

RACE DAY

I was up at 6.30am and it was already warm and sunny outside. I wandered over to the school to check on the progress of Andy Armstrong (Deborah's other half) who was running the 100. He was going well in the top half and through Blencathra checkpoint about 40 miles in. Time for a mooch around the gear stands when I spotted Tony Hall who was marshalling for the weekend. We had a chat, which took my mind off things a bit, then I went off to see if Paul was up and about. En route I noticed people were already queueing at the canteen about to open so I stuck around.

Five minutes later, armed with a bacon barm, I headed out to find the breakfast queue was already 40 deep and Paul was near the back! I stayed with him for a while and we got chatting to a Scouser called Ron (hereafter 'Big Ron') who had completed a fair number of ultras including two UTMBs and a previous LL50. He was also mates with Charlie Sharpe, the phenominal long distance runner who was placed second in the LL100 as we spoke. What a character he was and a very welcome boost to morale. The things you hear...

Time was zipping by and it wasn't long before we were back in the school for the compulsory race briefing. Here we bumped into Matt and Andy Haworth for the first time (they'd been living it up in a cottage, none of this camping lark) as we sat down and shuffled forward.

Marc Laithwaite and Terry Gilpin gave an informative and down to earth talk with plenty of comedy value. The main thing to take away was that everyone should have a 'Plan B' should your 'Plan A' not go to…erm…plan, which was even more likely given the impending heat. Also that facing adversity was what we'd come here for, not an easy trot out in the Lakes; most of us would face some testing times and we needed to man-up and pull through.

That all said, we traipsed outside once more to give our kit a once over, pop to the loo several times, and lavish on the factor 50 (quite appropriate really). We got talking to John 'Cannonball' Lloyd who was running with Nick Barber and after the pairs course record despite never having run more than 37 miles before. Hats off to them! Then it was onto a coach straight out of the 1970s for a one-way drive to Dalemain. No turning back now, we'd have to make our own way home on foot.

The 90 minute journey to the start didn't seem to take half that time, despite occasionally narrow roads and a real bottleneck through Ambleside. We chatted a little and Paul finally decided he would stick with me and not try to break any records, Marc's words still fresh in our minds. Today wasn't about heroics, it was about getting back whatever it might take. I for one was very grateful of his decision. Just before we arrived we couldn't help overhearing a fellow runner professing that elephants didn't have four legs but two legs and two arms. The things you hear…

Ours was the last bus to reach Dalemain about 25 minutes before kick off. As we disembarked the heat and humidity were already a force to be reckoned with. There were people strewn about everywhere, runners, families and spectators alike. Within moments were heard rousing cheers and clapping as we witnessed our first 100-milers of the day skimming along and looking in pretty fine fettle with around 60 miles under their belts already.

The pre-race nerves still hadn’t finished with us and we needed an impromptu toilet stop along with plenty of others, so off up the field we went in search of a shady tree. On the way back we bumped into Andy and Matt again who were looking fit and ready, though they too had dispelled thoughts of times and just wanted to get round.

All too soon we were corralled into the long start pen, dibbing in on the way through to activate our chip timing. We were sweltering already but hadn't so much as walked 100 metres! But this was it, time to test ourselves against 50 miles of Lakeland heat, hills and trails. And I was perversely looking forward to it for the first time! No preamble now either, all that had been covered in the briefing, just a quick message of good luck then the 600 assembled counted down in unison "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Go!" and we crossed the line.

DALEMAIN LOOP (3.8 miles)

Off we trotted around an undulating loop of the Dalemain estate. This was ostensibly to spread out the field but also slightly demoralising when after 40 minutes of running we were right back at the start. Cruel in some ways but a good warm up and chance to assess our pace. My previous if limited ultra experience told me to set off slow and steady, it's a marathon not a sprint as they say. Well this was almost a double marathon in some hellish weather so I didn't want to take any chances.

Plenty of people were passing us but I didn't care and Paul seemed happy enough skipping along beside me too. Here we were actually overtaken by a 100 miler, obvious from the rest of us wimps by his yellow race number. He was looking strong and hardly breaking a sweat. Respect!

Friends and family can keep you company around the first loop and plenty of people were doing this. A lady 50 runner and her supporter drifted alongside talking about beer. I casually mentioned that we'd be lucky to finish before the pubs shut but without sympathy she piped up "You'd better get a move on then!" and sailed by. The things you hear...

DALEMAIN TO HOWTOWN (7.4 miles, 965ft ascent, leg time 1:53:23 including loop)

After Dalemain we were shepherded across a main road by lots of marshals, including T who gave a distant nod, and were soon cruising through fields by the river. "Five miles, we've done 10%" a familiar voice chirped up. It was Mr Elephant Facts. "I'll be giving you regular updates!" Unfortunately our paces didn't match for much longer so we never knew if he was true to his word.

We soon reached Pooley Bridge and the sheer number of tourists and supporters was a bit of a culture shock. As we ran through the centre a passing driver shouted "Well done Paul!" I did a double take but he was definitely a total stranger. Then we remembered our names were on our race numbers!

The heat of the day was really starting to kick in and we were only on our first very gradual climb. I started walking up here to conserve energy and keep the pace steady. Paul was happy to do the same but I'm pretty sure he could have moved faster. From the top we veered right passing families out supporting and shouting runners' names, this was always a great little morale boost. Then came a glorious four mile descent above the southern shore of Ullswater. There wasn't a breath of wind but the amazing vista was an excellent distraction from the relentless sun.

We reached Howtown in very good time, a little too quick in my mind, and stopped for around ten minutes to scoff flapjacks, biscuits, salted nuts and top up our depleted fluids. We were actually ahead of Matt and Andy at this point but they arrived minutes after us so I took a quick photo. They were carrying most of their own supplies and not intending to linger at checkpoints.

HOWTOWN TO MARDALE HEAD (9.4 miles, 2510ft ascent, leg time 2:34:43)

We walked up the road out of Howtown which was lined with handmade cardboard signs offering words of wisdom and encouragement for runners with almost 40 miles to go. The Tarmac underfoot soon melted away though as we levelled off and entered Fusedale. Here we spotted Big Ron busy munching who simply stated "These flapjacks are really dry!" as we passed. Minutes later on a single track we were snapped by Laura and David Bradshaw of Sport Sunday. I shouted to David "I thought the Bradshaws would be about somewhere!" to which he replied "Yeah, come on Skipton!" (I was wearing my flourescent yellow Skipton Tough Ten race T-shirt). The things you hear...

Then came the long trudge up Fusedale. I knew the climb itself wouldn't be too bad but I'd been dreading it as I thought it would be like an oven. In the end there was a breeze down the valley, particularly in the upper stretch, so this was actually one of the cooler sections of the afternoon. Paul was powering up the hill but I held back, content to be in the snaking line of people all on their way up. I managed to put a little spurt on towards the top and caught up with him.

Usually I hardly drink on races, even marathons, but today was different. I was carrying two 500ml bottles one with water the other with an electrolyte mix. I'd gone through both on the first leg but had to be a little more conservative on the second leg as I knew it would take us longer. We'd been passing 100-milers quite regularly from Pooley Bridge onwards and we always offered them encouragement by name as we went by. What they were making of the heat I could only imagine.

We got a decent clip going from High Kop to Low Kop before the steep drop through the bracken to Haweswater. Any airflow had vanished by this stage but I was moving as well as any other time in the race. Paul was beginning to suffer a little from dehydration though. Once at the shore we had nearly four miles of occasionally rough and always undulating single track path to the next checkpoint. There was no air and every time we crossed a stream we stopped to dip our headgear in the cooling water. Within minutes they were almost bone dry again but the brief relief was amazing.

Again the landscape hereabouts was majestic though we couldn't take it all in properly, we were moving quite well and wanted to capitalise on this while we could. We finally reached Mardale Head after what seemed like and age and at last the clouds were drawing in a little to give respite from the sun. Ian Winstanley rolled in with us, conspicuous once he'd removed his pack as he was the only one wearing his TAC vest. We had a quick chat and checked all was well before refilling our bottles and heading for food.

I downed some soup and bread, three cups of flat cola, which ordinarily I wouldn't touch but it was like nectar there and then. I also scoffed a few pieces of chocolate cake but Paul was keen to press on. We had minute's delay as I swapped GPS watches and waited for a signal then we were off.

MARDALE HEAD TO KENTMERE (6.5 miles, 1677ft ascent, leg time 1:46:07)

From the checkpoint there's a pretty relentless climb up to Gatesgarth Pass. Here we were just behind three ladies who were mid-conversation about boobs and bras. When they spotted us they said "Oooo, sorry! Didn't realise we had gentleman for company!” to which I replied "Don't worry, we aren't gentlemen." A few minutes later we passed them as one exclaimed to her friend "Watch out Andrea, don't take his eye out with your boob!" The things you hear...

We reached the top of the pass and started the rocky and knee-jarring descent of Longsleddale. My legs were starting to ache for the first time and we were less than half way.

The bridleway levelled off and we crossed the river at Sadgill before a short climb over to Kentmere. Paul showed his chivalrous side as held a gate or two open from some fellow female runners. I was feeling too tired to repay his countless favours but was very grateful for his efforts! On this stretch we passed two iconic milestones: the halfway point and marathon distance. Paul was keeping close tabs and let us know when they came and went.

A short dip down a road before nipping over a couple of sneaky styles and we were suddenly at the Kentmere Institute, checkpoint number three for us. Inside there were fairy lights and friendly marshals all too ready to grab and fill our bottles. There were biscuits, sandwiches, pasta and the fabled smoothies! I spotted Ian again who was literally dripping with sweat like most of us; it was still very humid outside but even worse cooped up in the hall. As I grabbed a small bowl of pasta and peanut butter sandwich to go he’d vanished, so we didn’t linger much longer.

KENTMERE TO AMBLESIDE (7.3 miles, 1611ft ascent, leg time 1:50:41)

The long and stony pull up the Garburn Pass came and went far faster than expected. Still on a high from getting over halfway and refuelled, we wanted to push on and try to catch Ian. Just over the top of the pass we caught our first glimpse of the finish, well sort of, we could see Coniston Old Man in the murky distance still looking a long way off. I pointed it out to Paul and we picked up our pace on the long descent to Troutbeck. Towards the bottom the path narrowed and we were alone for the first time, so I dug out the trusty Road Book to double check our position.

We were soon off again making the most of the downhill and wanting to get as far as possible in the daylight. As we hit the road and crossed the river we spotted Ian who was stopped at the verge taking anti-blister measures. We both took advantage of the brief pause to nip behind a tree, this was my first pee for 30 miles and despite supping around six litres of fluid it was the colour of a pint of best. Not good! Although we waited for Ian before heading off we soon left him behind. He was feeling okay and armed to the teeth with navigational aids, but he’d been struggling with his digestion since Haweswater.

As we pressed on up the hill there was another random pocket of supporters who shouted our names again as we passed. “The Two Pauls” theme was definitely emerging as far as support was concerned! At this stage there weren’t many other runners about, just a few well spaced 50s and 100s, so we kept the Road Book out just in case. We soon entered some wood and had to put a pair of fellow 50-ers right. They went ahead and less than five minutes later we took our eyes off the ball and blindly followed them down a hill. They’d spotted a lone 100 runner and assumed they were on the right path.

I knew we would still come out on the road to Ambleside, so it was easier to carry on than backtrack up the hill, besides at least a dozen people had come the same way as us. At worst it added maybe a quarter of a mile and a few minutes to the route. Sure enough we emerged almost at Waterhead. Having parked here and walked into town many times I knew we were still a way from the checkpoint so we pushed on. The old untrained legs were definitely feeling drained now but we were soon in the town and passing people outside pubs who were cheering everyone through. By the White Lion I couldn’t resist geeing up the crowd and they responded in kind - what a moment almost 35 miles into a run!

A minute later we found the checkpoint which was up some steps in Ambleside Parish Centre. Paul had been trying to get me through these quickly but he didn’t have a problem here. It was literally like a sauna inside and I couldn’t even face eating anything properly. I grabbed a chia flapjack, swigged some juice, topped up the bottles and went.

AMBLESIDE TO CHAPEL STILE (5.6 miles, 768ft ascent, leg time 1:16:53)

It was such a relief to be out of the stifling heat that I almost forgot to restart my watch! We ran through Rothay Park and were soon climbing the lower slopes of Loughrigg with the light beginning to fade. It was a premature dusk though as grim grey clouds rolled in and threatened rain. We passed a few other 50 runners here, including a Turkish chap called Caner who we swapped positions with right up to Tilberthwaite.

Even though it was now much cooler than the insanely hot afternoon it felt humid and I was still sweating buckets. There was a long gradual drop to the road before the last steep descent to Skelwith Bridge, a section of Tarmac I’ve run in reverse 12 times on the Great Langdale Marathon, which didn’t do my quads any favours. Then came what should have been a fine runnable section all the way along the River Brathay past Elterwater, but by this point my legs were leaden and I just couldn’t drink enough.

There was a little pick-me-up as we passed the Wainwright Inn with its dozens of merrymakers. Paul was in front and they all clapped and shouted “Paul!” then as I went by they added “And Paul!” It was a great moment and put a big smile on our faces. The things you hear...

Thankfully it was now less than a mile to Chapel Stile checkpoint, normally a haven and welcome site being a marquee in the middle of a field complete with braziers and sofas. But I was feeling rather low at this point. I knew I needed to eat as I was seriously lacking energy yet my stomach was too full of liquid so I couldn't face food. I really struggled to force down a few spoonfuls of broth and half a slice of bread. As on the Fellsman, sitting down wasn’t an option, especially now as I didn’t think I’d get back up.

The heavens opened as we were sheltering under the canopy too, and I had to turn my back on cake and custard as I donned my waterproofs and dug out the head torch. Paul was full of vitality and wolfing down as much as he could. He was very understanding and would have gladly stayed put if I’d needed a longer break. But there was not point hanging around, it would only prolong things, so I stuffed a handful of Jelly Babies in my pocket and we headed out into the breech. The last ten miles were going to be long…

CHAPEL STILE TO TILBERTHWAITE (6.5 miles, 1270ft ascent, leg time 1:55:42)

We headed off at the same time as another pair and Caner wasn’t far behind, probably wanting to keep someone in his sights. I’d put my full wets on, everyone else just wore jackets. This seemed like a wise decision at first as the rain fairly came down for a while and keeping my shorts dry would helped stave off any chafing. Some kind of party was going on at New Dungeon Ghyll hotel on the other side of the valley with music and vibes echoing off the hills all around.

By the time we’d gone beyond the NT campsite and turned uphill the rain had petered out. Now I was regretting the waterproof pants as my legs were boiling but I didn’t want to stop to take them off. It was very gloomy but we were squeezing the last bit of daylight out of the sky and holding off the torches. At the top of the pass as we reached the road and cattle grid I thought I was hallucinating. There were two ladies with wraparound Union Jack skirts handing out sweets, blowing kazoos and shaking cowbells! I thought we were the nutters but fair play to them! The things you hear...

We soon approached the shore of Blea Tarn as part of a spread group. There were was a thicket up ahead and we new that meant lighting up time so we prepared the head torches. Stobbsy had kindly lent me one of his and boy were we both glad, it was awesome! Thanks to this and being with others we managed to successfully contour around the large bog after the tarn and dib in at the self-clip at Wrynose.

I’d been drinking less and munching my way through soggy Jelly Babies and now felt invigorated. I cruised past half a dozen other competitors who were all walking with Paul in my wake. I remember saying something like “You can tell I’m really a road runner at heart!” as we fairly flew down the Tarmac. Caner drew alongside us saying he thought we were way ahead by now. Our spurt had spurred on the rest too so we led the group as we went over a packhorse bridge and started winding our way over to the Tilberthwaite valley. My new lease of like was short-lived as I felt spent on the rocky drop and could only muster an occasional jog on the flat road to the checkpoint.

Finally we reached the tent complete with flashing lights, food and more friendly yet firm marshals. With one big climb and less than four miles to go, the people here were trying to ship everyone out as soon as possible. I just had time to remove my claustrophobic waterproof pants and grab some more sweets before being told to zip up my jacket and get gone.

TILBERTHWAITE TO CONISTON (3.5 miles, 928ft ascent, leg time 1:01:58, total 12:19:27)

We were immediately faced by the dreaded “Tilberthwaite Steps” outside the tent. I’m not sure what the fuss is about over these though the never-ending slope beyond is another matter. On and on it seemed to go and largely single file too with frequent drops to the right, eerie disused mine workings filled with reflected eyes to the left, and wet or loose stones underfoot. As usual Paul was making great progress up here and I was soon a good distance behind.

At one stage a savage wind whipped up from somewhere on what had otherwise been a particularly close and breathless evening. I was glad of my jacket then and as I paused to tighten the zip I peered back over my shoulder. A dancing line of lights was snaking up the hill behind and another was moving along the valley far below. It was an incredible sight and one of the great memories I’ll take from the event.

Turning around I knew I had to catch Paul and as the gradient grew less I managed to skip past the intervening people and eventually get back on his heels. Although the wind and rain had died down it was overcast and very dark. It felt like we were running through deepest Mordor trying to evade the watchful eye of Sauron!

Finally we crested a ridge and the seemingly blinding lights of distant towns along Morecambe Bay came swimming into view. Just one more descent and it would be over. But what a drop it was to the Coppermines valley. It was very steep, stony and treacherous given the damp rock. We had to focus one hundred percent and both of us nearly went over at some stage. My quads were screaming and feeling every lump and bump of the path. Paul’s previously untested head torch was also playing up which didn’t help at all.

At last we landed on the gravel road at the bottom and I knew is was technically an easy mile downhill back to the finish. A quick look at the watch which said 11:46 - we had 14 minutes to get back the same day as we'd started. I had a final burst of adrenaline as we pushed as hard as we could into civilisation, past the sadly closed Black Bull, through the village and over the line to cheering marshals and supporters at five to midnight. We’d done it!

THE END…?

I didn’t feel euphoric, it was hard to take it all in. The marshals asked how we were and we both said fine. We were ushered into the school where I shook Paul’s hand and suddenly Captain T was there to personally place a pair of medals around our necks. Then Matt and Andy came over to shake our hands. This was a great moment with most of the TAC crew together and I felt a bit emotional, but there was no time to rest yet. We were moved along to have our dibbers removed and collect our well-earned T-shirts.

I generally felt fine at this point though still didn’t want to sit down. I knew I should try to stretch out but my legs had already turned into concrete so this wasn’t a possibility. Tony, Matt and Andy came over and we exchanged tales from the whole experience. The Haworth brothers had a superb run finishing in 11:24 (we later noted that if we’d only stopped to fill water bottles and grab food to go we’d have been in the same ballpark). Ian was still out there but moving as was Andy Armstrong in the 100 miler.

Caner rolled in and was over the moon to see us, apparently we had inadvertently been his guides for most of the way since Ambleside. He mentioned that he organised the equivalent event in Turkey and that we should go over there! The things you hear...

I called Joanne to let her know I was okay and she said she’d been tracking our progress online with other club members Stobbsy and Chell. After a few minutes on the phone I started feeling dizzy and nauseous so hung up and hobbled outside, retching several times to no avail. It was now a beautiful starlit night but I couldn’t care less. I felt really ropey and could hardly move my locked-up legs.

Heading back inside I tried to stretch but it hurt like hell. I had few more words with Paul and T before gathering my stuff and going back out for air. I told Paul to grab some food, he was starving and usually I’d be first in the food queue too, but I couldn’t face drinking never mind eating. I knew I had to as that was one of the reasons I was feeling so bad but I just couldn’t.

Eventually I crawled into my tent and took forever to take off my gear. My feet and lower legs were cramping like never before. I managed to swallow my last few wet Jelly Babies with a swig of water and got into my sleeping bag. Severely cramping up and shivering uncontrollably I finally drifted off around 1am.

I woke just after 5am and it was already light. I could hear Paul next door and checked my phone. He’d just sent me a message to say he was ready to go whenever I was as he wanted to be home as early as possible. He was already taking down his tent, so I tentatively rolled over and realised my legs were unsurprisingly still in bits. Thankfully the cramps and shivering had stopped and I actually felt hungry!

I shouted Paul, slowly dressed and clambered outside. The midges were going hell for leather and tearing him apart, so I put on my soggy waterproofs to minimise attack and packed up. We dashed into the school and both ordered big fat sausage and egg barms - breakfast of champions!

Paul had seen Ian finish not long after I’d retired in 13:04:05, so we checked on Andy’s progress (he completed the 100 in 32:32:29) before heading off. We said our goodbyes to Tony and set off on a pleasant early morning drive home buzzing from the race.

We were back by 8am but the journey had turned me into a cripple again. Paul was annoyingly fighting fit and professing how he could run the Towneley 10K that afternoon need be. I guess that’s the difference training makes though I was very happy to have made it all the way in a respectable time. As we hadn’t been weighed at the end I went struggled upstairs to the bathroom to check. After drinking over eight litres of fluid and eating a decent amount on the course, plus having a hefty breakfast barm and brew inside me, I’d still lost over three kilos!

But the Lakeland 50 was an outstanding event. Supremely organised, filled with great people - both competitors and marshals - and a tough test through some of Cumbria’s finest terrain. Would I do it again? Absolutely!