Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear - what a shocker of a race I had last weekend.
With the benefit of hindsight, perhaps I’d have been better giving this one a swerve but, as I’d already pre-entered, the Yorkshireman in me made me travel up to Wasdale to take on the infamous Wasdale Horseshoe Fell race.
At 21 miles and 9000ft of climb (& descent!!) Wasdale is regarded as THE hardest race in the fell running calendar.
The route starts at the National Trust campsite at the head of Wast Water and goes over Whinn Rigg, Seatallen, Pillar and Great Gable before finishing with a quick trip up and down England’s highest mountain Scafell Pike. The last mile is an absolute killer with a suicidal descent down the nose of Lingmell back to the campsite.
As we trundled up to Wasdale the night before the race, it dawned on me that as I’d spent any recent free time of reasonable length putting miles in on my bike in preparation for the Marmotte (see earlier post), the longest run I’d done since the 3 Peaks in April was a measly 1 hour 20 mins!!! Here I was about to take on a 5 hour trek around England’s biggest mountains - not perhaps the wisest thing to do….
Despite forecasts to the contrary, Saturday dawned bright and sunny and rather than worrying about being hammered by rain or blown off a ridge by a gale force wind, we were all more concerened about sunburn and dehydration.
We set off at 11.00am and the first climb up Whinn Rigg is steady but immediate as it starts to rise right from the start field. I didn’t feel too bad up this first climb and kept in touch with my mates Andy Jebb and Paul Mitchell as we dibbed the first checkpoint. From here it’s a very steep drop back down into the valley bottom and as I hit the valley and started my way across to Seatallen I already knew I was in for a tough day - my legs felt heavy and I was already very hot.
I took on some water at the road crossing and popped a Nuun tablet into my bottle - it’s the first time I’ve used these little fizzy fellows and I must say I was mighty impressed - they certainly earled their place on some more adventures - check em out at http://www.nuun.com/.
The climb up Seatallen is a real grueler and when I reached the top it took a lot of effort to squeeze out a feeble ‘thanks for marshalling’ to the chap with the dibber.
The next section of the race is real lakeland ‘eye-candy’ and the weather on the day made it a truly special view across Scoat Fell and on to Pillar standing majestically in the distance. Unfortunately I was now in deep trouble, with only two checkpoints in the bag and the real serious climbing ahead I’d blown. As I staggered across to Pillar, on a track that’s a runner’s dream on fresh legs, I had to stop at any sign of water to rinse my face and soak my trusty Buff that was draped down my neck in pirate fashion.
I tried to take on a Zipvit energy gel but it was way too caffeinated and thick and wouldn’t go down. By this time the DNF devil was already knocking at my shoulder and I was trying my best to ignore him and enjoy the view. This was my first race as a Vet 40 and although I’d already given up any hope of a decent time or position, I didn’t want to mark my passage in to seniority by packing.
I pushed on up Pillar and managed to get a good line round to Wind Gap which cheered me a up a bit as I’d missed it last time I did the race in 2005. By now folk were coming past me in droves and I was already starting to see faces of runners that I usually beat by miles in events like this - with two big mountains to go this was going to be a huge test of will power and stamina….
I came off Pillar and looked seriously at Black Sail pass disappearing off to my right which offered an easy passage back down to Wasdale head, the camper van, cold drinks, real food and a pub. The words of my old pal Ady Netherwood were ringing in my ears “I haven’t got a pack in me…” and thinking about how much better the beer would taste that night if I actually managed to finish, I pressed on towards Great Gable.
The Gable climb on the Wasdale race is a beast - straight up the back - getting steeper and more technical as it climbs, to the point where you have to pick your line carefully and scramble using four points of contact over the summit boulders to the checkpoint. Here a kindly marshal took pity on my sunken eyes, drooped shoulders and wobbly legs and gave me a sweet - a little jelly man. This kind gesture picked me up far more than the few milligrams of sugar that I sucked out of my little gelatine friend and I stumbled down to Sty Head where I knew my mates mum and dad would be with a drink. As I approached Anne she held out a bottle of juice and asked if I was having a bad day. This was not a real question that needed an answer but a kind of acknowledgement of my suffering and in a strange way it made me feel a little better as I knew that she knew I was well out of position and that I was on a personal crusade just to finish - as I passed Pete he commented that there was just one little climb to go - we smirked at each other both knowing full well that this ‘last little last climb’ was up the path to the highest point in England!!!
As I set off up to Esk Hause I knew I was beaten but also that I’d finish as once you’re passed Sty Head there is no other escape routes.
The rest of the race was nothing more than a trudge interspersed with a few feeble jogs and as I neared the summit my good old pal Dave Stephenson caught me - ‘Hi Andy - have you blown?’ - ‘Back on Whinn Rigg!!’ was my reply. Dave looked strong and after forcing me to take one of his gels (his SIS-Go gel tasted much better) he romped off into the distance leaving me staggering like a wounded soldier up to the summit.
I dibbed at the top, thanking the marshal but completely blanking the dozens of other folk up there, most of whom I guess were on their second peak of a National 3 peaks 24 hour challenge, and headed off down to the finish.
There’s a famous saying that suggests that a mountain has not been conquored until you’ve been to the top AND back down again and I was now starting to think of what lay ahead. The descent off the Pike is possibly harder than the ascent as it’s very technical at the top, then it gets steeper towards the bottom and just as your quads start to shout for mercy there’s a 1 mile plunge down Lingmell on a steep loose track.
At points I was reduced to walking backwards down here as my quads had gone on strike but eventually I reached the finish, dibbed and went to find a place to rest. I was VERY grateful that none of my pals were there to greet me as I was in no mood for chatting. I literraly flopped down in the grass with my back against a fence and sat, and sat and sat.
Shortly after my mate Steve Fry finished (Steve had been for a 10 mile run the night before and then jogged the course slow and steady as a training run for his forthcoming Lakeland 100 race) and as always he was so full of words that lots of them were falling out of his mouth. By this time I was once again ready to accept guests and his chipper manner brought me round a tad. We traded our race numbers for some ’stew’, which one runner suggested had been made using cigars instead of meat, and after a couple of cups of tea I started to come round a bit.
A quick shower and a change of duds and off we went to the pub for a proper meal and some ‘rehydration’.
All in all a hard day in the hills which again was an exercise in perseverance and determination but, all things considered it was a great event and another weekend of experiences to add to the ‘we’ll laugh about that one day’ drawer (which is getting rather full…!!)
Now, as Doctor Who says - I think it’s time to Regenerate…….
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