This post is going to be a bit different. I tend to waffle on about mental health stuff, in case you hadn't noticed. This relates, of course, partly because my brain with all its dodgy wiring is part of everything I do and experience, and also because running is a significant part of my initial recovery and subsequent descent into insanity. Sometimes it's the best thing I can possibly do for myself, it's freedom and joy and life-giving, and sometimes it's obsession, punishment and a compulsive way to be sure of avoiding any feelings that might dare to appear and attempt to overwhelm me. I haven't a clue which side of the line this falls, but I felt the need to write about it.
I'm not quite as fast on the roads as I used to be, since having my daughter - so I needed a way to take the pressure off myself but still feel like I was achieving something (why, I now ask myself? Why not just enjoy being out there?), and trail running has been it. I've wanted to do a 50 mile race for a really long time, Lakeland 50 was up there at the top of my list - and to cut short a long story that everyone has lived the past 18 months anyway, instead of the 6 month build up I was expecting, an extra year has gone by before I made it to Coniston to give it a go. My outlook and intentions around training have changed a little in the interim, and I genuinely had no idea how it was going to go. The answer, it turns out, was slowly and painfully, but there were things I did differently this time to how I might have approached it last year, and I think that might just be a good thing.
My first move was to ask for support - to ask for the kind of encouragement from friends and family that would help me keep going and make sure I did enough to be proud of my efforts. My next, to make decisions that were kind enough not to sabotage myself. I've made it sound much more complicated than it is - basically, I asked people to take an interest and keep an eye on my tracker, and I ate a lot of jam sandwiches and sat down a few times. Sometimes self-care is simple. I also finished feeling really fucking proud of myself. I had hoped for a particular time goal, and I was much, much slower, which normally would have made me a bit disappointed, or got me wondering where I could have pushed myself harder etc etc etc. The truth is that I did my absolute best on a very difficult route, and it was absolutely enough.
Anyway, brain-bug analysis over, I'm going to write a straightforward race report, to remind myself of why I am rightly rather proud of myself.
Lakeland 50 is iconic in the world of trail running, partly for the wonderful setting and views, and partly for the community and the festival feel of the weekend itself. The day before with registration and setting up camp, totally failing to resist a half of local beer, and the really inclusive and joyful children's fun run had all the anticipation and excitement that I'd missed so much over the last year, and I soaked it up. I could ramble on about the great selection of food, the friendliness of the marshals and everything else about it, but it's probably time to actually start the race.
It was warm. The race briefing was perfect - entertaining, realistic and inspiring, and I felt ready when we got on the coach to make our way to Dalemain for the start. The coach was hot, which was distinctly unpleasant on the twisty journey, but it did have the advantage of making me feel much better as we got off into what felt like relative cool when we arrived. I found the lovely Kath and Dawn and we chilled out on the grass while we waited for 11:30 to come round. When it was time to get into our start pens, they pushed me forward to take a spot around the 13-14 hour predicted time, which I was hoping was conservative. I didn't intend to do anything stupid in the first few miles, and made sure to walk all the uphills on the allegedly flat first loop. It wasn't the easy run a lot of people had claimed prior to the race and I felt pretty hot and uncomfortable for the whole of the first 4 miles, which didn't inspire much confidence for later on. A quick wee stop and the exit from the Dalemain estate perked me up though, it felt like being released onto the 'real' course, and I thoroughly enjoyed the trot through Pooley Bridge and up the hill that I'd flown down in the Ullswater Trail last month. The section up above Ullswater was just as lovely in the opposite direction, and I managed a comfortable jog along most of it, just enjoying the scenery and splashing through the occasional stream. Arriving into Howtown, there was a queue for the checkpoint, which I hadn't expected and didn't know the length of - which was probably lucky as I might have chosen to press on if I'd realised - but I had built up a good buffer of time on my target, and reminded myself this was a long game. I nibbled a snack while waiting, and once I'd been topped up with water and grabbed a bit of flapjack for the walk up the hill I felt ready for the next bit.
The climb up Fusedale was the section that people talked about most before the race. I had no idea what it was going to be like, having never been, and while it was really hot, I was more than comfortable hiking up at a decent rate. I fell in with the very friendly Colin, who was obviously loving the experience as much as I was, and we passed quite a few people, enjoying some cheerful conversation as we went. With his previous two finishes, Colin was able to tell me what was coming, and the promised gentle downhill passed easily while we talked about families, hills and running, surprisingly enough. I slowed a bit as the descent got a bit rockier, and my nerve started to go a bit, along with my quads, on the steeper sections. We finally got down to the lakeside at Haweswater, and as I'd been warned, there was a really long section before the checkpoint. It was really, really hot here, and I had probably only just eaten enough to survive this leg, so the narrow, rocky path was slow going and I couldn't even get a decent walking pace going really for fear of going flying. The bright spot along here was the crystal clear streams and little waterfalls and pools that people were disappearing into to dip hats and cool off a little. I gave into this temptation after a couple of miles and stuck my head into one of the inviting waterfalls, cooled my feet and shared the ecstasy of what someone referred to as 'Lakeland 50 spa' with some runners close by.
Somewhat revived, the end of the lake section was more pleasant, and the checkpoint appeared fairly quickly. I finally understand the flat coke thing for endurance events - it tasted amazing and after downing a cup of this, some squash and a cup of vegetable soup along with a cheese sandwich, I felt completely revived and ready for the next climb. Colin had described Gatesgarth as more of a 'proper path', so I wasn't surprised, but also wasn't thrilled at encountering a load more rocks. The next section is a bit of a blur of rocky tracks and my quads were distinctly unimpressed with the steep downhill sections as I approached Kentmere, it didn't seem to be cooling down and I was doing less and less actual running. I was also beginning to feel a little queasy and had a moment of wondering if I actually was up to this challenge, given that I was only just over halfway... It was at this point that I gave myself a talking to, recalling words from the briefing about this being the decisive point on the course, and getting beyond this checkpoint and on to the next one meant I was statistically very likely to finish. Unlike the majority of people who are indignant about such things, I quite liked the idea of being a statistic in this case. Never mind how I felt, if someone said I would do it if I reached Ambleside, do it I would.
Kentmere checkpoint was an oasis of smoothies, pasta and cheerful marshals, and after perching on a rock for a while I felt stiff and sore but mentally ready to crack on. I fell in with a little group who were bunching up around the massive ladder stiles which characterised the next bit. It was beautiful as the sun started to sink, and it did finally begin to cool down.
I don't remember much else of the next leg, but finally I was in Ambleside and there were people cheering and clapping as I hobbled into an awkward sort of run down the hill. It was definitely nearly dark now, and I felt really emotional reaching the checkpoint and seeing lots of people meeting up with families. I wished at this point that I hadn't been so solidly independent, and had asked A and B to come and meet me, even though it was almost 10pm and would have been a bit of a nightmare for them. Time for another good talking to, as I allowed myself a few tears and a second jam sandwich. Reminded myself again that if I got to Ambleside I was as good as done, and set out again, gritting my teeth.
The least said about the next leg the better... As my friend later put it, it was basically the Rocky Horror Show, and I made all kinds of ridiculous whimpering noises as I picked my way across the narrow, ankle bending paths in what was fast becoming pitch dark. I finally made it to Chapel Stile, where the Angels had provided a toilet with actual paper and sanitiser, which made me feel much happier. Into the tent and... WATERMELON. The actual food of the gods on a long distance run. I don't actually know how many pieces I devoured, doubtless blocking the entrance and making a general nuisance of myself. I gave the 'stew' a go and felt a bit grim afterwards, but luckily Colin and Gareth appeared again and helped me get going. I'd got into my head that it wasn't far to the next checkpoint at Tilberthwaite, but at the painfully slow rate I was managing the downhills, it felt a really long drag.
Everyone raved afterwards about the checkpoint at Tilberthwaite but apparently I was in pretty bad shape at this point, as I failed to notice the charity buckets, decorations etc and got a few concerned looks from marshals as I drank some sugary tea and tried to force down some more food (which was not the apparently amazing cheese toasties that I also mainly failed to notice). I actually was all for giving up at this point just 3 miles from the end, but there was no way I was going to let myself, and I eventually dragged myself out of the very uncomfortable chair and up 'Jacob's ladder' for the last leg. The climb was actually much better than I remembered from the recce and the torch I had pinched from Al after losing my really decent one that I purchased specifically for LL50 at the previous event, was good enough that I didn't feel like I was going to be wandering off the edge of a cliff. The last climb down, however, felt like it was going to finish me off. I was literally whimpering with every step, which sort of helped with the sore quads and general pathetic-ness of my now disappeared shred of courage, but as I hung onto bits of bracken and stood for a few seconds to try and muster up enough bravery to take another step forward, Gareth was there, pointing out that we were actually going to finish. He was kind enough to stick with me on the faltering descent and through the quad-bashing final stretch down the road. In these final two miles, we got to know a bit about each other, and established that our races had gone in exactly the same way, our initial aims much the same, the reality of the challenge sinking in after the first couple of checkpoints, and eventually crawling towards the final turn. We agreed we would jog the last bit, and we finished together vowing never again, in the way that all runners do when they know full well the next morning they will be asking when entries for next year are open.
So Lakeland 50 2022... I'm coming for you. And aim to be a bit quicker. But this year, what I did was enough, and I am proud of myself.
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