Reports – Page 2 – SHEFFIELD RUNNING CLUB

Valencia Training Report

Posted on September 16, 2019March 30, 2020

Report by Rob Cassy

Following the success of the Sheffield RC warm weather training in Portugal in August 2018, tentative plans for a similar trip were floated in early 2019. With the “Vilamoura effect” still fresh in the minds of most members (many members who went immediately returned to record new PBs!), interest in another trip was high.

Valencia was generally agreed to be a suitable destination, and so the task of finding accommodation, dates and flights etc. began in earnest. As with any trip of this nature, finding dates and a budget that suited everyone proved problematic. This coupled with the fact that life is rarely straight forward, and unforeseen circumstances happen, meant by the time we were packing our suitcases for Spain, myself and Ben were the last runners standing in the quest for warm weather training for 2019!

Before we knew it the day to depart had arrived. As luck would have it we were leaving late on a Saturday afternoon, which meant we could both sneak our weekly fix of park running in before getting to East Midlands airport. I am sure Dave O will be delighted to hear this! A reasonably short flight and a metro ride later and we were unpacking our 20kgs worth of baggage allowance (basically running kit and not much else!) in what was to be our apartment for the week. Hungry, but wanting to explore our exciting new surroundings whilst there were still some hours of the day left, we left the apartment to find fuel for our planned track session the next morning. We settled on a quiet café type place where we could sit outside. A club sandwich each later, and we were ready to head back and get some much-needed sleep ahead of our first full day.

The first mission of day one was to run out and get provisions as quick as possible from the local supermarket, so we could get to the local track as quick as possible. With the apartment fridge now full of drinks and essentials, we headed off to the Estadi del Turio armed with sun tan lotion, flannels and bottles of Aquarius (an exotic lemony drink and a staple of all Sheffield RC warm weather training weeks!) Delighted to find we had the track all to ourselves and for a snip of 2.55 euros each, we wasted no time in starting our warm up laps and sprint drills. Now sufficiently ‘warmed up’, (although I’m not sure how much warmer we could have got given the heat!), we began a session of longer reps with longer recoveries, which worked towards shorted reps and shorter recoveries. “This is a session that gets easier as it goes on” said Ben (I think he was trying to convince us both!). After a session that went something like 1,600m – 5 mins rest, 1,200m – 4 mins rest, 800m – 3 mins rest, 400m – 2 mins rest, with a final 200m we had conquered our first warm weather track session! After a bizarre lunch which featured a ham and cheese roll appetizer then a huge bowl of salad for a main course (in truth we didn’t know what we were ordering!) we were ready to relax for the rest of the afternoon in prep for our recovery run later that evening.

Our first evening recovery run location, which would become a “go-to” routine during the holiday, was at the Turia Gardens. As luck would have it our apartment was only a third of mile away from Turia Garden’s purpose built 5k running circuit which runs along a dry river bed through the heart of the city. Not only does it boast 110-hectre area of parkland, sports facilities and public attractions, but it is also apparently the third most popular running circuit in the whole of Spain! 7 miles of easy running later followed by English breakfast sandwiches and beer and our first full day was complete.

The next day our plan was to do a seven mile run in the morning, somewhere between the pace we were doing on the track and the previous night’s recovery run. The Turia Gardens again seemed to suit as it meant not having to stop at every junction or traffic light, or having to worry massively about the route we were taking. Although not the hottest part of the day, we were definitely getting the warm weather training we had planned for months on experiencing! Another session done and a quick stop at Aldi and we were back at the apartment looking through Ben’s handy Valencia travel book (thanks to Georgina), wondering what sights could be on our door step that we should visit before our week was out.

Search for the Holy Grail

It wasn’t long before I turned the page to read about Valencia Cathedral and its claim to be home of the holy grail. Being only a mile away, we decided we had to see this for ourselves (or more accurately, that was probably what I decided in my blinkered enthusiasm, and Ben was probably too tired from that mornings run to argue!) so off we went armed with Google maps to track it down. If only Indiana Jones had thought of that.

With the search for the holy grail now successfully checked off, we had time to have a walk around Valencia’s old and new town. Satisfied that we had explored enough of Valencia as possible that day, we headed back to the apartment for a brief unwind before our evening recovery run. I was still not used to double running at this point whilst Ben seemed to be taking it in his stride. However, we met our 5 mile quota for that evening and headed out for tea and well-earned beers.

The next day was to be our second visit to the track. This session was to be in a relay format of us both taking it in turns to run 400m with one rep being a mile in total. The aim was for each of us to try and maintain sub 5 minute mile pace throughout. We were both working hard, and this was noticed by some of the local runners stood beside the track, who generously clapped us as we sprinted round. Despite their encouragement, I waved the white flag during rep four, but Ben carried on like the trooper he is. We then ran 400m, 300m, 200m and then a 100m together to complete the session. We had put in a real shift, so a trip to the beach was well deserved.

Determined to make the trip resemble something like a ‘normal’ holiday we took the metro to the coast, where we walked along the beach and ate ice cream. Running was never far from our minds however as we noticed the runners using the route from the Real Juan Carlos Marina towards Port Saplaya and agreed it would work well for our next long run. We also walked along the Marina as we were curious about where the old European F1 circuit once took place. The lure of the beach proved too much, and we spent the rest of day relaxing there and impromptu paddling in the sea followed. Having agreed we’d had our fill of sand and sea we hopped on the metro to go back to the apartment, ready for our now regular recovery run at the Turia Gardens circuit. We would finish the day with late pizza to give us plenty of carbs for the next day’s running.

Valencia CF

By Wednesday we were well into a routine of waking up, quickly having breakfast and getting down to the track as soon as possible before the hottest part of the day was upon us. Our penultimate track session was a type of pyramid of 1 x 500m, followed by 5 x 1000m ending with a couple of 500m intervals. We were now coping a lot better with the heat and had plenty of energy left at the end of the session to see if we could find the whereabouts of the Mestalla Stadium (home of Valencia CF).

We were becoming semi pros at taking the metro and finding our way around by this point, and in no time we were stood outside the impressive stadium. After realising we could actually go inside and do the tour for less than 10 euros, we eagerly booked our tickets and sat outside the Valencia’s supporters bar having a beer until our tour start time arrived. The tour itself lasted about an hour. Being fans of Sheffield Wednesday and Yeovil Town, this was as close to the home of champions league football as Ben and I are ever likely to get. So, we looked on in wonder of the sight of trophy cabinets full of iconic awards and grandiose tributes to Valencia’s world class players, both past and present, celebrating famous victories. This was far from the footballing world we were both accustomed to!

Now officially Valencia fans (or at least with Valencia being our new ‘second’ team) we headed back to the apartment. We would finish the day with another 5.5 mile recovery run at the Turia Gardens. We were so impressed by the previous night’s pizza we headed straight back for more before retiring for the day.

The next day we would do our longest run of the holiday, and this is where our previous recce of the Valencia’s waterfront route would come in handy. The route was nice and flat and with water fountains and ice-cream stalls scattered along the route, we managed to keep our de-hydration and Ben’s diabetes at bay and complete a half marathon’s worth of coastal running, navigating harbours and off-road track on route. Not content without doing the full 13.1 miles, we double tracked back up the promenade where we stopped again for ice cream.

Club Sandwich Brigade

Later that evening, after our customary recovery run we returned to our first port of call when we arrived for tea on night one. We saw no reason to deviate from a winning formula, so we ordered the same club sandwiches and coke zeros much to the amusement of the waitress who recognised us and our choices from the first night.

Without understanding how, Friday had arrived. This was to be another first for me and was to be my first experience of barefoot beach running (apparently a tradition carried over from Vilamoura). Once at the beach, we hid our trainers in some nearby rocks, and began running a mile along the harder sand where the beach met the tide. We repeated the mile up and down six times, weaving in and out of the water and other beach goers at a leisurely pace.

We had been envious seeing everyone swimming when we first went to the beach, and this time we had come prepared. We finished our final coastal run, by taking it in turns for a swim in the sea. We spent a couple of hours on the beach sun bathing and going for more dips in the sea whenever the mood took us. This wasn’t in the training plan, although I guess technically the swimming could count as “cross training” if we were clutching at straws! We then found a rather plush looking restaurant/bar along the promenade at stopped for lunch. You guessed it, club sandwiches and a refreshing drink!

Once back in sight of Valencia where we were staying, we did a whistle stop tour of the old town to find souvenirs to take home. Fridge magnets and anything with the emblem of Valencia CF seemed fitting reminders of our time in Valencia. With our final recovery run looming, we quickly grabbed them and headed back, pleased that another checkbox had been ticked.

After our final 3 mile recovery run, we checked in online with slightly heavy hearts knowing that this signified the beginning of the end of our trip. To console ourselves, we headed to our favourite local café for food and beer. We were greeted with an excited cry of “Amigos!” by our now well-acquainted waitress. Perhaps she was sensing our disappointment at the thought of returning home. “Club sandwiches?” she asked expectantly. Realising we were in danger of becoming Valencia’s “club sandwich brigade” we saved face by ordering burgers.

Our final day had arrived and the session we had been gearing up to all week was here… Just how quickly could we run a continuous 5k around a running track using our recently banked warm weather training? After customary warmups and drills we were straight into it. It wasn’t long before the heat hit us, and the thoughts of new 5k PBs quickly evaporated. We were however determined to finish the task we set out to do, PB or not. We eventually finished, both approximately a minute outside the time we would ordinarily expect for the distance. Not too disheartened, knowing we had put in decent efforts and that the 80 miles we had ran during the week was showing, we returned to the apartment to pick up our cases before the metro ride to the airport.

The flight home passed without incident, despite Ben’s best efforts to keep us in Valencia by confusing the boarding card barcode reader with his tablet (twice!) We said our farewells at East Midlands Airport and began our separate journeys back to Swindon and Sheffield. At that was a wrap for our warm weather training of 2019!

So, there you have it. I hope this gives some idea of what a warm weather training week can be like. We have already talked about something similar in 2020 and agreed it would be great if a few more Sheffield RC faces could join us. It should be emphasised that not all sessions are mandatory, and you can pick up or drop whatever ones you like. So, if you’re curious about a future trip, but concerned that you will spend a week being a slave to the track, I hope the above report will ease some concerns – the holiday can really be whatever you want it to be! Rest assured, we do plenty of “normal” holiday stuff too!

And if you’re still not convinced, within two weeks since returning, between us we have a 10k PB, a veteran win, a 2^nd senior finish and race prizes ranging from vouchers to cash to show for our efforts… further proof along with the glut of post Vilamoura PBs, that there is definitely something in this warm weather training malarkey… what’s not to like 😊?

Dales Way Ultra

Posted on August 18, 2019March 30, 2020

Report by Helen Pickford

Mid August I participated in a new ultra marathon – The Dales Way Ultra and 82ish mile run depending if you are using a Garmin watch or a Suunto watch. It starts in Bowness in Windermere, in the Lake District and goes all the way to Ikley in West Yorkshire. It passes through the heart of my favourite landscape; the Yorkshire Dales National Park. It was put on to celebrate its 50th year. So lets give it a go.

An ultramarathon for those of you who are unsure is anything over a marathon distance and often involves lots of food, chatting, beautiful countryside and wild poos. It’s so glamorous, honest!

The days leading up to the event it had been raining cats and dogs, but the weather gods were kind to us on the day and we had lovely fluffy clouds with sunny intervals. Perfect running conditions.

Most ultramarathons require you to take certain ‘kit’, this involves a spare long sleeved top, survival blanket, whistle, map, your own food and drink. It was self navigation though the route being an established ‘walking’ route had sporadic signs. This particular ultra had 7 checkpoints along the way so there was no need to take too much food. The checkpoints resemble kids birthday parties, with lots of crisps, savoury snacks, sweets and the like.

Everyone got asked to show their map as part of the compulsory kit check at registration. I had the official ‘Harvey’s Dales Way map and my watch with the GPX on it.

At the start line

130 runners towed the start line as a briefing was given and my own cynical reservations were quickly forgotten as we were off. As usual people came spurting past, rushing headlong probably not quite realising there were another 81.6 miles to go. Each runner tearing past me faster than a Peregrine Falcon stooping catch its pray. I had placed myself around two thirds back, moving like a three-toed sloth. Yet I knew I had 80 plus miles ahead of me, and I was going to take it steady for the first few muddy miles. After around 2 miles the front runners had gone the wrong way and came hurtling back down the hill like they were in a National championship fell race.

With events like this every little thing just needs to be broken down into one step at a time. I never look ahead at how far the run is, otherwise I’d never begin. I just start running, slowly very slowly, that way I find there is a greater chance I will finish, I don’t overthink it I just try and love the magical journey and I run it.

The dales way although not really that hilly with around 7000ft of climb had a brobdingnagian amount of obstacles; from large metal farm gates to tiny springy wooden hobbit like gates, a million and one stiles, from the common step stiles to step-ladders rising to a point over the limestone dry stone walls characteristic particularly of the Yorkshire Dales and much more difficult to negotiate especially after 100km. Stone steps from the flanks of the dry-stone walls to the squeeze stiles and we would be very lucky if we’d just have a gap amongst the waterlogged meadows.

The first checkpoint was around 10 miles in, we had to leave the official Dales Way to reach this checkpoint. I had overtaken a few people already as some of them had gone out far too fast. I was straight in and out after I had registered my number, no point in hanging about this early on in the game.

About 10 of us had now formed a little cluster. Some of the guys were just following others and not reading their map. This became obvious at a number of junctions and through a number of fields when they would stop and pause. I was following my GPX file but always had my map handy as well, another guy was just using his map. The route had not been too strenuous yet, a few bumps here and there but nothing to get excited about.

Passing through more soggy fields, and over the M6, our little group had dispersed slightly. The next checkpoint was at 18 miles, an outdoor picnic table full of goodies. A quick fill up with water and I was off again, leaving some of the pack I had been running with to pack faff. I was good for fuel, with my energy drink, and muesli type bars chopped up I was feeling swift and my legs were flowing well.

What a beautiful feeling

I was running on my own a little and then whistled back a guy who had decided to deviate into someones back garden. Another guy caught me up and we ran on together for a while chatting a little and enjoying the picturesque sunny day. What a beautiful feeling.

There was plenty of riverbank running, with picture postcard viaducts and exquisiteness of some odd shaped buildings. Some of the paths were covered with dark mud other times we were on exposed moorland. Myself and the other guy caught up with a few others. There were now a group of about 5 of us. I found myself ‘leading’ the pack. I felt a bit guilty as I wasn’t going very fast and it was a narrow pathway but they were all following me with no attempt to break through and squeeze past me. We all kept together making little chit chat until we were stopped in our tracks – literally. Stopped in our tracks by a farmer with his tractor. Mr Farmer who was about 90 was not going to let us past, oh no. He instead drove at minus one mile an hour to our annoyance, and only just squeezed down the narrow path with his big red tractor and trailer on the back. Frustration on all our faces and in our legs as this was a nice downhill descent where we could have let the legs off the lead. It seemed like hours before Mr Farmer turned off although I guess it was only about 5 minutes. Once it turned off I was off, skipping and bounding down the track, a big springiness in my step and a smile on my face.

Streams of water, dirty rich, flowed along the official pathway. With a few nettles to add to the sting, I skipped over the rain washed ground, careless and free. Now running with just a couple of others on the country lane an unnecessary people carrier stopped us in our tracks, not another incident of the tractor man I hoped. We squeezed past it and picked up the pace on the flat-ish but winding tarmac for about half a mile.

There was a little turn away from the road which I had marked on my GPX file as I had been down on this part of the route before and previously missed the turning just as a guy in bright orange had done so in front. I whistled him back and gave him a wave as we swam our way across a very boggy field towards the riverside. It was flat-ish but not fast. The abundance of stiles and muddy pathways scattered with tree roots kept us on our toes along with a few cows glaring at us ‘what are you doing in our field’ they would say to us.

The next checkpoint at Dent village hall was another out and back, this bit was signposted with the standard yellow event signs, leaving the Dales Way for a few hundred metres or so to pick up supplies for the next section. Dent is one of the loveliest of Dales villages, white-walled cottages and ancient buildings make it a fascinating check point location. But no time to stop and marvel at the fascinating village, I was in and out before you could shout boo at a goose no time for faffing lets get on with this. Lets do it!

I had taken 3 mini scotch egg type things and a bit of some other random savoury picnic bite munchy thing and split my water all over the lovely floor (sorry!). I said my goodbyes with lots of ‘good lucks‘ thrown my way and off I went feeling good.

Bramble filled pathways meandered around the river path with cute bridges to cross. There was just me and one other guy now but I soon left the other guy maybe in a cow patt I am not sure, and got into my own ultra pace.

The next stretch was always going to be a little tiresome; flat tarmac. However this would not defeat me. I wasn’t the only one finding it a strain as I caught up with and passed a few guys walking. At the point where I began walking the Race Director van came past and gave us a wave – that is just typical. Just typical.

I got chatting to another guy who told me all about his ‘Spine’ adventures (The Spine and Spine Challenger races happen in January and June across the Pennine Way 108 miles and 268 miles so what I was doing today was baby compared to that)

One of my favourite sections was across rugged moorland on a place called Stoops Moss, with stunning views of the Three Yorkshire Peaks, absolutely idyllically picturesque. I was smiling to myself – even 38 miles in. Beautiful world.

Halfway checkpoint

The half way checkpoint was at a cute little cottage called Gearstones where dropbags would be waiting for us. Dropbags can contain extra gear and food to save you carrying it all but must not be any larger than a carrier bag. They were serving hot food (Shepards Pie, Stew, rice pudding and savoury and sweet pies) but it was a bit hectic inside with the amount of runners scoffing down their meals and I didn’t really fancy any of that. To be polite I asked for 2 slices of toast whilst that was toasting I faffed with my drop bag. As it was such a nice day I left my extra clothes (long trousers and extra top for the night time) and just took my bars and energy powder.

The next section was a 2 mile ish climb up the road of hell, Cam End – an old roman road incorporating the Pennine Way and the Dales Way. It was a good opportunity to eat my toast. A old rickety sign indicated the Dales Way across the moorland, boggy and bouncy and scrumptiously muddy, beautiful fun. With scattered homesteads in the distance the fell and valley floor shimmering in the early evening sun, I felt alive and content. Just me and a few metal gates and disintegrated stiles. I was in my element and no one know where I was literally, as this was where the trackers went on the blink due to the lack of mobile signal. Not a runner in sight, just me a bleak sense of beauty just running. Its so simple. Ultras do not come much nicer than this.

Once I was back down the valley following the River Whalf I could see a red runner and a blue runner down the valley heading towards the next checkpoint at Buckden around 63 miles in.

Another traffic jam as Mr Farmer was herding his sheep for the day, so I stopped to let that happen. So on this ultra I had been held back by a tractor, an unnecessary people carrier and then a Sheep herding – its a good job I wasn’t clock watching (or that it was a road race!)

If you are ever feeling good in an ultra – you’ll get over it. And yes, my tummy had decided to get angry with the amount of ultra sweetness I had consumed. I tried to eat half a Chia bar but it didn’t go down too well with sharp indigestion, gas and other discomforts I was now eager to get to Buckden to get some full fat coke down me – an ultra runners dream drink!

At the checkpoint they helped fill up my waterbottles, I’d caught Mr Red and Mr Blue runner up. I was at this point told I was first female. I downed a full cup of coke, smiled took extra coke for my journey along with a couple of pieces of millionaire’s shortcake and some water which I used for the remaining 25 miles of the journey. Coke and water. If you’d ask me to run a marathon on Coke and water I would have thrown coke in your face but on Ultras you do whatever it takes to keep going. It’s the real thing.

Ready for the darkness

The cool evening air and the last rays of sunlight were about to say goodnight. One of the guys from the last checkpoint caught me up, I was walking a little at this point and I began to feel deflated and defeated. I took a faff break and pull out my head torch and buff ready for the darkness.

Kettlewell, the next village I’d reached just in day light. If it had been in darkness I could have mistakenly had the best hallucinations ever, Kettlewell Scarecrow Festival was on and scarecrows of every sort of animal, person and celebratory could be spotted in every nook and cranny. Do you expect to see Elvis jumping out on you or or Willy Wonker hanging off a washing line or a giant lion, elephant or giraffe or weird and wonderful creations clambering up drainpipes and peaking over walls in such an idyllic Yorkshire Dales village?

The last of the big climbs onto some grassy moorland beckoned us. Some people went wrong on this section but I’d been up here before so I knew the best route to take, as there were a multitude of paths. The other guy was having a good patch and had gone in front but it wasn’t long before he went a little bit wrong and I shouted him back. Running together, we made polite ultra conversation with the ‘how you finding the hills’ which brought on ‘where are you from?’ type questions. Only to find out that we are practically neighbours living about half a mile away from each other in Sheffield. I then turned around and asked the inevitable ‘You’re not a b****y strider are you‘. Of course he was a bl**** strider! Right – mission on, I have to beat this guy. (Only Joking still 17 miles to go)

We made our way into the delightful village of Grassington I just filled up on – yes you guessed it – Coke and Water. I was asked if I wanted any pasta but not for me, my insides were still razor sharp. I wanted on my way and I had a mission. I had not even realised my position in the whole of the pack at this stage, of course I’d like to keep my 1st female position but as I rightly know anything can happen in an ultra even in the last few miles, so I was not home yet. However it did give me that little bit of a push to carry on and not take the chair of doom even for a few minutes. The other guy had taken the chair of doom.

It was now pitch black and my headtorch was guiding the way. Periodically there would be rabbits, hedgehogs, sheep and cows carelessly running through my path. The cows were possibly the most obstructive. At times I was possibly a little frightened but moved as swiftly as I could without upsetting their land.

I bounced over the rather quaint Hebden suspension bridge, laughing to myself at the madness of my adventure. Why do we do this? It was nearly midnight and I was bouncing over a suspension bridge….

Following the riverside the craggy pathway was not the easiest to negotiate even with a decent head torch. I was now running alongside a campsite, whispers of happy campers filled the air and then suddenly a voice boomed ‘Well done keep running’ and I went splat, face planted straight onto the hard concrete. I’d managed to stay vertical all this time for around 70ish miles. No harm was done as a little trickle of blood ran down my leg and I brushed off the graze from my hand. Pick yourself up Ms Pickford and get on with it.

I was now in the dark grounds of Bolton Abbey. It was here when my head torch decided to flash indicating that I only had 30 minutes left on emergency mode as I’d put it on the wrong setting to start with. Was I less than 2 miles away from the checkpoint? Could I get to the checkpoint before my light went? I did have an extra battery for my head torch it was just that I really needed light to change the battery. It never occurred to me that my mobile phone has a light on it and I could have changed it, but in the middle of dark woods it would probably be wiser just to run slower on the emergency setting. Stay calm and just run.

A friendly marshal pointed me across a bridge full of glow sticks and picnic table full of goodies. I had no concept of time at all it could have been around midnight all I wanted was a new battery in my head torch and some more Coke and Water to see me through the remaining 7 miles. My legs were reasonably OK for 75 miles of Dales Wayness, it was just the tummy that had decided to give in.

Through Bolton Abbey with my new battery I was back in happy land moving well through grassy fields and hoisting myself up many a ladder stiles. Only 5 or so miles to go. I am not sure where my strider friend went, I was certainly on my own at this point and was determined to push on. A floodlight startled me at a caravan park as I ran past it towards a sign that said ‘Footpath this way’. Double checking my map I nodded to myself and followed the signs.

Just 3 miles to go

Just 3 miles to go. I don’t do Parkrun but if I did it would be under a park run to go. But I don’t so that is irrelevant. A little further on, the official map makes a ‘U’ shape and shows the route running through someones back garden and lounge. As much as I would love a cup of tea I don’t think they’d be impressed with a smelly ultra runner climbing through their window at 1am in the morning, the joys of new housing estates along established walking routes.

I was nearly ‘home’, nearly there, a little further to go, a little more tarmac a little more woodland and then I could see the Tennis club roof in sight. The sheep moved slowly and randomly whilst I trotted alongside the field, their eyes poking fun at me and my legs, tired but full of determination to run that 1 more mile.

I reached the tennis club. a little gazebo with a ‘finish’ sign, glared at me but that was not the end. The Race Director – Ryk gave me instructions to run up to the end of the Dales Way another half mile ish where there would be a letter of the alphabet pinned to the lamppost next to the stone bench indicating the start / finish of the Dales Way. I ran up and into a dark alley way. I mean really would you run up a dark alley way in the middle of Ikley at 1.30am in the morning? Really? Why? Yes Why! so I got to the end of the Official Dales Way glanced at the post – why, Y, y, Why? Yes Why! So I had to run back and give the answer Y. What was the question I do not know. I just know the answer was Y.

I received a hand full of clapping from 3 or 4 hardy marshals as I ran back down the lane and into the finish. There Finished. Why? ‘Congratulations, 1st Female‘ announced the Race Director, ‘and 4th overall’ I was taken a back a little by the last comment, how could I have got through most of the pack like that? Not just Y but how?

The kind finish crew made me a cup of tea. I stopped my watch not caring what time it was, I’d mistakenly started it about half an hour early at the registration rather than the start so it was wrong anyway and quite frankly I didn’t care one bit. I wanted a cuppa tea and I kindly took some bean stew stuff which I managed to get down me. Ryk, the Race Director was chatting to me about his own Spine adventures at the same time as trying to organise people who were dropping out, who had got lost or who had felt like they had lost a foot or two. He described his events as ‘no frills’ and that’s what it was, a brilliant no-frills event. It was great to see the workings behind the scenes of 100 or so runners scattered about the Dales, the safety of the event, the logistics and the amount of organisation and patience that must go into something like this, and all we do is Run run run.

After a while, the Strider came marching in. I congratulated him and we had a little chat. It was then time for me to go but not before collecting my tee, medal, Dales Way booklet and a lovely plaque saying ‘First Female’ on it. Rather chuffed. A few days later I found out my official time was 16 hours 59 minutes and 22 seconds. First Male was around 14 hrs 30 minutes and last person came in around 34 hours.

Runner: ingredients: determination, humour, obstinance, strength, spirits, hopes, dreams

My First Ultra – The Urban Legend

Posted on June 17, 2019April 6, 2020

Report by Neal

After my return to the marathon distance last year in Malta no sooner had I crossed the finish line (I was actually in the bath in my luxury hotel suite (sorry I’ll never tire of mentioning my hotel room in Malta)) that I began to think about what I would do next. My quickest times were well behind me so distance had to be the objective which meant an Ultra. I immediately dismissed this as what little I knew about ultra running instantly put me off apart from the increased distance. Self navigation on ridiculous rocky terrain and carrying your own kit I’d never be able to manage that and if I didn’t get lost in the middle of nowhere I’d probably turn up fail the kit check and just have to go straight home with my tail between my legs .

However during the course of the rest of the year thanks to the encouragement of my closest running friends these things between to change. A few fell races began to break down my inhibitions this moved onto doing recces on various races and then one of my consultancy team kindly gave me a watch including navigation. This was great it didn’t matter if you had no sense of direction the magic watch would guide you home.

The Dig Deep 12:12 was the big breakthrough as this gave me some proper race focus and in preparation we did a couple of recces both in the pouring rain. The highlight of the recces was no doubt Claire’s foaming tracksters as the Burbage rain obviously disagreed with her laundry powder. This helped break the gloom of a miserable morning which then turned into the afternoon as we seemed to be out for ages but who cares did you see the terrain we were running on !

After a visit to Accelerate my kit was complete and at least I now had the gear and a bit of an idea as the saying goes. After two recces in the pouring rain the weather on the day itself for 12:12 was shocking which was only to be expected after all. I loved it as my made my way steadily out around the course (which was thankfully marked) in the pouring rain in my new running jacket which
when I’d bought it I thought that it was far too expensive but on the day itself it was worth every single penny. During the race David Addenbrooke in just vest and pants shot past me in the opposite direction heading for the finish before I’d even got halfway round ! SRC the fully inclusive club.

A bit of cross country in the mud to end the year strengthened my resolve that I was no longer just a road runner and it was now time to devise a training plan and pick a race. After a bit of research I devised a training plan that was varied and flexible enough to allow me to complete my midweek SRC duties whilst increasing my mileage and just like a marathon plan the key was the long Sunday run. I even threw in a bit of track as thanks to the strength work I’d been doing I could now handle back to back sessions and in some cases double sessions were key to increasing the mileage. The Yorkshires, Northerns and Nationals complemented the other off road work I’d been doing nicely.

Sadly the race I’d been told about as the ideal starter ultra by my chief consultant was full by the time I’d convinced myself that I could do one and after a bit more research I settled on the Punk Panther Urban Legend starting in Otley. This meant an extra month of training with an emphasis on hills due to the increased elevation in the Urban Legend as I made my way around Tinsley Park Woods before work with 70 Acre Hill my new best friend !

Finally after a very very brief taper which included a Trunce and Kimmy Kanter it was race day.
Helen C had very kindly agreed to drive me up to Otley as she combined visiting friends and family with being my seconds (as the phrase goes). My nerves were dispelled by Helen pointing out her childhood haunts to me as we eased our way through the centre of Leeds and up towards Otley. We arrived at race HQ at the Otley Methodist Church where I passed kit check with flying colours.
After checking my kit at least 10 times on Friday night it would have been a tad disappointing to get a DQ and have to come straight home again !

I was issued with number 41 out of 54 across the three course distances and after one final toilet stop we drove the short distance to the start which was on a pretty seedy gravel car park next to a bridge crossing the Leeds Road. Whilst we were waiting we were amused to see one competitor move their car closer to the start to bag a better parking space. That will make all the difference after 30 miles ! It was then time to make final decisions on kit I settled for short sleeves and jacket on before the race briefing. The whole event seemed quite relaxed and the briefing reflected this with a very “simple look for the yellow tape and if you get lost give me a ring”.

So finally it was time to get started and Helen’s parting words of “Well you’ve come this far” helped settle me down after all I’d done the training just enjoy the day. Literally within ten seconds of starting the rain began to fall as it would do on and off for the rest of the day. We crossed over the bridge and then went straight upwards through the Chevin Forest Park up to what is known as Surprise View. Helen had plenty of time to get the car up there to get a couple of pictures as I tackled over 900 feet within the first mile before finally finding some flat terrain.

We headed off in the direction of Yeadon due south and I initially struggled as after the first 10K the sweepers were on my tail and having to direct me as some of the vital yellow tape was missing. This wasn’t great for the self confidence but a bit of solid road saw me pick up the pace a fraction and I began to catch some of the other competitors. They were probably doing the medium or longer routes but I felt much better for not having the sweeping crew on my tail.

Helen appeared and paced me around the water what was Yeadon Tarn, this is where I came across my new ultra bestie Mark who described himself as a walker who runs a bit. He would become a familiar face over the next 25 miles. Helen bid me farewell and headed off to lunch whilst I headed off towards Horsforth.

The course was what I’d really expected and even after 10 miles I’d encountered all sorts of terrain and a few animals to boot. Some of the gates were a bit of a menace though as my beloved number magnets keep being attracted to them and as I was wearing my jacket my number had been attached to my shorts. This effectively gave me a magnetic upper left leg for the duration. At the 12 mile checkpoint I filled up my water bottle took a few jelly babies and took off my jacket.

It was still drizzling but pretty mild at this stage. I pushed on past the halfway stage and began to take a bit more note of the urban sprawl which I encountered, a bit like RSR you would run across a pretty nice bit of trail emerge onto a main road and then after crossing pick up another footpath with a slightly different type of trail sometimes rocky sometimes uphill sometimes downhill and if you were lucky runnable before then emerging onto another main road. At one point I ran alongside a pretty large junior football tournament and glanced across at the skills on show. I also spotted several very tidy cricket grounds on my travels at one the lull in the rain saw eager players peeking under the covers whilst the umpires looked around at the massed rain clouds. No chance I thought early tea and they’ll be in the pub by 5.

Suffice to say it was soon raining again this time seriously hard and the jacket went back on after I emerged from woodland into the back of a dodgy looking housing estate. The three ladies I’d been running with at various stages along with the couple I’d encountered earlier all appeared at this stage and we went into the next checkpoint the other side of Beckett’s Park together en masse along with a couple of chaps who were wandering around the woods looking for tape. We were also joined by Mark and the sweeping team a few minutes later.

The rain had thankfully abated now and I rearranged my kit on the roof of the car which was the checkpoint. My magnetic left leg caused me a few issues at this stage as it became attached to the car and I had to delicately prise myself free hopefully without anyone noticing. I said my farewells to the ladies and the couple who were doing the medium route and it was now just myself and Mark
who had an irritating ability to cross the busiest city centre roads at will. A few times during the course of the day I’d be waiting patiently for the green man and then all of a sudden spot him on the other side of the road ahead of me.

The next section of the route was along the Meanwood Valley Trail and this was probably the most technical part of the course as if someone just merged all the worst bits of RSR together. To add to the excitement most of the tape appeared to have been removed from this section as the magic watch came into it’s own in guiding me safely along the correct route. At the next checkpoint halfway along the trail I was offered a seat by a kind young lady. Not a great idea I thought !

Thankfully the trail from this point became a bit easier and I enjoyed a few grassy fields before emerging at the next checkpoint next to Eccup Reservoir. Helen had planned to meet me here but due to some confusion over another runner using my number she managed to somehow get there too early for me and too late.

Nutrition wise up to now I was just concentrating on the basics I’d done whilst training water, jelly babies, cereal bars etc. and not being too ambitious. The checkpoints were well stocked and we’d now reached the stage of the day where the savouries were coming into play. I took a tiny sausage roll with zero meat in it and swiftly moved on before being tempted by the baby scotch eggs. I’d learnt my lesson in the past when struggling to bowl up the hill after various sumptuous cricket teas.

The miles were now finally ticking by albeit slowly and the end was in sight. I was doing my best not to check on my watch for the mileage and delayed looking for as long as possible so it became a nice surprise. The magic watch helpfully told me that I’d be finishing at about 4.30pm which was what it had been saying from about 10K in. Damn clever technology.

Although the terrain was now a bit easier the amount of stiles on the last section was becoming a bit of a pain as I gingerly hoisted myself over them, most of them were wobbly wooden and had nails sticking out of them so had to be navigated with care.

Mark caught me at the final checkpoint as he was determined to hit his 8 hour target he went straight through whilst I reported in and took a final slice of orange before my descent to the finish. One final sting in the tail was a steep rocky section but I now knew I was almost home as I emerged onto a section of road where I was greeted by an enthusiastic Helen who paced me down to the finish at Pool in Wharfedale despite being full of coffee and nachos.

I found my road legs again for this final section. Helen stopped a huge artic for me at the final zebra crossing and I made my way past the sign that said “FINISH” at the church door. I then stopped at the sign that said remove all muddy shoes briefly wondering if I had to do that before finishing and was waved into the main church hall by the Race Director.

Naturally I forgot to stop my watch straight away a bit like Kimmy Kanter last Tuesday but my certificate said 7:56 on it and that was all that mattered. When I got home I placed it next to my SRC timed mile certificate and smiled at the contrast. One of them actually had my name spelt correctly on it (clue it’s not the SRC one). My race shirt was brown but had a pretty snappy back print “Born To Run Wild”, I’d be out next Friday with that on in West Street !

Helen very kindly got me a cup of tea (the working class default for everything when you feel run down) and after changing my top layer I put on my medal and picked at a few pieces of cake. I knew I needed to eat but I wasn’t sure what and my body wasn’t telling me, something I need to conquer if I’m daft enough to want to go further next time !

We saw the first lady come in from the long route, she seemed confused and surprised at the same time before watching some of the presentations including Mark’s award for being the most improved. I shook his hand bid farewell to the organisers and we made our way out of the church hall to the car.

The adrenaline was still flowing and the journey home seemed to zoom by as I told Helen about my day and she told me about hers. I’d ran further then I’d ever rather ran slower than I’d ever ran on the sort of terrain I’d never ran, added to his was the social element of talking to people at the checkpoints and all around the course. In short I’d loved the whole concept of it and the quirkiness when you compare it to events like Sheffield Half when you feel hard done by because you have to run up a hill.

So then it was all over as I got home approx. 12 hours after I’d departed as I said a grateful goodbye to Helen with a very heartfelt high five.

So what next then ? My journey to my first Ultra had began in a bath in Malta and one thing is for sure I intend getting out of my bath in Rotherham before having any more daft ideas. However it just goes to show what can be achieved with the correct training (not just running strength as well)
as when I joined SRC I was a fading road runner with a dodgy back and jelly calves and I never thought I’d manage another marathon never mind anything else.

Just before finishing another epic race report (this is why I’m only allowed to write them once a year) I’d just like to thank my bestest running friends for all their help. Especially Helen P my Ultra Consultant who somehow managed to persuade me that I should do this whilst having her elbow in my calf and of course Helen C for all her fantastic help on the day as this made all the difference. Onwards and upwards (I hope) !