Saturday 30 July 2011

Ultra fit….or just ultra stupid….



When I get something in my head, there is no stopping me until it’s done. It becomes almost obsessive and that latest obsession is Ultra running.

Why? The million dollar question with no real answer. Maybe because I’ve tasted a 50+ mile foot race in the Calladonian and loved it. Maybe because I feel I can give more, push harder. Maybe, I am a person that has to have goals in order to drive me on, Maybe because I want to see if I have the mental  strength and attitude for ultra endurance running, pushing through the wall of pain and back out the other side. Maybe because, as most people point out, I’ve lost the plot! Probably, in truth a bit of all of the above. Surely I can’t be sane to want to run 50,60, 75 miles trail races….or come to that 250k across a desert in China!

Well, sane or not I’m doing it. And I’ve always stuck to the much overused cliché of if a jobs worth doing it’s worth doing well. Gobi March, under two years away gives me a perfect goal, the ultimate target to aim and train for. To push my body to the extreme’s it’s never known.

I know this journey is not going to be easy. Running is not really fun, it’s a release, it’s rewarding , gives you a buzz when you finish a run and get that ethanol smell at the back nasal passages, the runners high, but it’s definitely not fun.

So, Adventure Hub…what a web page.  They organise six ultras each year: Yorkshire 50 miles, Welsh 62 miles, Exmoor 40 miles,  Northumberland 62 miles, Norfolk 62 miles and finally Scotland 75 miles.

They are every other month starting in January and apart from Norfolk all involve tough mountain or hilly trail terrain. So, not being able to decide on which one’s to do, Welsh and Scottish being my preferred, I’ve decided to do all six.  Six races, 351 miles……perfectly sane decision don't you think!!!!!???!!!!

JOG ON!


Monday 25 July 2011

It's a hard act to juggle....

It's not easy training to be a super fit human ultra marathon running socialite! Getting a balance between getting fit and getting pissed really is hard to juggle....

It seems my tough training regime, now commencing it's third week gets interrupted mid week with a few sherberts and a ruby murray; in between there are other social gatherings and the weekend..well it's the weekend init!! Although I've still trained, my big Sunday run has not quite materialised but still managing to get out and do 15 - 18 miles of running each week, a few hours martial arts, bit of cycling, the odd speed drill and rowing here and there but that's not what's planned, need to smash a few ten milers, get up to about 30+ miles a week! So.... jog on my son.....

To keep me inspired and motivated, I've added a few more fun events to my diary....Royal Parks Half in October, some Ice climbing in Norway, Mountain leader course in Wales and as my team mate Robson Green Fingers has had to pull out of the Scottish Nokia Coast 2 Coast due to knee injury I've decided to defer my entry a year and do the Welsh 3,000 24 Hour Challenge instead.....It's a bloody tough one but as they say no muff is too tough and I've got 14 pretty tough, rough and probably gruff muffs to get up in 24 hours.. SO ENOUGH'S ENOUGH .....bring on those Welshy mountains baby!!!

Beer anyone?????

Tuesday 12 July 2011

Did you say Challenge….24 peaks….24 hours….., not ‘arf guvner!!!

So game one, I got a glimpse of a challenge from a friend of a friend, a challenge to summit twenty four peaks in the Lake District all over 2,400ft within a walking time of less than 24 hours. Get in, I’m all over it like a STD on a virgins genitalia. Brilliant, now who’s daft enough to join me? I know; those two lads from Derbyshire Mr Moist aka Bumble aka Dr Death and the newly named and green fingered demi-god of horticulture Robson Green. Mr Boycott would also have been there had he not already pre-booked residing in a champagne tent somewhere near Goodwood getting smashed out of his face (no jealously there of courseJ )
Now that Wainwright bloke knew a thing or two about those Lakeland Hill’s and considering we’d be trotting over a vast number of the biggest including theee biggest in England Scafell Pike I was under no illusions that this would be a tough challenge. But let’s face facts here, if it wasn’t then I wouldn’t be even considering it. I’ve come a long way since the old days of the egg and spoon race, three legged challenge and the sack hopping relay.
Fresh from smashing the Caledonian challenge with a hearty bunch of chaps and chappettes, 54 miles non-stop of Scottish Mountains in less than 22 hours, surely I’m invincible, easy squeezy. Not so……
The Friday before the kick-off, I decided to travel up early and tackle the UK’s only Via Ferrata. For those that don’t know what this is, it’s basically a wire fixed to the side of a mountain which you climb around attached to a lanyard, a rope with a clip on the end for all you non-technical people. It’s pretty easy, although very, very exposed and if you don’t use the kit correctly and fall, quite simply you die whilst people above laugh heartily as your body is smashed into rock after rock before landing in a bloody crumpled heap at the foot of the mountain. “GAME OVER”  (in a 1960’s robotic voice). Anyway, it was great, easy for me but the big bunch of leather jacket and trainer brigade from Bradford didn’t find it so. Feck me, they were like a bunch of Mr Beans with Bambi legs on a tight rope, but wearing leather jackets! Shocking!
Via Ferrata nailed, met the boys at our luxury bunk house….seriously…it was lush!! £15 a night and we even had our own bed, pillow and there was even a little bit of carpet on the floor. We had a vista window which let light in 24 hours a day even somehow when it was pitch black and an en-suite erm….cupboard type thing with a stinking bog and a sink so small you could only get one hand or two testicles  in it but not both at the same time, try as I might. Apologies to the lads whose tooth brushes were on the side. Curly hairs on your medium bristle lime green Colgate active brush, nice!   Every dawn we would be awoken by the harmonious sound of the local chaffinch asking the slapper robin red breast in the next bush what she got up to last night, obviously quite a lot by the sound of it.  A sound that epitomises nature at its finest…but NOT AT THREE O’CLOCK IN THE F***ING MORNING!!!!!
So, with very little sheep… sorry sleep, we arose at 4.30am, although a certain part of my anatomy was not in tune with the rest of my body and seemed to have arisen a little earlier (smirk). Lads, you know the score!
Just time for a quick w……..eee , teeth flossed, nasal hair trimmed, arm pits sprayed and pants turned inside out…..then out of door and into the cars. A quick 45 minute drop off to the finish line and an even quicker drive to the start and we we’re ready to go. Apologies for all the road kill incidents but they really should be taught the green cross code. Or just get the hell out of the way. Starting gun at the ready,  Moisty was of course moisturising (I kid you not), Robson was looking for a place to sow some seeds (of the vegetable variety) and me, well I was on the lookout for four legged woolly beasts. I was not disappointed.
After spotting some Red Squirrels, then subsequently shooting them with a giant elastic band to BBQ later we started out our quest to conquer the 24 peaks.
We stormed off, ten minutes later, knackered, sweating, scorching heat and being gang banged by the local midge fraternity. For clarity that’s midge not midget, the little feckers were everywhere, midges that is!
Our first summit, Red Pike was a slog but easily reached given we were alpha males full of energy, testosterone and last night’s dinner…but in the case of Mr Moist the latter was not for long. Log dropped discreetly over the side of a boulder we marched on…..and on….and on……and on. The heat was a killer, I soon began to hallucinate, seeing dream like visions…..sheep,sheep,sheep everywhere, just looking and bahhhhhing , bahhhhing and looking, occasionally one would bleat and wag it’s little tail….. had I really died and gone to heaven so soon…? A quick sugar fix in the form of two snickers, half a bar of Howard Kendles Cake and a couple of  Lucosade E’s  and I was back on track, rocking away…show me those mountains Yahoosive!!
We had a few little breaks, no more than five minutes but of course stopped for lunch on top of the Great Gable to pay homage to the mighty Jaffa Cake and it was socks back on, boots on and in the case of Bumble, a quick moisturise after tending to delicate parts of the little tootsies.
It took a while, and I won’t bore you with the details basically because I can’t remember much but we reached our final peak of the day Bow Fell. In fact I do remember one detail, and this is totally 100% true, all three of us stopped and looked at a really nice sheep admiring it’s cute face and clean almost designer wavy fleece….almost mesmorised in a world of animal love I had to tell the boys to get a grip. You know if you spend too much time around people things start to rub off on you. These guys had been brainwashed by my persistent adulation of the fluffy little lamb chops on legs. It was just after that incident that I wondered if I would actually be safe in that bunk house come nightfall. Forgetting of course that it never bloody gets dark!!
We’ll the decent from Bow Fell was interesting, it was about 8.00pm and the pub about three miles away stopped serving food at nine. My two compatriots we flagging, Robson and Jerome both suffering with knee’s on the decent, started to feel the pain. So, decision time, do I stay with them and risk no food, or do I jog on and get the orders in! I jogged on! Running downhill was a bit of a pound on the old calves but the reward was worth it….A pint of Stella in hand and a couple of ciders for the lads, I sat there not giving a shit about the marauding midges, reflecting on a job well done and the pint of liquid love in my hand.  Unfortunately, there was no food available but when there’s Stella, you don’t need food! The two way radio crackled and Robson Green Fingers called to say that Mr Moist had run out of moisturiser and needed assistance. I ran to next pub, where the car was parked and drove to the foot of Bow Fell to pick the boys up. Indeed it was true, Mr Moist without his Skin-So-Soft did look f***ed, like….. “Proper f***ed”.

Beer, jelly beans & fish and chips later we were back in our den of inequity, still pungent from a mixture of drains, farts and man sweat. We crawled into our sleeping bags and drifted off into a world of cotton wool. Tomorrow, I go it alone (well almost).
Awoken to the sound of Bongo drums I jump up from by bottom bunk and hit my head on the rails of the bed above…switch of my African alarm and get ready to do battle with Day 2. The boys drop me off and head home for a Sunday roast and a few beers in the local while I tackle the next 14 peaks with a two day old egg sandwich.  Joined by a good friend Gaz, another Derbyshire lad, we crack on, relentless, another scorchio day, legs as red as a baboons arse after a vindaloo. Peak after peak smashed a few killer decents and ascents one of which, Dollywagon nearly broke my new hiking partner. We had to stop to let him rest so a good time to feed. Rollocks, I’d left my eggy sandwich in Robsons wheels. Thank McVities for Jaffa Cakes I cried quietly to myself, selfishly stuffing my face as quick as possible so I didn’t have to share my favourite orangey morsels.
I motivated my two man team to crack on, time was pressing, no rest, I want success. On that hill I experienced something very rare. The cool updraft and hot summit air had created a vortex right in front of us. A whirlwind about two foot wide and six foot high collecting dry grass and spinning it around whistling, and dancing around us. I stepped toward it and as I did so it moved toward me. I stopped but it came straight at me, a gust of really warm wind surrounded my body then it went calm and deadly silent as I stood in its eye then  a second later, warm gusting wind and it was gone. Amazing!!!
We passed Striding edge, met some lovely people had a chat then swiftly carried on…needed to get to Great Dodd, the final peak the 24th by 5.00pm. Pushing the pace I arrived at the final peak dead on 5.00pm, perfect. I jumped onto the cairn wearing my fresh CLAPA (Cleft Lip and Pallet Association) T-Shirt straight onto a friggin wasp nest. Fortunately they were more interested buzzing around like mindless insects to even care about me, or more so because they like sweet things and I smelt like a bag of shite on a shite farm in shitteville (bit like Birmingham).
I had 1 hour to get back down that hill, through the marsh and forest to the car park. Would I make it, it only seemed like about two miles so I started to walk. Not covering the distance, I started to run and didn’t stop. Three miles later I hit the car, the finish line. 23 HOURS 49 MINUTES  :--- Job done!
Was actually feeling pretty fresh and celebrated with several beers, a bottle of merlot and of course …...a lamb chop supper!
Will I do it again, you bet….I’ve got a new time to beat!!!!!!