The Hoka One One 25km race was the main reason for our visit to the Keswick Mountain Festival, and also the reason I decided not to take part in Keswick Half Marathon (which took place just two weeks before the festival) for the first time in six years. I figured that a 25km off-road run would be a much better option for my UT55 training, and gosh, I was right.
I’d noticed on the entries list that only 252 people had signed up for the race, which immediately left me worrying that I might come last. Generally I don’t come last; usually I’m around the middle of the pack (and am always happy to be there), once I was sixth in my category (those were the days, eh?), and, just once, I did actually finish a race in last position. Still, for whatever reason I was panicking – I guess I didn’t want to be demoralised at this stage in my ultra training; as it turns out, getting practice at being demoralised is incredibly good for ultra training!
In the starting pen people were bandying around their expected finishing times – I heard a few people mention times over 4 hours, which I thought was odd; I hoped to finish in about 3-3.5 hours, based on my normal ‘ultra(slow) pace’ plus some time for walking and even a bit of stopping. Perhaps I wouldn’t finish last after all – phew! Daniel took the generic starting pen photo and then headed off for his boat to the start of the 10km, and moments later we were off!
You could say that the race was off to a bad start before I’d even left Crow Park; I was too hot, I had a wedgie (note to self: a 25km race is not the time to start experimenting with different underwear) and my new shorts, which I’d bought two sizes bigger as my normal size was just so…short, were riding up and giving me rather a lot of grief. Still, I got into a nice steady pace, feeling surprisingly good despite the previous day’s hilly 15-miler still in my legs, and at about mile 1 I started to feel more optimistic. The hills came and they were MASSIVE. That’s ok; I can deal with hills – I ran up the less steep bits and power walked the rest, and was able to overtake a few other runners here. I gained some confidence and settled in to the race; by mile two I was flying along, and really enjoying what was a phenomenal course. Trails took us through glorious woodland filled with bluebells, and around every corner was a glimpse of the surrounding mountains before they were hidden again by thickets of trees.
Once out of the woodland the terrain started to get tricky – I found myself walking increasingly often, as the trails were too narrow and totally unforgiving if you should land a foot in the wrong place. It was slow and exhausting, but at least the other runners around me were also having the same issues – we egged each other on and swapped encouraging comments; the awesome thing about these races is the other runners, always. It wasn’t until Ashness Bridge – probably around mile 5 or 6 – that the terrain became a little easier, but even then I was walking more than running. I stopped off for a loo break at this point, and by the time I was back on the course I was completely alone; all the other nearby runners had passed, and I started to feel incredibly demoralised.
There were only two things keeping my spirits up by this point: firstly, the friendly walkers who had endless flattering and encouraging comments – one guy told me I was a hero, which was rather nice. The other was the spectacular scenery, which just kept on giving with every corner and climb. I even stopped to take a selfie, but then a nearby walker (who stopped to check I was ok as he saw me fumbling in my bag) offered to take the picture for me; these were real high points, enjoying the humbling combination of kindness and nature. It made me very happy to be alive, and gosh, if nothing else I really did feel alive. Finally another runner caught up, and we ran together for a while, joking (in all seriousness) about how unforgivingly hard the race was, and how we could always pull out and go to the pub instead. She assured me that a checkpoint was around the corner, but not before the most ginormous hill of the whole race, veering upwards towards Rosthwaite. I pulled forwards at this point and left her behind for a while, and it wasn’t long after we separated that the lows really started to come.
After the massive ascent there was an equally steep descent, which was so rocky underfoot that I had no choice but to walk very carefully, sometimes using both hands to lower myself down between the rocks. Twice I went over on an ankle, and here I noticed that there hadn’t been a single marshall since about mile 2. I started to panic. The day before I’d been marvelling about how wonderful it was to be completely alone and miles from anywhere in such an incredible place, but now I was becoming pretty fraught for exactly the same reason – what if I fell and couldn’t keep going, who would help me out then? It wasn’t long before the girl behind me caught me up again, to my relief, and here my fear was proven to be justified: she’d fallen in the stream running parallel to our route, and had to get running pretty swiftly in order to stay warm. I think we were going through similar crises, and stuck together until we finally got to the check point at Rosthwaite.
After this point I knew the trails pretty well, and had walked and even run on them a number of times. I knew it was going to get easier, and so I was able to pick myself up a bit and keep on going. Not long after the check point, though, my ankle started to ache pretty badly. I was able to run, but with every step I felt a dull thud rising through my foot and lower calf, which started to unnerve me over time. I made it through the woodland section near to Grange, but as I climbed towards the foot of Catbells I started to toy with the idea of pulling out. But wait, there were no marshalls: at the very least I had to run another three miles before I reached the next check point. I was lamenting at the fact that I might have to ruin my hopes of running the Lakeland Trails marathon in three weeks simply through poor organisation in this race. I was angry at the organisers and the festival, and this only perpetuated the negative energy that was hindering my running.
Luckily, I came across two other runners who were obviously struggling, and shared some of my chocolate with them as one guy was obviously in a pretty bad way. Chatting to them perked me up a bit – as I get deeper into despair I put on an increasingly cheerful persona, which actually helps in these less-than-cheerful circumstances. I also had some chocolate, and found myself enjoying the soft terrain underfoot and the opportunity to get covered in mud, safe in the knowledge that there were only a few miles left. At the road the route was completely ambiguous: a sign with an arrow reading ’10km route this way’ but no mention of us 25km-ers. Luckily I know this area well, and decided to follow the arrow anyway as it would eventually get me back to Keswick, whether or not I’d be following the right trail. I didn’t see another runner for the entire stretch, but it was my favourite part of the race – such beautiful running next to Derwent Water, and even though my foot was hurting I was in reach of home. I texted Daniel to let him know that I’d be 20 minutes or so as my Garmin beeped 13 miles, and a comforting sense of optimism started to grow inside me.
I still have no idea whether or not I took the correct path at the road there, but as I came back onto the main road there was a sign reading ‘5km to go’. I’d already run 14 miles and wasn’t in the mood for another three, but I had no choice. The lady at the checkpoint joked that I was getting more for my money but I found this incredibly ironic and couldn’t even feign a chuckle. I was exhausted, in pain and angry. I ate a Penguin bar and gritted my teeth.
In fact, those last three miles were really fun, and probably better for my UT55 training than anything else I could have done that day. I ran past a number of ultra runners who were coming to the end of an even tougher course that was also double the distance, and swapped encouraging comments with them as I ran by. I found some power from somewhere (probably that Penguin) and forgot about the pain in my foot. The crowds got bigger and louder, and it seemed that everyone was cheering me on, as if I was about to win (I definitely wasn’t). A cruel rocky hill up into Crow Park and I could see the finish – I crossed the field and the finish line, and felt more relief than joy or tiredness. I really didn’t think I’d finish that race – mainly because my heart left the building for the last few miles and I didn’t want to risk an injury in a race that I wasn’t enjoying – but there I was, and glad to be there, too. Daniel greeted me with a hot Vimto, and then we headed to a lovely cafe, the Little Chamonix (another great spot – do try it out) for a hot chocolate and a tea cake. We swapped stories, and I was so pleased to hear that Daniel had run a great race and enjoyed every minute – certainly our experiences were very different.
I want to say here that I’ve heard only good things from other people about this race, but for me the organisation wasn’t quite up to it. I’ve never felt afraid on a race until this one, and certainly I’d never felt so alone on a route – I didn’t pull out only because there were no marshalls around to make sure I got back safely, and I don’t think that’s nearly good enough. It cost £28 to enter which is as much as any brilliantly-organised Lakeland Trails event, yet there was minimal support, no photos, and a goodie bag of stuff that we’ve mainly recycled or given away already. I’m not in it for the free stuff, obviously, but when I spend that much money I do want to feel that I’m part of something, and not just on another run. The course was spectacular, though, and I’m so glad that I did it despite all of the negativity.
And, in terms of negativity, this is something that I’m now glad to have had practice with. I felt so low, and I’m sure I’ll feel similar at points on the UT55, but I was able to practice picking myself up and drawing from the other runners, as well as giving back to them. I didn’t come last, and I met some great people en route – I see that they did all get back ok in the end and I hope that they have some good memories too. Running is so much more mental than physical, and timing the most mentally-challenging event I’ve ever done only six weeks before the ultra was in fact excellent planning!
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