Driving to the Lake District for my first triathlon in 2012 I was totally clueless about where I’d be racing. I’d guessed there’d be lakes, but as we got closer…..
“Oh my god, it’s hilly as f**k”
As someone who quite frankly is a liability on a bike, even on flat roads, this was a massive problem. I’d signed up for the Keswick Mountain Festival Triathlon but was the kind of person who went out of their way to avoid hills. Looking back, the clue was in the name of the race but I’d been too blonde to figure it out. As it turned out I needn’t have worried about the bike leg, my front tyre was flat when I got into T1 and I couldn’t fix it. Pulling the inner tube out was as far as I got, my hands were too cold to cooperate so I sat there crying as I watched the rest of the competitors fly past me on their bikes.
Fast forward to 2016 and I returned to the Lakes for the Ultimate Trails 110km ultra. By this time I’d reached the conclusion I was far safer on two feet…… what could possibly go wrong?
Well, everything that could go wrong did, but my biggest issues were caused by the following
- 20 hours of solid rain
- An allergy to my contact lenses which started mid race leaving me half blind
- Finding out my shoes had no grip
- Finding out my waterproofs weren’t actually waterproof
By the time I eventually made it to the finish line I’d lost count of the number times I’d fallen over. I’d sprained both ankles and it was safe to say I’d completely lost the will to live. Oh, and to top it all off, our van got stuck in wet grass and in a failed attempt to wheel spin it out it ended up in flames. By the end of our trip I was a broken woman, and after pulling burning grass out from underneath the van Chris was literally fuming, I remember his words well
“we’re NEVER coming back here again”
So why did I enter Lakeland 50?
Despite my previous two trips to the Lakes being a total disaster I’d somehow managed to blot it all out. I’d heard great things about the Lakeland races and being one of the biggest ultras in the country I just couldn’t resist…. so at my peril, I chose to completely ignore my husband, and signed myself up for Lakeland 50.
Rather optimistically I thought it would have been a case of third time lucky at the Lake District, but perhaps I should have remembered that bad things usually happen in threes….. The only saving grace is that falling just five weeks before UTMB I had the sense to enter the 50 rather than the 100 or I may not have lived to tell the tale.
If something seems too good to be true…..
We had a clear run up from Bristol and arrived at the campsite in blazing sunshine. Kit check and registration went smoothly and we went for a dip in Coniston Water to cool down. All rather pleasant. Later on we watched the 100 mile runners begin their journeys then ended a pretty much perfect day with a cold beer. Too good to be true? Sadly yes. We headed back to the tent for an early night and just as I’d got snuggled up under my duvet….. rain
Initially I wasn’t too bothered, there’s something so relaxing about the sound of rain on a tent, and happily assuming we’d be getting the rain out of the way before the race I drifted off into a really deep sleep……. but when I woke the next morning my heart sank.
It was still raining.
Actually, it wasn’t just raining, it was absolutely pissing down.
The start and very nearly end of my race
After a briefing at race HQ in Coniston the runners are bused to Dalemain for an 11:30am start. I’d planned to get the bus whilst Chris went for a bike ride but with the weather being so miserable he decided to join me instead and we got a lift with friends Lee and Imi. Supporters are allowed to join the runners for the first four miles around the estate, it sounded like a nice idea but it turned out to be a big mistake.
Supporters had to join the runners after they’d crossed the start line so I told Chris I’d be on the left so he could join me as I ran past. How hard could it be? Typically Chris wasn’t paying attention and missed me, I turned to should out his name and CRACK. I went over on the ankle I’d sprained just weeks earlier. Another epic fail for the Dumb and Dumber duo.
I hobbled a few painful steps before stopping, and as the rest of the runners ran past I looked at poor Chris in utter disbelief before launching into a massive rant.
“FOR F**KS SAKE CHRIS, LESS THAN 10 SECONDS INTO THE RACE AND I’VE WRECKED MY ANKLE. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU WEREN’T PAYING ATTENTION”
The four miles that followed were essentially a full blown domestic as I tried to convince Chris to let me DNF, annoyingly at the time, he was having none of it.
“I can’t run 50 miles on a wrecked ankle, I’m going to have to stop”
“I haven’t driven for 6 hours so you can drop out 10 seconds after the start, just get on with it FFS”
As I hobbled those first four miles I could have killed him.
The invisible sniper
Its safe to say I’m a bit of a walking disaster and have a tendency to fall over every time I run off road, so much so that Chris always jokes about me having an invisible sniper. Usually this is funny. That day it wasn’t. Even the machine gun noise he makes which usually cracks me up just inflamed the situation and made me want to throttle him even more. Knowing it was just five weeks until UTMB, a race I’ve waited three years for a place for really didn’t help, its safe to say I suffered a total sense of humour failure in that field, the curse of the Lake District had struck again.
To checkpoint 1 – Howtown
Although I wasn’t planning to race this one I was hoping to run it well. I had a rough goal of sub 12 hours and wanted to finish strong and feeling confident that my UTMB training was paying off. As I left Chris after those first four miles I agreed to carry on to checkpoint 1 but had no idea if I’d finish. I’d been reduced to a painful shuffle so any goal I previously had went straight out of the window. Having to adjust my expectations so instantly and unexpectedly at the start of the race was tough, it wasn’t just that I’d now be hours slower, I wasn’t sure if I’d cause more damage by carrying on. After the ankle incident I couldn’t get my head in the right place and the whole race turned into a total nightmare.
As I made my way slowly and cautiously up the first climb the weather which had been nice briefly at the start began to turn. It was due to be cooler that day but based on the recent heatwave I didn’t for one second imagine I’d end up almost hypothermic. Going up that first hill I wasn’t moving fast enough to stay warm and began to question my outfit of choice, which included the flimsiest skirt and vest I own. I’m ashamed to admit I’d picked my outfit solely to coordinate with the orange finishers shirt, buff and medal we’d be getting at the end, will I ever learn?
Howtown to Mardale
By the time I’d reached Howtown I’d managed to commit myself to finishing the race, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty but I’d get it done. After all, it was “only” 50 miles. As we climbed Fusedale the weather deteriorated quickly, hail was blasted into my face with such force it hurt. My poles became a total nightmare in gale force winds and were blowing everywhere, stabbing anyone that came near me. Feeling embarrassed I tried apologising but I doubt anyone could hear me over the sound of my hood which was flapping around all over the place (I really should have learnt how to adjust it before the race). This was probably the only time my sense of humour returned, completely unintentionally I’d become the biggest pole wanker in the Lake District and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The laughter was short lived though, by the time I reached the top I was really cold and could no longer feel my hands. From previous experience I knew there was no point in trying to put on layers in that weather unless I wanted my kit scattered all over the Lake District. I was hoping we’d drop down lower or at least find somewhere sheltered soon. No such luck, time to suck it up.
Eventually we dropped down to the shores of Haweswater, there was a brief respite from the weather and I managed to get warm again. As I ran towards checkpoint 2 at Mardale I had an awful sense of deja vu, but then I realised I’d actually been there once before….. at the Ultimate Trails race, but last time I had two sprained ankles instead of one. Maybe I was winning after all?
Miles of Misery
By the time I’d reached the checkpoint I was feeling pretty battered so it was good to see some friendly faces, I stopped briefly for cheese and pickle sandwiches before making my way straight out onto another big climb. I’d barely left the checkpoint before the thunderstorm and hail arrived so decided to layer up before getting any higher. I ended up putting on every single item of clothing from my pack and as I climbed that hill I was very thankful for having to carry such an extensive kit list.
After that the rest of it was just one big blur of pain and misery as I trudged slowly over the hills, through the crap weather, desperately trying not to twist my ankle again. My left hamstring which I’d been having issues with for the previous few weeks also decided to completely lock up so I ended up with two useless legs instead of one. Brilliant. The injuries and weather, although not exactly a barrel of laughs would have been bearable had my head not decided to implode. After twisting my ankle I fell into some sort of downward spiral of depression and negativity with UTMB weighing heavily on my mind.
“How the hell are you going to manage 100 miles around the Alps when you can’t even make it across the start line without injuring yourself?”
I’d sprained my ankle a couple of months before and had been extra cautious ever since, I’d become terrified of falling over again and lost the confidence to run at my usual pace, which wasn’t particularly fast anyway.
“You were going to be chasing cut offs before all this, you’ve got no chance now”
As the miles passed I became very regretful of my decision to enter UTMB. I’d spent the last three years of my life focusing on a race that at that precise moment in time I truly believed I had no chance of completing. I thought of all the time I’d sacrificed training, the money I’d spent pursuing this impossible dream and I felt stupid. It all felt like such a waste and I felt utterly depressed.
Ambleside to the finish
Despite losing my rag with him earlier, Chris appeared at Ambleside to support me. I’d been feeling awful for shouting at him so was thankful of the opportunity to apologise. He refilled my bottles and collected my favourite sandwiches whilst I went to the toilet, he was absolutely brilliant like he always is, well, when he’s not tripping me up and taking the piss. It was good to see him and I was really grateful that he’d turned up but in the end it just made me feel worse. After our last disastrous trip Chris had made it clear he never wanted to come back to the Lake District but he had to support me, and all I did was shout at him. I felt like such a selfish bitch I wanted to cry.
Onwards I trudged and as darkness fell I found myself running alone. Navigation has never been my strong point so knowing I’d have to find my own way left me full of anxiety and I started to panic. That all to familiar feeling of being alone in this vast open space, but at the same time feeling so suffocated you can’t breathe.
I know, I seriously need to learn how to read a map.
Anyway, somehow I managed to calm myself down and using the GPX trace that Phil Bradburn had very kindly helped me load on my watch I somehow kept moving in the right direction until I finally made it to the last checkpoint at Tilberthwaite.
With just 3.5 miles until the finish line you wouldn’t expect this section to be too bad, but it is essentially up and over one big climb. I’d completely lost the will to live by this point as had the battery in my head torch, and attempting to clamber over wet slippery rock whilst desperately trying not to twist my ankle again I really started to question my entire existence.
What the actual f**k am I doing with my life?
Arriving at the finish line in Coniston almost 14 hours later the relief was overwhelming and I had to fight to hold back the tears, something that has never happened at a 100+ mile race let alone a 50. Physically I was pretty battered because of the injuries but mentally I was broken, and for the week that followed I just felt desolate. I never wanted to run an ultra ever again. I’m glad to say now that my mojo has returned but I’m still surprised at how badly that one chewed me up and spat me out.
Looking back at the positives, and there are always plenty even though it might not feel that way at the time. I managed to adapt to an unexpected injury, adjust my expectations and get through 50 miserable and painful miles in some pretty shit conditions. Yeah I may have been my own worst enemy whining like a bitch and beating myself up but it proves I have the fortitude and resilience to dig deep within myself and get the job done, even when everything is going wrong. This may not have been the race I’d have liked leading up to UTMB but often it’s those disastrous races, the ones that can only be described as “character building” that make you stronger in the end.
Anyway, back to the rest of the story…..
We finally got back to the tent at around 3am expecting a nice lay in before our journey back, but we were woken early by the rain, and no it wasn’t the nice sort that you listen to on the outside of the tent as you’re snuggled up in your sleeping bag, it was the wet stuff dripping on your head as your tent leaks and puddles surrounding your belongings (thankfully we were on an airbed)……. and with that we got up, took down the tent at lightning speed and chucked it in the back of the van. Our third doomed trip to the Lake District was over.
As we drove out of Coniston making our escape Chris turned to me and said
“I mean it this time, I’m NEVER coming back here again”
Luckily for Chris entries for next year open on 1st September when I’m running UTMB so he’s safe for another year at least!
Thanks/apologies
Chris – Sorry for being an awful wife and thanks for being so tolerant. I promise we’ll never go back to the Lake District again 😉
Huge thanks to all the volunteers for standing out in awful weather and looking after us so well. Special mention to Geoff Partridge for the hug at Chapel Stile and the guy in the grass skirt for the pasta. Both welcome breaks from the misery fest.
Sarah Sawyer, my excellent coach. Thanks for the support before and counselling required after.
Likeys and Rockstar sport massive thanks for your support.
And not forgetting everyone I stabbed with my poles. I am truly sorry!
Dawn Gardner 