Three 100+ miles races in four months was always going to be a big ask, but I never treated the Montane Lakeland 100 as a suck-it-and-see race. Since the 24-hour, two months before, I threw everything I had left at it. I’d recced the course as much as I could. Well, with life and logistics, I recced it as much as I could fit in. I’d pretty much covered the endurance aspect, I just need to get hill fit and knock my quads into shape. I spent evenings and weekends on the hills and trails with circuits on the Kilpatricks, jaunts on the West Highland, loops of Ben Lomond and throwing myself off the Ptarmigan Ridge.
I went into the race fully accepting that is could be my last big race of the year. The recces taught me that the route was nothing short of epic and with a drop-out rate of up to 60 percent, it could quite frankly end me. And I wasn't going into it half-hearted either. I’d set myself some ambitious targets. I suppose now it's safe to say - without the fear of sniggers - that I wanted to take two hours off the (then) women's course record.
The week leading up to the race was met with the usual taperitus symptoms – sniffles, sore throat, fatigue, lead-like legs. Now I realise, if I don’t get severe taperitus, I should be more worried.
After dropping Cairn off at nursery on Friday morning – and hugging him like I was going off to war – the GM and I heading down to Coniston, arriving before noon.
The campsite would fill quite quickly, so we set about setting up: A tent for the girls and another for Sonic and Cairn, who were due to arrive on Saturday afternoon. Not only was it wise to bagsy the space, but it would good to keep the audience of the comedy show that was our tent erection to a minimum. Well, it was the GM and I. Need I say more? Although the GM’s vocal reference to the fly sheet as “the flyover” did turn a few heads. To be honest, we did a bit of a half-arsed job, because we knew Sonic would sort it all the next day ;-)
We went off to registered and go through the kit check process. We were sent outside to a line of scales. Like most girls with “issues” I don’t like the pre-race weigh-in bit. We were comforted with a promise that weights were not announced. Phew! You were just giving a florescent band with your weight written in marker to wear around your wrist for the duration of the race. Subtle.
|Picture by JK|
I didn’t want to get caught up in the pre-race hype, so retired to the Scottish quarters – Richie had joined us by then – to chill in the sunshine. JK, who was down on official duty for the weekend came over for a long chat, while the GM and I set about the foot preparation process. Nice. Then it was time for the pre-race briefing and time for me to repack my drop bag and backpack for the 27th time.
Start to Seathwaite: 7 miles. 659m of ascent. Position 76
Even at 6pm, it was hot. I was secretly hoping it would be raining, to wipe out half my competition in the night. But I was also thankful to have had a month of hot weather training, so was comfortable I wouldn’t keel in anything above my optimum race temperature of 14 degrees.
The tension was building as the race theme song Nessun Dorma was played to signal the countdown to the start. 105 miles over 7000m of ascent, circumnavigating the English Lake District.
The first few miles were met with the deafening sounds of silence and fear. Although it was more frightening the speed some people went off.
|Picture by Dave Troman|
The first ascent was on a single track, so runners’ pace was dictated by the person in front. Or even the person 50 in front. This might explain why people went off so fast. C’est la Vie. It soon broke up when we hit the wide track to the car park at roadhead and I lost contact with the GM.
I know I shouldn’t have – it was way too early to bother – but I was already counting the female runners ahead of me. I’m not sure if this pushed me, but arrived in Seathwaite ahead of schedule, so much so that I slowed down to a jog on the road to the checkpoint. Not because I felt overworked, but I didn’t want anyone to see the live feeds (namely, JK) and wonder what I was playing at.
To explain my schedule: I didn’t know the route well enough to write my own race plan. Originally I was aiming for 28 hours (ish). But the better my training went and the more confident I got, I carried Dave Troman’s splits for reference. Not because I was gunning to beat Dave’s time, but because I trusted his pace and judgement. Dave ran 25:52 in 2012, moving from 99th position to 10 place overall. I’ve never used anyone’s race splits before. Dave might not appreciate this, but this is the highest compliment I could bestow upon a fellow runner J
Seathwaite to Boot: 7 miles. 385m of ascent. Position 60
It was a quick in and out, dib in and bottle fill, as I was way thirstier than I expected so early on. Coming out of the checkpoint and along the road, I wasn’t overly concerned about not seeing the GM, as I hoped she was being sensible and sticking to her 1:30 section pace.
Along the trail and up one of many nasty hills, I spoke briefly with Catherine before hitting the narrow muddy swamp track through plantation. Last time I came through here, I was knee deep in shoe-sucking bog, so I was glad the nice weather has made it a little kinder. I was chatting to a chap behind me for some time, but I don’t even know what he looked liked, as I couldn’t take my eye off my feet through fear of falling. I was so focussed on my feet that I blindly followed the runner in front and we missed the stile to cross. Thankfully, we were shouted back.
First detour. Closely followed by the first fall on the grassy descent. I was quite spectacular, as I did a full roly poly and end up back on my feet and running again. A la Sonic the hedgehog style. Nothing hurt, but my pride as I was witnessed by a small – giggling- audience.
I chatted with Ivan from North Ireland before we reached the Boot checkpoint, which was manned by Petzl and Centurion running. So nice to see the smiling faces of James Elson and Drew Sheffield. Again, just a water top up and I was gone.
Boot to Wasdale Head: 5.4 miles. 297m of ascent. Position 49
Walking up the hill out of Boot, I need to pee so badly, I was in danger of causing myself some internal injuries. I managed to find some bushes where I thought I was out of sight, but I doubt I was being very discreet.
I was really glad to be doing the open fell section in daylight, as I was concerned about finding the Tarn and the ascent out. During one our famous recce runs, the GM and I took a detour. We found out way back on track into Wasdale – with a map and GPS – but it was messy and time consuming.
There was a lot of leap frogging with other runners on the section. I mostly chatted with Troy – I know, how cool is that name? – and ended up in a small group of four into the disco checkpoint. I kid you not, there was a 70s themed party going on in there. Again, I just filled up my bottle and went.
Wasdale Head to Buttermere: 6.9 miles. 712m of ascent. Position 40
Leaving Wasdale was the end of daylight for me. I was about a mile in before I felt the need to switch on my headtorch. I was being a bit of a rookie and trying out some new gear: The Lensor Led 7 SEO7R. From the offset I was really impressed with it. Very light and beam was amazing. Previously I’ve struggled with vision on night runs, so was a little bit in love with new bit of kit.
Nathan passed on the ascent. I was to see a lot of Nathan throughout then race. Then I was joined by Thomas who was powering up the hills with his poles. I chatted with Thomas about the usual running stuff before we started on the breakneck steep descent. Even in daylight I don’t have the confidence to descend with any pace, but holy moly Thomas didn’t have the same fear. He went down like a dart, as I gingerly tiptoed down like a big Jessie.
Over the marshy ground before the bridge, I practically did a belly flop on the waterlogged grass. Fall number two. Passed the youth hostel and up the next cheeky climb, I could see a red light flashing on my headtorch. Then boom, the lights went out. I was cursing myself for not changing the original batteries! Thankfully I had the sense (First. Time. Ever) to pack a small handheld torch. I changed to the back-up battery pack and off I went. I caught up with Nathan and then Thomas again before heading into Buttermere. I was informed there that I was third lady.
Buttermere to Braithwaite: 6.5 miles. 573m of ascent. Position 32
I had only managed to fit in one recce of this section, but wasn’t overly concerned as I thought it was fairly easy to navigate. Yeah, in daylight! HUGE difference in the dark. After following the track next to the river – with the nice 40ft drop to the right if you happen to trip over one of the many tree roots – everything was just dark. Just the faint bobbing of head torches in the distance.
I caught up with Kevin, Martin and Andrew and just stuck with them. They hadn’t run this section at all, so were following the road book. Of course, I was giving them dodgy advice. I knew what was coming up, I was just a few points ahead of myself. I’m not sure how it happened (apart from the fact that I was involved), but we managed to take in another hill top, instead of going round it – what’s another hill on the grand scale of things? – before descending into Braithwaite. A remember on the recce run seeing another built up area in the distance and just prayed we were heading to Braithwaite - otherwise I could have been strangled with a platypus hose! Thankfully it was just a long way for a short cut and we joined the right track into Braithwaite. I chatted with Andrew – who was to be another companion for the race.
Braithwaite to Blencartha: 8.5 miles. 478m of ascent. Position 24
The checkpoint at Braithwaite was like walking into an Italian Bistro. Tables clothed and packed with an abundance of lovely delights and greeted with a smiling face ready to take your order for food. I suppose for competitors out for the social or just to complete, this would be a welcomed treat. I, on the hand, threw back a cup of coke and was out the door.
Nathan caught up with me and pushed on as we were leaving the village. He had earphones in so I interrupted that as he wasn’t up for my sparkling chat, so I just tailed him all the way passed Keswick. I was glad he didn’t see me face plank on the pavement though. Third fall of the day.
I really like the climb over Keswick, although I’m never quite sure how to tackle it. It’s runnable, but there’s a fine line between gaining time and wasting precious energy. I jogged up with Nathan, who was a little more chatty at that point. Once through the carpark, Nathan pushed on as I needed to go to the little girls’ room.
Then drama struck with the familiar sight of the flashing red light on my headtorch. It wasn’t even 3am and I was out of light. I’m sure my screams of “f**********k” must have bounced off all the hills. My last minute decision to pack the handheld was my last straw. Otherwise it was game over.
I just had to box it and move on. Although my thorough research of lightweight handheld torches certainly paid. I’d purchased a G3 Cree Q5 from Amazon at the nifty price of £2.90. It quite literally came on the slow boat from China, but it was certainly worth the wait.
Heading up to the unmanned dibber, which was placed shortly before the disguised right turn, I had to shout Nathan back as he was heading straight on. Heading down the track to Blencartha, I was willing it to get light, but I knew there was at least another hour. And I knew the next section along the old railway track was going to be dark and impossible without a light source. I don’t like running with anything in my hands, I’m convinced it knocks my form. And I was convinced the light was getting dimmer, so by the time I reached the checkpoint I was in mild panic mode. I’m ashamed to say, I would have rather pulled-out than have to sit out the darkness.
I knew it was a longshot, but I asked the marshalls if they had any batteries, but not joy. Then the little voice from the corner came: “you can have my headtorch”. A sad looking runner who had retired was giving me his. I could have hugged him. OK, I did hug him. I later found out my saviour was Chris Perry. I think I thanked him a million times after the race, but one more time – thank you, Chris! I liken it to taking the shoes off a dead man, but I was out of there like a shot. Only to return as I forget to fill my water bottles. I sure the marshalls were probably a little shell-shocked by my whirlwind visit, but I bet they were glad to see the back of me!
Blencartha Centre to Dockray: 7.7 miles. 417m of ascent. Position 22
I was happy as Larry and practically skipped over the next few miles. I was slightly concerned about negotiating the boggy bit at Newsham and finding the indistinct path in the dark, but I could switch off the headtorch soon after reaching it.
I really enjoyed the old coach road all the way to Dockray. The guys at the checkpoint there were Über cheerful and ringing in the new day with a cow bell. On approach I was half expecting Lucy Colquhoun to be the person behind the cowbell – it’s her signature race support aid after all. It was only then that I found out I was second lady. Lizzie Wraith was an hour in front by then, but I really had no idea what happened to Nicky (or the “tanned lady” as she had been referred to previously. Did I pass her in the dark? Had she pulled out? Or got lost? Looking at the checkpoint stats now, it looks like the latter.
Dockray to Dalemain: 10.1 miles. 370m of ascent. Position 20
I really love this section. The views over Ullswater were absolutely spectacular and such a wonderful way to start day two, but all I could think about was getting to Dalemain and getting my drop bag. On through the woods, it was only after 6am, so I was quite surprised to see a smiling couple at the wooden stile cheering me on. The lady was on the phone and stopped to ask me my name, to which she replied “Fergie’s on the phone and says hi”. That made me laugh. Fergie is everywhere!
I passed through the mucky field with the “bull”. Is it a bull? It’s got horns and therefore in my head it’s a bull. And hit the road to Dalemain, quite literally counting the minutes until I arrived at Dalemain for my one and only drop bag.
Dalemain to Howtown: 7.1 miles. 294m of ascent. Position 20
The checkpoint tent, located in front of the historic Dalemain House, is a sanctuary in the midst mayhem. A bit of timeout to restock, fill up, pick up and fix anything that requires fixing. As the only drop bag location, it was the one and only chance to do so.
On arrival I quickly guided by a lovely lady and plonked down on a chair. Heaven. My memory’s not the best during races, so I’d typed out and laminated a sheet of everything I needed to do. I’ve lost count of the amount of times in races when I’ve got into a support point thinking I need xyz only to forget and curse it when I’m back going again. This time, I had a step-by-step guide 1) put on suncream 2) drink coffee 3) change socks 4) pick up sunglasses etc.
Duncan and Andrew arrived shortly after me. In the still of the morning I could hear the voices of constant chatter behind me for few miles. It was so rapid, I thought it was the GM closing in on me. Nathan appeared soon, looking a little, erm, tired. The lovely marshalls were flapping around attending to their every need, telling them just to drop anything that’s to be repacked or disposed of. I joked with the ladies: “like men need to be told to leave everything at their arse” J
I always make a point during races to be in and out of a support point as fast as possible, but this is the first time I’d done an unsupported race. 15 minutes passed like a blink of an eye.
As I was about to leave I saw Nicky using poles to walk along the flat tarmac surface. It didn’t look good. And when the GM still hadn’t appeared, I knew something was wrong there too.
Then I was out, embarking on the second half of the journey. I’ve run this section twice in training and never got the first mile through the fields right. And it wasn’t to be third time lucky. Andrew shouted me back and I followed them in the right direction. I joined Andrew and Duncan for most of the journey to Howtown. It was really nice to have some company.
Howtown to Mardale Head: 9.4 miles. 765m of ascent. Position 21
I’d previously joked about rural ladies sporting moustaches, but at the Howtown Bobbin Mill they really did. Thankfully they were of the stick-on joke variety. They were really excited to see another girl coming through, so that gave me a little boost. I didn’t need anything – because I’d picked up enough to feed an army at Dalemain – so just dibbed in and heading straight out.
I’d picked up my running poles at Dalemain – after only using them for 10 minutes on a previous training run – with the hope that they’d help with the ascent to High Kop (the highest point in the race). I think they just helped hold me up. The morning was starting to really heat up, I’d run out of fluid and hit a really bad patch. It was a long, hard slog on the relentless grassy hill. I think this hill could break you on even fresh legs, but it was getting the better of me at that point.
Nathan caught me and passed me at the top. As I ran along – what I thought was the correct route – Nathan started to descend though the ferns and I could see Duncan and Andrew behind me going down into the valley. I was torn. I could see the bridge at Fordingdale bottom that we were all heading too, so I knew I wasn’t lost. We were just coming at it from different angles. I just went with what I knew and followed the path down. When I got to the bridge and looked up, Nathan had barely made a dent in descent through overgrown flora. Sorry, Nathan, I did feel quite smug as I knew there was no way you were going to trust my navigation.
I picked up some much needed water from the stream and Duncan and Andrew appeared behind me after taking the “racing line”. You can’t beat local knowledge and I cursing myself for not sticking with them. Along the undulating tracks we went in single file. Then I ended up flat on my back after headbutted a tree. Doh!
I was so dehydrated that I hit a real low. I couldn’t believe how much I had been drinking during the race – about a litre an hour - and was filling up my bottle at every stream I could find. Given the fine weather, they were few and far between. Even running down the hills was a task. I was quite literally stumbling along the trail when I arrived at Mardale Head checkpoint.
Mardale Head to Kentmere: 6.5 miles. 511m of ascent. Position 16
My spirit was still good, so I knew I just needed something to fix me physically. Thankful the kind chaps filled me with the equivalent of a pint of coke, some gels and filled my bottle and off I went on the next climb. Better, but not great. I started to come round by the time I’d (eventually) hit the top. And once I got going on the descent the pain in my glutes dispersed. I knew it was a case of just grin and bear it for a few minutes, but my lord my ass hurt. As I came out the other side of the bad patch, I passed a few wounded soldiers and started to pick it back up again. I moved up from 21 to 16 in the space of about five miles. How’s that for recovery?
|Picture by James Elson|
Then I saw the distinctive sight of the yellow T-shirts in the distance and new the Centurion chaps were out. I shouted a big “woohoo” to hear Drew reply “Debs?” I could have cried with happiness to see friendly faces. And then I saw the GM. It was the first time I knew she had pulled out. Regardless, she was hyper and so excited about how things were going for me. Saying all the right things – probably lies – but I was lapping it up. It meant so much to see everyone and it really put a spring in my step. So much so that I passed Duncan and Andrew for the last time and practically skipped into Kentmere. The spring was assisted by me singing away to Taylor Swift on my iPod. Don’t judge me!
Kentmere to Ambleside: 7.3 miles. 491m of ascent. Position 14
As with all the checkpoints, the marshalls at Kentmere were fantastic. I guess it’s more accessible by car too, as there was a little crowd cheering. I was offered a fruit smoothie, but regrettably declined. I hadn’t eaten any proper food since Dalemain. I was fuelled on coke and gels. Actually I hadn’t taken any food from the checkpoints at all. I ate only the food I carried from the start.
I felt good, so I didn’t faff about – or delay the inevitable – and started on the last climb before descending into Ambleside. I saw another runner was half way up the hill when I approached. At that stage and on such a twisty route, I was pretty sure that if I was closing in on another competitor that I was going to pass them. Up the hill and on way down to Troutbeck, I pass Chris who was having problems with his feet on the terrain. I asked if I could help, but short of giving him a new pair of shoes, I was pretty useless.
I pushed on, taking full advantage of an energy surge, to be greeted with JK snapping away with his camera.
|Picture by Mike Raffan|
It was so lovely to see him full of enthusiasm and praise and providing me updates on runners’ form and their positions.
|Picture by Mike Raffan|
Going into Ambleside was amazing. I wish I could relive that moment. What a welcoming. The pubs were packed with cheering crowds and I lapped it up while trying to negotiate a safe road crossing – unsuccessfully. I’m not sure if it was my slow reaction times or my focus on getting to the checkpoint, but I pretty much made the traffic stop for me. I guess that wouldn’t make me popular in one of the Lake’s busiest towns on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Mike Raffan and his wife were on duty at Ambleside and they helped sort out my scatty head. I decided to offload the (non-emergency) food I’d been carrying - and had no intentions of eating – for the last 22 hours! The cheese portions were by then little sacks of hot oily goo. Nice! And then they booted me out to door.
Ambleside to Chapelstile: 5.6miles. 234m of ascent. Position 13
I was a little emotional at that point. Although there were three sections to go, I always thought of leaving Ambleside as embarking the final straight. I really wanted to see Sonic and Cairn. I was tempted to phone Sonic, but decided I needed the thought to drive me forwards.
The sun was beating down in full force now and I was getting hotter. My rucksack had been rubbing on my sweat-soaked back for the duration of the race and it was starting to take its toll. I didn’t have any lubricant, only a cheery lip balm. I know what kind of airhead swaps a Vaseline pot in favour of lip balm? Anyway, I smeared that on my back and nearly crumbled. The sting was unbelievable. There was a group of young lads who practically blushed at the language I used.
Heading on towards Skelwith Bridge Hotel a few miles in. I took a wrong turn. I put it down to tiredness, as I’ve done this section twice before I never had any problem. I knew I had gone wrong and tried to backtrack, but got myself into more of a muddle. I saw a carpark that I didn’t remember and went back and forth until I realised it was just cars parked at the side of the road. Eventually I got back on track and even then I couldn’t believe how dim I had been.
There were lots of families and dog walkers out enjoying the afternoon sun. I must have looked wasted running along the riverside and into Elterwater and through the Baysbrown campside, as people were staring at me in disbelief.
Into the checkpoint at Chapelstile was very surreal. There were nice comfy sofas in a marquee in the middle of the field. The marshalls were really cheery and gave me lots of juice. Still couldn’t get enough fluid in me. I left before I found myself bedding in. I later found out Richie fell asleep there.
Chapelstile to Tiberthwaite: 6.5 miles. 387m of ascent. Position 13
Leaving here I had a full on fairy invasion going on. I was running with my hands behind my back holding my rucksack away as the sting was unbelievable. I stumbled a few times on the grass, so happy I didn’t lose my teeth.
On the track around Blea Tarn, Ben Abdelnoor winner of the Lakeland 50 (which started in Dalemain at 11:30am) went flying passed me. And I mean flying! We exchanged mutual praise and he was gone. I expected there to be flurry of 50m runners, but it was quiet for a long time. I was looking forward to seeing Marcus Scotney and Paul Navesey, as even seeing Ben gave me a real boost. I read in his race report…
”As I skirted Blea Tarn I overtook a female 100-mile competitor, the first runner in either event I’d seen for well over an hour. A little while later I looked back to see the same lady making her way along the path, closely followed by a runner dressed in black, and shifting very quickly. It was unlikely a 100-mile competitor would have suddenly picked up such pace, so it could only be a 50-mile competitor running a well-paced race with a strong second half. I couldn’t believe it. How could this happen? Suddenly my vision of a glorious run into Coniston was turned on its head. I was going to have to run for my life thinking I was being chased”.
I’m not sure what/who Ben saw but there was no one around at all. I never saw another sole in front or behind until well after Tiberthwaite.
Over the hill into Tiberthwaite, I was mentally working out my estimated finishing time. I knew I would be close to 26 hours, but I thought it would be about 26:10
Tiberthwaite to Coniston: 5.5 miles. 283m of ascent. Position 13
I wasted too much time chatting with the marshalls there. I think I was just lonely out on the trail and really craved human interaction. I was still feeling quite chipper and enjoyed joking with them. And eating their Doritos – which was the first thing I’d eaten in 12 hours. I don’t even like Doritos! But the salt was fantastic.
They practically pushed me out of the checkpoint and were still shouting out me as I made my way onto the final ascent. And one of the cheekiest climbs on the course. Off I went, again, thinking 6:10. I couldn’t see anyone, so I wasn’t worried about losing position. I knew other 50m runners would appear though. I was right at the top when I saw another runner approaching - frantically looking behind. Thought I might have been Marcus. Then the close he got, I recognised him as Richard Ashton. I told him to stop wasting time looking behind as no one was there. I also said that Ben was almost an hour in front to which he told me everyone has said that all day. Oops. Oh well, I had heard something quite similar all day too. We congratulated ourselves on our second place position and he pushed on.
The descent was tricky. Not because of my legs hurt, but my brain was tired. Once it got a bit flatter, I started to move swiftly. Again, checking my time. Sub 26 looked unlikely, so I stopped for a pee. Mainly because I didn’t want to have a bloated belly in the finishing pictures. Seriously. Then I met Tracy Dean who was heading up the hill for a run, so I chatted to her for a bit.
|Picture by Paul Navesey|
Heading down I used the time to reflect on the day. Weirdly enough, I didn’t have the burning urge for it to be over. I actually enjoyed this bit. On arrival in Coniston, I was greeted by a large cheering crowd around the local pubs. The first person I saw was Terry standing at the bottom of the road and out the corner of my eye I saw the Chris the headtorch saviour sitting outside the Black Bull Inn. The response was overwhelming. I felt no pain or discomforted, just utter happiness. I passed through the village and turned the bend to the school. I could hear Sonic and the GM. Cairn was playing in the park, but I waited to take his hand to cross the finishing line. 26:02:00. Do you think I’m kicking myself for those two minutes of blatant faffing around? You bet your ass I am.
|Picture by JK|
Imagine taking nearly 2.5 hours off the course record and still coming in second! A similar situation to Sonic’s blinding West Highland Way run, so it could be the Consani curse. Still I’m delighted to achieve what I set out to do. Lizzie Wraith blew it out of the water and set a new course record of 24:15. I’ll happily sit second to that. Actually, the top three ladies all broke the previous record.
On the grand scheme of things, I was really pleased with my run. Apart from the colossal meltdown between Howtown and Mardale, I felt really good. Legs were ok. Glutes took a hit, but my quads were brand new. The Ben Lomond reps worked a treat. However, I did experience the worse chaffing ever. I’ll spare you the graphics, but here’s a snippet of my back. The worst bit was when I woke up on Sunday and my T-shirt had stuck to my back. I swear you would be forgiven for thinking a pig was being sacrificed in my tent.
It was an amazing experience. The whole event is head and shoulders above anything I’ve ever participated in before. Truly world-class. Thank you to Marc, Terry, Clare and rest of the organisers and to the marshalls for putting on a great show. The checkpoints really were a show.
Congratulations to everyone who took part, especially those who made it back to Coniston. I take my hat off to the competitors who had to go through a second night though, as the conditions really turned. I can’t even imagine where they found the strength to go through a full night, then a day of hot weather and humidity and then into another night with torrential rain and storms.
|Picture by Nick Ham|
Marc Laithwaite certainly got a laugh when he opened Sunday's awards presentation with: "And that's why we ask you to carry the mandatory kit".
1st Stuart Mills 22:17
2nd Charlie Sharpe 23:02
3rd Ed Batty 23:07
1st (8th overall) Lizzie Wraith 24:15
2nd (13th overall) Debbie Martin-Consani 26:02
3rd (26th overall) Julie Gardner 28:16
Full results here. I was so pleased to see the Kevin and Martin won the team prize (28:20) Phew! And Andrew and Duncan finished in a great time of 27:04