Still alive after ninety-five

I know it's been nearly a week. I know you've read more than your fair share of race tales and I know JK has blogged 12 times, produced a video, slideshow, results spreadsheet and an updated all time list...but here's my version.

We arrived in Milngavie just before midnight. I registered, got my weight card and met with Kas, who had "volunteered" to do the nightshift.

The race start is quite an experience. It's only once a year, on the longest day, that the sleepy suburb of Milngavie is awoken to the sights of a kilted-man standing on top of car shouting instructions and rules to hundreds of people in skin-tight clothes, knee-high socks and startled eyes under head torches.

Bang on 1am, we were off. 95 miles over rough terrain in the Scottish Highlands. Senses alert. Eyes firmly focused on the dimly lite trail ahead. The smell of fear and apprehension. The deafening sound of silence, with only the faint muttering of a few nervous runners and the swishing of bottle packs and rustling jackets.

The first section definitely sets apart the men from the boys, so to speak. The latter go tearing off, frantically weaving. With the slightly more sensible smug in the knowledge that it's not going to last. Running through Mugdock Park, there was a bloke on my left shoulder panting like he was hyperventilating. I wanted to tell him that he was possibly going off too fast, but couldn't. I'm not sure whether I didn't want to come across as arrogant or I didn't want to ruin my chances of putting him into the ground later. I never did find out who he was.

A few miles later, I ran with Jason for a while and then Rosie Bell - last year's second female - trying to keep as steady and easy as possible. I know I'd gone off too fast in The Fling, which is ok (ish!) for 53 miles, but would be detrimental for 95.

I had bought a new head torch a few days before the race. A Petzl Myo. Obviously because I only used the one I bought last time (Petzl Tikka) three times and I hadn't quite spent enough money on the race!! But wow, what a purchase it was. I was even using my torch to help light the way for Rosie.

At the 10 mile mark, Helen Johnson caught up and the three of us chatted and enjoyed the pending sunrise before arriving in Drymen just before 3am. I waved off a top-up of supplies and kept going. I felt quite bad getting Kas to meet me there, but we both knew it was only for emergencies.

I passed a few and lost a few runners on the way to Balmaha. Including a Dutch guy who was already annoyed with the hills. It always bewilders why so many Dutch people (from the land no hills) come over for the WHW. It must be the national form of self-harming. Or many it's corporal punishment.

I continued to chat with Jason and we passed Drew. Boys will be boys and they hooked up and pushed each other on up Conic Hill. I took it easy on the uphill and more so on the downhill. I couldn't afford to take the same tumble I did during the Fling.

Quick top up in Balmaha and it was on to my second least favourite section of the race. Thankfully I had company to keep me entertained. And lots of cheers from Team Kynaston to keep me going.

Regular readers may remember the drama when I "nearly died" when I got lost in waist deep snow earlier in the year. Well, I was following kicked-steps. Sonic had met the step-kicker (a more equipped runner) en route to save me. And that random runner was Dave - who appeared behind me en route to Rowardennan and introduced himself. Fours hours later and he probably wished I had died on Conic Hill, as I was close to killing his ears. Hey, anything to take the focus off the legs.

I really enjoyed the section from Rowardennan to Beinglas. It was a gorgeous morning and the views over the loch were amazing. It wasn't without drama though. Before Inversnaid, I noticed there was a stream of blood down my shin and attached to that stream was a little black slug-like creature. I flicked it off and more blood spluttered out. Could there really be leeches in Scotland?

I was glad to run into Beinglas Farm. The stargate of the WHW. Reaching the end of the bridge is like stepping into a new world. Life always begins after Beinglas, doesn't it? Even though it's not even half-way. I replenished supplies, changed my shoes and headed up and up and up.

At the previous checkpoints I'd lost Aileen (last year's third place) at Balmaha and Rosie (last year's second) at Rowardennan, but I had no idea whether they were in front or behind. In the back of mind, I was still chasing them. When heading towards Coo Poo Junction (near Crianlarich) I saw a red and a yellow top (colours both donned by aforementioned girls)in the distance. That certainly put a spring in my step. I passed seven blokes - two of thom overtook me again later - and discovered the colours I was chasing was neither girls.

Heading towards Auchertyre, the sun was coming out in full force. I reached the farm and was greeted with lots of cheers. After getting weighed (I'd dropped 0.5kg) I changed back into my road shoes, as the inside of my foot was aching with the lack of support. I didn't want to stop as I wanted to take some time to meet the girls who were taking over from Kas in Tyndrum.


(Heading into Tyndrum with Dave and his sore ears!)

Food wasn't going down so well, so I put in an order for smoothie and cold Irn-Bru. Yep, you can take the girl out of Glasgow, but not Glasgow out of the girl.



Out of Tyndrum the headwind was quite forceful. I was starting to walk the hills and run the downs. I could feel a nice blister forming, but knew I'd scheduled in a sock and shoe change at Bridge of Orchy. I was pretty much on my own for this section, apart from a hiker who insisted on telling me about his double hip transplant. Charlotte had run up to meet me, but I was paranoid about support runner rules, so sent her on.

I checked in at Bridge of Orchy and tried to deal with the burning blister. Kas was in charge of plasters and asked me where the blister was, to which I replied: "Eh, the one you can see from space!" which she greeted with a slap round the back of my head.

Into my third change of footwear - my trail shoes - and it was up the Orchy hills. It's just a short two mile section, so it was nice to run with just a bottle in my hand - free of a belt. Mark was still there tagging on, and I apologised for the fact that he had to stare at my butt for so long.

At the top of the hill we were greeted with a smiling Murdo, who was flying a flag and dishing out jelly babies. He told me I was in 23rd position and 5th lady.

I usually love running off the hill down to Victoria Bridge, but this time I had to take it quite easy. Not because my legs hurt, but because my brain hurt. I couldn't get my eyes to focus and register on the path ahead. Mark went hurtling ahead and I sauntered on down to meet my crew.

Loaded up again and with my ipod for company, I embarked on the Drover's Road up to Rannoch Moor. I had downloaded three new albums for moments like this, but then discovered I forgot to transfer them from itunes. Doh!

I passed Mark again, following the JK attack of hills. I ran for 50 breaths and walked for 20 all the way up to the Mor. I was bursting for an overdue comfort break, so I had to gain some distance on the slowing Mark and the fast-approaching Kenny. I managed to find a big rock and spare everyone's blushes.

Although I had eaten quite regularly since the start, I knew I wasn't taking on enough. Just small flapjacks, tablet and mini bars of chocolate. All of a sudden I was ravenous and bonking. I only had a few miles to go until the ski centre checkpoint, but the hill out of the Moor took everything I had. Charlotte and Jill had run up to meet and a mumbled something about bonking/need food/anything. Charlotte - who had become the team go-for, well that's what she gets for earning herself an elite women's place in London Marathon! - was off like a shot.

Quick refuel at the (unnecessary detour!)at the ski centre and Charlotte the Go-for ran down with me to the A82. My lovely midwife, Lesley was cheering me on. I still find it quite funny that her husband is part of this scene. It doesn't seem that long ago that she was cheering encouragement for a completely different reason.

I passed through Kingshouse and on to the Devil's Staircase. I could see two white t-shirts (one of which was Dave's) and a dark one in front of me, but as usual I lack the competitive steak along with the inclination to care.

Heading into Kinlochleven, I was fading rapidly. I had to shout a runner who had gone off in the wrong direction. He started ranting to me about lack of signposting and I somehow wished I'd left him! The cheers through the town really pulled me together. Although I could have done without another detour to the checkpoint.

Arriving, I met Peter Duggan. Forget the race camaraderie, he nearly fainted when he saw me. Apparently he thought he "buried" me 50 miles back. Pah! You were confusing ambition and capability there, Pete. I thought I felt bad, but he bent over and gaunt like Gollum! Mentally he was razor sharp and hell-bent on beating me. Shame I didn't know about this driving force until after the race.

It was lovely to see the Pacepushers at the checkpoint and slightly nerving to see Dr you-will-die Ellis. I had to whisper my request for painkillers, whilst devouring the best sandwich I'd ever tasted. I probably hung about a bit too long - although I was prancing about to stop my legs from ceasing - as I was dreading the Bermuda Triangle that is the Lairig Mor.

Any then it was on to my FIRST least favourite part of the West Highland Way. The dreaded Lairig Mor. Even before I started the climb, I was exhausted by the mere thought of it. The ascent wasn't so bad, but I stumbled across like I had been shot. My muscles felt ok, but my ankles were suffering on the rocky path. But hey, it was always going to hurt. It's a very hilly 95 mile run, not cocktails on the beach.

I was half-heartedly using JK's splits throughout the day. I was sitting somewhere between 20 and 21 hours, but losing time rapidly. Thankfully Lundarva appeared quicker than normal (or maybe I just think that now). I passed a runner, who was resigned to walking and then the beautiful vision that was my crew came into view. I shouted ahead to get my road shoes to discover my voice was breaking, which was a bit of a shock. Charlotte the Go-for was charged with getting my shoes from the car, whilst Kas screamed at her to hurry up, Emma snapped with the camera and Jill expressed her delight in seeing me in daylight and on the same day.

Just seeing the gals lifted my spirits and hearing their cheers spurred me. Up the hill, round the corner and there was the mighty Ben Nevis. Despite numerous training runs, I always love the sight of the (even in June) snow-patched mountain. Although I can never get my head round why - if Fort William is at sea level - the route still continues to climb.



My ankles were a mess, but I just ran what I could. A few days before the race I had read in a book from my extensive running library that if you feel unmotivated or need to dig deep during a race, you should tell yourself you are a warrior. I know I will regret saying this, but going through the pine forests and onto the track I was hobbling and muttering "I am a warrior" over and over again. I know, WTF? Anyone catching a sight of this would think Pete was quite sane! :-)

I was continuously checking my watch , trying to get my brain to work out the distance and time. Just before Braveheart Carpark (which again appeared quicker than normal) Charlotte the Go-for appeared. I muttered a few expletives as a shuffled/jogged it in. In my best pathetic voice I told Charlotte: "I really want to get under 21 hours, but I caaaaaaaaaan't". Just before the entrance to the carpark, She just looked me straight in the eye and said in a matter-of-fact way: "You can do it". The rest of my crew were waiting as I'd asked them if we could all run the glory leg together. I'm not quite sure where it came from, but something snapped and I had a massive surge of energy. I was totally numb and focused, much to the amazement of my crew who were SCREAMING at me. Passing cars were were even beeping.

The funniest bit was Kas shouting that she couldn't keep up as she had been up all night, shouting "track" to Athole to get out of the way and Charlotte continuously reminding me the finish wasn't at the sign. I ran straight through the roundabout, along the pavement and into the carpark. My legs were moving too fast for my brain to register the parked cars, but I made it in time. 20 hours and 58 minutes and 36 seconds.

The female field was awesome this year, with the top three being under 20 hours. The Gibbering Midget was fourth (first last year) in 20:12 and I was 5th female. 20th overall.

It's all the support! Love my gals to bits.

Huge congrats to all who finished and all who postponed their success for another year. Sonic finished in 5th position in an amazing time of 18:47. Ritchie finally finished in pole position. The Crazy German FINALLY made it to Fort William on foot and finished just behind Sonic. Looking at the splits, I want a supply of whatever drugs he took in Fort William. JK had a brave fight, but has probably spent more time blogging than it took him to run. Thanks to everyone who put up with my drivel - Jason, Rosie, Helen, Gavin, Dave, Drew, Mark, Kenny and anyone else I've missed. Thanks to the committee, organisers, stewards, supporters and anyone who has made dreams come true.

I don't think I'll ever get another ten hour PB, so I'm just going to bask in this one for a moment...before sucking it up and getting into training for the Devils race in six weeks.





Ps: I pinched the first two pix from JK.

WHWR 2010

Report, full results and pictures to follow...but in summary: Finished 95miles in 20 hours and 58 minutes. 5th female and 20th overall.

Pre-race rituals anyone?

I usually just take two days off before the race. Hey, if it's good enough for Paula, then it's good enough for me. But prior to the last two good races (Devil's and the Fling) I've run the nine-mile circuit of the Kilpatrick Hills the weekend before. Given this morning's torrential rain and grey skies, I was tempted to just stick to the roads. But would that be tempting fate? A ritual is a ritual after all.

So off I went. Me, myself and I. Zero visibility and even less in navigational skills. As I set off into the mist, I promised myself that if I started to get a bit sceptical about the route, I would turn back. I know I've done the circuit a few times, but it's amazing how disorientated you can become in the mist. And lord knows I could do without the drama this weekend.

Being overly cautious about every step, kept me quite steady. Although the eeriness of it all made me want to push on. Even the sheep were freaking me out. When two runners appeared through the mist, I nearly keeled with shock. More so because they asked ME for directions.

Thankfully the faint path is more prominent than I remember. There were a few brief moments of panic, but all and all it was drama free. I was sodding wet and pretty cold, but at least I wasn't lost. Bonus.



So Kilpatrick Hill run? Tick. Now I just need step reps as my final session, a sports massage and two days of nothing.

What are your pre-race rituals?

I know JK does The Braes, WHWRunner and the Crazy German drive their long-suffering wives insane and Sonic (suddenly) develops a lactose intolerance - although he hasn't quite worked out that biscuits have dairy, but peanut butter doesn't.

The next step: Sobriety.

That's me on the final leg of the taper. I've been on the wagon since Sunday. No more sanity-saving vino until after the race. Life may seem a little uninteresting, but I suppose sobriety is ok in moderation - for a cause.

Since our last chat, I've had two cracking runs on the WHW.

Kingshouse to Beinglas - Monday, May 31
30.8 miles. 5:25hrs.

Last Monday I was out with the Gibbering Midget. Kingshouse to Beinglas. We got the bus up and ran back. It was a lovely day, possibly a little on the hot side, and very busy. I always find running in the opposite directions to hikers a little disconcerting. So many eyes and not enough people to sneak up on.

The run to Bridge of Orchy was great, but I bonked on the way to Tyndrum. Not sure whether it was fuel, heat or pace, but it's quite nasty going the other way. At Tyndrum we chatted with a bloke who was walking the full distance from Landsend to John o' Groats. With all his gear. And a full charity collection box. That was my cue to TTFU. I gave him all the money I had, which forced The GM to buy my supplies of tablet and sports drink :-) Bing! After that, I was back on form.



We ran, walked, chatted, stop for sheep herding (obviously) and were generally quite chipper all the way over to the A82 crossover.



We embarked on a stomp up the steep hill, briefly chatting to the oncoming hikers. Until one unsuspecting fella said: "Should you not be running?". The GM half-jokingly tore half his ear off...and then went on about it for half an hour. Thereafter, anytime we saw hikers, she made me run up the hills. I was glad to get to the top of the Crianlarich, as I was burst.


(me using the photo opp as an excuse for a breather!)

Great downhill all the way to Derrydarroch and then it was back up again. When we hit the steep ascent, I suspected the worse when I saw a group of guys lounging on the grass verge. At the incline the GM slowed to a stomp, to which I said: "Phew! I thought you were going to go for it then." She replied: "Hell no, none of them were good-looking". Fair play. Hail! Hail! The ugly boys.

Arriving at Beinglas, we stopped to buy some water (again, courtesy of the GM) and walked over to Drover's Inn. I remembered my sports therapist had been banging on about leg raises after runs, so I promptly lay at the side of the road with my feet on the fence. I encouraged a reluctant GM to do the same. Little did I know she was going to sit on nettles. So within minutes so was jumping about, squealing and yanking at her hotpants - much to the enjoyment of passing motorists.

Kinlochleven to Fort William Saturday, June 5

This was the annual Garscube WHW relay race. The GM and I were doing the last leg in final preparation for next weekend's race.

It was a bit of a scorcher and I had watched the previous leg runner burst in the heat, so I was a bit nervous when it came to my turn. Did I tell you I don't cope well in heat??

The intial climb up to Lairig Mor was quite taxing - but the GM went off like a rocket. After a few miles I got into my rhythm and kept pretty much the same distance all the way to Lundarva.

I expected the Way to be packed - with hikers finishing after starting at the bank holiday - but it was empty. Only four rubbish mountain bikers that I kept passing on the ascents.

I struggled from Lundarva to the woods, as I had run out of fluids and was suffering in the heat. It was a walk/shuffle all the way until I hit the shade of the pine trees, when I got my second wind. Unfortunately this allowed the GM to really widen the gap. She finished in 2.25 and I was 2.33. I felt great and (in the words of JK)really enjoyed my run.
___________

So that's it folks. I did a wee tempo and some reps this week. Club run tonight. Possibly 10 miles at the weekend and some steps at the beginning of next week. Then it's game over. In the meantime I will continue with my sobriety. It's just a bit rubbish waking up the morning and knowing that's the best I'm going to feel all day :-)

Need some inspiration?

The countdown begins

Only three weeks to go, folks. I've pretty much done all I can, so now I just need to get myself mentally prepared. As Henry Ford once said: "If you think you can do a thing or think you can't do a thing, you're right". Never a truer word said.

So since we last spoke, it took me a while to get back my mojo back after the two day run. The mind was willing, but my legs told me to feck off.

We had the club "training" weekend in Callander last week. I took the conventional route and drove the 30miles with the car bursting at the seams. Sonic ran there. Go figure.

The weekend is always more social and less boot-camp. There's certainly more input (food and drink) and less output (running) for the duration. Big family feasts, late night drinking, bit of a sing-song and lots of chats.



My favourite conversations of the weekend were with Ladies Captain, Irish Maz and Men's Vice Captain, Joe.

Maz, dear sweet Maz, after years of running and leading trophy-winning ladies club teams into races finally (you could actually hear the penny drop) discovered the difference between the gun time and chip time. I kid you not, she actually wondered why the official time was always slightly faster than her watch time.

But Joe? Crazy, crazy Joe. To set the scene, there's a new whippet fast French guy who has joined the club. He has one of those accents, that you're not quite sure if he's putting it on. Anyway we were discussing what a great asset he is to the club, when Joe announced that he was welcoming him by speaking French to him. "Really, Joe, you can speak French?" To which he replied in the super-enthusiastic way that only Joe does: "Yeh, really". After I asked him what he had said to him he said "Je voudrais un baggette avec jambon and fromaige". No joke, he told him he would like a ham and cheese piece. WTF? No wonder the wee guy runs so fast.

Who would want to take time out and run when there's such great entertainment. And there was the small matter of the hottest day of the year. Not being a bit fan of running and heat, it was only my conscience that got me out. A nice easy five miler along the lochside.

On Sunday I ran on the cycle route from Callander to Aberfoyle. Great track with lots of cheeky hills to warm up the lungs. It's pretty much up and up. I was looking forward to the sharp down bits, but unforuntately I took the wrong turn and Sonic had to come and pick me up off the main road. Typical, eh? What goes up, must get lost.

Things have been a bit perkier this week. Good tempo on Tuesday (ave 7:22), 400m on the grass track on Wednesday morning and eight miles easy today.

My last long run with be on Monday - Kingshouse to Beinglas (31 miles) and then it's officially taper time.

Cairn's been sorting out the support vehicle.

Pièce de résistance

That's it. I've completed my highest mileage week in preparation for the fast appropriately 95 miles of joy. Big tick. But after running 73 miles over two days, you would have thought I'd have slept like a log. No such luck, I was up at 3am reading blogs and faffing about on Facebook and Ebay. I even woke Sonic up to tell him about Mrs Mac's FB status about a runner on the Cateran Trail ultra who stopped at mile 46 for a coffee and a cigarette! Brilliant. Frustratingly post-long-distance-run restlessness is becoming part and parcel for me. After the Devil's last year, I had about an hour's sleep. It didn't help that my ankles felt like I done a round with Kathy Bates. I had a house full of insomniacs after the Fling and I was up and down most of last Saturday and Sunday night.

Does anyone else have problems sleeping after long hours of running? After a wee google search, here's the theory:

The physical and psychological stresses of training beyond your individual threshold may stimulate the sympathetic nervous system, leading to irritability and reducing the quality and quantity of sleep.

Yep, I'm none the wiser too.

Anyway, here's how my week went:

Tuesday: 8 miles with 5 mile tempo (7.31, 7.09, 7.12, 7.08, 7.02 ave 7.13)

Wednesday: 8 miles steady ave 8.28

Friday - Milngavie to Beinglas 41.5 miles.



Booked myself on the 3:30pm Citylink bus back. I Started about 6.30am - allowing myself nine hours to complete the route. I did it in 7:19 in the Fling, but was aiming for 8:30 as part of the two-day run.

I was slightly nervous about doing this run alone. Me. Alone. With only my thoughts. The Gibbering Midget and I had planned this weekend a few months ago, but she had to start early and do an out and back, as she had a hospital appointment for her Mum in the afternoon.

The GM was the only runner I met on the whole journey - just outside Drymen. It was quite comical, as we were pretty much wearing the same outfit. Black 2XU compression tights, black tee, Nike sleeves and Nathan backpacks. She was wearing her signatory black buff and I, of course, had a black cap. The ginger ninjas indeed. En route to Balmaha a wee man shouted "Hello again!" I had a wee chuckle when I thought he must have been thinking I'd tanned a shed load of jelly babies since our last encounter.

It was a fabulous morning for running. Bright and fresh. Here's the cracking view over Loch Lomond.



I was having a slight panic about the potential to getting burned when, right on cue, the torrential rain started. By the time I got to Rowardennan, you couldn't see the loch for grey clouds. You gotta love the Scottish weather.

Generally I had quite a good run. I'd be lying if I said I was over the Fling though. I'm glad I gave myself loads of time, so I could take a 15 minute break at Rowardennan and stopped to talk to a few elderly trekkers at Doune Bothy. After seven hours on my own, I was almost talking to the birds.

I finished in 8:29 (who says you can set your heart by my pacing?!). Plenty of time to wander round to Drover's, get sorted and catch the bus. Glad I booked the bus though, as it was packed. Felt sorry for the poor woman sitting next to me all the way back to Glasgow though, as after 41miles over the lochside, I smelt like a goat!

The GM called when I was on the bus - at the dodgy mobile signal bit(again to the annoyance of the woman next to me). We were both complaining about having to carry so much gear, so I mentioned that I was going to talk nicely to Sonic to see if he will support us on day two...then we got cut off. Back in range I got a text from Sonic saying "Sharon has texted to see if I will support you both tomorrow". You gotta love her :-)


Saturday - Beinglas to Kingshouse



And then there was day two. After the previous days's lonesome adventures, the GM and I were both glad of the company. And, of course, having Sonic and Cairn on support.

Driving up to Beinglas farm we saw a chap with two young boys who were dressed head-to-toe in hiking gear. I commented to Sonic that I hope Cairn turns out like that. Although after naming him Cairn he will probably rebel and take up Badmington or cricket or something. Heading up on to the track we had a brief conversation with the boys' Dad. I told him that I hope my son becomes an adventure-type and he said to check out their website. So here it is, Ryan Gosling - the youngest attempt at a Munro round.

And then we had to run. I knew I would be a bit rusty, but the whole run to Tyndrum was pretty nasty. Some drugs, coke and tablet at Brodie's and I was off. Knackered, but a bit more chipper. Ironically my best section was from Bridge of Orchy - courtesy of a Red Bull shot. You know you're an ultra runner when it takes you 20 miles to feel right.

Generally my legs felt ok. My quads were slightly trashed, but my glutes were the worst. I expected to finish with a Kylie bum, but given that most of pain was caused by the vibration of the jiggly bits, I knew that wasn't going to happen.

It true Scottish style we started the run peeling off layers in the heat and finished getting pelted with hailstones. Oh well a nice 7m/m finish into Kingshouse put some zip back into her legs.

And now for the sad bit...

Some readers may know the GM's Mum has been unwell for a few months. During our run on Saturday she had an operation. The GM made numerous calls throughout the day to check progress and got the all clear on the way home. Later that night, after the GM's visit, she took a turn for the worse and passed on Tuesday evening. I'm sure her Mum is catching up with her lost son and watching over her girl.

Just in case you thought I was becoming a serious runner...

...Let me remind you how shallow I am. New pink shoes. Woohoo.




Not sure they're going to help me much with the small matter of a 75 mile (two-day) training run this weekend. But at least they'll match my face.

Glasgow Women's 10K

Got myself a wee PB, so I did. 46.41. Nothing to write home about, or blog for that matter, so I'll just give you the brief facts.

Position: 201 out of nearly 11,000.

Splits: 7:12, 7:26, 7:24, 7:34, 7:49, 7:13, 6.51 (that's just for the last 0.29 though)

Report: My legs generally felt ok, until I hit a hill. See mile 4/5 above. That'll be the Fling effect. Or maybe because I'm used to walking and snacking on hills. That'll be the ultra-distance running effect.



Congrats to: Gibbering Midget for donning the Garscube vest, Dr CG for a kicking ass and being v colour coordinated, Mo and Anna for letting me look at their backs the WHOLE way, Debs G (20th)for reminding me why I don't join Johnston's Joggers, Linda K for a fab top 100 poisition, Mrs JK for showing JK and the little JKs how to do it..and to everyone to finished or helped make the event as amazing as it is.

Click here for more pictures. And here for results

Thanks for Sonic and Cairn for support.

Back in the saddle

My main goal from the Fling was to recover quite swiftly and get back into training. After a few restless nights (damn adrenaline!), few days of achy legs and a couple of swims, I went back to club training on Thursday night. Let's just say it wasn't finest athletic performance. My legs felt OK, but they didn't feel connected to my body. I was stumbling, tripping and kicking my ankles - all things I do when I'm tired. Not sure whether I was trailing my feet more or the fatigue had effected my foot-eye coordination. For a bit of distraction, my breathing was way worse than my legs. I felt like I was running up hill, even though we were on the monotonous flats of the canal.

Thankfully I felt better towards the end. And on Saturday I had a great run with the Gibbering Midget. We started at Kinghouse and headed up passed the Glencoe Ski Centre. What started as a "let's take is very easy", moved on to a trot up the hills to a full-out race across Rannoch Mor. Both of us feeling quite sprightly. After a night of beer-guzzling in the Clachaig Inn, we weren't so sprightly on Sunday morning. My hangover was short-lived as I was thrown into the frenzy of a lively three-year-olds' birthday party at one of these crazy house play centres.

Monday I took an extra rest day as the family were coming over for lunch. It was just the kick up the ass we needed to get the house (almost) finished.

Tuesday was legs were twitching to go, so embarked on my usual southside tempo route. Two mile warm-up, followed by five at tempo and one for a wee cooldown. Splits: 7.37, 7.21, 7.17, 7.16, 6.59. Took a wee bit to get the ol' pins turning over, but did you notice I did a mile that began with a 6? Did you?

Yesterday morning I did 500m reps. 'Twas OK, but my legs felt it towards the end. Tonight I'm up at the club for a 6m steady, then two days of nothingness before the Women's 10K on Sunday. Talk about one extreme to the other. I can't say I'm overly bothered about it, I would just like to do it every year. Last year it was my comeback (post Cairn) race. If I can enjoy it half a much as I did last year, then I will be happy.

A Spring Fling

It was pitch black and raining outside, as I was applying suncream. Like ultra-distance running, the Scottish weather is fickle. You never quite know what you'll get, so best be prepared for all eventualities.

So it was my first Highland Fling. 53.3 miles will a little 6000ft of ascent and a nice 6am start. All uninviting factors, but I was so bloody excited.

Anyone who is interested in Scottish running blogs, will have probably read a few race reports, so I'm going to try and keep this short and sweet. Well, short anyway.

I went off too fast. Made a comment about road shoes being fine for the terrain...and then took an arse-over-elbow tumble down Conic Hill. Paid for my over zealous start in the second section. Picked up after Inversnaid and picked off a few runners in the process. At the start I had joked with JK as I turned my back on him and told him to get used to the sight - little did I know he would so easily oblige! :-) I Had a bit of battle from Beinglas with Helen Johnson - who has previously put me in my place. I was VERY brave with the beasts at Coo Poo Junction, as after 46m I didn't care if they killed me. I managed to pull away from Helen after Crianlarich, but she made me work for it.

The last few miles were a bit stop-start and every bump was a mountain. A girl was running out from Tyndrum and informed me I was third lady. Surely not. I thought Helen and I were going for 1st vet. I just assumed Lucy Colquhoun had finished so far ahead of everyone, that said girl hadn't noticed her.

I walked the last teeny weeny hill on the tarmac road passed By the Way. I joked with a smiling and cheering family that I was saving it for the final sprint. Heading through gates and down the rocky path, I heard bagpipes tuning up. I'm not usually a fan of the ol' pipes, but it was the most amazing touch. My own personal welcoming party.

I'm not even sure I heard anyone cheering as I approached the finishing gantry. I was in my own little state of euphoria. Mrs JK had to scream at my to "click in" and Muriel had to physically remove the chip from my wrist.

I spotted the Gibbering Midget who informed me I was 3rd, behind her 2nd and (obviously!) Lucy's 1st position. As we were jumping about shrieking, I thought she was sharing my excitement. I later discovered her shrieks were because I was jumping on her toes :-)

So finishing third (in 9:48hrs) behind two WHWR winners? That's nothing to be snuffed at. I think race organiser, Murdo, was just as excited at his top three girls as we were.



Sonic finished 3rd too - which was quite uncanny. Even more so that the Crazy German was just ahead in 2nd position. Considering Sonic and the CG train together and so do the Gibbering Midget and I...I think it's a good way to continue.



The GM, Karen Mac and I also won the first ladies team prize, so it was a good day for Garscube all round.




We enjoyed quite a few beers between finishing and the presentation. Funniest moment was when waiting for our team name to be announced, the hand of god (via JK) came from above and whipped the bottles of beer out of our hands followed by the words: "you're not going up there with them!" and the chorus reply: "Sorry, Dad!".

Big huge thanks to Murdo, Ellen and all the wonderful stewards. Congrats to all starters and finishers. Special congrats to first time Flingers, Silke, Karen Mac and Rachel I'm-never-doing-it-again-but-already-planning-next-year. Yes, ultra-running is like child birth. Refer to previous post.

http://debsonrunning.blogspot.com/2009/06/whwr-vs-childbirth.html

Queen of Bonking

My dear friend the Subversive One has an uncanny way of crossing the line. Unfortunately it is more often the moral line and less often the finishing line :-) Fortunately for him, he gets away with it because a) it's quite funny b) he lives over the border and I can't therefore kick his a&s. Except this time there has been reference to chasing, grunting and bonking...just as he's heading north of the border. Worse thing is, my husband has actually joined in the banter!

Don't get me wrong I ain't the-girl-next-door type. Unless, of course, you live next door to The Priory. But the name "queen of bonking" isn't going to sit well outwith running circles.

See the Subversive One's blog for the full shebang

My latest step to Priory heaven was at the Press Ball. Yes, there was copious amounts of free-flowing wine. I tried to be quite behaved and had four glasses of water with dinner...and still ended up two sheets to the wind.

Half propping up the bar, Sonic pointed out that Mark Beaumont (cycled round the world chap) was standing behind me. My eyes lit up like Christmas trees and Sonic reluctantly agreed to take a picture of us for the blog.



OK this is what I wanted to say:

"I know this is a bit cringe worthy, but I have a running blog. And my friend John the Blog has a picture of him and Paula Radcliffe on his, so I think this might rival that."

Note that's what I wanted to say. I reality, my wine-fuelled spiel was confined to: "Eh, eh, eh...I run!". He looked at me as if to say: "yeah, but I cycle" and Sonic slapped his own forehead.

So now every time I see Mark Beaumont on the telly, Sonic take great pleasure in saying "eh, eh, eh...I run" as I slither out of the room in shame.

If I was only slightly sozzled and my usual gobby self I would have probably said something more appropriate like: "If you're going to gatecrash a party, the least you could do it shave. You're not on your bike now. Gypo."

No flinging in the rain.

'Tis all a bit quiet in blog land this week. All my nearest and dearest are either tapering for the Highland Fling or London Marathon. Many of whom are having to endure the drama that is the closed airspace around the UK.

As you may well recall I had a bit of a tug-of-war with myself as to whether to do London or The Fling. In the end the latter won, but I was never quite sure of the decision. A bit of peer pressure coupled with a) I've done London Marathon four times, and can defer my place b) I would always just be a number in London c) it's all about the WHWR this year - and my Fling application was in the post.

A lot of the said peer pressure came from the Gibbering Midget. The deal was, I sign up to Fling and she signs up to Garscube Harriers. So unattached runner no more, here she is in all her glory! Fingers crossed we've got a good team out for Saturday. The GM, Rachel, Karen Mac and I.



Since my last post, I've had some really feel-good runs. Great tempo with the club on Thursday, 3m easy on Friday, Kilpatrick hill run with the GM on Saturday, 10m steady road run on Sunday. I always think a good test of fitness is how you feel on the hills. I've been feeling really quite comfortable of late, so that's a nice confidence boost. Just need to get the fuelling right...

Today I did an 8 mile steady, tomorrow it's step reps and that's me over and out. Got a deep tissue massage booked with the Polish Ambassador of Deep Heat on Thursday.

The weather forecast is looking most favourable: Dry, sunny and fresh. Perfect.

Ps: Anna

Boys, toys, wine and sunshine.

You know you're out running with the boys when the chat is all about races, strategies, tactics and plans. The Gibbering Midget and I usually like to maintain a certain level of shallowness. I'm not actually sure what we generally chat about, but we've righted many wrongs over our miles.

On Sunday I ran with the GM, JK, the Crazy German and Ian B from Milngavie to Balmaha. Perfect day for running. Glorious sunshine with a nice breeze. Thankfully the dry spell has sorted about the mud I experienced the week before.



My favourite moment on the run was witnessing a conversation between JK and the Crazy German. JK is the master of plans and spreadsheets. He's probably the only person (in the whole world) who carries laminated sheets of section times. Anyway, he was discussing tactics, other runner's race times and how he could possibly shave 20 mins off his WHWR time. The Crazy German in his best matter-of-fact-humour commented: "It's simple, John. You just run faster". Genius, eh?

The GM wasn't feeling too great, so decided to call it a day just before Drymen. The fact that she's running at all is truly amazing. Her Mum is very ill in hospital and she is being Daughter, parent, nurse, career and chauffeur. After a hands-on-the-hip style stand off along the lines of "just LEAVE me" and "no, I'm not leaving until I know you've spoken to someone" I pushed on knowing that I probably wouldn't (eh, want to) catch the boys.

I was feeling pretty good, so decided to make the most of it. Finished in Balmaha in 3:08, which I was quite chuffed with. *Especially after my pre-run wine performance at the Pacepushers on Friday night. Thankfully on Saturday I felt better than I actually deserved.




I'm loving my new Garmin 310xt. Not that there's anything wrong with my 205, but a girl needs accessories. Tried out my new Nathan Trail Mix belt (running handbag), which is just fabulous.



I had to laugh when I was putting on the belt and sorting out the straps. Whilst fitting I said: "I wonder what this clip is for" trying to force the strap round the loop, to which Sonic replied "Oi, stupid! That's to hang the belt up in the shop". Doh!

So I've almost got my kit sorted for the Fling. The unsupported Fling that is.

I've also been using my secret weapon of late: Deep tissue massages from the Polish Ambassador of Deep Heat. He is also Aileen Scott's secret weapon. I think Aileen and I might have (another!) wee battle at The Fling next week. I asked the secret weapon if he could possibly hurt her a little bit. He's still to name his price :-)

Coming of age

I neglected to mention that, as of Sunday, I am now officially a Vet runner. Yep, I'm 35. Not quite sure how that snuck up on me.

When Sonic asked me what I wanted for my Birthday and I said I would like a baby girl, I knew I would get a good present. Result!



Now I just need to work out how to use it. Taking out the box would be a step in the right direction.

I'm glad to report, that everything seems to be back on track. I had a cracking tempo run on Tuesday, rep session Wednesday and 2 x 2m intervals at the club last night last night. I know, it's all back-to-back hard sessions, but I didn't plan it that way. After three hard sessions, I'm having a couple days easy before a WHW run on Sunday with JK and the Gibbering Midget.

Tuesday tempo: 2mile warm-up, 5m tempo (7.34, 7.22, 7.44, 7.18)
Wednesday: 8 x 500m reps
Thursday: 2m warm-up, 2m tempo (7.16, 7.25), jog recovery 2m tempo (7.16, 7.07), 2m recovery

:-( and :-)

My first ultra race of 2010 resulted in a big fat DNF. Short for Do Not Fking mention the D33 :-) I'm not going to whine and bitch or give a blow-by-blow account of when the wheels fell off. Quite frankly, the wheels weren't even on from the off. This ol' banger was on bricks and totally delusional that I could run on empty.

I felt as sick as a dog when I arrived in Aberdeen on Friday evening. I went straight to bed without dinner. I'll spare you the graphics, but I had quite a restless night. Breakfast involved gagging on a slice of toast and banana.

It's a long way to go without so much as a pair of dirty socks, so I thought it would give it a bash. I lasted about three miles. Knowing that Sonic's friend Tom (who is also his "big, big boss") was waiting at the turning point, I knew I had to get to 16.5 miles. Cursing myself for not carrying a mobile, I got slower and slower. A comfort break, bit of walking, spraying Skittles and a motivation chat from Keith, which followed the form of "Do you want a gel? Do you want a hug? Do you want a bunch of TOUGHEN THE F**K UP?"...and I was out of there. I even took my number off and hung my head in shame, as I was passed again and again. The comment "Hey, Debs. What are you doing back here?" was the nail in the coffin.

I got to the 16.5 mile turning point where Tom, Caroline, Mama Sonic, Cairn and Connor were waiting with cheers and supplies. I withdrew.

All was not lost, as Sonic finished in a fabulous 5th place*. And it was great to see some great performances from WHW family folks.

Well done to George Reid and all the stewards. It's a cracking, well-organised race. With chocolate and beer for the finishers...oh, and the DNFers too :-)

And now for the :-) part of the tale. Just to prove I'm not a complete woose, I sucked it up, gave myself a boot up the backside, forced down some pasta and went out for a 24-miler on the WHW on Sunday. Milngavie to top of Conic and back to Drymen. I resigned to the fact that I wasn't going to eat, so I was doped up on Coke and Gatorade. Magic.

It was nice to see so many runners out and lovely to bump into Lesley. There's a lot to be said about the spirit of the West Highland Way. I finished on a total high and it gave me back the confidence I lost the day before.

As for the DNF. Hey ho, I believe most things happen for a reason. My last DNF (Great Scottish Run in 2007) was probably the best thing that happened (running wise) to me. Lesson learned. It's onwards and upwards. Just Do Not Fking mention the D33 :-)

Some pictures of the occasion...






Caroline and Connor

Withdrawing

Withdrawn

Sonic saving the day

* Sonic wants me to write that he is my super-hero. He keeps going on about his "fabulous splits". I'm trying to pretend I'm interested, but I can't quite get there.

Testing times

Well, dear reader, it has been a testing time. The house move dilemma (after the whole selling and buying palava) was a load more stressful and exhausting that I expected it to be. The new abode is a project-and-a-half. We've ripped out the bathroom, stripped all the walls and floors and basically started again. After, of course, putting in a new heating a boiler system. Which we later discovered was too powerful for some of the old pipes, so they burst and flooded the kitchen. As of today - nearly four weeks down the line - every room is half finished. Although we now have a fully functioning toilet and shower. Trust me, that's exciting.

Then there was the bug we all managed to catch, courtesy of Cairn - although Cairn was by far the worse. There was mucho puking and nappies that would test even the sternest stomach. On top of that he had tonsillitis and an ear infection. It was awful to see him so ill, but he was such a wee trooper throughout it. He would even lift his tired wee arms to blow kisses...as his Mother disappeared out the door to get the miles in. BBF, here I come.

Although I've been trying to stick to the training schedule, there has been many "resort to plan B" occasions.

On Saturday, March 21, I set out for my planned 42 miles from Tyndrum to Fort William. Silke was starting at BoO and doing and out-and-back and Sonic and the Crazy German were doing the reverse from Fort William to Trydrum. Car pull sorted...or so we thought.

After struggling to eat for a few days, the tank was already empty before I'd even set my watch. I couldn't even stomach breakfast that morning, but thought I'd fuel on the run. The first 8-10 were a struggle and I really noticed the difference going up the Drover's Road onto Rannoch Moor. Although it's a testing incline, I can generally trot the full distance. I was reduced to a stop-start and the lack of rhythm was quite frustrating. The heavy rucksack wasn't helping either, as it was a suffocating as a small child on your back. By the time I had hauled my sorry ass out of the Moor and met Silke in Glencoe, I was gone. I forced down a total of four jelly babies and planned to call it a day a Kinlochleven. Of course, I could have curled up in front of the fire at Kingshouse, but there was still a teeny weeny bit of fight left in me to tackle the Devil's Staircase.

I met the Crazy German just outside Kinlochleven who informed me Sonic has thrown in the towel after 10 miles and was walking back to get the car. The Crazy German was knackered after his super fast performance in the Double Marathon, so he headed back with me.

So what started out quite ambitious, ended with the Crazy German and I on a bus to Ballachulish, with a broken Sonic coming to our rescue. Silke was the only star of the day! Thanks for taking one for the team, Doc.

Although 28 miles on four jelly babies has got to help train my body to run-on-empty?

Since then things have got slightly better...

Last week I had a few good mid-week runs, but on Friday night I decided to have a few wines (OK, I nearly polished the bottle) and spent most of Saturday spewing. Self-inflicted? Possible. But did I really deserve that on a bottle of 8% wine? Bet the Subversive one is choking with laughter at concept of something so weak. After spending the morning bonding with a bucket (remember I didn't have a toilet then) and just about managed some toast and soup for dinner.

So Sunday's planned 30-miler started - again - on empty. I decided to give the Balmaha-Inversnaid-Balmaha a bash, knowing that I couldn't handle another DNF. Despite the obvious, I felt remarkably good. I was only 10 minutes behind Sonic and the Crazy German at Inversnaid - after meeting up with Bill Maxwell and running with him for a few miles. Having a bit of company makes such a difference, doesn't it?

I had swapped my usual rucksack for a Inov-8 bumbag. I'm not usually a fan of anything round my waist, but after last week's suffocating effects, it was a welcome relief. Again, I carried more food that required, as this week I only managed 500ml of coke. Despite it's bad press, coke has magical effects :-) It's certainly my ultra-running tipple of choice.

I really only hit a lull after Sallochy Bay when the energy reserves were below the healthy stage. My legs still felt really light though. I finished in 5:32, just 26 minutes behind the boys. They claimed to have been taking it easy, but really I just ran to how I felt. Super Silke has swapped her role as team trooper to babysit Cairn, so it was a lovely welcoming party.

So this week, it's all about the D33 in Aberdeen on Saturday. The weather isn't looking very promising, so we'll see what happens. Given that the race organiser is the most mental person I know, I doubt a call-off will be on the cards.

Glee-ful tempos.

I've had a few cracking tempo runs in the last few weeks. Two mile warm-up and then five-miles of tempo..all courtesy of the new Glee soundtrack. I defy anyone not to up the anti to Halo/Walking on Sunshine mash-up. I was practically running along the side of walls.



Feb 16: 7.37, 7.39, 7.37, 7.27, 7.10 (ave 7.30)
Feb 22: 7.35, 7.25, 7.40, 7.31, 7.01 (ave 7.27)
March 1: 7.43, 7.28, 7.31, 7.19, 7.07 (ave 7:26)

The next week or so is going to prove quite challenging, as we're moving house on Friday. The new purchase is a project and a half.

I'm taking tomorrow off work to pack, as I've barely put a dent in it. I'm sending Sonic to work and Cairn to nursery, so I can get peace to get on with it.

You know how I'm convinced Sonic does certain things to get out of certain chores? Like how he puts the bowls face up on the draining board after washing up. Well, this is a little treasure. I know I shouldn't mock him after he (by his own omission) saved my life on Saturday, but this is too good to pass up.

After using half the bubble-wrap supply to careful pack away his X-box, he marked the box "Breakable". When I pointed out that maybe "fragile" would be more appropriate label he actually tried to clarify the difference between breakable and fragile...And then tried to rectify is by drawing a wee smiley face.



Yep, you got it, he's going to work tomorrow. And if he plays his usual cards, he'll get in lots of training over the next week or so.

I'm the common denominator

When it comes to drama, guaranteed I'll be at the root of it. And today's run took it to a whole new level.

According to my training schedule, a 35-mile run was on the cards. The original plan was to run from Bridge of Orchy to Fort William, but recent snow storms across Scotland forced us to change plans to lower-lying grounds.

Cairn was staying at my Mum's last night, so we could both run today. I left the house with the view to running onto the WHW, taking the road round to Balmaha and then back on the WHW up Conic Hill and onto Milngavie. Sonic was doing the similar route, but leaving after me to catch up.

All was going well until I started going up Conic Hill. The further I went up, the deeper the snow got. In hindsight I was ill prepared for the conditions. The temperature was close to freezing, but the wind-chill factor would have taken it well below that. Some kind soul had kicked most of the steps, so I followed them. If I had half a brain cell I would turned back, but I was committed (oh and a little bit stubborn) and was moving closer to the summit. I called Sonic to explain the situation (mini-tantrum) who informed me he was at the bottom of hill. Descending the other side was when I got myself into a real pickle. I was waist-deep in thick snow, soaking wet and freezing my ass off. There was a layer of ice on top of snow, which was shredding my legs. Despite knowing this route like the back of my hand, the path was non-existent and I felt as if I was (literally) rolling about aimlessly. I was a blubbering, snottering wreck. As dramatic as it sounds, I honestly feared for my life.

Panic calls to Sonic (mega-tantrum), who tried to calm me and find out where I was. He informed me he was down at the bridge (after going from Drymen). "WTF? You mean you're not on this hill". I was expecting him to appear behind, like a knight in shining armour. "F*ck no, it's waist-deep up there", was the reply. After what seemed like an eternity of trudging through snow, he appeared in the distance. Given the way I had previously acted he would have been forgiven for just leaving me there!!

Sonic was a little more prepared (from his mountain rescue training) than me, and piled me up with a fleece sweater and a wind-proof jacket. My survival kit consisted of some sweets, a cap, babywipes and an ipod! He later informed me that I was gibbering rubbish and shaking uncontrollably. I must admit being that cold and that disorientated - it's amazing that a route you know so well becomes unrecognisable in different conditions - was very scary. What would normally take 30 minutes, took over two hours. And I would probably take the prize for being the most ill equipped/prepared runner on the hills.

Although, at a lower level - the snow-depth had shrunk to a more manageable knee-deep, it was a few miles on the route to Drymen before we could start running. There were a few walkers out enjoying - what was then - as lovely snow-covered path. I had piled the layers of clothing on top of my backpack, so I must have looked like a Ninja turtle approaching.

We met another runner - Sarah who was training for the Fling - just outside of Drymen. She must have thought I was slightly unhinged, given the ensemble and the gibbering story of my Conic Hill adventure.

Anyway, the show must go on. Although If I was given the option of airlift of the hill to never run again, I would have taken it. Back in the land of normality (or at least normal body temperature) I had waved off the notion of hitching a lift and changed the route to running back over the Balloch Horseshoe home. 33 miles in total. If good ultra-running training is about time of feet, then that was a quality run. Although it's not an experience I would want to repeat, EVER.

Sitting of the comfort of my sofa with a chilled glass of wine (for medicinal reasons, obviously) I probably did act a little OTT. When I told Sonic I thought Cairn was going to be orphaned, he said "but he would still have me". Really, it's two of the same thing. I would just leave two boys without responsible guidance and care. Although Sonic has had the satisfaction of referring to me as a "fking idiot" more often than absolutely necessary this afternoon. Next time, I'll pack more appropriately. Well, maybe. It has given me something to blog about :-)

My boobs have relocated to my thighs!

I neglected to mention the good points of Valentine's Day. The lovely Sonic bought me gorgeous roses, chocolates and fabulous North Face slippers. I got him an I owe you (present hadn't arrived in the post) and chocolates, which I think I ate the most of. I did, however, treat to some slap-up sushi and noodles - my favourite. All selfless acts.

Training this week...

Monday: 5.5 steady
Tuesday: 7 miles with 5 miles tempo (7.29m/m)
Wednesday: 6 x 650m reps in Kelvingrove Park - with a cheeky hill in the middle
Thursday: 6.2 mile club run - 25 minute out and back - steady to tempo pace
Friday: Rest

The three hard sessions back-to-back was probably not my wisest choice - not that I've ever made a wise choice - as my legs felt the effects on yesterday's long run.

I met the Gibbering Midget for a 20m(ish) circuit round Helensburgh. BTW the Gibbering Midget is Sharon - not Cairn, as Stephen asked me at club training. He's been walking for about a month now, but he's not progressed into ultra-running yet.

Back in time for Sonic to hand over the relay baton that is our son, before he headed off to the National Country Championships in Falkirk. Sonic that is, Stephen, not Cairn. Obviously I don't need to reiterate the fact that I don't do cross-country, so it works out well for us.

The latest Sonic-ism - it has been a while since I posted one - was during a conversation about how amazed he was that everyone seems to know his name (except they obviously cheer "Marco") at cross-country events. I told Sonic it was because people knew him through me. Joking. To which he replied - in all seriousness - "they probably do know you, because they were dead slow". Well I'm never going to look at my husband for an ego boost. It was right up there with when he pointed out from his latest ultra-running read that the best female ultra runners have no boobs and a higher (for a runner) body fat percentage. Followed by a knowing nod that would explain why my ability lies in a longer distances.

By my own omission, my boobs have gone beyond ridiculously small. Even the Gibbering Midget has been mocking me for it. You know, Little Miss Katie Price!! I would retaliate and tell you about her super un-PC chat about those less-fortunate at her concert the other night, but I'm afraid she might be taken out in a drive-by mobility scooter shooting. I'll just get her back by mentioning she was at a Ronan Keating concert! I know, WTF? But yeah, why would a blind person get a front row seat?

Even before my husband's comments on body fat, I've been trying to work on mine. Even though I'm pretty much the same weight as I was before Cairn (or BC, as we refer to it) my body fat is approx 2% higher. I've been reading Racing Weight by Matt Fitzgerald, which is one of those random purchases from an Amazon recommends list.



According to this book - and its calculations on optimum weight for peak performance - I'm need to shift 5lbs and 2.5% of body fat. I've put on 3lbs since i stopped breast-feeding in August. Well actually it was less to do with milk supplying and more to do with eating too much :-) I'll keep you posted on progress - once I've got through the book. So far, I would recommend it as an interesting read. I'm hoping to get to a bit where I still eat cake, but I doubt that's going to come up.

St Valentine's Day Massacre

If it wasn't for the fact that Sonic is, em, quite Sonic, there could have been a massacre.

Before I delve into the delight that was Valentine's Day, I want to tell you about my first PB for 2010. I did the slightly bumpy Parkrun 5K on Saturday morning. 22:53. Five seconds slower than my Garmin time. Lord knows what I was doing faffing about at the start. Anyway, that's it, I told you. Had a bit of a battle with a Kirkie burd, but she came up trumps. Enough said.

On Sunday, to celebrate the over-commercialised joy that is St Valentine's (which I always maintain is for girls btw) Sonic has organised for Mama C to take Cairn for a few hours. He has been harping on about this route for some time. I thought organising childcare was very proactive, but in hindsight I just think he had run out of running buddies who were willing to endure the torture.

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that I have a slight aversion to cross-country. Don't get me wrong I love going off-road and embrace a cheeky hill, but trapsing through grass and muck? I don't see the point.

I have done a smaller version of the route, which although tough, is very enjoyable. Sonic advertised the longer one as "a bit hilly and mucky, and requires fell shoes". I couldn't quite get my head round the fact it started in Duntocher, took in the Kilpatrick hills, the Whangie, WHW and back through Faifley. To me, they were practically at either ends of the country. Map navigation is not my forte.

The first few miles were cracking. A nice ascent on a rocky path. And that's were the enjoyment ended. After that I was knee deep in swamps and sheep shit. We even went stomping up a hill only to come straight back down the same way. Sonic justified this by saying "just to take in another hill" WHF? Off he went bounding across as I tissed and hissed and stumbled about. At one point I hid in the long grass to see if he noticed. If I hadn't given in and come out, I'd probably still be there.

When we finally reached the Whangie, I was promised a trail. All I got was more mud and an overwhelming sense that we were going the wrong way. Sonic pointed out a pole in the ground which "apparently" marked the race route. Really I think it was lone walker who had simply sunk into the ground and left his pole behind.

At the top of the Whangie we met a picnicking couple enjoying a lovely Valentine's Day picnic. With rolling eyes and running nose I told them "I was promised a romantic stroll".

Coming off the Whangie I then found myself running along the f-king A809 in a pair of fell racing shoes!! Then more fields, more barb wire fences, more mini-tantrums and we were on to the glorious familiar territory of the WHW. Bliss. Well, for a few miles and then more hills, fields and neds with a loose rottweiler thrown in for good measure.

(Sonic waiting patiently at the top of the "lovely trail" - before he informed me I run across fields like a Thunderbird Puppet!)

At one point I even begged Sonic to let me run in front, because it was sole-destroying looking at his back for so long. Although, I think he was trying to avoid looking at my crabbit face. Anyway, he obliged. Well, he ran beside me but a little bit in front. What is it with boys??

The outcome: Marriage + running together = danger.

Point taken, Sonic. You can go running with the boys anytime.

Go Figure!

My husband bought me this mug. And backed it up with: "I thought it was just you". I'm not sure what to make of that, dear reader.



I wonder what romantic delights I might get for Valentine's Day.

This week's running/training

Monday: Rest day - 50 lengths swimming.
Tuesday: 7 mile tempo (average 7.38)
Wednesday: 15 x step reps at Kelvingrove Park
Thursday: 7 mile club run - with 25 min tempo.

Chaperone required

On Sunday, the Gibbering Midget and I were planning an out and back from Beinglas to Tyndrum. Anyone who knows us would confirm that we are a bit ditty at times. Probably too much Diamond White and Peach Schnapps (together!!) in our younger years. Coupled with my belief that my last few functioning brain cells were removed with childbirth.

Well, a few mini-dramas were guaranteed.

1) Firstly, when we arrived at Beinglas there was a big HUGE Alsatian (type) dog circling the car. I have since discovered it is a "friendly big dug" but I swear it was eyeing us up for breakfast. I've got more meat on my bones, so I would have been first. The super-svelte Gibbering Midget would have been merely post-breakfast dental floss. After (what seemed like) an eternity of willing it to go away, we decided to drive on and start the run at Derrydarroch Farm. I kid you not, the dog was nudging the door handle of the car with its nose.

2) After our first run-in with the local wildlife, we were then faced with the beasts at Coo Poo Junction. The Gibbering Midget is much braver in these situations, but I was terrified. She did try to comfort me by saying "It doesn't matter how irrational it seems, a fear is a fear". Given that the average weight of these monsters is 1500lb (I googled it), I hardly think it's an "irrational" fear. But if she wasn't there, I would have been back down and running along the A82. I even considered jumping the wall. Apparently they sense fear. Maybe because I was squealing like a pig and practically climbing on the Gibbering Midget's back. Once passed, I actually felt quite brave and pleased with myself.

3) After Crianlarich we hit some dodgy snow/ice patches. The GB went over on her ankle and used language that would make a drunken sailor blush. Five minutes later I did the same thing, but with only a few choice words.

4) Later, I slipped on the ice on the way back and cut my hands and bruised my knees before sliding down in the muck. The GM - the wee soul - was deeply concerned in case I had ripped my tights.

5) En route we bumped into the Happy Days clan. Karen joked about how glam The GM and I looked - right at the point when I was wiping my nose on my sleeve, whilst covered in muck and blood patches and standing in shoes full of cow sh*te. Oh the glamour. After saying our farewells, we headed down towards Beinglas only to be disgusted by the new trail improvements. Looks like a tarmac road could be guiding the way soon :-(



6) The GM tried to put a positive spin on our route choice by numerously referring to it as a "figure of eight" (Derrydarroch-Tyndrum-Derrydarroch-Beinglas-Derrydarrach) even when it was blatantly obvious it was two clear out and backs. And I was glad when the last 2back" was over. Heading back to the car I commented on how happy I was to have covered the 24m distance (which was way hillier than I remember)in 4.32. The GM took that moment to check the stats on her Garmin...whilst standing in the middle of the f-king A82!!

7) Not that I can comment, as driving us back home I almost crashed into the back of an indicating pick-up and then nearly took out a ned at a pedestrian crossing. OK, the light had just turned to amber, but he gave me a look and hand signal that made me want to reverse and give it another shot. Oh well, better luck next time. Although I think The Gibbering Midget will probably volunteer to drive. Tick :-)

Track attack and other tales

On Monday night I went along to the new track at Scotstoun with the club. Wow! What a difference. The track that is, not my running ability. It's really smart and all lovely. I had curtail my excitement and refrain from commenting on what a lovely colour of blue I thought the surface was.



There's even a brand spanking new indoor track. Well it's more a row of lines than a track. But it was obviously reserved for the ridiculously fast youngsters and their up-their-own-arses coaches.

I was running a bit late - drama of Sonic being stuck in a car park - and was bursting for the loo when I arrived, so didn't have much of a warm-up. I joined Kas for a quick jog round the circuit and nervously asked what the session was: "Two times three thousands" was the reply. I nearly ran back off the track. Slight misunderstanding, as Coach Lesley clarified that is was in fact 3 x 1000 (50 sprints) and another set of 3 x 1000. I don't know how, but her version sounded a little less brutal.

I joined (ex) Captain Stevie (otherwise known as Big Stevie) who was once a track runner in his hay day. Even though he has slowed throughout the years, he can still whip my ass. But I hung on for dear life.

I'm not overly familiar with track etiquette or rules, so I always end up getting in someone's way. I stopped dead at the end of one of my reps, and nearly got taken out by John the Jogger. Well, I would have got taken out if he wasn't the shape and weight of a greyhound. He's such a nice guy, he even apologised to ME!

Anyway, here are the scores on the door. 4:30, 4:33, 4:29, 4.28, 4:33. Not sure about the 50m sprints, as Stevie was judging the (slightly dubious) distances and times.

On Tuesday lunchtime I did a steady/easy 7 mile run (ave 8:55). I was having a VERY stressful house selling/buying day, so it was a real struggle to get out of the door.

Yesterday morning, I did 8 x 500m. Bloody nora was it cold! 1:48, 1:49, 1:47, 1:45, 1:44, 1:45, 1:44 and 1:43.

Tonight I'm off to the club. Not sure what the roads will be like, as there was a mega snow drop overnight. Bearsden is in a different climate zone from the city centre, so I'll have to wait and see. Sonic is in London town today, but Mama Sonic is looking after the HurriCairn for an hour or so. I bet she does more running around than I do :-) I'm going to the club for a rest :-)

SuperConic

What a day the Gibbering Midget and I had on the Way on Saturday. Although it was close to freezing, the sun was shining and the views were spectacular.

We started at Croftamie and took the number seven cycle route (which I'm sure must circumnavigate the globe) on to the West Highland Way, two miles from Drymen. Over Conic hill and then back on the track by the road. A crackin' 15 mile circular route.








It's quite challenging on the ol' pins, as it's every so slightly undulating. Average 10.04 m/m which is not too shabby...considering.



Yesterday I went out for a four mile recovery and my legs felt great. Tonight I'm off to the new all-singing, all-dancing track to Scotstoun. Well, all going to plan I'll be going to the track.