A Winter West Highland Way (95 miles - 4,500m +/-)

“There are as many reasons for running as there are days in the year, years in my life. But mostly I run because I am an animal and a child, an artist and a saint. So, too, are you. Find your own play, your own self-renewing compulsion, and you will become the person you are meant to be.”
~ George Sheehan

It was an idea conceived several months earlier in the year, when temperatures were warmer, trails easier to run and hours of daylight considerably greater. The concept was pretty simple – to run the West Highland Way in full, in mid-winter, in less than 24hours – something that, to our know knowledge, had not been achieved before. It was potentially another one of those ‘great idea at the time’ challenges, when the chance of failure is greater than success and a good dose of luck is required. But aren’t those the best?......

Mid-winter in long distance challenge terms can mean a few different things, but our take on it, in line with the guidance provided by the well respected Bob Graham Round club, was the weekend closest to the shortest day, this year (2009) Monday 21st December (a mid-winter round is defined as any time from the weekend before the shortest day through to the first period of decent weather after the shortest day but to be completed no later than 10 January). Our attempt was lined up for the weekend immediately preceding the shortest date given the following Saturday was Boxing Day, when families may not have been quite so understanding. Another nice feature of the date was that it fell exactly 6 months after the annual West Highland Way Race during which I set the 'summer', or longest day, record in 2006.

My partner-in-crime was Murdo McEwan, an Edinburgh based friend who is a true WHW enthusiast and a man of great WHW experience, not least from running a time of 19hrs 08mins as a vet in 2008. No further introductions needed. The original intention was for the two of us to run it together, with a target time of around 22 hours, however 10 days before the big day Murdo suffered a reoccurrence of a leg injury which forced his withdrawal. It was of huge disappointment to both of us, particularly given that detailed arrangements were already in place, but with Murdo's selfless enthusiasm for the mission to progress despite his inability to take part, I quickly made the decision to go ahead regardless.

One of the main reasons behind my decision was the quality of the support already in place. Murdo had arranged a first class line-up of support crews, all from Carnethy running club. They were split into three pairs to support the lower, middle and top sections of the route. The quality of these guys provided a reassuringly solid foundation for the challenge and the sort of opportunity that comes around rarely.

As a great bonus Lucy C, a fellow WHW 'summer' record holder, had also decided to have a bash at the challenge. Lucy was originally down to support however had been tempted by the opportunity to fill the vacant running spot left by Murdo’s withdrawal. Lucy and Murdo therefore made a straight swap. Lucy had, however, quite clearly stated that she was only going to 'have a go' as it was a very last minute decision to run, and she had not had opportunity to prepare at all.

By far and away the biggest threat to the project was the weather. The Scottish Highlands aren’t known for being particularly welcoming in late December with possible weather scenarios ranging from storms, snow, below freezing temperatures and not a lot between. This, you will appreciate, is the luck factor I referred to in my first paragraph, which would strongly dictate the outcome of the challenge (or the amount I suffered!). And so my attention in the final few days before the planned start time of 12.01am on Saturday 19th December was firmly focused on the weather forecast, and in particular what would that well-established low pressure weather pattern hugging the British Isles would bring.

The final forecasts turned out to be spot on; temperatures well below freezing for the whole run (-5ºC to 0ºC) and a 2-3hr band of snow passing through early Saturday afternoon. Beforehand I was undecided as to whether this was a good result or not. Positives: not much wind, frozen and dry trail, novelty of winter wonderland feeling, no rain. Negatives: very cold air to breathe for up to 24 hours, difficulty in regulating body temperature, risk of crew not making it to support points due to froze/ snow covered roads, ice all over the place, driving snow. On balance, I was happy with the forecast.

We all met on Friday evening at Murdo and Jo's in Edinburgh for the 'last supper', a brilliant home cooked feast prepared by Jo. I was pretty nervous by that point and my main concern was the weather, the cold in particular, having not run for such a long periods in sub-zero temperatures before. I also wondered whether the support crew guys themselves were quietly questioning my sanity in deciding to go ahead. They later rubbished that thought! The decision did however rest with me. Whilst there were certainly strong doubts and question marks in my mind, not least the potential risk of the crews getting stuck on frozen roads, on balance I felt the goal remained achievable and my outlook was simple; to give it a good go – nothing to lose.

Milngavie just before midnight on the last Friday night before Christmas was not surprisingly quiet. It was strange arriving at the railway station to see the car park deserted having only ever seen it as a hive of activity on Fling or WHW race days before. Previous race memories came flooding back and continued to do so at various points of my journey that day.

We got out the car at the last minute, carried out a final kit check, posed for a couple of photos, then quietly headed off into the cold and darkness for the start of another episode of endurance running madness.

Conditions in Glasgow were certainly an improvement on Edinburgh; no frozen snow to contend with but the trail was frozen solid - tarmac hard - and surface water frozen solid too, making cautious footing the order of the day (well mostly night). The lowland section out of the Glasgow suburbs was gentle and uneventful as it always is; the calm before the storm in many respects. Olly and Jamie met us regularly at the road crossing points - Beechtree Inn and Drymen initially - fuelling us with warm tea, muller rice and crisps. I applied the same golden rule as usual – start eating and drinking early – wait until you feel like it and it’s probably too late. They provided reassuring and calming company at the brief stops we made. Lucy and I chatted a lot and generally put the world to rights, as well as stopping occasionally to appreciate the incredibly clear and star filled sky which was a genuine treat – the perfect night. It certainly felt to me like someone was looking down on us.

Conic Hill was a little tricky, the usual streams flowing down the trail had frozen, sometimes over the rock, making for slow going. For the first time in my dozen or so crossings of the hill it was also near-perfectly still at the top. The descent was unpleasant; icy, steep and dark but before long we had dropped into the Balmaha car park, arriving at around 3.40am, where the calming and assured presence of Olly and Jamie got us patched up and on our way again efficiently.

Loch-side (Lomond) trails provided welcome variety to the running (it’s amazing how much you can see on a clear winter’s night); the trail meandering northwards, mostly through woodland, gently rising and dipping but with a few beach sections and a wee bit of road. We trundled on at a sensible pace enjoying the wildlife sightings, including owls on two occasions, but very little else. Maybe even the wildlife was doing the sensible thing?

On the final leg of the lower section of the route, between Sallochy and Rowardennan, Lucy signalled her intention to call it a day. It was clearly something she had been thinking about for a while because she sounded assured with her decision - and one I respected her for. As Lucy points out in her very honest blog account, it is not really a challenge to take on half-heartedly, and unfortunately her heart just wasn't in it that day for various reasons. Lucy therefore took the brave, but completely sensible, decision to halt at Rowardennan and catch a lift back from there.

Rowardennan was the final meeting place with the lower crew, so there I waved good bye to Olly, Jamie and Lucy and thanked them for all their kindness and help. As I scuttled off into the darkness there was immediately a different feel to the run from running solo; a greater awareness of the distance ahead, the weather conditions and my night time surroundings. Ahead of me was a long unsupported section up to Beinglas Farm at the top of the Loch. It is a notoriously hazardous section of the trail, with many tricky rocky outcrops, lump and bumps to negotiate, so it was a time for caution with many faster, more runnable, sections ahead to save my energy for. The ice-on-rock was the greatest hazard, but despite the odd close shave I managed to get through to Inversnaid without too much drama.

Passing in front of the Inversnaid Hotel presented the greatest test of will power of the whole journey, wafts of freshly cooked bacon and eggs drifted across the trail, enticing me in for a feed-up. It was clearly not a time for such luxuries so I settled on my pocket full of sweets instead, and got my head down towards Beinglas where I knew Murdo and Russ would be waiting with a bucket full of porridge and a gallon of tea.

Dawn finally broke just after 8am, about as late as it ever gets. It had been a lengthy spell of night time running which had required plenty of concentration to prevent rock-trips and slips on the ice. I felt weary and jaded so looked forward to seeing Murdo and Russ, my middle crew, who would help to boost spirits and get me fixed up for the approaching climb up Glenn Falloch into the Highlands. Murdo had run out a mile or so from Beinglas and was a very welcome sight. We exchanged a few words to confirm all was well but I just wanted to get to Beinglas for breakfast without too much delay, and I was now far more conscious of time, so I cracked on.

Beinglas was a significant milestone in my ‘mind-map’ of the challenge. I was looking forward to the scenic but runnable sections of the route northwards of there, particularly the wild and open expanses across the drovers roads, and the novelty of running in the daylight (hmmm, all 8 hours of it).

Departing Beinglas I told the guys it was my intention to step it up a bit. I felt the timings up to Beinglas were a little slow at c 9 hours, but it had felt like I had been running briskly and sensibly given the conditions, so on reflection the pace was probably about right. There was, however, plenty of runnable trail ahead.

I had a good leg to the next meeting place, Carmyle Cottage, running the majority of the stiffly climbing vehicle track up Glenn Falloch. As I looked down at the Falls of Falloch down to my left it struck me just how cold it actually was, there were sheets of ice on slower parts of the river, not something you see every day. It was Russ’s turn to come out to meet me. He took my order, then flew back to the car to start preparing. The way he whizzed off into the distance made me realise I perhaps wasn’t motoring as much as I thought I was but he later told me he thought I was going well.

The farmyard section before the woods above Crianlarich – usually horribly mucky – was frozen solid so I could skip straight across it, a nice bonus. Indeed, having been running for c.10hours, my feet were still dry as a bone. There had been the odd incident of icy puddles giving way underfoot but the majority were frozen solid. Entering the woods at the top of Crianlarich and the descent to the A81 road crossing I started to think about reaching Tyndrum where I would take a proper pit stop for food. From that point I only had one thing on my mind – fish and chips for lunch from the Real Food Cafe. It’s not something I would usually go for but I suspect the cold was making my body work harder than ever to keep going so it was just my body craving high fat calories to help re-fuel. I wasn’t going to fight it so duly with made my request to the guys and spent the final four mile section to Tyndrum with my mouth watering and stomach rumbling.

On reaching Tyndrum at around 11.45am and hearing the news from Murdo that the cafe had not yet opened, I suspect my face was one of utter disappointment. The thought of fish and chips had dragged me through those last few tough miles when I was running out of steam and stuck in a low. There were however alternatives on offer. A nice big juicy a big juicy bacon sarnie, a hot pasty and a big mug of tea. Oh the simple things - all of a sudden the world wasn’t quite such a terrible place. The food was wolfed and charged me up to the max, but the weather had now turned, the band of wind and snow had arrived. So I added more layers - pertex bottoms and a fleecy neck warmer - in preparation for the exposed sections ahead.

I knew from the forecast that the band of snow was only due to last a couple of hours so I felt confident tackling it head on in the knowledge it wouldn’t last forever. I crossed the A81 by Brodies store and consciously tore into the climbing trail ahead leading out of Tyndrum, trying to run every inch I could. Running a quick pace was a natural urge my body seemed to support, it was fighting to keep warm after a prolonged halt. The hill climb certainly seemed to do the trick, my core soon warmed then my extremities quickly followed suit. I enjoyed running in the snow, and before long the fresh powder was accumulating nicely on the trail. In addition to the novelty factor the snow helped to cushion my strides and level out the unevenness underfoot, particularly appreciated after all the rutted and frozen terrain before.

It was real winter wonderland stuff. I felt so lucky to be out there and running in such beautiful surroundings with fabulous support behind me. On the final stretch before Bridge of Orchy it was Alun who came out to meet me. I was in good spirits, we chatted a bit, but the stop at the car in the station car park was minimal, I wanted to crack on and enjoy every moment of the conditions as well as make the best of the remaining daylight.

Over at Victoria Bridge, the start of the Rannoch Moor crossing, I picked up Russ who had kindly offered to run this long, exposed section with me. I was excited about the chance to have some company on the run and he also appeared raring to go. We left through the gate on to the old drover's road running side-by-side and remained so all the way across. In fact, aside from a brief unscheduled pit-stop, we ran the whole leg without stopping covering the 9mile stretch in just over 75mins. It was good going, our inspiration undoubtedly coming from the incredible conditions. The winter skies were gently glowing at the end of the day, several inches of beautiful powder lay on the ground and there were deer roaming all around us. In fact, their tracks in the snow were the only signs of life out there. On meeting the support guys again on the ski centre road before the Kingshouse Hotel we were both grinning ear-to-ear. It was without doubt one of the best bits of running i've ever experienced. I'm sure Russ's sentiments were the same.

Alun and Andy took over support crew duties at Kingshouse, to see me through the all important final stages when the wheels were most likely to fall off. Glen Coe was a beautiful sight in the fading light. The sky glowed various colours against the white and grey of the mountains. I began to appreciate my decision to step the pace up from Beinglas because it gave me the opportunity to run Glen Coe in the last-light and enjoy the fabulous views. I loved every step of this stage of the run, it felt like a real honour to be there, a real treat.

Alun joined me for the climb over the Devil’s Staircase when it was back into a much smaller word evolving around the 10 metre radius of a headtorch beam. We expected to get buffeted at the top by the northerly wind which had accompanied the earlier band of snow, but it must have dropped just as we made the pass, because it was almost perfectly still up there. The snow had obviously been drifting because it lay six inches or so deep in the channel of the trail creating great conditions for the meandering descent. The crunchy powder provided good grip allowing us to skip down at a good lick. However as we dropped down towards Kinlochleven at sea level the snow thinned out, switching instead to ice which was far less grippy and not trustworthy underfoot. The starkly contrasting conditions brought a change in my mood as I struggled to negotiate the ice and found the slower pace and patience required plain frustrating.

The icy conditions and my tiring legs resulted in a significant low point at Kinlochleven where I met the support guys once again. It was all starting to take it’s toll; 81miles into the challenge I felt done and felt fatally glued to the chair I had parked myself in. I scoffed a few bits of food down, but was sick of the sight of the contents of my food box. I started to get settled and nicely comfortable in my down jacket but there was urgency coming from the support guys, they were shimmying me along, conscious it was a crucial stage, and not time for me to start loafing around. It was also getting extremely cold. In the few minutes I stopped my body temperature plummeted, so much so the only sensible thing to do was run. And with that thought I did, heading out of town, up the rocky path to the hanging valley of Lairigmore.

Trail conditions in the valley were awful. Ice, ice, ice, it was everywhere. The mountain streams crossing the track every few hundred yards had obviously recently been in flood, had spilt over the track and were now frozen. Great. It made the going painfully slow and frustrating, my confidence not helped by several falls on the nasty ice. It felt like I was going at crawling pace and that it took an eternity to get across to Lundavra where the guys were waiting.

My sense of humour had now completely gone so I only stopped for a brief moment at Lundavra, sparing the support guys my grumbles, feeling instead that I should get to Fort William without further torment. Andy kindly joined me for this final leg. I wasn’t really in a chatting mood but massively appreciated the company which kept me pushing on which I might not have managed on my own. The conditions were much better through the woods and I managed to pick up a bit of momentum, albeit the effort required to do so was significant. I moaned and groaned quite a bit, mainly jokily, helping to release a bit of the frustration and emotion that had built over the previous leg. Andy must have been wondering about my unusual motivational techniques having never run with me before!

As ever, it was a real relief to emerge on to the main vehicle track which descends all the way into Fort William. There is only one way to run that stretch and it is hard. We had a good blast down there, probably pushing 6 minute miles, but feeling a lot quicker. There was no snow on the track, just the odd icy puddle which I missed in the blur and plunged my foot into. I was back on form, enjoying the run in.

Alun and Murdo were there waiting at the bottom of the hill, joining me for the final stretch along the road into Fort William. The town was quiet and in hibernation, much like Milngavie had been so many hours earlier. Having looked forward to arriving there for so long, and finishing what had been such a big challenge for me, it was a strangely subdued atmosphere, but what was I expecting?

I touched the official WHW finish sign outside the visitor’s centre as I passed, but the endpoint I had in mind was the same as for the race, the Leisure Centre. I ran across the car park and on to the steps of the Leisure Centre, reaching there 21 hours and 14minutes after I had set out from Milngavie, having successfully completed a memorable journey in true winter conditions. I am the first to admit I had a decent dose of luck, that was always going to be needed, but boy did I enjoy it.......

With special thanks to Murdo & Jo McEwan, Lucy, Jamie, Olly, Russ, Andy & Alun who made it all possible.

Western States 2010 Enrolment

Thought I would post a prompt to those who may have been contemplating having a bash at Western States at some stage. Registration for the lottery is currently open, but only for a period of 2 weeks, ending on 15th October. So far over 1,300 people have signed up. They haven't announced how many slots are available through the lottery, but the total number will be c.400, which includes all the guaranteed entrants such as those who have missed out on the lottery two years running, top 10 male and female runner from 2009, plus a handful of others. The message is, there is only small chance of getting in, so why not just try your luck and go for it if you succeed?

All I can say is that it is an incredible race and surely the best ultra race experience going?

Good luck!

See: http://www.ws100.com/

Commonwealth 100km Championships, Keswick, England

On the face of it, it probably looked like the perfectly executed race plan; even pacing, negative splits (1st 50km 3h33mins, 2nd 50km 3h31mins) and a nicely timed push to take the lead at the end. I have to be honest - it wasn’t supposed to be quite like that - leaving it to the death, putting doubts in everyone’s minds, having doubts in mine. Let me explain.....

A good night’s sleep was the perfect start to the day with alarms in the England men’s team dormitory room ringing out at around 5.30am. It took a matter of seconds for my mind to switch to race mode and with it came a great surge of adrenaline and a pounding of the heart. Dark outside the hostel, but a frenzy of activity inside, final preparations of kit and equipment were going on for the biggest day of our running careers.

Assembling at the race start was when my nerves really started to kick in. I had been fairly calm up until then, but the presence of all the other international teams – England, Wales, Scotland, Canada, New Zealand & Australia – got me realising what a competition this was going to be. It was the first running of the combined Mountain and Ultra Distance Running Commonwealth Championships being hosted in the picture-perfect surroundings of Keswick, The Lake District.

And at 8am we were on our way, heading out from Keswick on another ultra distance running journey that guaranteed to provide us with the emotional and physical rollercoaster that all these races do.

Photo credit: Stuart Holmes

The initial 15km link section took us out to Thirlmere, firstly on the flat, but soon steeply climbing. Initially the pace was slow but then a couple of guys from Canada and New Zealand picked things up. I was more than happy to settle in a bit further back. As we reached Thirlmere Lake there was a notable increase in the tempo as we all seemed to enjoy the comfort of being on the flat 10km out-and-back ‘loop’ which was to make up the bulk of the distance – to be run seven times in all.

Photo credit: Stuart Holmes

Out at the front was one of the Canadian runners who was clearly pushing hard - because the rest of us weren’t exactly hanging around. The general consensus from chat amongst our group was that he was overcooking it and ultimately that proved to be the case. The comfort of reaching the lake didn’t last long for me because I was soon hearing some serious danger signs – heavy and unresponsive legs. When you’re running long you never really know how your legs are going to be until well into the race. It’s only when you’ve stripped off the outside freshness that you get to know what’s in the core, and 30km or so into Saturday’s race I found there wasn’t much – my legs were near enough hollow. Panic. Memories of the World Championships in 2008 were flooding back, not a race I particularly wanted to replay. The fine line between being well prepared and over-trained is a precariously narrow one in ultra running and I was starting to wonder if I had over-stepped the mark.

My reactive strategy was to focus. Focus very hard. I shut out everything from my head and just concentrated on steady and even running, maintaining as much fluidity in my running as I could. But my pace dropped slightly, unfortunately coinciding with a time when the other guys were just finding their stride, and so I drifted back through the field. My 50km split wasn’t as dreadful as I first thought, around 3hrs 34mins, so I drew some comfort from that, but I was back in 8th place at half way with a lot to do, not least running another 50km.

Lap-by-lap I managed to hang in there, running on a combination of stubbornness, determination and sugar (thank you Coca Cola) to keep putting in the same 6m50s/mile pace which would hopefully keep me in the race until crucial stages. First to come back was team mate Allen Smalls, then Grant Jeans of Scotland and finally the two Aussie runners. With Marcus Scotney sadly pulling out at 65km I was suddenly up to 3rd and definitely on the bounce. I certainly wasn’t fully rejuvenated by this point, but I started to think I might saved things sufficiently. The last lap on the ‘loop’ was also a good moral boost - “i’ve never got run down this flaming road again” - was the thought if i’m honest. But it gave me a last look to see how the two Matt’s were fairing up front.

I had closed considerably on Matt Lynas who I soon managed to pull past, but Matt Giles was well into the lead, the best part of 3minutes up on me, a significant margin to claw back so late in the race.

Running off the loop on to the final 15km leg back into Keswick was also a great boost, but even on the longest straights Matt was nowhere to be seen – well ahead by all accounts. So I did the only thing I could do – run as hard as I could to close the gap and track him down. At last I caught sight of him just over two minutes ahead of me on the dam at the end of the lake. At the A591 road crossing the gap was two minutes dead, 12kms to run. Finally I started to make significant headway. On the long straights I managed to time the gap using sign posts and marker points, and the time started to drop and drop until eventually I had it down to less than a minute. Now it seemed on.

It was the final drinks station at 95km when I took the lead. It all seemed very cruel and quite surreal. Matt had run a near perfect race, looked good all the way and well deserved to be where he was, but his legs hadn’t quite responded to the last few hills. I had hung on for most of the race, fought a long and hard battle with myself to keep going and somehow managed to stick it out. I had not even entertained thoughts of winning until the last 10km, so to suddenly be in the lead position right at the end was a real shock. But I wasn’t going to let it slip – it was not like I hadn’t worked for it - so I put my head down to run the final 5km hard as I could in an attempt to secure the race. I refrained from looking back to check the gap to start with, but eventually I gave in and did. It then became a repeated routine every 30 seconds or so until such time as I had a reasonable cushion.

Photo credit: Stuart Holmes

Running back into Fitz Park at the end of the race was simply awesome. Peaceful and quiet alongside the river to start with, then suddenly the crowds, a snaking huddle of cheering and celebrating people! It was a fabulous welcome home, one I will fondly remember, not least because I was running for England, in England, winning my first major championship medal – and it was gold!

England 1, 2 & 3 - (Left - Matt Lynas, Centre - Jez Bragg, Right - Matt Giles)
Photo credit: Stuart Holmes

Full results here

Next up.....

Well it's been a while since I posted. That can usually be read as me being hard to work at training and that's just about right really. My second 'A' race of the year is the Commonwealth 100km Championships in Keswick next Saturday (19th Sept @ 8am). So, back on the road, back on a multi-lap course and back running quite a bit quicker. Eeek.

Training since the Lakeland 100 has gone well. I had the odd blister here and there plus a few bumps and bruises after my outing in the lakes but it was all relatively superficial and cleared up in a couple of days. Then it was pretty much straight back to it, getting the legs 'freshened up', ramping up for a couple of high mileage weeks, then ramping back down again. Not long to do it, but long enough, I think. I feel in good shape, but the proof of the pudding will be in the eating, as they say: i.e. the race. I'm dead excitied about toeing the start line, enjoying what is a beautifully scenic course and racing for the chance of a Commonwealth medal. Now that would conclude the year nicely. Come on England!

Western States Caption Competition

I stumbled accross this photo of Mark Hartell and me at the Foresthill aid station during Western States this year which I found quite amusing. I was in the process of changing tops, but that usually straight forward exercise proved tricky at the time, partly because I was feeling dazed (and fried), but also because I had a recently replenished cap full of ice which I didn't wasn't to lose. So Mark kindly helped me out.

I thought I would invite captions to go with the photo for a bit of fun. Please feel free to post your captions - there will be a prize for the funniest one!

Lakeland 100 (103 miles, 6,300m ascent & descent)

Five weeks after the Western States 100, four weeks after Osmotherly Phoenix (33miles), I found myself back on the start line of another epic adventure, the Lakeland 100 or Ultra Trail of the Lake District (UTLD). In just it's second year, this is the UK's only official 100mile race, but boy does it pack a punch.

As it's name suggests the event based on the hugely popular, tried and tested format of the Ultra Trail Tour du Mont Blanc (UTMB), but with a unique British twist. This year around 100 runners toe-ed the start line of the 100 mile option, a 3 times increase from the inaugural event in 2008, and from what I saw there is every chance the numbers could multiply by the same factor next year.

Chatting to lots of different people before the race, the question on everyone was asking was 'why are you here?'. Charming I thought, but the implication was that it was too soon to be competing after Western States at the end of June. It was quite right that it was too soon to compete, that was proven by the fact I was off the pace from mile 1, but my participation was more about my desire to experience the event, take on the challenge and enjoy some serious adventure rather then necessarily compete for the podium. All those boxes ended up well and truly ticked. The fact that I started the race mentally and physically tired for various reasons was beside the point.

The route was a clockwise loop around the heart of the Lake District, starting and finishing at Coniston. The terrain was, well, vicious. The ascent and descent statistics don't match those of the UTMB, but what it lacks in these areas is made up generously by the underfoot conditions. A prolonged period of wet weather prior to the race probably didn't help for starters, but the incessant rain which started soon after we set off at 7.30pm on Friday evening, and ultimately lasted 14hours, turned the rocky trails into rivers. As one guy described to me afterwards 'it was like someone had covered all the rocks in oil'. It was a perfect analogy. I lost count of the number of times I fell over, in the end it just became part of the process of forward motion in these horrendous conditions. None of the high-tech fell or trail shoes could have achieved grip in these conditions. My saviour was a TNF pack-lite Goretex jacket which I wore with the hood up and face enclosed – in my own little world - for what felt like hours and hours on end. Without it I wouldn't have finished; it kept me dry, warm and in a suitable state to keeping running. I also wore 3/4 length tights which were the right choice, working as I had hoped, much like a wet suit.

I hadn't recce-ed the first 30 miles so, which was unfortunate given it was the night section, but my navigation generally held-up, albeit my lines were poor in places. Trying to find your way across exposed hillside, in the dark, when it's raining and with the wind blowing is far from easy, particularly given the maze of footpaths and sheep trods the Lake District hills seem to be covered with. What I did notice - and I'm sure I wasn't the only one - was the how energy sapping it all was, probably just a combination of all the factors I just mentioned, plus the extremely rough terrain. There aren't many races i’ve experienced which ask quite so many questions of the trail runner.

Beyond Wasdale Head I knew my way, or so I thought. My line off Scarth Gap Pass down into Buttermere was awful and I found myself off track and perilously sliding down steep hillside instead of contouring down the gently descending track. It unnecessarily sapped energy and generally spoilt spirits when I was on the up and thinking that I still had potential. But my spirits were soon revived as I found myself partnering up with Digby Harris, a guy who I had heard plenty about, but had never met. We forged a great team, running together for the rest of the race. I was stronger that Digby on the climbs, but he was faster on the ascents. The net result was a better sustained effort from both of us, as well as the opportunity to share the experience together. From reading write-ups by other runners, it seems many folk ended up forming mini-teams to share the tasks of navigation, pacing and to generally motivate one another. Over the course of c.15hours I certainly got to know Digby very well and it was great to share the experience with someone else.

Even before halfway I was tired, seriously tired. Granted, I had been up for 24hours and been running non-stop for around 10, but I'd done similar type races before and not felt as bad. I suspect it was general fatigue which I carried into in the race. In any event it was going to be a long second half. Mid-morning on Saturday the rain started to clear through leaving a thoroughly soaked Lake District, but some relieved Lakeland 100 competitors. The sun even broke on occasions although I wouldn’t say I ever got that warm. My tiredness was probably my biggest problem during Saturday day. I found my body trying to fall asleep whilst running on several occasions. My body didn’t seem to realise they are two things that don’t go together very well. But to avoid having to snooze on the side of the trail I decided to take a five-minute power nap at Kentmere, where I tasked one of the marshals to wake me after my allotted time. It worked well and I felt ‘fresh’ (er) afterwards.

Given how I was feeling, and the fact it was the longest distance Digby had ever run, we were both pleased to be in 3rd place. At each checkpoint we were told the gap between us and the lead two guys. It grew steadily over the course of the race but it didn’t matter to the two of us. It felt more like a personal challenge rather than a race and the fact it was so quiet along the course added to that feeling.

The Lakes Runner shop checkpoint at Ambleside was good fun although we missed the band who were just setting up as we went through. The final twenty miles or so from there to the finish felt like a wind-down. I was certainly ‘done’ by that point, still not ‘feeling it’, but well and truly driven to complete this epic race. And the final climb up and over the quarries between Tiberwaite and Coniston concluded the race in a very appropriate fashion. Darkness fell for the second night as we made our final upwards effort, the trail was wet and rocky, then the heavens opened like a shower turned on to make the final descent both treacherous and slow.

Back at race HQ it was a low key finish, the time taken just a touch under 27 hours and joint 3rd place. It felt like we had just returned from war, a subdued but proud feeling emanating from the extreme challenge it undoubtedly was. But at long last it was time for the shoes to come off, a painful shower and a pint of Guinness. Great memories of the adventure will last a long time.

Western States Endurance Run (100.2miles/ 18,000feet up, 23,000feet down)

Squaw Valley in California, just before 5am on a chilly feeling Saturday morning in late June. 400 competitors, including many of the world's best ultra distance trail runners, are preparing to tackle what is still widely acknowledged to be the world's biggest and best 100miler. I've been up since 2.30am although there was no need for an alarm this morning, the adrenaline has kept me awake most of the night. I've been thinking about, and looking forward to, Western States 2009 ever since the race was cancelled due to forest fires in 2008. It's been an unusually long wait for a race, but for the first time in a long while I can honestly say i'm as close as possible to being 100% fit and free from niggles and bugs.

My feelings are mixed. The usual pre-race tensions are stronger than usual; I know there is going to be an intense charge up the 2,500ft mountain immediately in front of us, I know many of the guys I want to compete with will go out hard, I know it's going to be considerably hotter than anything I've experienced before, I know there's a load of intense downhilling in the course to batter my quads and above all else I know there is 100 miles of rocky and technical trail in negotiate. If that's not enough to get the pulse going, I don't know what will. Intense, nerve-wracking and exciting - but I wouldn't swap my place for anything.

Mark (Hartell) kindly drives me up to Squaw from my hideout in Truckee a few miles up the road. I'm not particularly talkative, the enormity of the task ahead almost has me stunned. Squaw Valley resort is a hive of activity reminding me why it has been a good idea to stay clear over the last few days. Most of the registration formalities were complete yesterday, I just need to pick up my race number - 113 – lucky for me. The starting line is the who's who of ultra running, loads of guys upfront near me shake hands and wish each other well. I'm not recognised, in fact all the pre-race talk has not included me because the race traditionally favours the local US runners. Online polls and discussions suggest i'm considered outside of the top 10 equation - but i'm happy with that - it motivates me and provides a clean platform to show what I can do.

The countdown from 20 seconds increases my pulse with every count until such time the hooter goes and we’re straight into the climbing trail heading up to Emigrant Pass. The front 40 or so guys - including me - head up the wrong track within the first few hundred yards although the mistake is quickly corrected with an en-mass backtrack and charge through the rest of the field to the front again. Ego’s are probably a bit dented but soon repaired.

I enjoy the climb up the mountain. I run the majority, just breaking into a walk for the odd steep section. There are a few guys I recognise who I say hello to, but the majority probably think i'm an over-enthusiastic back of the pack runner. I reach the top of Emigrant Pass in about 50minutes, a reasonably quick time, but I feel strong and comfortable after my first proper taper of the year. I glance back at the top to enjoy a beautiful glowing sunrise across Lake Tahoe which is a special sight and very fitting for the start of the special race we’re running. Over the top of the Pass and we enter the Granite Chief Wilderness area. We’re into the wild, remote and beautiful high country terrain that will take us through to the canyons. To start with it's a nice gently descending section of trail to Lyon Ridge (9.5miles), the first full aid station. There are plenty of guys motoring along this first section but I just concentrate on keeping steady, not working too hard, conserving precious energy and keeping cool.

Along Lyon Ridge the trail starts to get a bit more rugged and the undulations start popping up. Whilst the climbs at this stage are relatively small and better graded than we’re used to in the UK, the air is thin from the altitude and it doesn’t take a great deal to make me breathless despite my reasonable period of acclimatisation. The ridge provides me with some impressive far reaching views on both sides, being exposed and less wooded than the rest of the course. I feel great though; calm and comfortable - it's energy conservation time, there shouldn't be too much effort.

At Red Star aid station (16miles) I grab my first drop bag, stash the contents in my waist pack to take out, stuff a load of ice under my cap, fill my bottles with ice and water and i’m quickly on the move again. This is the important routine I will repeat 20 odd times over the course of the day, on my own because I have no dedicated crew to help. I’m happy with my first pit-stop – quick and efficient. Soon after Red Star starts a period of iffy insides which lasts around 60 miles. My stomach is not overjoyed with the amount of liquid i’m asking it to absorb, but hey it’s not surprising given it is about 1.5litres per hour, plus calories.
Soon out of Duncan Canyon aid station I have my first navigational jitters. Yes, I know, the course is well marked and i've run most of it over the last couple of weeks, but the markers are absent for a while and I feel like i'm doubling back on myself. I am, but it is the right way, and having spotted a couple of fellow runners in the distance I march merrily on, relieved about being on course and excited about the opportunities to overtake. On the climb out of the relatively mellow Duncan Canyon, my strength from plenty of UK hill climbing coupled with my long stride length immediately gives me an advantage and I overtake a number of folk, including the leading two ladies who have been battling it out hammer and tong from the start. Big respect and very ballsy. As it transpires one of them, Anita Ortiz, maintains the pace all the way through and wins by a clear margin. Awesome.

I soon land in Robinson Flat (29.7miles) where the atmosphere is electric. It’s obvious when i’m on the approach because photographers line the trail. All the crews are at Robinson awaiting the arrival of their runners and their encouragement puts a renewed spring in my step. I'm now in 12th place, and with a quick pit stop I overtake another on leaving the aid station - now 11th and still on the move.

The next few legs are the link sections between the high country and the canyons (the proper ones). They are long, well groomed, gently descending and fast sections of trail that really let me get me into my stride. I am below 6,000ft now so the breathing is getting easier. I run a good pace, but again the focus is on not putting in too much unneccessary effort. The aid stations at Miller's Defeat, Dusty Corners and Last Chance are probably the best of the lot; first class service. The volunteers are fabulous and really help to keep things quick. I recon I spend a minute-and-a-half in each. It sounds like a reasonable amount of time but i'm as efficient as I can be and i'm confident what i'm doing is well worth the time investment. The food of choice is now salty boiled spuds. They go down a treat. I'm also knocking back the ensure-plus meal replacement shakes like tequila slammers on a night out - at 350 calories a go they provide perfect nutrition. Deadwood Canyon soon arrives and immediately after the 'Warning - Precipitous Trail' sign I hit the heat and i'm grateful for the extra handheld bottle I picked up at Last Chance, using the lovely iced water to keep my vest wet and to cool down my quads. It works a treat in addition to my 'iced head'. I don't see anyone else all the way to Devil's Thumb which makes me wonder how hard the guys in front are pushing. I haven't exactly been slouching around myself.......

I eventually overtake someone on the final few switchbacks leading up to the aid station. I introduce myself, it turns out to be Eric Grossman, a name i've certainly seen banded around. Then I get a bit of banter from some spectators at the top of the climb which brings a smile to my face. 'How do you like the California weather Jez? It's nice and warm huh?'. 'Where the hell is the wind and rain?' I reply. It turns out to be Western States legend (and President), Tim Twietmeyer and John Travers.

At Devil's Thumb aid station I come across the race's first big name casualty. It's Jurek, who is surrounded by folk obviously questioning him about his withdrawal. I feel for him. He's the one everyone expects to deliver but in ultra running there is simply no hiding place with injuries and the like. It wasn't going to be his day and it must have really hurt. I crack on, pretty shocked by the sight of him out of the race.

Eldorado Canyon - with the longer descent and ascent of the two canyons - proves to be hotter than Deadwood, but again I enjoy the cruise down along the switchbacks, across the bridge and into the riverside aid station (52.9miles). Boy these guys have drawn the short straw I think to myself. As ever, the enthusiasm of the helpers is unrelenting, the spirit of this great race seems to rub off on everyone. I power hike out the other side, starting to now think about meeting my pacer, Scott St John, at Bath Road. Again, my uphill speed seems to give me the upper hand on other competitors as I manage to pick off another couple of guys. I have now lost track of my position but I figure it's around 7th.

At Michigan Bluff (55.7miles) I unexpectedly see fellow Brit, Mark Hartell, who has been a great mentor to me in the build up to the race. Mark has done everything he can to get me as well prepared for the race as possible which is already having a significant positive influence on my performance. Mark has my drop bag to hand, so helping another quick transition. 'You look great Jez, you're moving through the field, keep up the good work'. God I wish a feel great I think to myself, but I see another guy who must have arrived into the aid station before me so i'm keen to get moving again. No time for feeling sorry for oneself, get refuelled and get going.

Beyond Michigan the trail turns to fire road. With it's white-ish surfacing and lack of shade, the Western States slow cooker cranks up another notch. There's no getting away from it though so deal with it or drop I tell myself - and I ain’t dropping!

Finally, I hit Bath Road (60.6miles), roughly 15minutes behind my target arrival time of 3pm (10hrs). Pretty good pacing, or just luck? Well I like to keep things simple and that means no detailed pacing chart. The only targets I have set myself are Robinson Flat in 5 hours (achieved perfectly) and Bath Road in another 5 hours (close). My pacer Scott is there with his wife Desi and three girls. And so begins what becomes a fantastic team effort to get me to the finish line with all needs catered for and with next to zero planning (I hadn’t envisaged Desi would be on hand to help out). I eat on the climb up Bath Road with Scott alongside, simply walking the moderate road climb to ensure the food goes down. There’s a guy ahead – Kevin Sullivan I think – who has just overtaken me in the aid station, but there is no point chasing right now. On reaching the main Forest Hill road we’re ready to get running again and we set a quick pace down to the Forest Hill aid station (62 miles). The idea of eating on Bath Road is to move through the busy Forest Hill quickly, just stopping for the mandatory weigh in. The strategy works well and I re-take Kevin who is with his crew.

The next section of the course is known as the Cal Street loop, the link section between Forest Hill and the famous Rucky Chucky river crossing (78 miles). It’s the only section of the course I haven’t managed to run during my time in the US, something I am not massively comfortable with as I always like to know the trail so I can plan how to run it. For front runners, which I now am (up to 5th I think), this section of trail is notoriously hot - we’re not disappointed. There are a number of unshaded sections of the trail and they are just like walls of heat. But there is plenty of flat and downhill running to do which is only thing i’m thinking about. We blast down Cal Street, through the three aid stations and down to the sandy riverside trail which runs into the crossing itself. My main focus along this section is getting down to the river quickly and efficiently. Kevin Sullivan appears right on our tail by the final few miles of Cal Street and eventually pulls past and motors on into the distance. Being overtaken so convincingly – as he did – was a big knock to my confidence, particularly at a time when i’m starting to suffer in the heat and i’ve been pushing a good pace - or so I think.

The river crossing is one of the famous aspects of the race and something i’ve been particularly looking forward to. It turns out to be great fun. It’s a low water year so we’re wading across using a stretched guide rope instead of the back-up rafts. Again, the number of helpers is almost overwhelming – there are dozens actually standing in the river holding the rope, and directing the runners across. This is yet another example of the point that the volunteers truly will do everything in their power to give the runners the best possible support.

Despite being cooled down by the full river drenching i’m feeling dreadful at the Rucky Chucky far side aid station. I feel cooked and the south facing canyon side we’re about to contour along is only going to get hotter. I’m certainly going to feel overcooked very shortly. At this point I also leave Scott to sort out his blisters which are bad from big days out on the Western States trail in the build up to the race whilst he performed his important trail marking duties. I have a brief sit down, knock back an ensure meal replacement shake, drink several cups of coke and part company with the chair (‘beware of the chair’ – very appropriate) to begin the long, lonely hike up the hill. My spirits then take a further turn for the worse when Japanese runner, Kaburaki, comes trotting past on the climb. Losing speed and losing places is not where I want to be at the 80mile stage. Yes, on the positive side i’m 80% done, but the remaining 20% still involves 20miles; no mean feat.

So at Green Gate (79.8miles), the aid station at the top of the hill, I appreciate the urgent need to get myself together as i’m simply not prepared to let all the hard work put in thus far go to waste. Desi offers me a sock and footwear change which I gratefully accept. I’ve been putting it off since Robinson but my feet have throbbed for miles and my shoes are full of debris so it may be just the thing to get me going again. I’m a bit stunned about the speed in which my race has started to go bad although I endeavour to put on a brave face and have a joke with some of the aid station volunteers. I set off from Green Gate with the final, but crucial, 20 mile section of the course ahead of me. It’s make or break time, there’s no doubt about that.

Running is still painful and the heat from the slowly setting sun is worse than ever now it is firing directly at the trail, albeit at a more obtuse angle. My arms are all covered in rash from the heat, my head throbs and feels fried and every step is a painful effort. My mind is however still working because i’m thinking carefully about things I can do to get myself going again. Top of the list is to keep eating and drinking, something I focus on over the next couple of miles. I decide to get a sugar rush going so take a gel every mile or so. By the time I reach Auburn Lake Trails aid station (85.2miles) it seems to be slowly paying dividends because i’m feeling marginally better and i’m also only a few minutes behind the 5th placed runner, whose identity I don’t know. The sun is also nearly down behind the far ridge of the canyon - so is nearly done for the day, phew - providing another great boost to morale. I feel stronger with each step I take towards Brown’s Bar, soon catching and overtaking the guy ahead. In doing so I try to look as strong as possible so hopefully he doesn’t think he can come with me. It means getting through the Brown’s Bar aid station (89.9miles) quickly but that’s no bad thing given the slight chaos of the place. The music is pumping, there are fairy lights flashing, the guys are having a fews beers and are dressed up in drag – quite surreal – am I hallucinating?!

Perhaps the fun vibes have rubbed off on me because i’m now back to life, body temperature somewhere close to normal. Let’s go, time to charge! I run down to the river with real purpose – putting in some quick miles – and then run 80% of the stiff climb up to the Highway 49 aid station (93.5miles) where Scott and Desi are waiting. I’m a little bit surprised I don’t manage to catch other guys during my flurry of speed on that leg, but Scott reassures me they are only a matter of minutes ahead and confirms i’m in 5th place. It’s last light now so I ditch my cap, grab my head torch and load up on gels. There is a short climb up to the meadows from Highway 49 but this my favourite section of the course so I intend to have some fun. The meadows at the top, which remind me of a savannah setting from Africa with golden grass and just a few trees, are bathed in a rich yellowy glow from the setting sun. It’s a beautiful scene which seems to recharge me further. Then a very fast descent of around 3 miles on smooth and firm trails to get me down to No Hands Bridge. At every change of direction i’m on the look out for the head torches of runners ahead. There are way-finding glow sticks hanging from branches along the trail which I regularly mistake as runners. I’ve been running this leg seriously quickly – it feels like sub 6 minute miles – so i’m starting to panic that i’m running out of trail to do what I need to with only 4 miles to go.

As I hit No Hands Bridge aid station (96.8miles) there is still no sign of the two remaining runners who I need to track down to hit the podium. The positive news from Scott is that they are only a couple of minutes ahead and he is ready to re-join me for the final charge. I only hang around long enough for one bottle to be refilled. We fly across the bridge and hit the contouring path alongside the river with our eye’s scouting for head torches in the distance. It’s not long before we come across Kevin Sullivan which gives me 4th place. It’s a great boost but my focus is on a podium spot which is a target Scott and myself set on departing Forest Hill over 35 miles ago. On hitting the short but stiff climb from the river to Robie Point (the edge of Auburn) there is still no sign of Jasper Helekas in 3rd. Scott reminds me of the twists and turns of the trail coming up which helps me to focus on running every inch that is possible (most of it). As we come out on the vehicle track on the final approach to Robie Point aid station (98.9miles) we see finally Jasper ahead. From a turning flash of the headtorch we assume he’s seen us, we’re about 100 yards behind. At Robie Point neither of us stop. I’m closing him down, but we’re now within spitting distance of the stadium, i’m running out of steam and Jasper could easily have a finishing burst in him too. Scott and myself are running shoulder-to-shoulder, almost racing each other up the tarmac road and we come past Jasper. We need to run the whole hill though to gain a clean break before the big downhill to the finish, and it’s a stiff climb to be running after 99miles of running. Jasper asks who I am. I’m so breathless i’m struggling to speak but I tell him. He comes with us for a short period but he’s out of steam and tells me ‘good job’ as we move past him in a great show of sportsmanship.

We reach the top of the hill having made a clean break and now Scott and I start enjoying the moment. It’s been one hell of an effort to get to this position so i’m starting to get emotional. We fly the downhill to the stadium and I hit the final 300metre stretch in the most buoyant mood i’ve ever finished a race. I’m not usually one to show emotion but this is the culmination of a huge amount of time and effort – not just during this race – but over the last 6 months or so having come back from a poor year in 2008. Scott pulls away on the final approach to the line so the moment is all mine. I cross the line to celebrate my Western States 100 finish in a time of 16hours 54mins, 3rd place.

A week on from the race and i’m still beaming ear-to-ear about the whole Western States experience and the big performance I managed to put in. I will write a separate post about my thoughts on ‘what makes Western States great’, but needless to say it convincingly lives up to it’s reputation.

With the biggest thanks to the following people:

Scott St John and family – for pacing and supporting me so enthusiastically throughout the weekend

Mark Hartell & Lynn Schankliess – for sharing race knowledge and experience, helping with course recces, support during the race and helping to put GB on the podium!

Paul Charteris – for great company in the build up to the race and sharing your wealth of race knowledge (sorry your race didn’t quite go to plan Paul, I hope you’ll be back).