Lairig Ghru – or, the posturing of a tired mind
I write this five days after completing the most beautiful and tortuous race of my life so far. A toe tentatively dipped in the waters of ultra-racing, and a damaged body (well, feet) that make a mockery of my intention to run again anytime soon.
Five days would seem ample time for reflection – but perhaps befitting the length and ascent of the race (28 miles – 2100 ft) it is proving difficult to digest. A little historical perspective perhaps, before I witter on:
The Lairig Ghru is ‘up my way’ – hailing from the NE originally, the Grampian mountains, Braemar, Tomintoul, Ballater, Lochnagar - all places with very happy memories attached. Furthermore, the Lairig Ghru is something my Dad and two of his brothers have completed on numerous occasions, and as such, I would argue, is in the blood. No pressure has ever been attached – but, well, we all know where I’m heading with this one… Suffice to say, I now feel I can call myself a runner in front of the elder statesmen of the family.
Braemar at 10am is your start, Aviemore some time later (5hours 11min for me) is your finish. Rivers, horrendous footing, snow, rain fall, scorching heat, midges, bluebottle flies the size of your head that won’t give you one f@*>ing minutes peace!, boulder fields, snow fields, boulder fields, snow fields, boulder FIELD, snow FIELD; all lie in between.
I should really give a respectful nod to the numerous tree stumps and roots too – as they have entirely decimated my right big toe. ‘How bad?’ I hear you holler – Well, so bad that I, a healthy male, have even made a doctors appointment…
I’m still too tired to write a proper race report, and besides, I wasn’t racing – I just wanted to complete it. And now I have. I was slow, as the results show, and under-prepared in hindsight; but, more than anything, feel I am still finding myself learning when it comes to each new race – I’ve no doubt I could do this again in the future and lop a half hour off it at least. The distance was a new frontier – and I find myself giggling when it occurs that I still haven’t officially ran a marathon, yet I’ve done this.
For the statisticians amongst you – I consumed a banana in good spirits, 3 gels in varying states of emotion, circa 7 bottles of water, one bottle of lucozade, washed my face twice in the rivers – and only looked heavenward at two points and growled. I did, however, slap my thighs (in a non-country way) around half a dozen times and screamed at them to wake up and start running again. This normally followed kicking a boulder or root – and I have been reassured is perfectly normal practice. Other points of interest – some seriously good performances from fellow club-mates, and a nod to Scott, who upon royally making a mess of his ankle, still had to walk miles to find a way out (it’s that kind of race). Oh, and as the photos show – I wasn’t wearing my club vest, and Amanda duly gave me into trouble. I felt more than justified when at the second boulder field it became so cold I had to fish out my spare socks to wear as gloves. If I had been in a vest I dread to think the depth of glass that my nipples could have cut…
The Devil’s Point, the weather extremities, the long and winding glens, the hanging clouds, the sheer tearful beauty of seeing tarmac at Coylumbridge – I have no words at this point for how beautiful and ridiculously hard it all was. A race for those seeking more than a time or competition – a race for (crazy) runners.
Catch you all at training when the toes less resemble Prince’s outfits around the time of ‘1999’. PO
Photos by Phil Owens snr. & Jen Owens
Meanwhile Lynsey had this to say....
Disappointed that my foot drop kicked in at mile 8 and so had many low points during the race as I dragged my right leg behind me. Thankfully I wore cycle gloves and had knee pads for protection and so the injuries were not as severe as they could have been. I think I counted 10 falls/nose dives/trips/spills/tumbles during the race. I was aiming for under five hours but I think the Munro that I bagged earlier in the week carrying one of my boys did not bode well for race day. There is always next year.....but I doubt I will ever get back to my PB of 4hrs 15min.
Report and photo Lynsey LawrieMeanwhile....
Scott Ferguson was leading PRCer when somewhere about mile 18 he went over on his ankle badly, forcing him to limp/walk out to where a car could be brought in to rescue him. Having said "never again" last time, I suspect it will now be "never ever again" however communication lines have been worryingly quiet with just some photo updates. Speedy recovery Scott.
Johnny also concurred with the never again sentiments finding the conditions underfoot not much to his liking. After finishing he retired to the pub where a football match and 3 pints took his mind off things for a while.
