Western Isles Weekend 24~26/05/08
The photos attached show that I fell over an unmarked speed bump (road hump?) and managed to give my side a fair shredding and my knees and elbows slightly lesser shredding. I am currently confined to sleeping on my RHS only.
We arrived on the ferry from Ullapool with the Porty gang and the Forres team on Friday night and set up camp. Andrew's athletic activity was confined to wrestling with Graham's tent which appeared to have shrunk since Cape Wrath. A tent pole snapped and it looked like Richard's sister might be getting another weekend guest but Andrew had packed our tent repair kit so the Dennis siblings were spared.
Anyway, I did enjoy the race until the fall at 9m. The first half was on road and whilst there was a good wind and heat (believe it or not) I went through half way in around 39.25 so fair enough I thought, given I'm not in the form of my life (cue all sorts of excuses re. lack of consistency due to colds, coughs, dodgy vertebrae and did I say I came down with a stomach bug on Monday and have been in bed (except a viewing of last night's Apprentice) until now?)
Well the second half is on gravel paths around the castle grounds which were dry as a bone and hence not conducive to fast feet (if you had them). Coming off the gravel and back onto tramac for a very brief respite was where I fell, partly looking at a marshal for a clue as to where to go and probably mostly my own clumsiness. I knew if I didn't get up and run I would cry so thoughts of the honour of the Helensburgh vest, another DNF (cue pb slagging!) and facing my husband with this sorry tale made me get up and see if I could still run. So the last miles were done through gritted teeth leaving slightly bemused/concerned marshals in my wake as the blood seeped through my yellow vest and dripped all over the place. Adrian from Forres overtook me with about 2 miles to go as did an HBTer who I subsequently caught. I finished in 1h28.41 which was OK considering.
The First Aid girls were very good at patching me up; it was the first outing for one of them and she certainly didn't faint at the sight of blood! Many thanks to them. Ben and I discussed taking detailed photos of the injuries a la Peter's blister close up but decided that that would be in poor taste.
Ouch!Ben was first overall, miles ahead of the opposition so a good start to the Heb3 campaign for him. We picked up a fair bit of silverware and some rather nice chess men and headed for the ferry after a regrettably short exposure time at the buffet which was a 'rare scran' to coin a phrase oft used by Karen Young. Very big compliments to the piece makers of Stornoway.
Graham crossed the line 3rd in the marathon with Ivor Normand elated to come first, reporting that this was the first damn individual event he had ever won. Ellen Thomson, our top burgh ultra babe, was 3rd lady in the marathon; she is using this as training for the West Highland Way Race, an event I have been surprised never to see an LSD Porty tackle? Ellen did the Harris marathon on the Monday too and came 2nd lady overall in the double. Richard did the double, in admirable consistency as did Graham (I'll not steal their thunder). Total respect for them all from a mere once in a weekend half marathoner!
Report Ex Porty Julia Henderson
Photos Andrew HendersonHere is Richard's perspective on the same weekend where he ran 2 marathons: the Point 1 Callanish Stones Marathon on Saturday and the North Harris Trust Isle of Harris Marathon on the Monday.....
Hebridean Two Marathon Challenge.
There’s something very special about the island races. It is not just the spectacular empty scenery, the first class organisation, and the calorie-laden post race free nosh. It is not even the lottery of the weather which makes the racing challenge completely unpredictable. There’s a kind of laid-back friendliness that goes beyond the camaraderie of the hardy crew who return year after year to encompass the newbies – driven by the length of time together travelling up and back and staying over required to race at the edge of the world. There’s no real attempt to “fix” the courses in anyway – they simply are what they are. And the odd hiccup – like the second race being delayed 20 minutes because the coaches couldn’t turn round – is simply taken in the stride: never turned into a drama. There must have been at least as many volunteers/marshals as runners – but very few spectators. This is what racing for fun is all about.
The Callanish course for the Saturday started at the world famous Stones, went up the west coast road for seven miles, and then follows the Pentland Road up and over the moors in the middle of Lewis to reach the castle grounds and join the half marathon course for the last 2/3 miles along the east coast. The coast road rolls up and down between bays – short sharp climbs followed by short sharp descents. The “Pentland Road” was originally planned as a railway – they just never laid the tracks – so long gentle gradients up and then down. And the castle grounds are largely downhill for a potentially fast finish. The skies were clear blue, the sun shone, and the wind howled – enough to make the 90 odd runners shiver at the 8:30 start.
I was up for a fast time (well, for me) – so very pleased that I managed to run a sensible first mile (7:42), working up through the field to settle in beside SRAC’s Dougie Flett. We collected a little group (above) and ran a nice steady pace for the first ten miles, chatting most of the time – though he went away from me up every hill and I had to catch him back up on the down. For most of this time we could see the head of the race climbing the next hill as we crested the previous one – a group of five had pulled clear, with then a string of lone runners including Porty’s Graham Henry around 10th place, with “my” group being the second bunch, slowly hoovering up the loners. Graham was to run a stormer – reeling in runners as HBT’s Ivor shook them off the leading pack. The photo below taken between miles 6 and 7 shows how far the leaders had got clear, but Graham ran all but two of them down in the second half.
My first tablet and Lucozade parcel was waiting for me at the water station at the start of the Pentland Road, and whilst I slowed to munch, two of my group made a bid for freedom and went off the front. But tablet munched I was still feeling strong and together with the rest of the group, we went off after them. Up to mile 10 we were doing fine, all chirping away happily and on course for well inside 3:30. But mile 10 the climb started, and coming onto the moors we were out into a strong headwind. The wind was with us for the next 12 miles – the hill only for the next eight! (and I drove the course twice the next day, since I know how unbelievable this sounds – OK, it wasn’t a very steep hill: railway climbs are pretty gentle, but….) We dropped the pace by 20 seconds a mile for the next three miles and this was getting really hard work. One by one the group fell away until I was on my own chasing the two breakaways. Got to the half way mark in 1:42 – the same first half as my PB, but already it was clear hanging on was the order of the day. Surely all this uphill meant there was a downhill to come? Miles 14 to 18 were down to 8:30 average – why on earth wasn’t the entire field overtaking? Every crest of a hill just showed another crest coming on the skyline – and the effort was suddenly all in the mind. I’d thought the highest point was about mile 17, so it was a real blow to see the road still rising ahead.
As we crested another top at mile 18, suddenly the mainland hills came into view across the Minch, meaning it had to be all downhill to the finish. At last I knew I was going to make it without having to walk. The breakaway pair had got about 500m ahead of me by now, and were running down the chap in front of them, so boosted by the downhill, I set off in pursuit. Looking at the watch I was still slowing down – miles 20-25 the average was 9 min/miles – but it no longer felt like that. I caught one of the now group of three at mile 20 when they stopped to a walk, the second in mile 21 when the same thing happened, and the third right at the end of the Pentland Road around mile 23. Into the castle grounds where I knew the course, we got out of the wind, and out of the sun (having not seen a tree for 15 miles!) – this was good! Disaster almost struck in mile 24 with my first ever attack of serious mid-race cramp – but a quick stretch and I could hobble on (it is possible to run without bending your legs). Turning to the coast I saw one of the half marathon runners ahead, and was pleased to pass my brother in law – an incentive to look strong whatever I was feeling. And then to stagger over the finish in 3:37 – I’d slowed by 13 minutes in the second half, but no-one had come past me, and I’d overtaken everyone I could see (the previous finisher had eight minutes on me). Ivor had held on to win, and Graham had stormed through to third place. Ben Kemp meanwhile had been winning the half marathon by the best part of a mile – but perhaps he’ll report on that himself.
My sister dragged me out to help walk the dog that evening and the following day I did some gentle yoga in the morning followed by a 2-3hr hilly coastal walk – including sleep on the beach – which seemed to keep the stiffness away. But the muscles stayed very sore – and I was suffering from too much sun – wasn’t looking forward to part two at all.
Monday dawned bright and sunny again, with the same strong easterly wind. The North Harris course started at Amhuinnsuidhe Castle, along a minor west-coastal road for nine miles back to the main road from Stornoway to Tarbert, 3 miles into Tarbert, round the one-way system, 3 miles the “wrong way” up the end of the half marathon course, a left turn onto the Gold Road for a ten mile loop down to the east coast and the back to the main road, and then the last 4 miles back the “right way” down the half marathon course into Tarbert to finish at the Harris Hotel. 70 runners made it to the start – but around twenty opted for the two hour headstart available for “walkers”, so it was an elite group trying to find somewhere to pee on the castle’s front lawn. The start – marked by Jim Bruce blowing up and popping a plastic bag – was very gentle, everyone shuffling slowly forward until our Graham saw a camera and sprinted to the front. The handful of runners who had not run Stornoway shot after and past him, and the race was on. I had twinges of cramp in my legs even before the start, and no expectation I’d be able to run very far, so went off very gently – a 9:10 first mile. I settled in alongside HBT’s Ian Campbell, and we ran the first four miles together – this time with him sprinting ahead on the downhills, and me hauling him back in on the ups, settling down to a pace around 8:20. The coastal up and downs were more marked than Saturday’s course – the largest climb being over 100m up and then straight back down – so we could again watch the front of the race for a while, and count that we were running in joint 15th in spite of the slow pace. Ian went back for a second shot at the first water stop, and I was on my own. I came over a big incline to find Graham stopped about a hundred yards ahead, and had brief thoughts about catching him and getting pulled along – but he took one look at me and sprinted off, getting further ahead every time he came back into view, until I lost sight of him around mile 9.
I was very surprised to find myself still running as we came into Tarbert the first time, and was still mentally alert enough to make a positive decision to walk the steep bits of the half marathon course rather than waiting to find out whether or not I would have to walk them. This was helped by seeing I was at least a couple of minutes clear of the next runner, and knowing the last 3 or 4 miles were potentially quick ones, it was vital I could still be jogging then. Even with these two walk breaks, I get to the halfway in 1:51. I’m telling myself two contradictory things – that even if I walk from now on, I should get home inside six hours, and that if I can just keep going, some of the folk ahead are bound to blow up and let me catch them. The first half of the Gold Road is largely downhill as we go back down to sea level. There are lots of twists and turns, and I lose track of the direction. I’m now walking up anything steep – the next ten miles include a 10:40 and 10:35 marking two significant hills, though the rest of the time I’m averaging 9 minute miles. The mental state is getting a little odd – I find myself trying to hide in my own shadow at one point, and I’m occasionally feeling disappointed the pain hasn’t really stepped up too much more than at the start of the race: after all, I’m doing this to see where my limits are. Perhaps I should go a little faster? But no, I’m not that interested in seeing what happens to me at the edge.
I start meeting some of the walkers, and about mile 20 I get a nasty shock – I hear talking behind me. The next runner has caught the walker I’ve just passed, and – like me – slowed for a chat. The next two miles are the last steep hill back to the main road. I walk/run as hard as I can – both because I can now see the next runner in front who is also walk/running, and because the guy behind me has got so close I can hear his breathing. But I’m not going to look behind, and I’m still just ahead as we reach the main road and turn onto what in the half marathon is the long downhill sprint to the finish. We are not sprinting – but I manage an 8:58 mile, then an 8:10 - I can no longer hear breathing behind me, and I’ve caught the guy in front who’s got cramp. Mile 25 is 8:05 – but the steep downhills I’ve walked up earlier are now really painful – please can we have some more uphill? – and Mile 26 is 8:43. I risk a glance over my shoulder to see two runners tearing down the last hill, and have to raise a last sprint to put them off – I get the pace down to 8 minute miling, and they stop chasing, so I can collapse over the line in peace. 3:49. Good for me! Once again Graham has had a strong second half to run up the field to 8th, finishing in 3:33 one place behind Ivor.
Oddly in many ways the second marathon has been easier than the first – in part because I didn’t have any expectation about running fast, in part because all the twisting and turning means that the wind hasn’t been against us for that long at any one time, and perhaps because mentally we all know any race in Harris is going to be tough. I’m surprised that for Harris, my two halves were 1:51 and 1:58 – much closer together than Callanish, in spite of the walk breaks in the second half. A good number of runners even manage to run the second race quicker than the first – including my early pacer Ian Campbell, who takes almost 10 minutes off his Stornoway time. Not much conversation happens as we sit round in the sun waiting for the last finishers, but much fellowship in silence for what we have endured – marked by what are by far the nicest race medals I’ve seen. Nothing special is done to mark the two marathon challenge finishers – but of the fifty runners who have done the two races, Graham has come fifth and I’ve come seventh on cumulative time. If there is a third mad portobellite next time, we might win the team prize! Though the SRAC folk are at pains to make clear the “next time” might be ten years away.
Some things you only do once. Running two marathons in three days may be one of them. Having a very cheerful Graham sitting next to you in the car singing for five hours all the way home is probably another – largely Scottish football songs from what I could make out. Don’t ask me to say which was the more enjoyable!
Report Richard Dennis
Photos from SRAC website,
Loads more great images from the weekend here, many thanks to Gavin Earons of SRAC for all his hard work on the website doing results, posting photos, links and also doing some running. Well done and thanks to all the organisers.
