This
post is going to focus less on the race itself, and more on my thoughts of
where I am and a bit of a reflection on the past few months. If you’re looking for in-depth descriptions
of the race, accompanied by copious photos then I apologise – this is not going
to hit the spot.
The
GO33 would be my 5th ultra of the year, in addition to 2 standard
marathons, and numerous other shorter races.
Stuart has a saying that if you’re doing more than 2 marathons a year then
“you’re only collecting t-shirts”. In
other words, you can’t hope to train and peak properly for more than 2 long “A
races” in a year (and even then, you need to space them properly, ideally with
6 months in between). Doing more will
only lead to compromised performance.
Looking
at my race log for the year, I have arbitrarily selected two periods for
comparison – 1 July to 19 September, and 20 September to 7 November. Ok, it’s not that arbitrary – the latter
period is book-ended by the Karlsruhe Marathon and the GO33. In the first period, I ran 16 races, at an
average time of 23 minutes and 53 seconds per race. The longest of those races was a 10K (there
were three of those). In the second
period, I ran 6 races, at an average time of 3 hours 40 minutes and 36
seconds. The shortest of those was the
Manor Water Hill Race at 15.2K.
Something of a shift then, and easy to see why my fatigue levels have
been building over the past month or so.
In trying to recover or manage that fatigue, I’ve been doing next to no
training, which has impacted my fitness, and indeed my weight. Tired, unfit and carrying too much timber – a
winning combination!
I
travelled up with Andy from the club, having risen at 4am. I was forced to wake son Jack at the same
time, as Jo was away and he needed to be in Edinburgh for a hockey match for
8am. He was delighted to be dropped off
at my Mum and Dad’s in town, to hang out for a couple of hours before getting a
bus to Inverleith.
We
arrived to dry conditions – the forecast having improved, and rain predicted to
arrive an hour or so in. I don’t really
mind running in the rain (particularly if it comes on once I’ve warmed up);
it’s getting soaked and miserable while hanging around beforehand that pisses me off.
As well
as Andy and myself, there was a large contingent of East Lothian and East
Edinburgh’s finest – Haddington and Porty both well represented, including
school buddy Ruth who was competing her very first ultra in aid of SiMBA -
Simpsons Memory Box Appeal, which provides support to bereaved parents and
families. You can donate here if you are so minded.
After a
photo with the Haddington gang (Andy and I forming a discrete “outside toilet”
to their “main house”), we had a pretty disjointed race briefing from a
forgetful (no doubt frazzled from the 3 million things going through his head)
organiser.
And then
off along Killin High Street (sitting 5th!) before going into the
forest and slogging up a hill which didn’t end until after 4 miles. Chatting to Adrian before the start, he’d
pointed that we went “up there”, to which Andy and I both reacted with horror
(or “oh shit”!). I had it in my head
that this was all runnable, on well-made tracks and roads, and mainly in the
valley. No one had sold it to me as a bloody hill race! I walked for much of
that first hill, my quads giving a very early indication of the parlous state
they were in. With a stream of people
going past me. Percentage-wise, 3 miles
into a 33 mile ultra has to be the earliest I’ve ever considered a DNF…
But the
stretch from the top of that hill (where I saw Nick B of Corstorphine and David
Gow amongst others) down to Balquhidder (Balkidder? Balkwidder? Balkwihidder?!)
was much better. I ran it with Mike A of
Corstorphine, maintaining a good level of chat, despite the average pace
improving back towards the 7:30m/m I’d hoped for. Kristin L of Carnegie was in our wee group
for much of that, sitting first woman. I
even had a chance to admire the views down into Glen Ogle and then over towards
Loch Earn.
I fell
off of that group at 15 miles though, having decided to reward myself with a
gel if I could hang on for that long. I
walked to take it on, rather than squirt it all over my face and hands as I
might have done (usually do!) if I’d kept running.
The hill
after Strathyre (from around 18 to 20 miles) seemed totally unnecessary, and I
was demoralised to have taken so long to get up it (walking loads), only to
come straight back down, and find myself unable to make up any ground because
my quads were objecting to anything (up or down) which wasn’t dead flat. And the ground was quite rocky which didn’t
favour my road shoes, selected in preference to the HOKAs.
The
undulations on the path alongside the A84 then seemed more pronounced on the
way back – more walking. But there was a
drop station with a scavenger table where I plundered someone’s half-drunk
chocolate Yazoo – quality. I was passed
by a good number of people on this section, including several focussed and
determined looking women, one of whom was Joanna of Carnegie. We yo-yoed for almost the entirety of the
rest of the race – her steady-paced and running everything, me erratic and walk-jogging
it. We had a bit of a blether and a
smirk and wave whenever one passed the other.
From 25
miles or so onward, you are back on to the cycle path which crosses the viaduct
– high above the valley floor. The
steady incline up to 28 miles was very apparent – no wonder I enjoyed the
section with Mike so much (it had appeared flat at the time)!
A nightmare
for Andy that he blew his calf after 15 miles or so and had to walk several
miles in the heaviest rain of the day to make it to the next first aid
point. By the time he got back to the
village hall in Killin he was shivering and verging on hypothermic – needing to
be stripped (ooh er!) and wrapped up in foil blankets like a Christmas
turkey. Hopefully he still has his
giblets intact and no one has shoved an orange up his ass.
Other
friends fared better, including Ruth who had a stormer and judging by the
pictures on FB, appeared to really enjoy herself.
Which is
not to say that I had a miserable time.
The organisation was fantastic, the marshals cheery, the course very scenic, other runners
were as friendly as ever in ultras, and my time wasn’t a complete disaster – realistically
only about 15 minutes or so down on where I might have liked to be. But I am nonetheless disappointed that I don’t
feel like I acquitted myself as well as I feel I could.
So, as a
form of early New Year’s Resolution, I have decided that next year I am going
to be far more selective about my races – only entering those that fit with a
particular goal; whether the goal itself, or as part of the plan towards the
goal. No more Mr Greedy - trying to tick
off every single race on the bucket list in one year. And no more collecting t-shirts!
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