This year Hedley Fletcher and Gareth Huxley became the 4th and 5th members of Ryton Tri to line up at Kailua Pier for the showpiece event of multisport, following in the hot and probably blistered footsteps of Dave Garner, Eric Blakie and Joe Horne. We had expected conditions to be testing for natives of northern Britain, but both arrived in good shape. Hedley had just managed an impressive 6th place in a good field at the Leeds Triathlon, and I had bagged second at the Kielder Half Ironman, albeit in a small entry. However the chilly waters of Kielder in late September and a bike ride requiring gloves and a baselayer were probably not ideal preparation for the searing heat and humidity of the Big Island.
Sarah and I arrived in Hawaii a week before the race. For the first race in a few years, I was accompanied only by Sarah and would be racing an Ironman without the Iron-poodles, leading me to worry whether I would be able to perform on race day. On arrival we were immediately struck by the dense humidity, our taxi driver informing us that this was higher than normal because of recent high rainfall. Oh, and it was hotter than normal as well.
At least we had had a hassle free journey, unlike Hedley. He and his bike had followed different routes to Hawaii, via what seemed like most of the 50 states, with an unscheduled overnight in Las Vegas. At one point of this convoluted journey, just before boarding a flight, Hedley could see his bike case, to which the baggage handlers were paying little attention, despite Hedley’s pleading. Following re-assurances, the bike was duly loaded onto a different plane to Hedley. Fortunately the bike arrived at the delightfully low-key Kona airport only an hour or so after Hedley, unlike the bikes of a number of his fellow travellers.
Final race preparations went pretty well, if a little more sweaty than normal. The weather was still unrelentingly hot and sticky, and it was clear it was going to be a hot one. A rumour was going round that Gordon Ramsay, given a free entry for the third year running without having to qualify, was knocking up his daily morning fry up of square sausage, black pudding and haggis on the baking tarmac outside the King Kam Hotel. During the final few days, we were amazed at the number of athletes who were still doing long rides and smashing the run intervals along Ali’i Drive. Had they got their dates mixed up? The race was this Saturday, not next. 3 days to go, and there were still people who seemed to be riding the whole of the bike route. These were probably the same folks who would later be out running again the day after the race, and should possibly have been sectioned, for their own protection!
From the moment you touch down in Kona, all athletes are treated like champions, regardless of age or ability, and the organisation of everything related to the event is faultless. There are twice as many volunteers as athletes here, many of whom who have travelled a long way, just to help out. As race day drew nearer, we were spending most of the time lashed up to the eyeballs on delicious Kona coffee, so I decided it would be rather pointless to use a heart rate monitor. The events in race week like the charity underpants run, and the parade of nations were great fun, although it was noticeable that many athletes took the underpants run a little seriously, wearing their heart rate monitors, for what is basically a mile walk/light jog along Alii Drive.
Having ridden out to the bike turnaround at Hawi a few days before the race, on a fairly windless day, the bike course did not appear to hold any real terrors. It should be clarified that I rode only half of the 112 miles, and was met by Sarah with the hire-car. We then had a substantial Mexican lunch, washed down by the obligatory gallon of Kona coffee. Although very little of the bike route is flat, the gradients are modest, the surface is like marble, and there are no corners to slow you down, once out of town. Given a reasonably calm day, Hedley and I both felt we could get close to 5 hours for the bike. Easier said than done though.
In the last couple of days, I think we both started to relax a little. There is pressure when you are trying to qualify for Kona, but once you are here, and likely to finish in the pack, the main aim is self preservation. I was still shiting it about a marathon in the heat, whereas Hedley seemed more worried about the swim, but when we saw pictures of last year’s start, with swimmers well spread out across a very wide start, only, it didn’t look quite as daunting. As a lot of the field would swim faster than us, we decided to hang back a bit and keep out of the way of any trouble.
Race day at last. Sadly it was still baking hot, with clear blue skies. Final handshakes were exchanged. We spotted the popular chef/narcissist Gordon Ramsay making his way towards the water, looking even more furrowed than usual. Into the lovely warm water, and a bit of a token warm-up. Then off went the gun, and as we went off, I couldn’t believe I was actually here, racing Kona. Despite our worries, we both got round the swim pretty much unscathed, and one athlete who lamped me accidentally in the head half way round actually said sorry on his next breath to my side. As expected, our swim times were a lot slower than a for a wetsuited lake swim, me with a 1.13, and Hedley 1.24. Then on with the factor 50 custard and out onto the bike.
After the first few miles riding around the streets of Kailua Kona, the course does a short climb up Palani Road and out onto the Queen K Highway. This is now hallowed ground for Ironman devotees. Again, there were moments of reflection when I felt I could not actually be here doing this race, as we headed out north in windless conditions through the lava fields, both gaining places steadily. Although this was the world championship, there were still plenty of stereotypical examples of awful triathlete bike-handling, as bemoaned by hardened roadies. I saw one muppet fall off sideways at a feed station when he inexplicably leaned his bike when reaching out for a bottle. Another guy sat cradling his injured shoulder on the roadside. An Argentinian and a Kiwi, riding near me for much of the race, repeatedly swerved sharply in and out to sit behind other wheels, and probably covered closer to 120 miles as a result.
After the 40 mile mark at Kawaihae, the landscape changes abruptly from scorched black lava to lush green fields. This next stretch to the Hawi turnaround is a bit more hilly, and on the slow uphill stretches we were beginning to feel the heat. A few miles from Hawi, and a strong headwind picked up, as is usual here. It also started to rain, which was very welcome. The first half hour coming down from Hawi with a tailwind gave further relief. Would this wind blow us all the way back to T2?
Passing Kawaihae and turning right back onto the Queen K for the last 35 miles, a southerly wind had now picked up, so we were actually facing a headwind for the last 2 hours or so, which didn’t seem fair, having had no tailwind on the way out. This was where the race was really beginning, and it was going to be a lot harder from hereon. A 5-hour bike split was now out of the question for us both. Along this tough stretch, I overheard a classic piece of Aussie understatement, as a rider near me was caught up by his clubmate:
-Aussie rider 1- “How’s yer day?”
-Aussie rider 2- “Good. You?”
-Aussie Rider 1- “Good.”
That was it, word for word. Hedley’s feet were by this stage starting to swell up like an old gadgy with heart failure, but despite this he still managed a bike split of 5.22, a minute faster than me. Then out into the furnace of the marathon. Although you never want to see anyone suffering badly, for me it was heartening to pass a lot of runners in the first few miles. Even at this level there seem to be a lot of non-runners, and this was a bit of a distraction from the searing heat. The frequent aid stations and people spraying hosepipes gave a little temporary relief, but the first 10 miles of out and back along Alii Drive was the hottest part of the course, with the temperature on the black tarmac around 50 Celsius. Wet run shoes and swollen feet inevitably means blisters though.
At 10 miles, we passed the finish, and it was good to see Sarah one last time, before climbing up Palani and back onto the Queen K. Now a little way back from the ocean and out in the open, it was a little more tolerable for running, although the nearest shady spot was back in town with the timeshare salesmen. It was tough passing close to the finish knowing the elites were already home, and probably on their second or third pint. By 18 miles at the Energy Lab, another iconic feature on the famous course, my feet were badly blistered, and one did burst around here, but this gave only momentary discomfort. Hedley was finding it tough going on this section, but when back on the Queen K, on the home stretch, he found a bit more from somewhere, and picked up the pace for the last 6 miles, gaining a lot places.
Even as a fairly seasoned triathlete, nothing can really prepare you for the emotion of the last part of this great race. Dropping back down Palani Road at mile 25, for a mostly downhill last mile, you now know you are almost home, and can take in the atmosphere as the crowds steadily start to build. A left off Palani, then a right, and downhill again to Alii Drive. You can now hear the finish, and the legendary Mike Reilly, as he has done for so many years, calling in every athlete. Now Alii Drive for the last time, with 400m to go, onto the most famous stretch of road in triathlon, in the footsteps of so many legends, euphoria peaking, the noise getting louder and the crowd ever closer, and yet again, you cannot believe that you are here in the midst of this, as you cross the line to Mike calling out your name, and “YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!” And it is over.
Run splits were 3.36 for me and 3.53 for Hedley. I have done a few races in Europe in hot weather, none of which came close to this, but for Hedley this was his first Ironman outside the UK, so it was a tremendous performance to finish well up the field, in a time of 10.50, placing him 861st overall/166th in age group. The closest he has ever come to these sort of conditions was when the cooler went on the blink at the Bisley. I finished in 10.24, 577th/53rd in AG, with a moderately bad case of trench foot. Chef Ramsay was a DNF, and didn’t even start the run, deciding instead to stick to what he is best at and knock up few omelettes on the road for hungry athletes. He’ll probably be back here next year again though. Maybe it is your slot that he will be given. Delia Smith is going to run the 100m next to Usain Bolt in Rio as well.
Thanks as ever to Sarah for her support out on the course, and to the Madderses for looking after the iron-poodles, who no doubt would have been on the athlete tracker till the small hours. It should be mentioned that the champions this year were Jan Frodeno (GER) and Daniela Ryf (CHE). A final thought-the fastest run split of the day was by David McNamee, a Scotsman, proving that we are made of the same stuff, and us folk from northern latitudes can mix it with best of them in extreme heat.
My Joss Naylor Round
Eric Blakie 8th August 2015
My Bob Graham was 15 years ago and since Foot and Mouth sidestepped me to Triathlon I haven’t really spent a lot of time on the fells apart from supporting other attempts at BGs or Joss's and the odd outing at the Langdale Horseshoe. Anyway it was on the bucket list and so we are at Pooley Bridge at 2.00 am on a 17.30 hr schedule for a 60 year old - actually 61 at the time. I must also mention that I had not seen some of our gang of pacers for some time and as I mentioned I was actually doing this for them.... but it did feel very strange being the centre of attention - and insults!!
So first leg...... wet wet wet underfoot but good weather and a reasonably clear night. Pacers Kevin Otto and Ian Smallwood. We missed the first peak Arthur's Pike by about 200m and had to back track. That cost us a few minutes which we never really got back plus in the dark I was trying to make sure no accidents as my knees have been playing up recently - walking poles helped tremendously in the mud! Had to make a ‘nature stop’ on High Street costing another couple minutes but caught my pacers up by taking the shorter route up the wall. We met Richard Woodrow on Stoney Cove Pike who had backtracked from Kirkstone. Kirkstone arrived 11 mins down but no panic... took a shorter break.
Second leg with Graeme Dance and Ian Smallwood - again. Kevin was in the plan for this but decided he may slow us up on the climbs. Fantastic views from the tops - low mist/cloud to the west and clear to the east. Found it difficult to get the few minutes back on this leg as didn’t want to go too hard. I wasn’t looking forward to the decent off Fairfield but was surprised to find the zig zag down quite easy - the summer crowds had moved the loose scree aside. The descent off Seat Sandal is a bit taxing on sore knees but we came to Dunmail only 9 mins down to be met by all the team including my wife Dot duly ready with every need.
Third leg and no way back - with Ruth Dance and Tim Malpass setting off 6 mins down. A good climb up Steel Fell got some time back but we had decided to go to High Raise via Sergeant Man rather than my usual route straight up Birks Gill which proved a mistake - it seems easier but is longer so we lost a few more minutes. Coming down from High Raise to Rossett, Tim started to lag back and was clutching his thigh however waved us on - so we left him! Well as a pacer you accept if you get injured you are on your own (not quite as we knew that we had support meeting us at Rossett who he would meet up with!). After Rossett we were met by my brother Clive who had come up from Langdale with Kevin’s son Jonathan - more importantly with the coffee. Quick coffee stop and up Bowfell keeping to the split time. We then made up time over Esk Pike and up to Great End then deciding not to do the Band but backtrack, cut the corner down a nice grassy slope and to the main path from Esk Hause. We were met by Ian and Pete on the path - and by virtually the whole gang again at Sty Head.
Last Leg - after a short break left on schedule. Kevin and Jonathan had decided to do leg 4 for their own amusement and had already set off finding their own routes with Pete. A good climb up Gable got some time back and we met up with Pete for Kirk Fell again gaining time. Richard made a brief appearance at Black Sail Pass to encourage us on but had obviously forgotten the coffee!! By Pillar we were 15 mins up but lost some of that when I had to put some tape on one of my toes at Scoat Fell. We met a Bob Graham attempt on Steeple and he was 40 mins down but tried to encourage him as from my experience many are 40 mins down at this point and you can make it up.
Kevin and Jonathan kept popping up but proceeded to take a horrible path off Haycock whereas Ian knew the ‘easy’ way off down the grass. They then headed straight for Greendale Bridge. Seatallan seems very foreboding and miles away from Haycock but we were soon over the bog and up the climb with one to go still 7 mins up. The last hill is always very welcome and we were met by quite a party - Richard still didn’t have the coffee but had a miniature whisky for me which was duly downed as photos were taken and down we set off. Then we were met by David Powell Thompson to take us down his route (Joss had been called away for some meeting) which was very nice especially as we had watched him on TV the week before in ‘A year in the life of a mountain (Scafell). So to Greendale Bridge and the finish - 17 hrs and 27 minutes.
After various photos and a leg dip in Joss’s stream a couple of bottles of fizz ensued before we headed back to our accommodation near Keswick and a mad 2 hr celebration party. But what a day on the fells in clear weather and with a fantastic bunch of pacers and supporters - very difficult to put into words but an experience I shall always remember – thanks guys! Oh and as for the continuous micky taking and insults - well it keeps you going and your mind off the pain -certainly it was pay back for many !!!!!
On the last peak with the Scafells in the background. Richard’s whisky in hand.
The Fred is Not Enough
Madders confirms recent doubts about his sanity, and adds further fuel to the rumours that he is in fact “half man – half Blakie”, by recounting his experiences in the Wasdale X triathlon.
Wasdale X was new to the calendar this year, and was (sort of) a doubling-up of the half iron version which I did in 2013, along with the Big E, Gareth Huxley and Joe Horne. In line with its shorter version, it proclaimed itself to be the “hardest iron-distance race in the world”. Several other “extreme” triathlons make a similar claim – Norseman, Celtman, Embrunman, Blakieman, and Cleveland Sprints, among others. This is of course a subjective claim, and there are several ways to determine whether one race is “harder” than another. One of these, the most obvious, is the vertical distance climbed over the bike and run legs. On this basis, then the “X”, incorporating a jaunt around the Fred Whitton route, followed by a mountain marathon including Illgill Head (twice) and Scafell Pike, blows its established rivals out of the (very cold) water.
The Wasdale X took place on 21/6/15, and was contested for Ryton Tri by myself, the Big E and Scott Sanders. The Big E, of course, was actually very fortunate to make it to the start line, following the controversy he was involved in earlier this year. For those who aren’t aware, the Big E was involved in an incident concerning a volunteer at one of his many other Ironman races. In the recovery area at the end of the event, he was offered a plate of the local gruel. Eric decided he didn’t want this, but would prefer to have steak and chips. The volunteer informed him that, unfortunately, steak and chips were not available. “Listen you; I don’t think you know who you’re speaking to. I’m an all-world athlete, ranked number one in the UK. I’ve been to Kona twice, and I wear a gold swim hat. If I want steak and chips, then that is what I get!” He then proceeded to punch the volunteer in the face.
Of course this “uncharacteristic outburst” was followed by sincere public apologies, but these were not enough to stop the Ironman Corporation imposing a lengthy ban and thereby effectively relieving the Big E from his duties as their globe-trotting, brand-promoting ambassador. (Fortunately for the Big E, his other source of income remains intact, and in fact is stronger than ever. As you will be aware, the viewing figures for the immensely popular reality TV programme “Keeping Up With the Blakies” increased substantially when it was recently announced that one of the participants intended to undergo transgender surgery) There was talk of a very lucrative offer from Challenge, but this has as yet failed to materialise, leaving the Big E little choice but to enter low-profile, low-budget events such as the Wasdale X.
One of the “selling points” of the X is that Wast Water is the coldest lake in England. Unfortunately as race day approached, it got even colder, and the swim distance had to be halved. Now this was presumably good news for all of the Southern Softies in the field, but very bad news for me and our boys. You see, with the shortening of the swim came a reduction in the race cut-off from 20 hours to 19 hours. Shortening the swim distance would reduce swim time by only half an hour, leaving a net reduction in the time available to do the “hard” bits. This also led to a delay in the start from 3.30 am to the far more leisurely time of 4.30 am.
4.30 am on race day and it was dull and overcast, and the water really was absolutely freezing. Fortunately the organisers realised this, and didn’t keep us hanging around in the water. A very positive aspect of the X swim concerned the “booeys” (pronounced boooo – eeeeeeze). (For those who don’t know, these are the things that mark whereabouts to turn during an open water swim. I picked this word up in Colorado last year whilst doing Ironman Boulder, and it is just one of many Americanisms I shall be dropping into this and future articles, in order to portray myself as an affluent globe-trotting regular Ironman competitor – like the Big E.) As the race was originally due to start at 3.30, in the dark (and in fact it wasn’t exactly light at 4.30, with the skies as black as they were) the organisers had put flashing lights on the booeys. Brilliant – I can tell you that it’s far easier to swim towards a flashing light in the dark than it is towards a brightly coloured booey in broad daylight. Even Dr Bob (and perhaps Graham Robinson) may have been able to swim in a straight line.
Out of the swim, and by now it was chucking it down. Great. I ran into T1 and was shocked and stunned at this point to see that 2 competitors (1 male, 1 female) were, in flagrant breach of ITU rules, doing “the full monty” (although, crucially, they did keep their hats on). Normally this invokes automatic DQ, but the organisers didn’t seem bothered (and neither did the race photographer). Indeed, the results after the race show that no penalty was awarded for this infringement. It did transpire, however, that they had offended the Lakeland mountain gods, and were held responsible for the awful weather which persisted all day. Three days later there was a minor earthquake in the Wasdale valley, whereupon they were arrested and imprisoned.
My track record for the Fred Whitton has not been great. I’ve done the official event twice. Each time it has taken me around 10 hours, and I have suffered various combinations of: dehydration, hypothermia, punctures, snapped chains, buckled wheels and gravel rash. I set off fearing the worst, with the rain hammering down and bringing back memories of falling off on the descent of Wrynose in similar conditions. Twice. No problems though, as the old bike with its new chainset got up the climbs quite easily, and the brand new tyres and brakes got down the descents (coupled with the policy of descending like a wuss – allowing everyone I’d passed on the way up, and more, to fly past me on the way down) safely.
I got round the bike course quicker than I expected, although never quite quick enough to get ahead of the weather. Each time I approached one of the passes, I could see that the weather was much better in the next valley. Sadly, on each occasion, each time I reached the next valley, so did the rain. Strangely enough, the one section of the route where the weather was ok was Cold Fell – my (and everybody else’s, I believe) least favourite stretch. I don’t remember ever going over Cold Fell in anything other than howling gales, low cloud, and heavy rain. On X day though, it was actually quite pleasant. It was even possible to admire the view. Just a shame that it’s Sellafield.
Later, the Big E told me that when he rode across the Fell there were howling gales, low cloud, and heavy rain. Bad luck Eric!
I love Hardknott me!
I reached T2 having surprised myself with a bike split of not much more than 8 hours. This also surprised the WAGs, to whom I had estimated a time of “no less than 9 hours”. The WAGs for this race numbered only 2 – Lou and Dot, and they had not been in T2 very long when I arrived. I said a brief hello, and wished Lou a happy anniversary (29 years – what better way for either of us to spend it) and set off on the start of the run. At this point I was feeling great. 9 hours had elapsed between the start of the race and setting off on the run. This left me 10 hours to complete the run within the cut-off. Easy! In fact, if need be, I could probably walk, and still make the cut-off.
The start of the run route involved heading north along the Lake road for a mile, then through the campsite, and onto the path leading up the screes. Now I sort of knew this part of the route, as this is the path you run down at the end of the half. Now, according to the race details, you run up this path, and then onto the flat bit at the top, where you then spend several miles covering some gently undulating terrain. Sounds easy, which of course is what you want when you know that you’ve got to go up Scafell Pike later on. Well this isn’t quite how it turned out. At the top of the path, instead of going to the left, onto the flat bit where the half came from, you went to the right, which took you very steeply upwards. And then up again. Then up again. And again. And again. Then down a bit, but then up again. Then down a lot, but then up even more. And then up some more again. Of course the irritating thing for me was that the downhill bits were all “technical descents”. That means that unless you’re a “proper” fell runner, like Eric Blakie or Ruth Dance, you have to gently pussyfoot your way down, and not make up for any of the huge amounts of time you’ve lost on the steep climbs.
The weather hadn’t been bad down by the lake, but the cloud was low, so visibility deteriorated as I got higher. There was, however, plenty of marking tape, so navigation wasn’t a problem. Eventually I reached Illgill Head – the high point of this section of the route. After this it was mostly downhill to Irton Woods, which are at the same height as Wast Water – giving you a similar climb to look forward to on the way back. As I descended I eventually dropped out of the clouds and the visibility became perfect. Of course guess what is the most prominent thing you can see if you’re heading south from Illgill Head – yes, Sellafield.
I reached Irton Woods (about quarter distance) after a bit more than 2 hours. Then you had to do a lap around the woods, which was about a mile (and not flat) then head back the way you’d come from. At this point I became curious about where the Big E could be. As it was an out and back apart from the lap of the woods, you got to see everyone who was more than a mile ahead, or more than a mile behind, and I hadn’t seen the Big E (or Scott, for that matter). The Big E has yet to finish a swim ahead of me, so I was quite sure I’d started the bike before him. He’s usually quicker than me on the bike, but sometimes struggles on the climbs – although he caught me easily enough during the half. Then, although he seems to have done little other than a huge number of Ironman races for years, fell running is still, I believe “what Blakies do best”. So it was strange that, bearing in mind the ridiculously slow pace I was running at, he hadn’t caught me.
The drag back over Illgill Head was as slow, tedious, technical, windy and misty as the outward leg. At the bottom of the scree path you don’t turn left towards the lake, but turn right and follow the same path as the half to Wasdale Head. Wasdale Head was the 15 mile mark, and was also the race headquarters, the finish, the place where we were staying, and the place that the WAGs had now relocated to. I reached Wasdale Head after 4 1/2 hours of running, by which time my legs were completely wrecked. Very slow, but still plenty time to hobble up and down the Pike before the cut-off. It was here that I saw the WAGs again, and learned what had happened to the Big E.
The Big E had actually pulled out of the race suffering from Hypothermia. Fresh from races in Taiwan, Mexico, Hawaii, Malaysia and Arizona, he had found Wast Water a little on the cool side. Exiting the lake into the rain, he had resisted the temptation to keep his wetsuit on, but had put on every other piece of clothing he had brought with him for the bike (including his new Ryton Tri thermal onesie). He completed the bike route, but remained unable to warm himself up. He reached T2 and the WAGs a freezing, shivering wreck. He then, reluctantly, decided to abandon the race. This presented a problem, as he was clearly hypothermic, but the Blakiemobile was some 2 miles away at Wasdale Head, the WAGs having walked to T2 from there. He and Dot were actually staying at a posh hotel in Gosforth, even further away in the other direction.
After some deliberation, the WAGs formulated a Blakie reheating plan. The Big E would get back on his bike, and ride the (flat) 2 miles to Wasdale Head. Lou and I were staying at the Wasdale Head Inn, so the Big E would go to reception and ask for our room key. Then he would thaw himself out in our bath. (He was given strict instructions not to ask for steak and chips) The WAGs then walked back to the Inn. The bath did the trick, and the Big E was eventually able to make it to the bar and join the WAGs for some food and some Lakeland ale. Eventually the time came when I was likely to be running past. The Big E didn’t feel up to going outside quite yet, so the WAGs wrapped him in a warm duffle coat, gave him some marmalade sandwiches, and attached a label to him saying “please look after this Blakie”. (Strangely enough, Darkest Peru is now one of very few places in the world where The Big E hasn’t yet competed in an Ironman).
The Big E’s quite fond of Hardknott too!
This still left unexplained why I also hadn’t yet seen Scott. I assumed that he too had DNF’d, but I had no idea why or when until I saw him at Monday swimming some weeks later. Seems he’d struggled on the bike and had some punctures. He’d finished the bike leg a bit outside of the bike cut-off, but been allowed to start the run, on the understanding that he would make up time on the first section. After running along the lake, however, he decided that he was unlikely to make the overall cut and dropped out. Never mind, he atoned for this 2 weeks later by entering and completing the Kielder Ironman. And then entering next year’s X.
Having passed Wasdale Head, I was feeling more positive again. I only had the Scafell Pike section to do, which would be hard, but, I’d done it (twice) before so knew what to expect. Unlike the first section which had taken me totally by surprise. Also, I had plenty time, and I had just learned that daughter Laura and her partner Stuart had set off some time earlier and were planning to meet me at the top of the Pike.
The weather, however, was starting to deteriorate again. It was raining, windy, cloudy, and starting to get cold. As I got higher, each of these things got steadily worse. When I reached Styhead Tarn, where you turn right onto the Corridor Route, I decided that it was time to put my running jacket on. I had a brief chat with the marshal as I was taking it out of the rucksack, and at some point he said, for reasons which weren’t clear to me, “Are you from Newcastle?” “I am indeed” I said. (Actually, I might have said “whey aye man”, but I can’t remember) “Are you expecting to see your daughter up here somewhere?” I replied, again, in the affirmative. “She passed here about half an hour ago. She’s expecting to meet you at the top”.
This was good news which gave me a lift. Not for very long though. It took me forever to cover the section from Styhead to the top of the Pike. By the time I got to the end of the Corridor Route I was totally exhausted and the weather had worsened again. The temperature was very low, it was blowing a gale, chucking it down, and visibility was next to nothing. There was a marshal at this point: “turn left here and climb straight up to the summit. It’ll take you about 15 minutes. There’s a marshal up there who’ll take your number. You should be able to see him, as he’s got a brightly coloured tent”.
“15 minutes” was about as accurate as the pre race description of the first part of the run. After about half an hour of blindly following the tape, not having a clue how near the summit I was, I saw the brightly coloured tent. Then I saw the marshal standing in front of it. Then I finally noticed that the tent was actually right up against the cairn. This is the massive cairn that you can usually see for miles around, which lets you know in no uncertain terms that you are at the top of Scafell Pike. I was less than 2 yards away, and could only see that it was there because of the tent. I learned later that this particular marshal had been in place since 2pm, and stayed there till after midnight. He didn’t have to do that, it was part of, I believe, a joint decision by the marshals and organisers to extend the original 11.30 pm cut-off to around 1.30 am. Even though I was in a miserable state myself, I still managed to feel sorry for this marshal, who had probably been landed with the worst job of the day. Possibly one of the worst jobs ever (perhaps even on a par with The Big E’s chiropodist).
I gave the marshal my number, and then asked him what he would doubtless look back on as being the silliest question of the day: “Is my daughter up here?” “No mate, there’s nobody’s daughter up here, only me. Now get yourself back down and finish the race”. I duly complied, the fact that it was downhill all the way from there being of no comfort whatsoever.
Just as I reached the previous “15 minutes” marshal and turned right, back onto the Corridor Route, a voice came from the mist: “Is that you Dad?” It was indeed Laura and Stuart, who had ended up behind me on the ascent, having taken a wrong turning – didn’t turn right at Styhead, apparently (see Mr Blakie for some navigation training please). So they joined me for the descent, during which time I inflicted a large amount of whinging on them: “Have you had a good race then Dad?” “No I most certainly have not, it’s been a disaster. I went well on the bike but the run’s been horrible. I’m never doing anything like this ever again. I’ve found my limits now, and learned that I’m not capable of doing extreme triathlons. I’m going to stick to mainstream Ironman from now on. Stupid races like this are for nutters like the Big E”. Etc. etc.
I’m not overly keen on the Corridor Route though.
Don’t underestimate the effectiveness of whinging as a means of keeping yourself going during extreme races. (It also works just as effectively during Daniel Flint’s running sessions) I whinged my way down to Styhead, which was just below cloud level. From here it was back down Gable traverse, from which you could see Wasdale Head. It was rocky at the top, so I continued to hobble down, but lower down the path gets smoother, so I started to run. This surprised Laura (who is not a runner), whom I had informed earlier that I was no longer capable of running, so I would be walking all the way to the finish (and quite possibly not running ever again). “I’m feeling better now so I’m going to run to the finish. It’s down to the bottom of here, across a bridge, then a mile on the flat. Will you be able to keep up?” “Of course”.
So I “ran” to the finish, where I crossed the line with an exhausted, out-of-breath daughter. Finished. Job done. Never, never, again. Definitely.
My finish time was 17:48. The longest I’ve ever spent doing an event, and it included a run split of 8:45 – by far the longest it’s ever taken me to do a marathon. I was placed 64th out of 99 finishers (of which only 83 finished inside the original cut-off) and 132 starters. Amazingly, I was 6th V50. The Big E would have been surprised/gutted/indifferent to see that no V60’s finished the race at all.
A few days later, details were announced of next year’s race. Basing the race in Wasdale had proved too problematic, so next year it’s moving to (the considerably warmer) Windermere. Sadly, this means dropping “deepest” from the “deepest, steepest, highest, hardest” slogan. The other 3 words will remain in force though. The bike route will be the same, just joining the Fred loop at a different point. The run route still goes up Scafell Pike, but from the other side. So because of where Ambleside is, you have to go quite a way on the flat(ish) before you start to climb. Then, according to the Big E, the climb itself is easier and more pleasant than the Corridor Route. So, basically, it will be a doddle. So I’ve entered it. And so have Big E, Gareth Huxley and Scott Sanders. The race is nowhere near full yet, so we’ll welcome anybody else who fancies coming and having a go (assuming that they think they’re hard enough, obviously). I can’t wait.
A mere four weeks after Wasdale, Madders demonstrates that he and his sanity have surely now gone their separate ways, by suffering more horrendous weather and taking part in Ironman UK in Bolton, along with The Big E, Gareth Huxley, Hedley Fletcher, Matty Alderson, Graham Robinson and Rob Churnside.
Will the Big E thaw out in time for the rolling start in Pennington Flash reservoir?
Will the rain be so heavy during the swim that the competitors will be unable to see the booeys?
Will Madders stop saying booeys before somebody thumps him and/or shoves a booey down his throat?
Will there be any more Blakie jokes, or has Madders already exceeded his annual quota?
Will the Big E be dusting down his grass skirt for another trip to Kona, or will it stay in the wardrobe this year?
Will Gareth win his age group and claim a Kona slot, only for the poodles to then be denied US entry visas?
Will Hedley earn and claim a Kona slot, only to find that the sale proceeds of his 3 most valuable possessions (his disc wheel, his van and his body) won’t quite cover the air fare?
Will Gareth and Hedley actually go to Hawaii at all, or will they secretly slope off to a “Sons of the Desert” convention?
Even though they didn’t take part in the race, will Madders still squeeze in some humorous/offensive remarks about Diane Chaney, Philip Addyman and Bob Hogg?
All this and more will soon be revealed in:
Bolton – a Tri Too Far
(If Madders can ever be bothered to write it, obviously...................)
Open water sessions at Hetton Lyons Country Park have begun again
£4 for un-coached sessions. Sign up at 6pm, in the water for 6.30pm. Don't use a satnav to get there as you'll get lost! Check google maps first to orientate yourself - the park is on Downs Pit Lane.
Ironman Taiwan Continuing his Ironman world conquests, Big-E completes Ironman Taiwan(Kenting). Swim pretty good 1.09 hrs for the 3.8 km - very hilly bike course first 70km then rest 110km ok but loads traffic on open roads 6 hrs 27 and what I expected - and a hilly marathon run - hot and humid - so dehydrated that my hearing was echoing and legs cramping on run - knew it was happening, drank gallons with salts but to no avail - just too hot for us big Norske people! Well that was Ironman number 36 onwards and upwards!
Richard Sill won the age 60 male prize in the duathlon promoted by Coalfields RT last Sunday morning.
Terrible cold weather with heavy rain. A well organised event and 152 people finished the race.