Landing at Charles de Gaul I was very aware that time was now against me so instead of the shuttle bus I had no choice but to get a taxi (bloody expensive).
The taxi driver asked what time my flight was and when I told him, there was a very loud silence, broken only by a shake of the head and a sharp intake of breath, it did not look good. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop looking at the clock, it seemed to be racing. The driver had done a brilliant job and got me there with about 20 minutes to spare. However, the gate for my flight was closed and I was told in no uncertain terms that was it, it was well and truly “FERME.”
Thoroughly dejected, angry and annoyed I made my way back to the taxi rank. However, I was lucky indeed (I think the sight of a grown man crying helped):- when the staff on the Air France desk saw me and told me I might be able to get on my flight if I went and explained what had happened to the main Air France transfer desk one floor below.
I was very conscious of the time but got down to the desk asap. They couldn’t help but they knew a man that could and after a phone call or two was made my ticket was stamped and I was allowed through. I met Nic, an old friend who had just about given up on me. He thought I had ‘chickened out’.
Long old flight. But well worth it:- the place was beautiful, the hotel was lovely but slightly spoiled by the French love affair with all things ceremonial. Each of the 33 runners had to one by one go up and receive our race numbers and t-shirt. This was followed by a short interview!
DAY 2
Up at 05:30, breakfast at 06:00 and then onto a bus for the 2 hour journey to the ferry terminal.
Great 45 minute trip, busy - bustling ferry plenty of rolling around and getting wet, one sea sick casualty. Arriving at the campsite my friend Nic and I claimed our tent and spent the rest of the day just hanging around. Slept on the beach and ate fantastic food. However, I am now actually looking forward to the running tomorrow.
DAY 3
Up at 04:45 for a wee and noticed people already swimming in the sea. It looked very nice but not as nice as my sleeping bag!
Up again at 06:00 for breakfast, coffee, bread rolls and jam. At 08:00 everyone was on the start line and ready to go. Within 50 steps we were climbing and boy were we climbing. It was steep and hot. The climb continued for about 4 km before levelling out. Then a sharp descent back down to sea level and through a small village and then another seriously steep climb. This first day’s run was only 17 km long but 10 of these kilometres were very serious climbs and a bit of an eye opener.
My eventual finish time was 2 hours 5 minutes and 17th place.
After lunch we had to pack up the tents and walk down to catch the ferry to the next island.
After arriving we went to what could best be described as a large shed/outhouse in someone’s back garden - this conveniently doubled up as a restaurant. The meal was a typical local affair:- lots of savoury filled triangular pastries - lovely.
After the meal we were told that we would be driven to the next campsite and we would have to put up the tents. As it was already raining it would be an unpleasant job but on arrival we were greeted by the sight of two rows of erected tents.
My lack of French can sometimes work to my advantage and on this occasion the briefing was full of tales of woe about the horrors that would greet us tomorrow. This was confirmed when a local expert came in to tell us what to be wary of. Apparently, if the expert, who would be out on the course, considered us unable to cope with the horrendous conditions he would pull us off the mountain ‘for our own good’. The list of dos and don’ts were as long as your arm. I shall do what I normally do: give it my best shot!
DAY 4
Today’s run was bloody tough.
An 08:00 start. The first 3 km were relatively straightforward along a fairly decent trail, then a left turn that took you into the jungle and then, bang, you were climbing. It was so steep you had no choice but to use your hands and they went into mud, up to the wrist. It climbed, I climbed and cursed and lost my sense of humour. Then I came across a broken rotten old bridge, it took me a minute or two to work out how to cross the bleeding thing, then slowly I inched my way across. I slipped, tried to put on the brakes and pulled my quadricep muscle. I managed to get to the other side, moaned like a bloody moaning thing, applied some vigorous massage and hobbled off. Luckily, the damage was not severe (it turns out that part of last night’s briefing referred to this bridge and we were told NOT to cross it but to go around!)
My race in the Amazon last year was now beginning to pay dividends. I knew how to move through this kind of terrain and was not too intimidated by it.
At 10:00 the race leader passed me on his way down, it would be another 45 minutes before I reached the summit and started the return journey.
The return journey proved to be worse than the climb up, with gravity conspiring against me and taking full advantage of my already tired legs. I slipped and tripped the whole way down. I eventually caught one runner who was fairing worse than me, he had injured himself and was struggling and suffering in equal measure. I stayed with him for a while and as we neared the track he was happy to be left. As I neared the track a film crew were filming. Vanity took over and I tried to look the part of an Ultra-distance runner in full flow, but ended up looking a right dick! They had obviously chosen their spot for a reason and that reason soon became apparent:- there was a huge and very deep puddle and yes, in I went - right up to my thigh. The look of surprise on my face must have been priceless. I’m 6ft 4 inches tall and any short arses must have made great footage.
Once I was back on to the road I just ran until I reached the campsite at 13:15 in a total time of 5hrs 15 minutes.
DAY 5
Today we were told was a day off, however, that was not strictly true it was a day of travelling, travelling to the next island then hanging around. My friend Nic and I sat on a beautiful Caribbean beach eating ice creams. We looked at each other and agreed to never mention this part of Ultra-distance racing to anyone. We would, of course, mention the severe climbs, the oppressive heat, the nerve-jangling descents and the jungle-like terrain, but eating ice creams on white sandy beaches, swimming in turquoise waters on days off? No, some things it was decided, were best left unsaid!
Back at the hotel the official Race photographer asked us if we would be interested in buying some race photographs, a big yes on that one.
DAY 6
Up early again, I say up early, but the thing with these races is that you usually finish the day’s running mid to late afternoon then hang around for a bit, grab something to eat and then, well then, bed. On this race I have been getting to sleep at about 20:00 so even if the “up early again” is 06:00 you have had about 10 hours sleep.
Anyway, up and on - to board the coach that would take us to the start line, a lot was made of last night’s briefing. It became apparent that navigation could be an issue during today’s run. I was a little anxious in that my lack of French would prevent me from asking directions!
But the good news was that today’s run would be a four-lap run, running around the island, so as long as I could keep a runner in sight on the first lap, I should remember the way. See: ever the optimist!
Such a simple plan on paper but the reality was that the runner I was trying to keep in sight was, I’m sure, trying to shake me off and I had to run my lungs out to keep him in sight. The one saving grace was that because I had run hundreds of kilometres across deserts my speed or technique across sandy beaches was better than his, so he never quite shook me off. But I was still glad when that first lap was done and I could afford to let him go.
Four laps sound okay but the repetition starts to play on your mind - you know what’s ahead. I have to say I didn’t enjoy the going round in circles.
I managed to finish without getting lost. However, it transpired that because we had a ferry to catch, some of the slower runners were prevented from completing the full four laps.
DAY 7
Two more days running to go.
We arrived on the island of Grande Terre for today’s 36 km. The run started off okay, but ended up a navigational nightmare. The first half went smoothly and according to plan - a nice steady comfortable pace. I was happy and felt good. I caught up with Nic, the only other British runner, we had a quick chat and I was off. Up ahead I could see another runner but I hadn’t seen a route marker: too busy bloody talking. Just to make sure I turned around to see if I was being followed, I was. Nic and a French runner came into view. I was happy I was on the right track so to speak.
Eventually the French runner caught me up and appeared to be a little confused. He got his road book out (a small book explaining the route for the day). Unfortunately, it was written in French and consequently was of no use to me. However, he realised that we had somehow gone wrong, we were on the wrong road but heading in the right direction. We ploughed on but the French runner was getting a little concerned about his lack of water. I hadn’t got a lot myself but gave him some glucose tablets and plodded on. It was bloody hot and very demoralising. Eventually, after an hour and a half one of the race vehicles came along the road, pulled up and gave us water and Coke, and, more importantly, told us we were now on the right road.
We carried on at a relatively slow pace because Lulu, as I found out his name was, was struggling. We looked back and another French runner was fast approaching. When he caught us up and I was happy Lulu was okay, I increased my speed before finally reaching the finish line.
It turned out to be one of my better days position wise, only because so many runners went off course.
The fact that we missed two water stations was potentially quite serious. My past experience has taught me to never drink all my water. To assume you will be at a water station soon is plain foolish. I only ever finish my water when I can see the next water station (I made that mistake once, and only once) - missing two water stations confirmed that.
Once all the runners were in it was back on the coach and on to the next Island Le Desirade.
DAY 8
Le Desirade is a small, long beautiful island as are all the islands we have been on.
As usual the slower runners set off first followed by the mediocre runners (me) - then the racing snakes.
The first part of today’s run took us through a small town, then on to a path that took us to the end of the island and the island’s lighthouse. Here we turned around, headed back to town, then took a sharp right turn on to what I guessed was a service road. This road was steep and full of switchbacks. When eventually you reached the top you were met by a sea of wind turbines. It was here that I caught a couple of the slower runners including Nic. We had a quick chat and I was off.
Got to the end of the plateau, and then started the descent which was a damn site more painful than the ascent:- the toes were moaning, the knees were hurting.
The path eventually took us back down into town through the streets and finally to the finish line, which was on the beach.
This race has been fantastic and novel, island-hopping in the Caribbean for each day’s run, challenging terrain and fantastic people. It was a fast-paced race and I’m not a fast runner. I’m a plodder, more suited to long slow plods.
I would recommend it - its stunning scenery alone makes it a race worth doing
I was a little apprehensive - the competition looked pretty awesome
Giving it my best shot - it didn’t last long
The first day - trying to look good for the photographer
THE YUKON ARCTIC ULTRA 2006
What is it: A multi-discipline (you chose one discipline) single stage cold weather race
When: February
Where: The Yukon region of Canada
Distance: Either 160, 480, or 690 (100, 300, or 430 miles)
It is: An extreme cold weather/mental challenge
See: arcticultra.de
This race is advertised as being ‘The World’s Coldest and Toughest Ultra’ and as usual as long as it’s the world’s something est, ie: toughest, highest, coldest, hottest, wettest, it meets the criteria. I am officially interested and so it was that I again managed to talk myself into entering a race I knew nothing about.
The race, held annually in the Yukon area of Canada was undoubtedly tough. I bought the video of the previous year’s race and once again studied the race gleaning as much information as I could.
It looked spectacular and challenging. I couldn’t wait - I signed up and started training. I had entered the 100 mile race. There were 2 other distances, the marathon 26 miles or the monster 320 miler. I would love to have had the balls to have entered the 320 miler but being a bit of a chicken I’m afraid to say I bottled it!
Once again, time just seemed to fly past;- one minute I had months to train then weeks and before you know it just a few days. After a long 10 hour flight to Vancouver and a 4 hour wait for a connecting flight to the Yukon capital, Whitehorse, I had been awake for a little over 25 hours and I was amazed that even though I was one bag missing (I only had 2) and the missing bag happened to be my sledge with the bulk of my Arctic clothing in, I was pretty calm - helped in no small matter was that most people here seemed to have a bag or two missing.
It transpires that the small aircraft used as the link between Vancouver and Whitehorse just has not got the space for a large amount of luggage and the Yukon Arctic Ultra with all its visiting athletes and accompanying luggage highlights this every year. The good news is that the race organiser was here to calm frayed nerves and explain that “the left behind luggage always arrives in time, and not once has some piece of kit or other failed to turn up in time”.
Luckily for me my kit eventually turned up at 15:15 the next day. I say luckily because the race training programme started at 15:00. I had managed to waffle and bluff my way out of having to do the training course, a course that would undoubtedly expose my very limited or should I say non-existent cold weather skills, by telling the race organiser that I had raced in the Himalayas, which was true, and that I had done a bit of climbing including Kilimanjaro (the others being, when I climbed the 3 highest summits in the UK during the Three Peaks Challenge).
I was really worried about being found out that this was my first time in these conditions and my cold weather experience was woeful to say the least!
DAY 2
Spent the day looking around Whitehorse and faffing about with kit, buying last minute bits of things I really didn’t need.
Had a good sleep, great breakfast, then attended the training course debrief. A lot was made of the fact that there would be a lot of overflow on the trail this year, certainly for the first few miles.
Overflow is when water appears on the surface of the ice you could be walking along and suddenly an inch, a foot, a meter of water will suddenly appear. In other words, be prepared to get wet feet or take evasive action. When asked what evasive action we could take, the first and most obvious one was to put on your Neos! Of course (what the hell were Neos? It transpires that Neos are a large waterproof overboot, that literally go over the footwear that you are already wearing).
Decision made, back into town to buy a pair Neos, the talk continued and the paper work was completed. A good night’s sleep and a good meal and then Race day.
RACE DAY
Up early, shower and a hearty breakfast - the breakfast of a condemned man:- porridge, orange juice and a gallon of coffee. Back to the room, get dressed, final pack, ablutions complete and a gentle walk to the start.
62 competitors for the 3 distances, the marathon, 100 mile (me) and the monster 320 mile.
It was a great atmosphere with plenty of the locals there to cheer us on. I was trying to soak it up and appreciate the support. Film crews were filming and various athletes were being interviewed. It was a fantastic almost carnival like atmosphere.
And then the countdown, 3 2 1 and we were off - racers on bikes, skis and on foot and even one bloke skijoring (a skier being pulle
d by huskies). We dropped down onto the river and were in single file for the first few miles, then at approximately 13 miles we turned left on to the Takhini river and under a road bridge where people were standing and watching!
I noticed that quite a few people were stopping early on to adjust this or that, remove or add clothing or just have a bit of a breather. It didn’t bode well that they were disorganised or knackered before the race had really started. Preparation and organisation was, I had decided, the key to this race.
The whole area was stunningly beautiful, I felt good and comfortable, overtaking more people than were overtaking me.
Hours into the race I came across the halfway marker, this was a bit of a downer because I thought I was nearly there!
Walking along a frozen river was a strange experience and would have been rather unnerving had I not been able to see other racers and see tracks left by snowmobiles. It didn’t sound right, didn’t feel right and didn’t look right:- walking on a frozen river was just not natural. Most of the time you walked on snow-covered ice but occasionally the snow had been blown off and you were left with just bare ice clear enough to look through. Other times the gentle rhythmic tap of your poles would be interrupted be a dull thud, then the occasional crack. It took a while to realise that you were safe enough and you could uncross your fingers and unclench your buttocks.
Eventually we took a right hand turn that led off the river and up on to the bank and then inland to the first CP at North Sir Ranch.
In the meantime I had the little problem of trying to get up the bank:- it was extremely steep and traction was limited. I somehow grunted, pulled, and swore my way up on to terra firma. The hard work could now begin, unlike the smooth gliding ice down on the river, this was uneven soft snow with tussocks of grass peeping through. The sledge was not running as smoothly as before and required much more effort to pull, the difficulty of the terrain was unrelenting and no rhythm could be found: in a word or three, it was bloody hard work!
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 9