The Lakeland 100
I've been dreaming of the Lakeland100 for 9 years. When I first entered the 50 mile race in 2009 I had suggested we should do the big brother but was sensibly talked out of it.
In September 2018 when I signed up for the 2019 edition Lakeland100 I was already in good shape. I knew that I had work to do but my base was there. I was a few weeks from flying to America for the Grand2Grand: my training was strong and I was sure that, barring injury, I would make the start line and complete the race. With a target in mind, my goals were simple:
1. Sub 30 hours
2. Failing that, a finish would be amazing
In the week prior to the Lakeland100 I didn't get a lot of sleep. My planning for the race wasn't really on point: my gear was in boxes ready to transport to Coniston, but nothing was prepped into what I was actually taking and what I was going to put in my drop bag - or, for that matter, what I may take if the weather was bad. It was just in 3 bags and thrown in the car.
Race check-in went smoothly and I went to pack. In honesty I wasn't feeling great: already tired, already fatigued. However, I'd been tired before. I was still confident for what lay ahead. I took a walk with one of our group into the town and went to the chemist for some headache pills. We sat in the pub and both had soda and lime and watched the hustle and excitement build.
Back at the race HQ where we had pitched tents, we got some things sorted and walked to the race briefing, which was an hour and a half before the race start time. Many were already in race kit and many weren't yet changed. I was in the 'weren't' camp. This actually got me into a bit of a panic as the briefing went on.
The briefing, though, was great. Mark, funny as ever, told us to shake hands with someone we didn't know. He then told us to decide between us which one of us wouldn't finish, highlighting the failure rate of the LL100. The gent I shook hands with had finished 3 times already. I had two LL50 under my belt.
The briefing ended and we headed back to get changed. We had forty minutes or so - actually plenty of time. I had already treated my feet so it didn't warrant the panic that had set in during the briefing, though all of this undue stress made me feel like an amateur.
At the start pen by the gate to the school, the atmosphere was electric. The opera singer sang "Nessun Dorma" and boy did it make your hackles stand up. He finished and we had two minutes to go, then we were off and running though Coniston, which was incredible. Hundreds of people lined the road. This was a mini UTMB! We headed off the main road and onto trail. I started to feel great. We were off. We were heading on the journey that I had dreamt of.
I had taken this race very seriously. I had never run 100 miles before in one go. Yes, I had done the distance on stage races, but this wasn't a stage race. I was 100% sure that it would get painful, but I would be able to finish and finish well. In the months prior to the race I had done something that I had never done before: I sought some help and took on a coach - Phil Hobby from peak health coaching, a local runner who had competed in many ultras, including UTMB. He had coached others to the Lakeland100, plus many more. I knew he was right for me on the first meeting. In honesty, I think I probably should have started working with him a few months before. I took him on just before running in the Devil's Challenge, so he had a few weeks to work with me before Race to the Tower, then six weeks before the Lakeland100. Although he was happy with my condition, I would have liked to have had the year with him in the build up.
We came into the first check point. It was humid and I was sweating a lot. I drank, ate and filled my bottles. We were definitely mid-pack; we had walked the climb, but I was happy with pacing. I wasn't happy that my HR was high. I assumed adrenaline - it was higher on the walk up the mountain than I expected, but it did drop down low again on the descent. Somewhere between CP1 and CP2 I pulled off the trail for a wee. Although I was drenched in sweat, legs included, I was happy with the colour of my wee: still clear and showed me I was well hydrated. I'd been adding Precision Hydration salts to my water since the off, so it seemed like things were going to plan.
After CP2 I started to feel really sick: the headache I had had in the previous week was back. I slowed a bit as we came out of Boot and headed up towards Eskdale Fell. After the initial climb it's fairly flat for a long period. My HR was too high, my pace was slow. This wasn't good. Sweat was dripping off me, far worse than it should have been. I walked for a while to get my HR down, but it didn't really work too well.
I was running with Allan. We had done the 50 together last year - we hadn't planned to, we were just at the same pace all the way, so we ran together for support. The same happened here. We hadn't started together, but had gravitated after the start into the same pace. Maybe we should have split up and I should have let him go. I don't think he was pulling me along. He was strong though - much smaller in stature and local to the Lakes he was doing short fell races weekly and it showed!
Before we got to CP3, Wasdale Head, I had a wee. It was dark brown. It was now past sunset and we had head torches on for the descent. I knew I was in trouble. I was 19 miles in at this point and already suffering from dehydration. I wasn't in a good place, I tried to eat and drink and it made me retch.
As I ran into Wasdale Head CP I saw Jess, Nick's girlfriend, and I waved. She followed me into the CP and took a photo. I drank a litre of water, filled my bottles, grabbed some sandwiches and walked out the CP. We started up Wasdale Fell which leads into the Black Sail Pass and I threw up the water and food I'd tried to eat. I knew that with 85 miles to go, all of this was happening way too early into the race. It took me less than a minute of walking forward to realise I was going the wrong way. I stopped and told Allan to walk on.
He asked what I was doing - I said, "I'm calling it!"
The decision wasn't easy, but I was already at peace with it. The LL100 is 105 miles. I knew as soon as I pee'd brown that I was in deficit and unable to eat. I wasn't fuelling. Had I carried on, which I know I could have, the inevitable would have happened at Dalemain or sooner. The choice to pull out may not even have been my own.
To say I am disappointed is an understatement. I'm not disappointed in my training or the condition I went into the race, I'm disappointed in the build up in the week before, and maybe my admin. I'm disappointed that I became one of Mark's stats. I haven't failed to finish a race since my life-changing DNF in the Portsmouth Coastal, which set me on this journey. I'm disappointed with not finishing and getting the medal. It's quite an experience, hanging around base camp with all those with finisher's t-shirts. Ego? I'm not sure, I don't think so. As I said, I'm happy with the decision to pull out. It wasn't my day!
What is humbling is all the messages that I've received from close family and friends, my running club, and people who follow my journey on Facebook and Instagram, who have all sent me kind words of encouragement. It's amazing to think that so many people do care. People I had no idea followed me messaged me wishing me well. For that I can say thank you!
I will (assuming I can get in) be on the start line in 2020. After all, the Lakeland was my first ultra. It has a place in me - not my bogey race, although that's how it feels. It is such a great event, such camaraderie and banter, although I will say this:
I spent the rest of the weekend on the course supporting my friends and other runners. I saw many in the latter half in pain, digging deep. This race is unforgiving. The weather plays a huge part. Ten hours in, long after I'd DNF'd, the weather turned for the worse. It was torrential, it was brutal, it was unkind. The lakes are the lakes for a reason. For all those that finished, a massive congratulations. For all those that didn't, I hope you find peace with your decision to DNF, and if you are injured, a speedy recovery. See you on the trails!