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… in which I almost matched the winner’s finish time

by Pam Forsyth

For some reason, I had been particularly nervous in the lead-up to this race – much more so than the Great Scottish Run half marathon (also in Glasgow) last October, for example. It struck me the day before the race, that I had lost more sleep, fretted more and generally been a right pain in the backside more sensitive in the preceding week, which begged the question – why?

The trouble with training for and running a 10K is that the focus soon becomes the time in which you run it, as opposed to the distance itself. And that translates to … suffering!

The morning of the race saw me with stomach butterflies. Before leaving, I had had a brief look at Facebook and quickly saw a couple of updates which indicated that the previous day’s Kintyre Way Ultra/Relay/Epic had been a great success for Dunoon Hill Runners. The pressure was now on to not let the side down with my small effort. On the way to Glasgow,  I stopped at Tesco to use their loo (sorry, Tesco – I didn’t buy anything) and I noticed how my hand was a bit trembly as I reached for the tap. How ridiculous, I thought.

Parking at Ibrox was much easier than anticipated and I was pleased to see a large bank of portaloos in Bellahouston park (there were more at the start line too). It must be said that the Great Runs are all highly organised and provide more than adequate facilities. Being a women’s event too, the portapotties were clean and usable (no elbows required!). What a luxury.

Inspired by elite Scottish athlete, Susan Partridge, whom I’d just seen warming up (if you could call her fast pace a warm-up), I jogged over to the start line. When I’d originally received my race number in the post, I recall staring at it in an attempt to figure out what coloured wave I was in – my bib didn’t have a colour. Panic! Then I realised, white is a colour. This shocked me a little as I’d been far from the white wave in the Great Scottish Run. I therefore associated it entirely with very fast club runners. So I assumed there had been some terrible mistake which would result in me being swept along at sub 6-minute miles until the point of collapse (fairly quickly, I would imagine). The fact is that the women’s 10K has a bit of a narrower field, which bumped me up into the slightly scary world of white runners (so to speak). I noticed a certain glint in my fellow-runners’ eyes that suggested serious business. This was going to be no fun run if you were clad in a white bib.

As we assembled, listening to the thundering bass of the count-down “heartbeat” (seriously not helpful to the tense, nervous headache that I was developing), something caught my eye. It was a sign … quite literally. It read “50 min pacer”. She stood beside me. The sign taunted me. The heartbeat thumped. The gun fired.

And we were off! Suddenly, I realised why I’d been nervous all week … this was the moment. I was going for sub-50 minutes! My watch was reading sub 8-minute miles … I could do this! Or could I? Gosh, it was awfully fast. And didn’t I know that the worst thing to do in a race is go out too fast? And hadn’t I not done much speed training due to injury? And wasn’t my heart rate reading a little on the high side? Never mind, I would stick with the 50 minute pacer lady like glue, if only she’d stop speeding up.

I recall the witty banter among the Great Scottish Run runners last year, the cheers from the crowd gratefully received, the drums, the pipers – I think they were all there on Sunday too, well apart from the witty banter (all I could hear was huffing and puffing from the serious white wave runners). Yet I wasn’t encouraged one iota by any of it. My only focus was 50-minute-pacer-lady, and breathing. On I ran, still keeping below the 8-minute mark, albeit barely.

Then something bad happened in Pollok Park at around 33 minutes. I would describe it in the classic terms of hitting a wall, or the wheels falling off, or blowing up. Physically, the tank suddenly felt empty and I had to resist the urge to walk/collapse/hail a taxi. How can this be happening, I wondered? My brain kicked in with the obvious conclusion – you went out too fast. You can’t run this pace. You are an idiot. Etc. Forced to slow down, I fumbled desperately with my water bottle and contemplated the embarrassment of a DNF. As I watched 50-minute-pacer-lady running off into the sunset along with my hopes and dreams, I discovered that I was actually still moving and that my revised goal was now to continue to do so. I might not set a PB, but perhaps I could avoid a PW (Personal Worst). Maybe I could even start to enjoy the race. It was only later, when I’d reviewed the information uploaded from my watch that I realised, I had been running up a hill (where had that come from?!). In addition, in contradiction to the weather forecast, the sun had come out and it had been really quite warm. It had been a very sweaty hill.

And so I trotted along for a bit, taking any small mercies that I could out of the situation. I became aware of a pacer passing me and despondently accepted that this must be the 55 minute one. To my astonishment, I realised it was not – it was my 50-minute-pacer-lady! How was that possible? Had I entered some kind of time warp? Or had she stopped to take her jacket off? I suspect the latter.

So we were off again! Like a greyhound after a rabbit (or more like a donkey after a carrot), I was infused with renewed hope as I chased down the ever elusive pacer-lady. The crowds cheered, the pipers played, the elephants danced (or I could have been hallucinating) all the way to the finish. I vaguely recall running past a bank of photographers and I summoned up a grimace, absolutely not giving a flying fig about how I looked in tomorrow’s Daily Record. It was all about survival now.

As I dared to view my cumulative time on my watch, my heart took a little dip upon realising I was not going to break 50 minutes, but would instead come heartbreakingly close. Indeed, my finish time was 50:35 … 35 little seconds between victory and total desolation. OK, I exaggerate. The truth is, I felt fairly content that I couldn’t have bettered that time. I left it all out on the course, as they say (at some point, I may go back and collect it).

Walking back to the car at Ibrox, Susan ran past us, warming down (does she ever stop running, I wonder?). The fact is that, at the exact time she was finishing the race in an astonishing 33 minutes 52 seconds, I was also almost finishing along with her – albeit at a slightly different point on the course.

The winner: Susan Partridge, 33:52

As I reflect on the race, it was rather special to be running alongside so many other female runners, and the impressive fitness levels made me raise my game, as did the well wishes received from my fellow Dunoon Hill Runners before the race. Thanks go to all! Sadly, I lost 50-minute-pacer-lady in the crowd, but I do owe her a big thank-you too 🙂

by Ian C Marshall

I guess it all started in a conversation with Iain Cairns….

I had not long completed the extreme Ironman race City to Summit, I had been mulling over what new challenge to set myself. Before I knew what I was letting myself in for after listening to Iain’s ultra tales I had pressed the enter button for the HOKA Highland Fling “What had I just done?!!” It was 53 miles of trail running along the famous West Highland Way starting from Milngavie and finishing in Tyndrum. 53 miles!! I remembered thinking 53 miles! 53 miles!!!! The longest previous run I had done was 27 in the Ironman event and to think I’d have to do that all again, why had I listened to Iain?!

However……

The decision had somewhat coincided with starting up Dunoon Hill Runners and my fear of never managing to push myself to that sort of distance quickly evaporated as the weeks went by and the club grew and grew. I guess in truth I was feeding on everyone’s enthusiasm and motivation for the races they were preparing themselves for. This is what helped me the most, joining up with new friends and old alike, running the trails and hills around Cowal, these guys were an inspiration, none more so than Walshy (sure he hasn’t been called that since school lol).

Lisa and Iain

On the evening before Lisa and I arrived in Glasgow, Lisa who also had entered had struggled with injury early on in her training yet decided with a push to run the first 27 miles of the route and then bail out. Given her most recent long run of 21 miles, a sensible option… I don’t tend to get too nervous about races however Lisa made up for this as she was more excited and nervous than a child on Christmas Eve! We or should I say I prepared our drop bags and got all our kit sorted, forecast wasn’t looking too bad for the morning.

At 5.30am we arrived at Milngavie along with 600+ other runners, meeting up with Iain Cairns, the atmosphere was tangible and I was soon scoping other runners kit taking note for my Christmas wish list  As usual every single person there looked fitter than I did and that was my one and only brief negative thought “what have I done?!” laughing inside rather hysterically.

The claxon sounded and we were off like well disciplined ants following the road out of Milngavie and onto the West Highland Way. The field spread out much quicker than I had anticipated and I soon lost sight of Lisa and Iain, unbeknown to me they were not that far behind.

David and David

Thirteen miles in, arriving at Drymen, I first spotted the ever cheeky and enthusiastic Ken Clark as he bore down on me with his big lens! Then a cheer from Kenny Taylor who I later found out was disappointed to see me in shorts! As we crossed over the road David Wilson (Pup) and David Walsh (otherwise engaged in the portaloo) were waiting on their respective relay runners. I was feeling good at this point and muttered a quarter of a way there to which I heard a reply “he’s optimistic”. I was soon to realise just exactly what those words meant…

Conic Hill was the first challenge of the day and like so many others found myself walking up it to conserve energy for the rest of the race. Disappointingly it was very misty and it wasn’t until descending over the other side did the mist clear and we were afforded stunning views over Loch Lomond. What would normally be a straight forward descent for me was turning into a hardship and it was at this point I realised I was not having a great run. I think we always hope on race day that everything will click and it’ll be one of those effortless enjoyable runs, however this was not the day.

By the time I arrived at Balmaha I was feeling pretty done in, that was 21 miles in with another 32 to go! I knew the next 15 miles having recce’d it with Iain Cairns earlier on in the year and felt it should go well however at the next check point Rowardennan, mile 27 I was struggling. Silke, local GP and Glenpark Harrier was there to greet me and following a stern talking too, told me to ease back. Five minutes later and having fuelled up I set off at a slower pace, aiming to recover enough that the next half would be doable.

I arrived at Inversnaid feeling much better, the slower pace and the more technical terrain brought my heart rate down and the 7 miles passed relatively quickly. I felt a surge of confidence only 19 miles left….. what was to come though can only be politely described as horrible and I confess I had moments of dummy spitting and toy throwing out of the pram! The section between Inversnaid and Beinglas Farm just served to take away what little energy I had left in my legs. Remarkably though I still felt better at mile 41 arriving at Beinglas Farm than I did at mile 27 and I was also told that Lisa had continued on beyond Rowardennan! The Glenpark Harrier girls were there again to greet and assist me and even offered me a massage! It was here I knew I was going to finish and looking at my watch I’d even managed to maintain a reasonable pace but the legs were beginning to hurt.

Leaving Beinglas I ran alongside a guy from France, originally from Scotland, I guess a good ten years younger and adorned in full Salomon kit, we got on great, good chat and sharing in our pain when from nowhere that little competitive voice jumped in my head and said “come on Marshy you can’t let this guy beat you”. Seriously I thought I have 10 miles to go, completing what would arguably be the greatest physical challenge I’d ever done and I’m challenging this guy to a race and he was completely unaware of it! Even so I couldn’t help myself and I pushed on and dug deep eventually shaking him off and from somewhere I found the energy to run all but the long climbs, even catching a few guys on the descents whose quads were obviously destroyed. The last 3 miles approached as I came off the hill when the arch of my left foot either strained or went into cramp, whatever it was I was in pain. I realised I was on for a sub 11 hour race, previously aiming for sub 12 hours, I recall Ken Clark at the farm with 2 miles to go snapping away with his camera, I barely felt I could muster a smile.

Soon I could hear the faint sound of bagpipes in the distance, knowing that I was close to the finish line, rounding several corners the ground opened up to a huge long red carpet with a massive inflatable arch at the end. The carpet lined both sides with supporters cheering encouragement, suddenly all the pain and stiffness evaporated and I crossed the line in 10 hours 55 minutes. Thirty seconds later the pain returned, my legs turned to cement and as our supporters will testify I was walking like a dog that had just been neutered! Still I managed to make the beer tent! Never again I thought, seriously that was the hardest thing ever……..

The HOKA Highland Fling is a must do race for any Ultra runner or aspiring Ultra runner. I have raced many events over the past 4 years and this was without doubt the best as well as the hardest but don’t let that put you off! It’s achievable, the organisation, the support along the way, the atmosphere, the grand finish that makes you feels like an Olympian and not to mention the goody bag… technical t-shirt, buff, bottle of Prosecco and a medal all for £32 entry! Some of us even got a wind cheater jacket (you know who you are!!).

Three days later the pain and stiffness had gone and I was beginning to contemplate which Ultras I would like to do next so honestly it wasn’t that bad…. Thanks to Ken Clark Photography and Ronnie Cairns Photography, the Glenpark Harrier girls, Lynda Nairn for her cake at the end and my ever reliable friend David Walsh for driving me back home. Got to say it, I’m proud to be part of Dunoon Hill Runners!

Congratulations to all 18 Dunoon Hill Runners who took part in the 2014 Kintyre Way Ultra and Relay Race. It was a hugely successful day for the Club with DHR relay teams taking up first, fourth, fifth and sixth places in the 35 mile relay. Six DHR runners successfully completed the 35 mile ultra distance too. A great effort from all!

Kintyre Way Ultra and Relay 2014 Results.

Photos to follow!