This One Meant A Lot

 Saturday morning at 5.30 found me at Grassington town hall, registering for the start of the Due North Events Yorkshire Trod. In truth, I didn't need to be there so early, but I'd won the entry to the race in a competition last Christmas and I thought that the least I could do was turn up early and help with registration. However, the process was so smooth and well organised that I wasn't needed, so all I had to do was sit in the hall, drink coffee and make an unnatural number of visits to the loo (am I the only one afflicted by the pre-race). 

I've mentioned before that I like low key races and this one was as low key as they come. We weren't given race numbers, just a tracker on the strap of our running packs and a card to punch at the various checkpoints; the majority of which were unmanned. You were also expected to navigate your own route from checkpoint to checkpoint, with no fixed route - though road short-cuts were disallowed. Two races were running concurrently, a 50km and 100km. The longer distance took a slightly longer route than the 50km back to Grassington and then went out for a different loop. I'd really hoped to be up for the 100, but with one thing and another, I was not really in shape for a 50km, much less longer.

Grassington To Malham Tarn

It had been raining heavily all night, but by the time the race started, at seven am, it had just about dried up. We jogged down through the streets of Grassington in the dark, much to the surprise of an innocent dog walker who suddenly saw thirty odd head torches running towards her. From Grassington we started to climb up through Threshfield and finally off the roads and onto the moors. As day began to break, I noticed that there were still a couple of torches behind me, so I wasn't quite last. Then I took a wrong turning, and had to retrace my steps and I was last! After a mile or so, I caught up to the two runners ahead of me, Debbie and Christina, with whom I was to spend much of the rest of the day.

By now, day was dawning over the fells and I put my head torch in the side pocket of my pack. Although we've lived in this part of Yorkshire for five years now, I still can't string all of the different bits together. I was surprised to see Sharp Haw over the valley from where we were running and Pendle Hill seemed to be definitely in the wrong place (I love how you can see Pendle from all sorts of unexpected places). We dropped down to a valley where we failed to find the first check point and after a bit of head scratching, we found the path up to Weets Top. From there we dropped down to a road, where according to my GPX track we should have turned left down towards the valley. Debbie and Christina, however had a route which turned right and which avoided a long drop and a long climb. I'm all for keeping up high when you can, so I followed them. Our path took us on to Mastilles Lane a Roman Road that I last met on the Wharfedale Half Marathon; another opportunity for me to link different parts of the Dales together. On the lane, we came across a sign that told us that we were at the sight of a Roman marching camp. With the shenanigans in government at the moment, it is easy to see our country in a negative light, but I do love the network of open access paths across the country and the fact that you can just bump into a random Roman camp high up on the fells.

We dropped down to a small stream which looked as though it had no crossing, till you got very close to it. Climbed a bit and then met the road to Malham Tarn, where we came to the second checkpoint. 

There was a bridge

Malham Tarn to Buckden

At Malham Tarn, Debbie and Christina had a support crew waiting for them and they stopped for a while, so I headed off over the moors on my own. This bit was absolutely magical, over country that I just don't know. The route climbed for a while and then picked up a route called the Monks Road which took us through some wild (and very muddy) moors, picking its way between limestone crags. For most of the time I didn't have a clue where I was, but it was absolutely beautiful.

After a few miles the village of Arnecliffe in Littondale came into view and the path started to drop steeply into the valley. I'm not the most confident of descenders on wet, rocky ground and was making slow and steady progress when I looked back to see someone haring down the hillside at a very impressive rate. On the descent, the hills on the other side of the valley mocked me - I knew I'd have to climb over them soon.

The third checkpoint at Arnecliffe was manned and I had a couple of slices of pizza, a coffee and topped up my water bottles. This marked a little over half way and at this point I was making good time and feeling pretty positive - although this was shattered a little, when I learned that the 50km winner had already finished! While I was at the checkpoint, the runner who I had seen running hard down the hill came in, shortly followed by Debbie and Christina. It turned out that the three of them were sort of running together, but Sam was slower uphill than the other two, but much faster downhill, which is why I'd not seen her earlier.

We set off from Arnecliffe for a couple of miles down Littondale, which is a lovely valley.

We crossed the river at Litton and found the path over to Wharfedale. I was relieved to see on a sign post that it was only two and a half miles from Litton over to Buckden in Wharfedale; no distance at all.

And this is where the wheels came off. The climb out of Littondale was 1,000 feet straight up with very little variation and absolutely no level bits to allow you to rest. Sam (who doesn't like hills) dropped off the group more or less as soon as we hit the foot of the hill, but half way up, she overtook me as I laboured up the hill like an overweight old man. The facts that I've not run much lately, have neglected my strength and conditioning exercises and have put on weight all came back to bite me. I eventually made it to the top and jogged down the other side (ending on my bum at least twice) where a kind volunteer was waiting at the roadside with a few kind words and the news that it was only 9 miles to the end. Woohoo.

I jogged off down the road and found Debbie, Sam and Christina and their support van. They'd taken a short break to do some personal admin, so I was able to finish the race in their company.

Buckden to Grassington

The last section of the race was down Wharfedale; so no more really big hills. By now, we were into the late afternoon and the colours in the valley were absolutely gorgeous. We made steady progress, walking hard rather than running for the next four miles down to Kettlewell; we were clocking 16-17 minute miles which isn't bad at that stage of an ultra on rough ground. At Kettlwell we met the support team again and took a short break and headed out on the next stage. It was a little disappointing to discover that having done four miles of the last nine miles, we still had seven miles to go. Ultra marathons are full of these mathematical paradoxes.

The route took us out of the village and then across a series of small fields. At most of the field boundaries we came across a particularly Yorkshire phenomenon, steep stiles, surmounted by a small strongly sprung gate. You have to scramble to the top of the stile, force the gate open and then climb down the other side all without falling on your face from a great height. I reckon that we had about fifty of these stiles in half a mile, but I might be being conservative. Eventually we hit a road - which we could have followed from the village if we hadn't been so conscientious. We followed the road for a while and then climbed up onto the fell side, where the path would take us the last four miles to Grassington. As we followed the high-level route, the sun set and we had to fish out our torches again.

The plod along the moor in the dark was enjoyable, but by this point, I really wanted to finish. About a mile out, we were met by "the support team" who showed us a better way into the village which didn't involve a steep drop and climb and kept us out of a cow field in the dark.

And so into Grassington town hall again. Where I thoroughly enjoyed a cup of tea and a wonderful plate of pie and mushy peas. I also got to meet some of the finishers of the 100km race, who had covered their distance faster than we had done half of that!

Thoughts

As always, a big part of the ultras is the people you meet with. I had a great day walking and running with a bunch of complete strangers. I must admit that I was very glad that I caught up with them at Buckden, that long trip down the valley would have been very hard in the dark on my own.

My kit was good. I did what all the experts say you should never do and ran with a brand new pack, but I had no bother with it. It probably helps that I already regularly use a bigger version of the same brand. 

I've entitles this one "This Means a Lot". This year has been a bit of a nightmare. I missed my first planned race because of Covid, yet again, I didn't finish the Challenger and depression and medical problems meant that I didn't even start the Dalesway and Lakes in A Day. I'm fatter and less fit than I've been for a long time, but I finished a 50km ultra (it turned up to be 33 miles on my watch). For my sense of well being and accomplishment, this was massive. Yeah, I finished in the last group and the speed would not be enough in some of the longer things I want to do, but I ground out the miles and had an absolutely smashing day linking together bits of Yorkshire that I do know, by routes that I didn't. 

As always, I owe a lot of thanks to Iain, who has been working on my ankle for months. For the first time in ages, I ran without it hurting. Thanks, too to Mel of Due North Events for my prize place in the race. It has turned out to be far more important to me than I realised it would be.