The Equinox 24 Hour Run (The Big One)

So, a 24 hour relay run then.

We arrived with the car full of food and clothing and set up the tent next to the running route on the final couple of kilometres; this meant the running-one could just shout on the way past and give the resting-one enough time to walk over to the Start/Finish for transition. We flipped a coin for who would start in the big bunch (there was a 10km race starting at the same time as the 24 hour run), and I (Sam) got to go first. By this stage it was a relief to be finally starting.

We’d obviously been training all Summer for this run, doing 10km runs and, in Rach’s case, a half-marathon to build up fitness and strength. However, one thing we couldn’t improve upon was reliability issues with our own bodies. Rach has historically had a bum knee which would regularly fail within 10km, causing severe pain. Throughout the Summer, she’d managed to improve its resistance to exercise completing all but the last mile or so of the Tewkesbury half-marathon before it gave up. As I have mentioned before, my joints are all made of chicken bones and fine glasswork, and about two months before the run I had to stop running altogether to rest a persistent achilles problem and some sort of toe injury which came out of nowhere. I did lots of cycling to keep up fitness, but couldn’t know how my body would fare with actual running.

I therefore lined up for the first lap with some serious trepidation: would my achilles/calf hold out, would my “running” fitness be sufficient, and would my body work generally for the whole race? The whole idea of running a 24 hour race was always going to be a Challenge for us, and it turned out to be exactly that.

We both found our first laps to be fairly pleasant, holding back on pace and taking the steep off-road hill gingerly to protect our legs for the “long run.” But overall it seemed like a good course. There was more off-road than expected, which takes more of a toll on knees and ankles, but the surface was generally flat even if the overall terrain was not. After finishing our respective laps we were quickly eating, drinking plenty, stretching and resting before the next effort. My second lap went without incident, although I didn’t have to consciously slow myself down this time, having found a nice rhythm. Unfortunately Rach’s second lap (thus our 4th) heralded the beginning of her traditional knee problems; around halfway it began to hurt, and by the time she handed the relay wristband over to me she’d been pushing through pain for the best part of 5km. Perhaps through some sort of resonance, both my knees decided to mutiny halfway through my following lap and suddenly it all got very real (as in “this shit” to use the parlance of our times). Running, or even walking, downhill became nigh-on impossible, and if you can’t go DOWN-hill then you’ve generally got problems. Arriving back, Rach had put knee supports on and (literally/figuratively) girded her loins for another lap which, by all accounts wasn’t a pleasant experience.

During this lap (Rach’s 3rd, total 6th), whilst going to the tent to get knee supports for my own failing synovial joints, I accidentally locked the only car key in the car. This was a bad idea. Combined with the crippling pain we were now independently experiencing, we took 30 minutes away from the track to find a solution to the new problem. Fortunately there was a series of very helpful people at the event and a, frankly, wonderful ex-copper helped us break into the tiny yellow car to once-again access all of our necessary belongings. I immediately decided to go back onto the track in the failing light to get another lap in.

This was my lap four, and it was horrible. As soon as I’d started I realised that I’d still failed to put knee supports on (what with all the excitement), although I can’t imagine they would have made much difference. It had also started to rain. The rain intensified and it got dark. Also pain happened in a chronic kind of way. By the end of the lap my right hip, both knees and right ankle were just awful. Some sort of tendon was just sticking out of my ankle, which was interesting. However, I got ‘round the course, albeit slowly, and by the time I’d finished the rain had stopped.

This just left a pitch black, sodden course for Rach to navigate, despite her ongoing pain issues. As usual, she smashed through regardless but, arriving back, had come to the same decision that further laps in the slippery darkness would be absolute folly for our defective limbs. We therefore had a rather frustrating wait assessing if and when it would be possible to do any more laps. And it was frustrating. Fitness was not a problem, but our joints really were. We wanted to be out there piling on the kilometres, but could really not afford to blow a knee.

However, in the morning I decided I’d do one more, regardless. We’d done 80km so far, and if we could both eke out just one lap, however slowly, we’d at least reach 100km. Rach wanted to go first, feeling a little improved from the enforced respite and bolstered by even more joint supports, so set off around the 10km loop. I could barely stand up, and could get from sitting to standing without using my arms a lot. It took her a while, and involved lots of “walking” but Rach managed her fifth lap. I then set off to complete the slowest lap ever using the most hilarious gait. The only time you could really call it running was when I got to the grassy hill which I went down backwards; that was surprisingly unpainful, as remarked to me by a lady who subsequently overtook me, but had copied my technique; on Rach’s last lap she had also decided to use the reverse-perambulation technique (great minds think alike). When I finished this definitely-final lap, Rach had decided she was going to try for one more! The thinking being, even if she failed, it wouldn’t reduce the amount we’d done.

So overall we did 110km (Rach doing 6 laps, me doing 5) between us. We also temporarily lost the ability to walk. Walking down stairs is still unpleasant. Despite being a little disappointed at our knees (etc) at giving up so early, we were pleased to have gone so far and really pushed our limits. Suffice to say, running long distances is not our forte, so we’re unlikely to ever undertake something so contrary to our bodies’ capabilities again. Initial results seem to show us coming 9th out of 12 “pairs.” Also, when compared to the big teams and some solo runners, we actually “ran” more individually than quite a lot of the other competitors.

The main thing is that lots of lovely people have kindly donated to the worthy causes on

www.teamsnow.co.uk

Obviously there is still time to donate. Thanks to all of you who have already, and those about to.

Woop Team Snow!

Climbing Snowdon with Bruised Ribs

At some point last year I made it to the top of Scarfel Pike, although it did mean scrambling up some pretty dangerous scree, wading through a fast-moving river up to my crotch and seeing nothing but freezing mist at the top. This whole adventure, as is traditional, was completed with very little preparation and hardly any suitable equipment whatsoever (you could see my pants through soaked cream shorts). It was cold, wet and a terrible idea.

It was therefore inevitable that I would try to walk up Snowdon at some point. It was also inevitable that the trip would combine the essential elements of dismal weather, general discomfort and a frightening lack of planning.

A couple of days previously I had thrown myself the wrong way down an indoor piste (jumping into the air and landing on my chest for extra style points), visited the hospital and been given the "all clear" after a good examination and an x-ray. Since that time laying on my chest had been impossible and breathing had been generally less fun. This was obviously the best time to climb the highest peak in Wales.

Once I'd printed some vague guides from the internet (no real maps, but one with written instructions and some photos), we got in the car on a Saturday morning and drove to Snowdonia. The good weather experienced throughout the week turned into constant rain, which ramped up the technical difficulty of the hike. The plan was to take the South Ridge route up the mountain, and the Rhyd Ddu path back down. This was an excellent plan, except for the horrendous weather. Also, as the South Ridge path is one less-travelled, you don't see too many people coming the other way, which is rather disconcerting and doesn't help with navigation. To anyone planning to climb Snowdon, don't be as unprepared as I was, you will/may die.

The trip was basically like this: Parked at Rhyd Ddu car park, paid the £4 all day fee (as I thought it unlikely that we'd get up and down the mountain in 4 hours for the reduced rate), crossed the railway track and began ascending. It was lightly drizzling at this point and my ankles hurt for no good reason. After about half an hour, having forked away from the Rhyd Ddu route and guessed the direction we should be going in (correctly), we passed through lots of slate. This was awesome but the rain was getting harder. By the time we'd traversed the old slate mines and reached (what we, once again, guessed to be a relevant wall) it was hammering it down. Brief ineffectual sheltering at the "dry" stone wall begat following it up the hill, which got increasingly steep, windy and scary. Fortunately at this point we saw a man and a dog coming the other way, so we were probably going in the right direction. Visibility then got exponentially worse so we were simply picking our way through mist, driving rain and rocks.

Looking back, it was really rather silly to climb a mountain at the end of September without a compass, map, relevant experience or suitable trousers. As the walking became steeper, and required actual climbing up sheer sections of loose rocks, my chest began to hurt with the heavy breathing. Suffice to say, I couldn't tell you much about the route, or the views, except that at some point we reached a ridge (where the ground fell away dramatically on both sides) but the mist was still thick. Fortunately the wind had eased off as we got higher (for some reason) so it wasn't as frightening/deadly as it may have been otherwise. At another stage (this may have been the "Saddle") we started to see lots of people; presumably we'd reached the point where the Rhyd Ddu path rejoins the South Ridge. Then after a while you're at the top where there's a huge building and thousands of people all soaked wet through and looking miserable.

Walking down Rhyd Ddu was much easier, didn't involve anything like climbing really, was well signposted (well, there were those piles of rocks and lots of discernable pathways anyway) and the weather began to improve dramatically (as was always likely). Snowdon then began to afford some rather beautiful views of the area which was a joy. On the way back down there were loads of sheep and right at the end we manage to go off-course to be surrounded by lots of large scary cows. This was a disappointment. However, eventually we found the railway line, got back to the car and consumed yet more sausage rolls and lucozade whilst feeling sore, cold and damp. All in all it took less than 6 hours, but it was quite a chore and some of the climbing involved was absurd. Not really something to do on a wet, cold day.

If I ever ascend Ben Nevis I'm taking a map (and other orienteering gear) and some waterproof legwear.