Deadwater Double

I really didn't intend to go back to Deadwater, having had a great experience at the 2018 event, but sometimes these things have a way of just drawing you in. So I thought rather than just relate what happened this year I would try to reflect a bit on my race, and on the race itself, in comparison with my earlier visit.

Rainy start line briefing

1. My own performance

I was a late starter into ultra running, completing my first event 14 years ago when I was 59. I reached some sort of respectability by my mid 60's, for example completing the Lakeland 50 in just under 10 hours and the West Highland Way in 22 and a half, but since then there has been a steady decline in my performances and these days I am very much a back-of-pack "completer" rather than concerned about any particular times. So I approached Deadwater in 2018 with completion as my only goal. I got to the end though it was touch and go at times, and this made me feel I needed to find a few ways to make things easier this year being three years older. I could improve a bit with kit and food but not much, the difference would have to come from race strategy. It occured to me that while the long days in 2018 had taken me a long time (on the longest I finished less than an hour before having to start the next day), I had plenty of time left in the evenings of the shorter days. So I should really take the shorter days, particularly days 1 and 2, easier, to leave more "in the tank" for later in the week. I was too indisciplined to carry this out to best effect. I was only about 20 minutes longer on Day 1 (though still came in last place) and 80 minutes on Day 2; I could and should have taken longer, though the weather on these days was not great giving no real incentive to hang around. The other tactic I decided on was to slow down or rest whenever the going felt tough, and not to bother too much about the time unless the next day's start became pressing. I knew from many continuous races that I can go for two or three days without significant sleep if necessary.

Overall the race went well for me. I never felt really tired except on the final two or three climbs of Day 4, and this was probably because I did the last 10 miles or so with another runner (Bev) at a pace faster than I would have sustained on my own. But also towards the end of Day 4  I was conscious of a pain on the top of my right foot. I assumed it was rubbing on the tongue or top edge of my shoe, but found it was due to a swelling from some sort of bite. This got progressively worse over the next two days, swelling much more, showing signs of infection and causing sensitivity at the skin and discomfort when flexing the ankle. Advice from the race medic Chris was that the best tactic at this stage of the game would be to carry on to the finish then get it looked at then. He examined it again before Day 6 and took my temperature halfway through the day to confirm this was still the best approach. With the benefit of hindsight this proved absolutely spot on. Any attempt at treatment before the finish would have had very limited benefit and cost a lot of race time. (I actually started on antibiotics the day after the finish and three days later they have only just started to have some discerible effect). It just made Days 5 and 6 a bit painful.

My total finish time was 82:13:33 compared with 81:08:37 in 2018 so I was pretty pleased with that. Without the insect bite I would certainly have done a better time than 2018 (for example Day 6 this year took me three and a half hours longer than in 2018), though the fact that I didn't have to use any "race time" for catching up on sleep this year was also significant (this is explained a bit further on).

2. The rest of the field

There were 20 starters and 16 finishers, at 80% a far higher completion rate than previous years.  Times can't be compared directly with 2017 because part of the course that year had to be omitted because of really bad weather, but comparison with 2018 (18 starters and 10 finishers, a 55% completion rate) shows that the class of 2021 came to the event much better prepared. There were some seriously good runners at the front in 2018, three of them beating the 2021 winning time, but not much quality beyond that. The 5th place time in 2018 would only have got 12th in 2021, showing that a feature this year was good performances right through the field.  I think this year will give prospective entrants a much better read on what to expect in the future. Good, competent, and "good enough" times for the race, and sensible targets for each day are getting much better established.

3. Course diffences

There were two course changes this year from 2018.

The first added a mile or so and a couple of hundred feet of ascent along Hadrian's Wall onto Day I to the new Camp 1 location at Winshiels rather than Haltwhistle. It then added another couple of miles through fields to Haltwhistle the following morning. This made the course longer overall, but coming between two of the shortest days I think made very little difference to the overall undertaking. I also felt the mile along the Wall added to rather than detracting from the race experience.

More significantly, Day 4 the "Long Day" had to be reduced by 10 miles to around 50 miles, with these miles being added back into the start of Day 5, again due to an enforced campsite relocation. At the outset this seemed to make the event intuitively easier, but there were plusses and minusses. It meant the route itself was different and more arduous for a couple of miles. Instead of the mostly easy-angled steady ascent taken by the Pennine Way from Calderdale to Stoodley Pike, the new route took a steep footpath up from the valley for several hundred feet to the overnight stop (actually a camping barn for this night), followed by a direct and more-or-less pathless ascent of steep side of the Pike first thing next morning.

For runners capable of completing the original Day 4 (Horton to Littleborough) in say 20 hours of less, I don't think the change was particularly significant. For those like me who are not, the difference is that the sleep you get (for me never likely to be more than 2-2,5 hours on this particular "overnight") could this year all be taken at the campsite so not in "race time", rather than after the following morning's start when it just adds on to your Day 5 time.

I'm sure the debate will continue on this one.

4. Weather

Weather can significantly affect your enjoyment of an event like this. It's more than just whether the actual running is pleasant or not, but much more about management of kit. Even if it's dry, stuff gets wet  -  shirts from sweat, socks and shoes from wet ground and so on. In good weather you have some chance of getting these dry again, in bad weather almost none. I think on average the weather in 2018 and 2021 was about the same, generally poor at the start and improving towards the finish. We had a drier day through the Forest in 2018 but a much bleaker day over Cross Fell, and Day 5 along the canals was really baking. I found the canals much easier this year in spite of having a sore foot. Runners have different tactics for dealing with the wet, I spoke to two who had brought clean socks for each day (to be binned at the end of the day). That's something I might think about for multi day events in future, though RD Richard has a penchant for finding routes which take you through some wet ground early on each day, so the benefit may be more psychological than real. We didn't have the continuous bad weather experienced by the 2017 race, so for that we should be thankful.

5. Atmosphere

What was really noticeable on both years I have done this event is that it was a really happy experience from start to finish. All the runners and support team were supportive and friendly throughout, there were no moaners, prima donnas or drama queens, everyone just got on with things and helped each other when they could.

This was true even though the support team, with just one or two exceptions, was completely different in the two years I ran. Even the systems varied, for example this year we chose our overnight tent companions at the start and stuck with them through to the finish, whereas in 2018 tent occupancy gradually developed through the event such that the faster guys (earlier to bed and later to rise) got together and slower people did the same. It didn't seem to make any difference to the ambience overall.

I can only put this down to the unobtrusive but clearly super-efficent way Richard runs the show.

Whether this atmosphere could be maintained with the maximum possible entry (50 starters), where getting to know everyone else on the journey would be much harder,  I don't know, but I would hope it could.

6. The future

This is an event that deserves a future. It provides something that you don't find much in UK ultras, a really significant challenge that doesn't require a lot of running ability to complete. This genuinely is one where so long as you keep your head in the game and look after your feet, you'll get to the finish. Over the three years it has run, 34 people have now completed Deadwater, and I hope that all of them give it as much publicity as they can over the next year or so to make sure that 2023 get a big entry list and so becomes another success.

So to all my fellow runners and all the support staff on this year's event, a sincere thanks to everyone; it was a pleasure and a privilege to share your company along the way. Experience shows that somehow, the majority of us will stay in touch, I think Deadwater does that to you.

As for me, well 2 years is a long way away just now. But I did say last time that I wouldn't go again. I feared that after such a good experience in 2018 that 2021 might be an anticlimax. It wasn't............

Deadwater 2021 Finishers and RD Richard Weremiuk

The "Mandatory Kit"

I was about to contribute to a Facebook thread on this following the very recent tragedy in China, but reflected that I couldn't express a complete and reasoned view within those constraints, hence one of my (now very occasional) blog posts. As always I will start by saying that I don't expect everyone, or in this case maybe not anyone, to agree with me; just my personal views as a grumpy old man if you like.

But I have a real problem with the concept of "Mandatory Kit". 

I can understand why it has become the norm for many events but I am still not sure whether it is the best way of keeping participants safe. It will take me more than a sentence to explain why.

I started hillwalking nearly 60 years ago and progressed over the decades through rock climbing, summer and winter mountaineering, ski touring, mountain biking, and latterly fell and ultra-running. In the last 15 years I have completed over 100 ultras from 30 mile pastoral outings to more challenging stuff like the Tor des Geants (and failed to complete maybe a dozen more). I am saying this not with any sense of bravado, just to record that I have spent a total of many months if not years in mountain environments.  During my lifetime I have seen several of these mountain activities progress from the little known and little understood fringe to mass participation sports. Alongside this, progress in clothing and equipment, information and hi-tech communication has made them potentially far safer than years ago. When I started rock climbing the consequences of a fall were inevitably serious and often fatal. When I first ventured into the Scottish mountains in winter, Goretex hadn't been invented. When I was most active as an Alpinist, weather forecasting was rudimentary or non-existent depending on the location. I have climbed in areas of the world where there was at the time no possibility of mountain rescue. Progress is continuous and it's difficult to remember sometimes how things were before. The mass use of mobile phones has only happened in the last twenty years. The early editions of all the big ultras in the UK were run without trackers. 

But in times past when you knew something had the immediate ability to bite you, then you made allowances. You started slowly, building up experiences that you could rely on. You served an apprenticeship with people further along the road, pushed your boundaries slowly and learned how to stay alive. In any venture into a mountain or upland area, you knew what to expect and what to take with you to achieve your aims for the project while staying safe.

Well, a bit of a ramble you may think, but how does this affect 2021 ultra running? 

The sport has developed rapidly over the past ten years into many diverse formats, but the one that concerns us here is ultras that are held in mountain or upland areas, at times of the year when challenging weather is possible (for some areas this may be year-round).  For many of us, these are the most attractive events, the challenge and beauty of the terrain adding hugely to the experience of going out and running a fair way with a lot of like-minded people, at whatever speed we may be able to manage.

But in spite of the safety improvements over the years, mountains are still potentially dangerous places. It is still possible to fall, to get lost, to succumb to hypo- or hyperthermia, to fall ill in an inaccessible location, and so on. I have never organised a race but I assume part of the risk assesment process for RD's is to have a strategy in place for (a) trying to avoid these situations if at all possible, and (b) evacuating an affected runner if it happens anyway. And one of the actions in trying to avoid problems is to have a "Mandatory Kit List". And here in my view is where the problem begins:

It is my view that anyone who requires a mandatory list to tell them what they need to carry to operate safely in a particular environment does not have sufficient knowledge or experience to go into that environment, ie they should not be there in the first place.

Mountain or upland ultras are not simply races that happen to be run in nice places. They are different events requiring a completely different skill set. I am not going to win many friends with the next couple of observations, but it seems to me that many participants in these races (a) do not understand the nature of the arena they are entering, and (b) consequently, they go into races badly underprepared, both physically and mentally. They do not understand the potential of what they are getting into.

To give a couple of simple, maybe even trivial examples; 

1. I have participated as a support runner in numerous recces of the Lakeland 100 course over the years, and have quite frequently heard the course described as "brutal". The course actually follows tracks that are used by hillwalking senior citizens most days of the year.

2. I still hear comments about the weather on the Hardmoors 55 in 2018 (the "beast from the east" year) as being "extreme". It was in fact near zero temperatures, a 50mph wind and brief periods of snow, predicted completely accurately 24 hours ahead; conditions that occur multiple times a year in the UK hills, and which a regular Spine or Tour de Helvellyn participant would have considered a normal day at the office.

These are just examples of people who had not (yet) got themselves familiarised with the terrain and conditions under which these types of races are run. 

Further, I have come across runners who were lost and unable to navigate because it had got dark or misty (not exactly rare occurrences), runners who had warm layers in their packs but were unable to access them because they had allowed their hands to get too cold to work the buckles, etc.etc. This is all about experience. 

So even if a runner carries everything that the RD has deemed essential, if they are out of their comfort zone and make bad decisions on how or when to use it, it will not necessarily guarantee their safety.

I have taken part in numerous events when the weather has been challenging. I have encountered runners wearing far more than the mandatory kit who were struggling with cold; under the same conditions there were other runners who were very lightly clad, I assume with minimum mandatory kit (or maybe less) who were completely comfortable. We are all different at how we generate energy, how we use it, how much fat we carry and so on.

So what may be satisfactory minimum safety kit for one runner may be completely inadequate for another. We all have to find out what works for us.

For what it's worth, my personal approach to this is briefly as follows:

1. I will research the event I am entering and decide what my race strategy and emergency strategy will be for that individual event. It will certainly be different for different events. Based on this I will decide on my personal kit list for that event. I don't understand the "I always take item (x)" point of view because I can't think of an item I would "always" take.

2. I will take everything that is on the RD's list. Hopefully it will coincide to some extent with my own, though there may be things on there that given a choice I would not take. It's his race so he's entitled to call the shots and I never query or argue.  There will almost certainly be things not on his list that I will take, because I think they are important for me.

3. I will assume that once away from manned checkpoints it's my responsibility to get myself out of any mess that I get into (as far as humanly possible), and that any outside assistance in this is a bonus not to be relied on.

In general terms, and for people who hold different views from me, I really don't believe there is a quick fix for this issue. Rigidly enforcing mandatory equipment lists may prevent one or two tragedies in future, but certainly not all, and I believe is fraught with the issues outlined above. I just have a hope, maybe unrealistic, that we can change the focus of the debate by thinking about the following points:

1. There is a lot of focus on social media groups encouraging runners to "take the mandatory kit". This is fine, but the implication that this is all you need to do to stay safe is not. All you can logically say is that by carrying the mandatory kit you should be safer than if you don't; in terms of absolute safety for each individual you can claim nothing more. We should make the point every time that you should take every item in your bag or vest, not because someone tells you to but because you know what it's for and how to use it. And if you know you need more then take it.  Paying the entrance fee for a race does not absolve you of the prime rule for any mountain activity, which is that the ultimate responsibility for safety lies with the participant, on their knowledge, training, and ability to make good decisions in the environment involved, not the event organiser.

2. I worry that much of the vernacular used in ultra running is at odds with its safe practice. We hear a lot about "finding your limits", "pushing through the pain" and similar concepts. A runner in such circumstances will not necessarily make good decisions, with the attendant safety compromises. For me, an event should be approached as a project, assessed for what is required, all the necessary knowledge gained and training done, then a plan made and executed. No heroics, just do the job. Let's cut out some of the hyperbole.

3. I have some concern about the growing number events advertised as "fully marked course", even in mountain areas. Now if you're on the UTMB on a good identifiable trail and never more than a few yards from the next runner in front or behind in the endless stream this may be OK, but I have been on events where flags have been trampled and moved by animals, blown away by high winds, moved by unthinking or mischevious humans, or simply at a distance such that in thick mist you could not see one from the next, with no track on the ground to give a clue. Whatever you think the flags are going to do for you, if you can't do without them then you shouldn't be there. Doesn't matter what mandatory kit you may or may not have, if you don't know where you are and how to get to where you want to be next then you are in some trouble. For mountain ultras, the ability to navigate is not an option but a necessity.

I think that's about enough of this little rant for this session, I hope you've got my general drift whether you agree or not.

I'll just close with the reminder that quite a while ago the UK police stopped referring to "Road Traffic Accidents" and started calling them "Road Traffic Collisions".  Accidents don't just happen, they are almost always the direct result of someone making a bad judgement call. And until we understand that staying stafe in potentially hostile environments relies on experience and good judgement rather than following lists of rules (like mandatory kit lists),  many runners will still face risks that they are unfortunately unable to appreciate.

John Kynaston

The last contact I had with John was early this year when he left a comment on a blog post I had just published  -  "Great write up as always Andy. Looking forward to seeing how 2021 works out for you, especially how working with Dave Troman will help you. It will be great to run together at Deadwater but hopefully before that as well." Less than 24 hours later John suffered the heart attack from which he never recovered. The brutal unexpected shock will remain with those of us who knew him for a long time, the hole he leaves in the running community will last longer still. 

I knew John for more than a decade, and though we lived 250 miles apart and rarely met more than a handful of times a year, our friendship worked as though he lived next door. Many others will say the same, John was such an enthusiastic and prolific communicator; it was very easy to stay in touch.

It started I think back in the autumn of 2006, when both of us, from very different athletic backgrounds but neither having run an ultramarathon before, entered the following year's West Highland Way race. No ballot or race for places in those days of course, you just posted an application off to race organiser Dario Melaragni and he phoned you to assess your suitability, a conversation ending something like "Well I think you'll be OK then, just get some training in and I'll see you in June". While I quietly contemplated what on earth I had got myself into, John had already started a blog to record his training, thoughts and ambitions. In a time before established social media, the forums on event websites and blogs of competitors were the only way you could find out about what was going on, but even amongst these John's heart on sleeve attitude was already something a bit different. To an introvert like me, his confidence to share his thoughts with the world whether things were going well or badly was inspirational. 

John was of course a far better runner than me, getting under 23 hours for the West Highland Way at his first attempt and going on to record two sub 20 hour finishes in subsequent years. The race hooked me too though, and what I thought was going to be a one-off venture into the strange world of ultra-running back in 2007 turned into a major part of my life; I met John almost every year after that at both the West Highland Way and the Highland Fling, when he was either running himself or marshalling. I remember a couple those occasions especially. 

In 2011 after 4 consecutive high standard finishes, John set out with a target time of 21 hours. At a pace in line with my normal pedestrian finish in those days of around 26 hours, I was surprised on reaching the Glencoe checkpoint, about 72 miles in, to see him just leaving; he was having a tough time with a bad loss of energy and sore feet. I eventually caught him again and passed him at Kinlochleven. For such a good runner it would have been easily understandable for him to feel it just wasn't his day that year; call it a day and come back in better shape another time. Not John; he slowly and painfully walked it out, never for a minute considering giving up, to finish in his slowest ever time by a margin of about 5 hours.

He reminded me of this when I was sitting on the tailgate of my team's car in the Bridge of Orchy station car park in bright sunshine during the 2016 race. I was chatting with John who was crewing for a mutual friend of ours that year. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, reflecting that attempting this event less than two weeks after completing the 190 mile Northern Traverse wasn't perhaps the smartest trick I'd ever pulled. I was way down on energy and motivation and maybe looking for confirmation that a withdrawal would be sensible, but sympathy wasn't forthcoming. John pointed out that I'd gone into this with my eyes open and there was more than enough time left to walk to the finish from that point should I choose to do so. Suitably chastened, that's what I did. But a spark was maybe lit the other way too because a couple of years later John ran the Northern Traverse himself.

Other vivid memories of John and the West Highland Way are the wonderful welcome my son (also John) and I got when he and Katrina marshalled at the bonfire at Lundavra as I struggled to a 30 hour finish one year, and the moment he presented me eventually with my 10th goblet at the finishing cermony in 2018, all those years after we started back in 2007.

Though not the media mogul bestriding the ultra-running world that he later became, many years ago John launched a series of podcasts devoted to the West Highland Way. I don't know how many there were eventually, I'm sure hundreds. I volunteered to contribute one in the early days, not realising that once JK got his "producer hat" hooks into you then there would be no escape, ever. I ended up doing quite a few for the West Highland Way series. Then recently when John found out that I was targetting the Hardmoors 110 for my main 2021 race, an event that at this stage of my career it is possible but by no means probable that I can complete, his immediate reaction was "Great, how about doing a monthly interview letting us know all about your journey to get there!". 

John stayed with his local races in Scotland for the early part of his ultra career, but was tempted south to the Lakeland 100 as its reputation and popularity started to grow. Many Lakeland runners have made use of the superb informative videos he produced on his reccies of the course with Dave Troman; by now John's meticulous preparations for his events were beginning to become legendary. His first attempt on the race was in 2012. I was running the Lakeland 50 that year, which used to start somewhat later than it does now, so for most of my race I was catching and passing Lakeland 100 runners. The convention was (and still is) that you give them a word of encouragement as you pass, as they have travelled 55 miles further than you by that point. My mind must have been elsewhere as I shouted a cheery "well done" to the figure I passed just over the crest of Gatescarth Pass, because I hadn't gone five yards past when a "Hey Andy!" wafted back. Of course it was John and we jogged and chatted for a few minutes, before I sped on in my pursuit of a respectable "fun run" finish. John seemed to me to be going well. He finished in 34 and a half hours, a time I would have put down as one of my finest achievements, but he was a bit disappointed. His spreadsheet told him he could get under thirty, so that was what he wanted. Three years later he was back. I was marshalling at the finish line in 2015 and made sure I was there at just after midnight to welcome him home and check him in with just  over 29 and a half hours on the clock. Job done.

Most of my conversations with John had naturally been about running, but November 2015 saw us both entered in the White Rose Ultra in the southern Pennines. He was down to do two laps of the 30 mile course while I was content with one. This meant that our chosen pace was pretty near the same for the first lap and we ran almost all of it together. The five hours or so that that it took allowed us to range wider over other topics. John told me of his early career in the East, while I was struggling with strife-torn British industry and helping to run a small engineering business. Since I left my roots in the Midlands much of my life has centred around Merseyside so we had a lot of shared knowledge of the area; I had to confess that we were on opposite side of the Great Divide as I had become a Red when I first moved to Liverpool to start a research degree in 1970. I even discovered that John had been good friends with the guy who had been the pastor at the Evangelical Church a hundred yards from our current house when we first moved there just over thirty years ago. It really is a small world. The only downside of the run was when the event photographer snapped us on the track up towards Wessenden Head with the words "Well done, old timers!"

"Old Timers"

I had a couple of attempts at the Dragon's Back in 2015 and 2017 but never got beyond the mid point of Day 3. I was carrying an injury both times but I think the main problem was that it was a race that just came too late for me, Father Time and deteriorating knees couldn't really be overcome. But John knew all about my attempts and asked me a year or so before the 2019 event whether I thought he could do it. With a sub 30 Lakeland under his belt I was sure he would be fine, but the unrelenting climbing and technical ground on the DB often takes runners by surprise, so I recommended he had a look at as much of the course as possible during the preceding year, so he could plan his training accordingly. I love the territory it goes through so offered to accompany him on any exploration he wanted to do.

Through the summer of 2018 we reccied the first three days of the race over three separate weekends and experienced nearly all the weather that Wales can throw at you. Day 1 was wall to wall blue sky and blazing sunshine. 

Sunshine at Pen-y-Pass on Day 1

Day 3 over Cadair and Plynlimon was generally more "Welsh", misty and chilly with bouts of wind-driven rain at times.

Bleaker weather on Plynlimon Day 3

But Day 2, generally accepted as the toughest day on the course anyway, was, to use a popular term these days, "biblical". We never saw a summit (or much else overall). We battled high winds over Cnicht and the Moelwyns,  got very nearly lost in the tortuous heather-strewn ground north of Cwm Bychan, and traversed the Rhinogs in a continuous downpour, including a thigh-deep wade over the col between the two eponymous summits. On this last outing I was equipped with tough waterproof trousers and a full-weight mountain jacket. John, as always, was wearing shorts.

(John always seemed oblivious to bad weather, it was just something that was part of the day out. One late evening in October as we were enjoying a meal at the finish of the 2016 Lakes in a Day event, when John had just said that his races were now done for the year, I persuaded him to join me at the inaugural running of the Wooler Trail Marathon in late November. On the day of the run there was a hard frost down to the village. All the boggy ground following the Pennine Way along the border fence was frozen pretty well solid. It was about minus 15 degrees as we traversed the Cheviot summit. John was still in his shorts.)

Start of Wooler Trail Marathon - the only shorts in sight

We completed Day 4 of the Dragon's back the following spring and John wiped off Day 5 during a visit to his father-in-law who lived nearby. He then put his plan together, followed it (including a few dozen ascents of his local hill Ben Lomond), and of course completed the race in good style. But I had so much "inside track" knowledge that it was easy for me to win his "Guess My Time" competition on this one!

I could reminisce about other shared moments, from the  Lakleand Trails 100k to the Grand Tour of Skiddaw, from Ring of Fire reccies to the "Beast from the East" Hardmoors 55 and so many more, but I'll leave those to think over in quiet moments in the future.

In a lifetime of climbing and skiing I have learned that you can at some times break all the rules and have a wonderful experience, while at others you can exercise all the diligence possible and still get bitten by the mountains. And so in life itself. One of my grandfathers had a hard early life as a soldier in the Boer War, before taking up a sedentary job as a chauffeur. He smoked for seventy years and his only exercise beyond middle age was to walk a few hundred yards to his local pub for a pint, which he did almost every night of his life. He carried on in good health until his mid-eighties, when he simply just passed away. But I have in the past six months now lost two friends, both fit and athletic way above being just good for their years, in their early sixties. Life it seems is not fair. The only way I can begin to make sense of this is to feel that we should focus not on the years we may or may not have, but in how much we put into those years; we really do need to "fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds worth of distance run".

There was no better example of how to do this than John Kynaston.

RIP JK.

2020 - That was the year that wasn't.

Around this time of year I normally look back over the year just gone and try and preview a bit the one to come, but as we all know it's been a funny sort of year. Eight races that I had entered during the 2020 got either cancelled, postponed, or rearranged to a date that I couldn't make. I'm sure many other people had similar experiences. Disappointing but as runners we can always find some sort of way of getting out of the door if we're persistent; the guys who I really feel for are the race organisers who often moved heaven and earth to get their events on, usually to no avail and at a lot of personal cost, both financial and emotional. I hope as many as possible of them manage to survive to better times, we really need them.

But I did manage to get a few things done.

In early February, when Covid was just something happening elsewhere, we had more normal winter issues at the 43 mile Brecon to Cardiff Ultra. Storm Ciara was forcing the cancellation of events all over trhe country but the brave crew in South Wales held on and we were rewarded with a very windy, extremely wet but ultimately satisfying day out, which I finished in 9:29:48, nearly an hour slower than when I had last done the event two years earlier, but in the conditions that seemed good enough. A week later the event would not have been possible because the whole valley had by then flooded to dramatic levels forcing a lot of home evacuations.

Nearly a month later on the first day of March, it was a cold but crisp and sunny day for Beyond Marathon's 42 Mile Millenium Way. From Newport to Burton-on-Trent this was an easy and enjoyable day trip for me from Chester. It still had it's share of submerged riverside paths and a couple of miles of shin-deep mud at one point, but I managed to finish in 8:45:48.

Then came lockdown of course and I spent weeks running round my local lanes. Even the local Delamere Forest was closed.  During this period we saw the start of the "virtual" event, where competitors are invited to complete the the mileage involved in the cancelled real one but at a location they can access, usually over a defined time period. I didn't really see the point to start with but then the West Highland Way version arrived. Before the Covid thing I had a sort of plan to enter the West Highland Way in 2021 and make it my 100th ultra; it was where it all started for me back in 2007 and I had been involved almost every year until recently.  My plan wasn't going to work now, the 2021 race would be full of entrants rolled over from 2020 and it was very unlikely that I would find enough events still running to get me to 100 by June 2021 anyway. So I joined the 2020 virtual event just to stay in touch. We had from 11th to 21st June to rack up the required 95 miles, but I decided that if I was going to go virtual I wanted to make my experience as close to the real thing as I could. Our local forest and the Sandstone Trail were accessible again by June; I couldn't sensibly arrange back-up for a continuous push, and local opinion would still have frowned on being out through the night, so I went for three consecutive days and arranged my route so that my total ascent would match that of the real race. It worked out as:

Monday 12th:        36.0 miles  4800ft ascent  8:23:50

Tuesday 13th:         27.0 miles  5800ft ascent  7:37:10

Wednesday 14th:     32.0 miles  4700ft ascent  7:25:38

Totals:                       95 miles   15,300ft ascent  23:26:38

It was very hot weather at the time, with thunderstorms each evening, but I actually enjoyed the experience quite a lot, even though some tracks and ascents had to be covered many times. Clearly the time out each night made a huge difference, but it was still nice to get a sub 24 hour West Highland Way  -  many years since I last achieved that!

We were able to get back to the Lakes again in July, which allowed me to enter my second virtual event, the Lakeland 50. I originally thought I might do this on the actual course, but on reflection I wasn't too keen on using public transport to get to the start and finish (I am after all in a "vulnerable" group!) so I constructed a 50 mile route based on our place in Keswick. It was a bit short on height gain compared with the real route but a bit tougher under foot so I guessed about the same sort of challenge. I completed my route in 14:47:38 and had the bonus of meeting Lakeland organiser "Uncle Terry" Gilpin, out for a walk with his grandsons, as I descended Far Easedale.

Some races had started to get going again by August but the one I had entered, the GB Ultras "Race Across Scotland" wouldn't work, I guess because of its proposed use of many village halls and the understandable reluctance of the communities it would have passed through. Looking around for something to focus on, I decided to have a shot at the Abraham's Tea Round which seemed to be gaining some popularity and was right on my doorstep, with the start and finish of the round at George Fishers in Keswick. It's not a long trip at just over 30 miles, but the 11,000ft of ascent and the steep ascents/descents in some places are well felt. I was hoping to get under 12 hours but on the day could only manage 12:34:49   -  I guess a return match is probably called for. Maybe I was short of climbing for the year.

Organised events resumed for me at two Beyond Marathon races in September.  The Gritstone Grind follows the 35 mile Gritstone Trail in East Cheshire. I'm surprised I wasn't more aware of this trail before, it's far more attractive than the Sandstone Trail on my doorstep in the west (but also with double the climbing!).  I finished in 7:52:36 which I was fairly happy with, even though my son John with whom I'd shared a car to the start managed to get it done in under 6 hours.

A week later the White Horse 50 took me to an area I'd never visited before, the downs around Marlborough in Wiltshire. It's gentle, easy countryside, attractive in a wide open spaces sort of way, sparsely populated. There was only just over 4000ft of climbing on the whole course, still, I'm happy to get inside 12 hours for any 50 miler these days so was satisfied with 11:37:39.

Sterner stuff a month later with the Hardmoors 55, rescheduled from March, my eighth time on this particular run. Warmer weather than at the normal time of year for the race, but still with the expected ration of wind, rain and mud. 15:17:06 was half an hour faster than last year for me but still nothing to write home about. I had the feeling that as the year went on I was losing ground a bit.

After this, all the events I had planned got binned in the second and subsequent lockdowns. Virtual events started springing up again aplenty but I wasn't sure this was the best use of this bit of my life. I decided that if I wanted to make a better fist of next year than I had this then just chasing a lot of slow miles wasn't the way to go.

After a bit of thought I signed up with coach Dave Troman, a friend who I have known for quite a few years, in the hope that I can hopefully slow down my decline and maybe even make some marginal gains, with a main target of completing the Hardmoors 110 at the end of May. Just over two months into my training programme I'm really enjoying the change and the discipline, so more enthusiastic about the future than I was in the Autumn.

Just to tie up the statistics, I ran a total of 1983 miles in the year which is fairly typical for the past few years. I climbed a total of 174,000ft, which is way down; in recent years I have normally ascended around 100,000ft more than this, whether this affected my performance in the hillier events like Abrahams Tea Round and the HM55 I don't know, but it won't have helped. For the third year running I also failed to "run the year" (ie 2020 miles in 2020), although I'm really not concerned about this. I could have made up the miles needed easily but made my decision to go for quality over quantity when I started with Dave and I'm more than happy with that.

So what about next year?

Well as I said earlier my main target is to complete the Hardmoors 110 at the end of May. It's the only one of the classic "hilly" 100's that I should be able to do (the UTS is alas now way beyond me I suspect) and yet have never got around to. Ten or even five years ago I would have felt completion was not an issue, I would have been more interested in getting some sort of time that I considered respectable, but nowadays it's very much on my limit. It's five or six miles further than the Lakeland 100, with almost exactly the same amount of total climb; better ground under foot but four hours less to get round. What it doesn't have though is the Lakeland's "look after you at every step" checkpoints every few miles. Only two indoor checkpoints with hot drinks at around 20 and 70 miles (and since Covid, not even these), otherwise cold water and a few sweeties in between is all you get. This is because it is designed as an event where most competitors will have a support crew, and to gain admission to run unsupported you have to have some sort of proven pedigree. I have tried it once before, unsupported, in 2019. Carrying enough food to make progress possible and enough kit to cover both the roasting sun and driving overnight rain we experienced during the event, I ran out of time after about 80 miles. You don't start any event believing you will fail, but those where it is a distinct possibility definitely have more spice than those where you know you will finish, so I can't resist another go. With a bit more focussed training and (hopefully) a support crew I should be able to make a better showing this time.

In discussion with Dave T I've tried to plan other events earlier in the year to support rather than conflict with this main goal. A long time ago I had entered Lady Anne's Way which this was due to go on 30th of January. It wasn't an ideal interruption to the plan, but I was still enthusiastic about the event and had decided to go and treat it as  a longish walk to minimise the effect.  It's now been understandably cancelled and I have no idea yet when/if it will be re-run so I'll deal with that when we know more.

At the end of February I'm planning to run the Northumberland Coast Ultra. This is a short (35 miles) flat event which I have run before. It's a beautiful coast and the run fits well with development towards the Hardmoors.  The organisers Endurancelife always base their events on lightweight outdoor checkpoints with very little faff and have managed to keep a lot of them going through last year, so I'm pretty hopeful that this one will go ahead.

I was a bit regretful not entering the Hardmoors 55, it's one of my favourite events and I do hope to complete 10 of them before I get too old, but a tough event at the end of March didn't really fit the plan.

Then at the end of April I'm entered into the Open Adventure Lakes Traverse. This is a 60 miler which takes arguably a lot of the best parts of the Northern Traverse, run concurrently and which I really enjoyed back in 2016. I will take it at a reasonably comfortable pace, and as well as enjoying a great event in (hopefully) some improving weather for the year, I will get a good "time on feet" day about six weeks out from the Hardmoors.

Beyond May I haven't planned so rigorously, I'm waiting to see how the first half of the year turns out!

I have a deferred entry in the Lakeland 50 which I will definitely do at the end of July, and also one in the Race Across Snowdonia a couple of weeks earlier. I'm really enthusiastic about the latter event, it's a sort of two day version of the Dragon's Back and definitely due to become a classic if Mike Jones at Apex can get the first one or two off the ground, but it may be just an event too far for me this year, I'll judge nearer the time.

One I definitely don't want to miss though is Deadwater in late August. I did this when it was last run three years ago and it was overall one of my best experiences in ultra races.

Other deferred entries are the Lakes in a Day in October and Tour de Helvellyn in December, and I also have a voucher for a GB ultras event at some point. And I still have to get the Joss Naylor Challenge done at some point. Covid permitting, looks like a good enough year ahead.

My waterproof jacket still leaks!

Just on 6 years ago I posted an article on my old blog "Running Late" entitled "My waterproof jacket leaks!" I've noticed a bit of a swell in Facebook discussion on this topic again recently, so I thought it was maybe time to revisit this, update it as we're always learning of course, and hopefully make it a more concise and easier read. So here goes.

You'll have seen the discussions of course. Runner A recommends a jacket as the best he's ever used, then five minutes later Runner B says he had one of those but it leaked like a sieve. They can't both be right............can they? And nowadays we get instructions that we must have hoods, taped seams, this, that, whatever; Joe says how can he find the lightest job that will still satisfy the kit inspectors while Bill says take the heaviest you can carry or you'll die. What's it all about?

Well, for what it's worth, here's my take on the subject. The usual health warnings, my views come from a combination of experience in the hills and training as an engineer; I hope they make sense, I'm sure not everyone will agree, but if they prompt a bit of thought that's enough and OK. Also this is an area where it's easy to get bogged down in the science; I'm hoping to get by with only the most  important bits and I might take some shortcuts which will offend the purists, but I'm sure I'm like most runners in just wanting to understand why things that affect us happen and what we can do to try and control them. On the other hand, forgive me if I'm explaining things you already know, but not everyone may and it is really important to understand a bit of the physics behind what is happening. And if you've read my blog before you'll know that these odysseys of mine can go on for a while, so be prepared if you're going to stay the course.

Before we start talking about jackets we need to start by covering a few of the terms that everyone uses but maybe not everyone really understands.

1. "Sweating". This is your body's way of dumping unwanted internal heat generated by physical exercise. A fluid that is mainly water is pushed out through small holes in your skin (pores), carrying some heat with it. What happens next depends on external conditions.  If you're wearing no clothes and the air humidity is low, the water (sweat) will evaporate, gaining latent heat from your skin as it goes and so cooling you down more (when water turns from liquid into gas - it "evaporates" or "boils"  -  it needs a heat input to bring about this change of state without changing the temperature; this is called the "latent heat". In a boiling kettle this heat input comes from the power you put in via the element or burner, in evaporating sweat the heat is drawn from your body, which then feels this heat loss). That's the way it's designed to work. But when your body gets hot and generates sweat, it can't control what's happening on the outside. If you wear a technical "wicking" shirt, the sweat gets drawn through to evaporate on the outside, almost as well as without a shirt. A cotton shirt will absorb the sweat, but it will eventually start evaporating from the outer surface, although you won't feel so comfortable. A rucksack tight against your back will prevent any evaporation at all in that area so you will have a wet back. But if the air outside is already saturated  -  that is, it has already absorbed all the water vapour it can hold, a condition known as 100% Relative Humidity (RH)  - then sweat won't evaporate whatever you're wearing.  But we should say here that the air won't normally have reached 100% RH until you see visible signs of it; the water vapour starts to condense in the air, and you're in mist, fog, a cloud (or the bathroom). The fact that it's raining alone does not mean that the air is saturated (but for sure if there is rain about the air will be already holding more moisture than it would have under a cloudless blue sky). But the closer the air gets to 100% saturation, the less of your sweat evaporates; what doesn't evaporate stays on, in, or inside your clothes, making them wet.

2. "Breathable".  This is generally accepted to be a material which has "holes" small enough to prevent water droplets passing through while big enough to allow the passage of water vapour. This isn't the precise truth, but it's good enough for us here. It doesn't matter what the material is, or how the "holes" are created, these details might affect the overall robustness of the material but not the explanation of how it might work. The theory is that you can wear such a material when it's raining; sweat then evaporates on the inside of the jacket and so can pass out through the holes, which at the same time are not letting the rain in.

3. "Waterproof". A string vest is not waterproof. Wear one in the rain and you'll get wet. A plastic material can be made completely waterproof - think of the bladder in a Camelback - and if you make a jacket out of it, it won't let the rain in, but it won't let any vapour out either, under any conditions. What we think of as modern "waterproof-breathable" materials are a compromise between these two. The smaller the "holes" the more they lean towards waterproof, bigger holes mean more breathable. These materials should more correctly be referred to as "water resistant".  Furthermore, a material that is resistant to a steady rain may not be so resistant if the pressure of the water goes up  -  a tropical downpour maybe, or if you sit in a puddle. That's why modern jackets sometimes have some sort of hydrostatic rating on the label  -  a measure of their actual degree of waterproofing. As an aside, it's also why you see the frequent claim that waterproof socks "never work"; the pressure created by having them continuously immersed in wet bog for a few hours is far greater than if the material was just subject to rainfall.

So now we have these mechanisms nailed down a bit let's look at what actually happens to you when you're out in the weather.

Let's say you are out running on a coolish but not cold day, wearing a long-sleeved technical teeshirt, and it feels pretty comfortable, not too hot, not too cold. The heat you're generating is being dissipated by your sweat into the air. Your systems are in balance. Then it starts to rain steadily. It's not unpleasant to start with, but after a while you start to feel cold. What's happening here is that the raindrops hitting you and then eventually dripping away are more efficient at conducting the heat away than the air was  (we'll get to this in a bit more detail later on), so now you are losing more heat than you're producing and you start to cool down.

There are three options from here. (i) You run faster to create more heat to warm up, (ii) you increase the insulation by putting on a thicker layer, say a fleece, or (iii) you pull on a waterproof. Intuitively, the best option is (iii) so on goes your lightweight waterproof but breathable jacket. This sheds the raindrops much more quickly and efficiently than your teeshirt so it cuts down the heat transfer, and this enables you to warm up. But as you warm up, you start to sweat again, and now the sweat has a much harder route to escape and evaporate. First of all, it now has to evaporate not into unrestricted air, but into the small space between your jacket and the layer inside it. And when it reaches the shell it (a) has to find its way through the restricted holes in the surface, and (b) even if it gets out it will be faced with air more humid than before you put your jacket on. Sorry, but a lot of your sweat is either not going to evaporate, or evaporate then re-condense as it hits the inside of the shell. You probably still feel quite comfortable, because the heat being taken away now matches again that which you are producing by the running effort, but inside your jacket you are unlikely to be dry.

Most outings in the rain start and end like this. When you stop running you get into a warmer place, change your clothes, and think nothing of it. Your jacket did a good job. But on a longish run, there may be the opportunity for a few other things to happen to affect the balance again, such as:

- you get tired, so you slow down to a jog or maybe even a walk, so you're putting less energy (and therefore less heat) into the system, but the outside conditions are still taking out what they did before.

- the weather gets significantly worse, heavier rain, lower temperature, higher wind, so that although you're still putting in the same energy (heat), the outside conditions are taking it away faster.

- it's a long time since you last ate anything, so more of the work you're doing gets used internally and less goes to warm the surface.

The first thing you realise in any of these scenarios is that you're getting cold. Then comes the realisation that your clothes are wet, because instead of being warm and wet which was comfortable, they are now cold and wet which isn't  -  "my waterproof jacket leaks!" Yes, I'm prepared to stick my neck out and say that so long as you're wearing a jacket that claims to be in some way waterproof, then 99% of the moisture on the inside will have come from you, not the sky. OK, nice to know, but once you get into the "I'm cold and wet" scenario experience shows that you're on a downward spiral to ending your participation in the race (and in anything else if you're really unlucky), so what can we do about it? Before we go on to that, let's just home in on a couple of points that are key to the situation.

1. The first and most important thing to realise, which I hope I've drawn out by the little scenario above, is that when you are running in the rain, the inside of your jacket will ALWAYS be wet. So, you may say, what's the point of wearing it? Well, this is where we come to the "lightbulb" moment. This is that the overriding demand of your clothing system when running in bad conditions is not that it must keep you dry, but that it must keep you WARM.  Being warm and wet is not unpleasant (think of a warm shower) and it keeps your core temperature where it needs to be. But being COLD and wet is not only unpleasant but eventually dangerous. You need to get away from the idea that you are dealing with a waterproofing problem and understand that it is all about minimising heat transfer.

2. Breathable clothing was originally developed for activities less intense than running, such as walking, climbing and the like, and was found to work well. But these pastimes are less energetic than running and less sweat is necessary. Walkers and climbers would also not normally use a waterproof shell unless it was part of a three (at least) layer system - base layer wicking, to keep sweat away from skin, middle layer insulation (fleece, etc), then outer shell to keep rain or wind out. The whole system is under far less stress than in running, and the wicking/insulation layers hide any deficiencies better - they keep you feeling warm. Further, these activities are often intermittent, where bursts of energy are interspersed with easier or inactive periods allowing any accumulated moisture to evaporate while none is being produced. Finally, walkers and climbers (sensible ones at least) layer up and down frequently to keep in balance with changing conditions, whereas a runner will begrudge the time spent in doing this.

So why do we start feeling cold when we get wet? Well, your body temperature needs to be kept at around 37 degC or it doesn't work very well. Normally in our sort of latitudes the outside air is colder than this, so potentially, you are always losing heat. But also normally, this heat loss is mitigated by (a) wearing some clothes (insulation) and/or (b) generating some internal heat by food and/or exercise; this pushes the body temperature up so dumping what is not required is not only OK but essential. If the imbalance is small the excess heat is removed from your skin surface by conduction/convection in the air; if you overheat the further excess is removed by sweating and evaporation as explained earlier. The sweating/evaporation is needed because air is a poor heat transfer medium. Water on the other hand is very good at transferring heat, something like ten to fifty times better than air depending on the exact situation (for example that's why the great majority of car engines use water rather than air as the primary coolant). So as soon as you get a continuous layer of water between your skin and the outside air you can really start losing heat in a big way pretty fast. On top of that, if it is actually raining you have a continuous source of new water which is colder than the outside air temperature (because it condensed into rain at a much higher altitude than you are at now) hitting the outside of your clothes.

The ONLY way you can stay comfortable and safe is to manage the balance between the rate you  are producing heat and the rate at which the outside conditions are trying to take it away.

So where has all this got us so far? You know now that I'm sceptical that you'll stay dry inside any waterproof jacket, whatever it claims, when you run in it. You know that being wet isn't in itself bad, but being wet (especially if it's raining) dramatically increases heat loss, and if you can't manage that heat loss you can get into big trouble. So is there a strategy that we can adopt that might keep us out of jail? Well, for what it's worth, here's mine.

1. Choosing and maintaining a waterproof jacket

I personally don't think there's an overall winning brand; after all they're all using the same science and mainly similar materials. I've tried a lot of the reputable guys, North Face, Salomon, Montane, OMM and can't really detect any difference in performance. Their designs are better thought out than cheaper jackets but their quality depends on how well they manage their manufacturers and they're not all great at that. Better to go with what fits you best and has the features you personally think worthwhile (pockets, hood design, cuff details, etc). If you're not fussed about design details then cheaper brands can often work pretty well. I have run in some nasty conditions in less costly jackets and they have not let me down (to be clear, I'm not saying here "go out and buy a cheap jacket", but rather make sure that what you are getting for your money makes sense to you after a critical technical appraisal). I'm not sure that I buy into the taped seams thing but a lot of Race Directors require it and all of the reasonable makers do it anyway. But whatever brand you choose, think about the following.

(a) The outer surface needs to be kept in good condition so that it "sheds" rain as efficiently as possible. Manufacturers apply an outer surface which effectively makes it more "shiny"; if you hold your jacket under a tap the water should immediately form "beads" and run off. But this surface is subject to deterioration over time, think of it as "rubbing off". This will be happening all the time due to abrasion, even when the jacket is rolled up and in your pack. You can delay it by careful handling and regular washing, I store mine on a hanger at home and only keep them rolled or screwed up as little as possible. When the surface has deteriorated badly then water will appear to be absorbed into the surface rather than running straight off, an effect sometimes referred to as "wetting out" and this condition increases the heat transfer significantly. This is the time to restore the surface by application or washing in of an appropriate treatment (I use Nikwax Wash-in but there are others). When people refer to "re-proofing" of modern breathable clothing, this is what they really mean, restoring the shine to the outer surface.

(b) The "breathable" performance of the jacket will also deteriorate over time because elements of your sweat that are not water will gradually clog up the pores in the garment. I have stressed throughout that a lot of sweat doesn't get out anyway, but you really want whatever has a chance to get through, otherwise you might as well be running in a plastic bag. Again, regular washing is the key.

(c) Everything in this game is about compromise. Lightweight, flexible materials can be made just as waterproof as as heavier ones. Heavier materials have a rigidity that may not feel so great to wear but in bad weather will keep the jacket away from what is underneath in a lot of places, creating air gaps. These air gaps are your best possible way to slow down heat transfer. Conversely, the lighter weight materials will tend to "cling" to the garment underneath (often aided by the wind) to give a much more continuous contact surface with no air gaps, so faster heat transfer. If you can afford it, it's worth having a lighter jacket for warmer summer events where bad weather is just a possibility, and a heavier one for winter when the temperature difference between you and the air outside (and therefore the heat transfer rate) is much greater and bad weather is more or less inevitable. 

2. Don't put on a waterproof unless you really need to

It doesn't matter how brilliantly technical your jacket is, it will be nowhere near as breathable as if you don't wear it. The sweat inside starts building from the moment you put it on. I'm amazed at the number of runners I see in events putting on waterproofs at the very first sign of rain, even if it's clear it's only going to be a short shower. I'm quite happy to carry on in a baselayer in gentle rain, or even a light fleece if it's chilly. A light windproof which weighs nothing in your pack can often be a much better bet in gentle rain than a full waterproof. I always leave the decision to break out the waterproof until it's clear that the rain has really set in and I eventually have to choose between "cold and wet" and "warm and wet". As soon as the rain stops, unless you are cold, I think it's worth getting your jacket off as soon as possible so that what's underneath has a chance to dry off and get you back to square one.

3. Once you've got a waterproof on, manage the layers

This won't be popular with the faster runners, but less necessary for them either as they continue to generate plenty of heat energy throughout the race. But if your pace drops to a jog/walk or the conditions worsen, be prepared to manage several layers underneath your waterproof. You have to play with the level of INSULATION you are wearing to get back into balance between heat generation and heat loss. Insulation means getting air-trapping fabric layers between your skin and the inside of your shell, to slow down the heat transfer rate. They will all get wet but the non-absorbent fibres and the air trapped within them will do the job. Thicker layers will insulate more than thin ones. This might mean having long and short-sleeved base layers (either worn together or separately - the  increase in well-being you feel from not having your lower arms pressing directly against the clammy inner surface of a jacket can be quite dramatic), a light fleece, a light primaloft or similar pullover or gilet, etc. The exact combinations you decide to take and use is very individual depending on how "hot" you run and other variables, including the conditions you predict for any given event. Personally I have found that a good base layer (something like a Helly-Hansen Lifa rather than a conventional running tee) and a light fleece will see me through all but the wintriest of conditions so long as I can keep moving reasonably well, but I always keep another layer in reserve if the event is particularly long or committing, just in case.

4. Don't stop

I don't mean don't stop for the odd cup of tea or jam sandwich, but you have to realise that unless you can stop in a warm place, you really change the heat balance dramatically by stopping. Even walking you are still generating a lot of useful heat. If you stop you'll lose a lot of heat and start shivering fairly quickly, so get going again and get the balance back before you lose it completely. This means that if you have to stop, say to get out a torch or some food, or another layer, you need to manage it so you choose a relatively sheltered spot if possible and are stopped for the absolute minimum time necessary. This means having everything organised before you start. This is not the time for a "now where did I put that pork pie?" moment.

None of us have all the answers so we should be prepared to learn all the time.

For completeness I better add just before closing that I have limited this piece to the performance of  recognised "hard shell" jackets, because they are generally on the kit requirement of all events these days so you have to carry one. Whether you then choose to combat the elements using a system not employing a hard shell, such as Paramo or Buffalo. would be the subject of a whole different discussion.

Wet outings where you get cold can turn into varying degrees of misery. Wet events where you manage your temperature and are comfortable can be strangely satisfying, maybe even enjoyable. As Brits, we ought to be able to manage a bit of rain  -  we get plenty of practice.

No, your waterproof jacket still doesn't leak.

Finish of UTMB 2010 (re-routed due to bad weather). Base layer, light fleece and Regatta jacket.

Running Round in Circles part 3 - The West Highland Way

I just couldn't see it to start with. All these folk out doing virtual challenges to keep their miles up and raise a bit for charities. When "Arctic John" Parkin did over 7000 laps of his back yard to cover a hundred miles I was staggered by the effort and commitment while at the same time thinking "Not for me, no way!" But then the West Highland Way came along again, as it always does at this time of year. This is an event quite special for me, it was my first long ultra back in 2007; the first race after which I said "I'm never doing that again" and was back the following year, an experience I'm sure shared by many.

I hadn't entered this year having other plans (now shelved of course, along with everyone else's), but in spite of the ticking clock I always felt I had time to get back to Scotland for a couple more geriatric rambles up the course in the coming years. And now here was a chance, in the "Virtual West Highland Race", to be part of the thing in a year when I wasn't expecting it, a bonus out of all the adversity if you like. I signed up pretty well straight away.

The concept was simple. You had overall nine and a half days, from midnight on Thursday 11 June until noon on Sunday 21st, to cover 95 miles, an equivalent distance to the full course. Ten miles a day would do it. It didn't matter where you did the miles (different "lockdown" systems were in place in different parts of the UK) or how many runs you took to accumulate them, just get the 95 miles done. It was divided into three "legs" of 36, 27 and 32 miles, each to be reported on SI Entries by Monday night, Thursday night and Sunday noon respectively, so you could see how everyone else was doing. The banter on the WHW Facebook page got up to near the volume normally associated with the real race. In a normal year the race has about 200 starters, chosen by ballot; this year with no restrictions more than a thousand were on the start line.

Even in a "real" ultra race, very few entrants are actually competing with each other, that sort of thing is reserved for a few elite performers at the front end of the field.  Motives for the remainder are almost as varied as the entrants, ranging from testing their own limits to just having a nice day out in the countryside with the majority somewhere in between  these extremes. With the virtual race you were even more able to fashion your experience to suit your own preferences. I thought for a while about doing a ten mile run each day round our local lanes. I had been doing this sort of thing (although generally only every other day) during our own more restricted period of the lockdown, so was fairly hopeful I could knock out the 95 at somewhere around 10 minute miles. This would give me an overall WHW time of under 16 hours, a time only achieved by a handful of runners over the entire history of the real race! But on reflection I decided I wanted an experience a bit more in line with what the real race offers me personally. I don't have the inconvenience of a job so could use whatever time was required. We were discouraged from attempting the 95 miles in one go, a plan which would have been logistically difficult for me anyway so I decided to do the three "legs" on consecutive days; I would also try and match the height gain experienced by the true course, and run the great majority off road with some knobbly sections where available to replicate the ground underfoot. So although I would have the luxury of a good meal, glass of wine and a comfortable bed after each of the first two legs, I would least have the experience of the climbs out of Glencoe and Kinlochleven with enough in the legs to make them feel a bit more real.  I had to get the first leg done by Monday night and wanted to avoid weekend crowds so I decided Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday would be my programme.

Where to run was the next consideration. Ideally I would have gone to one of our local ranges of hills, the Clwydians, which have just about everything needed to replicate the WHW course, but they are just over the border and Wales was still closed to foreigners. My son in Manchester who had also signed up for the VWHW  has the uplands of East Cheshire and Derbyshire on his doorstep but for me to get there would involve over an hour's travel each way every day which didn't seem to be in the spirit of the thing just now. So it would have to be on the West Cheshire sandstone ridge, most of which is a 20 minute drive for me. It has the 33 mile Sandstone Trail along the crest, plenty of paths off to the sides and three clumps of hills, Frodsham and Helsby in the north, Eddisbury and Delamere Forest 10 miles to the south and the Peckforton Hills a bit further south again. Travelling along the crest trail really didn't give enough height gain so I planned three days, one at each of the hill sections.

When it came to doing it, the thing went remarkably easily and I enjoyed pretty well every step. I thought I might get bored with the repetitive nature of some of the route. I took a radio along every day but never turned it on, I was happy with my thoughts in the surroundings. The weather was nearer high summer than late June though, misty starts followed by wall to wall sunshine by late morning and temperatures in the high twenties. Then the thunderstorms in the late afternoons and evenings with heavy drenching rain which caused flash flooding problems in many parts of Cheshire.

8am Monday morning saw me parking in the Delamere Forest Visitor Centre, then starting with a gentle cruisy route through the forest of about 12 miles, a sort of warm up on the easy ground as you get to Drymen sort of thing. A bit more aggressive ground was needed next to get over first Conic Hill then all the undulating ground along Loch Lomond to Inversnaid. The height gain seemed to work out if I spent the next 24 miles doing 13 ascents of Eddisbury Hill by various routes and descents. The hill is about 300ft above the visitor centre but fortunately there are five completely separate routes to the top, ranging from about three quarters of a mile to a mile and a half in distance, so by ringing the changes you don't have to cover the same ground too many times. I was walking the steeper uphills and jogging the rest which seemed to translate into something faster than four miles an hour pace, even allowing for the odd checkpoint at the car for drink and jam butties.

I finished the day feeling pleased at having covered 36 miles with no ill effects (other than the normal feeling you get after covering 36 miles and a fair bit of uphill on foot). The rain didn't start until I was back home, but the quantity that came down made me a bit suspicious that the following morning the trails might be a bit "softer". 

The other niggle I had was the height gain. I don't have a watch with an altimeter these days as I rarely see a use for one, so I had calculated the height gains for my planned days using the OS Route Creation app. But I've recently started using Strava and initially I was quite surprised to find that when my watch, Garmin Connect and Strava have finshed talking to each other (or whatever else it is they do in the one and a half seconds between pressing "save" on the watch and my phone going "Ping, your run is ready to view"   -  I'm always so impressed with this modern technology stuff) that Strava produces a total elevation gain for the run. I guess it does this by plotting the run recorded on some sort of map background with height information. A nice feature but the problem was that the figure I was being given by Strava at the end of the day didn't agree with the figure I had calculated on the OS map at the start. I was short of 300 feet. My day was supposed to be a 5100ft gain and Strava would only let me have 4810! Now as all the boys will tell you Strava is the oracle, if it doesn't happen on Strava it doesn't exist, so I had to find a way of getting that 300ft back; not only that, but I would have to assume that I would have to add another 300ft into each of the following days too. So another three ascents of the ridge went into the now revised plan.

I was off a bit earlier on the Tuesday not being constrained by an official car park opening time, as I was parking by the roadside near another set of hills, the Peckforton group. I had chosen these for the middle section because they have enough rocky and rooty tracks to give some idea of the deteriorating lochside north of Inversnaid, and more rocky and aggressive climbs for the big ascents out of the north end of the loch and up to Auchtertyre, plus some suitable cruisy bits for the easy ground from Tyndrum to Bridge of Orchy. I was stiffish for the first mile or two but soon eased into the day with 7 ascents of Bulkley Hill and 7 of Bickerton Hill, with some easy ascents around Burwardsley and Peckforton in between and afterwards. The ground underfoot was dampish for an hour or so but the moisture soon burned off into another hot hot hot day.  My route only allowed 2 returns to the car so I was carrying a lot more drink around today, but I still finished feeling I'd put in a good enough shift without pushing things too far. I just about beat the rain back to the car

The day was rounded off nicely when I discovered I had made up the ascent deficit of the Monday and was now nicely back on track. I'd listened recently to John Kynaston's interview with Shane Ohly, Dragon's Back Race Director and winner of numerous mountain marathons. One of his top tips for a multi day event was "Sleep is not critical, getting rehydrated is far more important, don't go to bed until you know you have replaced everything you've lost during the day". I found this principle worked really well for me over three hot days and it's a bit of learning I won't now forget.

My original plan for Wednesday was to park again at Delamere and run the 8 or nine miles along the Sandstone Trail to the Frodsham and Helsby hills, do some ascents there then come back with a final bit of ascent in the forest. This would work for the easy running over Rannoch Moor, the ups and downs from Glencoe to just beyond Kinlochleven, the long gentle bit of the Lairig Mor and the final hills before Glen Nevis. But the weather forecast was not great; it was going to be another hot day but the afternoon storms were projected to arrive much earlier today. I thought about it the night before and in the end wimped out. I would do my laps on Eddisbury hill again; this would allow me to keep some really heavyweight weather gear accessible in the car should I need it to complete the miles, which I was determined to do by the end of Wednesday (and in the face of the latest forecast, as early on Wednesday as possible).

I was there just as the car park opened and under way. If someone had told me six months ago that I would set out to make fifteen consecutive ascents of this hill and enjoy it I would have thought them crazy. But the brain is wonderfully adaptable and miles seemed to float by all day. I had a concerning moment around 2pm when I had only three laps still to do, when the sky went very dark and rumbles of thunder started to roll around. It started to rain. But then miraculously the gentle, slight smell of burning rain that you get on these occasions and you have a fair idea of what's coming next, didn't get heavier but simply stopped. The sky brightened and half an hour later there was no sign of a storm at all. I celebrated by making my final descent to the finish the fastest mile of the week.

It really is daft all this running round in circles. But somehow quite uplifting.

Monday, 36 miles, 4810ft

Tuesday, 27 miles, 5760ft

Wednesday 32 miles, 4680ft

Total, 95 miles, 15250ft.  The West Highland Way, 2020.