A holiday on the Skye Trail

Pauline and I have done bits and bobs of the Skye Trail over the past few years running mostly out and back routes from various points but for quite a while we’ve wanted to cover it all over a few days especially now we help marshal the Skye Trail Ultra. https://skyetrailultra.uk/

A holiday home in Portree was booked and we were lucky that Ken, Val and Allan were joining us, Gillian was meant to come too but an injury scuppered her running and wasn’t recovering as quickly as she’d hoped so she decided to cancel her leave and save her holidays for when she would be able to have adventures. They were happy to fit their walking, cycling and photographing around dropping us off and picking us up. Doing it at the beginning of October meant the weather could throw a spanner in the works, we weren’t worried about doing the route top to bottom, just fitting the sections around the best day for the Trotternish Ridge. We planned to do it over four days and we had to shuffle things about as the weather changed, Andy joined us for the two big days.

Day 1 - Blaven car park to Broadford, 14 miles

Ken dropped us off then headed for a walk and to watch the golf in the Broadford Hotel where we’d meet him after our run.

It was a sleeves up, sleeves down, sunshine, showers and a smattering of rainbows kind of day.

A straightforward run on road to start with, then a rough track and along the shore to the ruins of Boreraig, a village abandoned during the Highland Clearances.

(race day tip - it can be tricky to know where to turn away from the shore in the hours of darkness but if you see the standing stone, that’s where to head up the hill.)

The showers had been quite short and not too heavy until we were on the Marble Line, it was stotting down, Pauline wondered whether we should stop and pull on our waterproof breeks, I was sure I could see the end of the shower and with only a few miles to go, I shouted to just keep going which might not have been right choice, we were drookit by the time it eased off! But the wind was fairly strong and dried us out a bit, at least we’d stopped dripping by the time we reached Ken at the Broadford Hotel.

Day 2 - Sligachan to Blaven car park, 20 miles

We had originally planned to do the Ridge today but heavy rain and low cloud was forecast so we decided to go from Sligachan, Andy drove down and left his van at the house then Val dropped Andy, Pauline and myself at Sligachan before heading to Elgol for a walk and to take photos. Ken and Allan cycled around Sligachan for a bit then went out the Moll Road until the “pot hole” and back.

We had arranged with Val to pick us up at the Blaven car park at around 4.30pm but Andy shot off like a puppy let free, I laughed and said to Pauline we’d better phone Val and make it 3.30pm! Andy soon settled the pace down to something we could keep up with, even assisting Pauline over steppy stones!  

A beautiful route through Sligachan Glen surrounded with magnificent mountains, Sgurr nan Gillean, Marsco and Bla Bheinn to name just a few, views to make your heart skip as well as the legs and I was really quite surprised the deer didn’t scamper off when they saw us.

The rain had been spitting on and off through the wind as we approached Camasunary, we went into the bothy for a wee breather and to put on waterproofs, we’d be moving a lot slower from here. Heading to Elgol, it was a bit boggy to start with, then a wee steep climb to the narrow path above the the shore, it’s fine as long as you’re careful, Pauline isn’t too happy with heights, and it didn’t help that I was behind her giggling at her leaning to her left on the more exposed bits, so I went in front, but I could still hear her make the odd squeak!

The rain was now torrential, my camera was pretty wet so I stopped taking photos just before Elgol, there was no point but here’s what you can see on a dry day.

We nipped into the toilets and I spent longer than normal under the hand dryer, no chance of getting dry but nice to feel the warm air. From Elgol it was mostly just a soaking slog on tarmac for eight miles to the car park, it’s probably a lovely road to run on a nice day but after stunning Sligachan Glen it wasn’t my favourite bit, the rain never let up, eventually we could see Val sitting dry and cosy in her car, We had left bags with a change of dry clothes with her in the car but it would’ve been pointless trying to change in the sideways rain, I was a bit worried Val wouldn’t let us in case our soggy bottoms ruined her seats, but she had some blankets in the boot, we could sit on them, yay, we were allowed in! It didn’t seem too long until we were back at the house in Portree for another shower, a hot one! Poor Andy had about another half an hour drive until he was back home and out his soaking gear.

Day 3 - Duntulm to Portree - The big one!

The randomness of my Garmin gave me 24.61 miles, 9.40.05 hours and 5658 ft elevation

Yep, you read that right, just short of ten hours for twenty four and a half miles! My pace will never set the heather alight and this was no race day, we were on our holidays, but even during the race the leaders take at least seven hours for this section, the times reflects the terrain and never to be underestimated.

We planned an early start, Ken drove Pauline and I up, picking up Andy with a change of clothes for Ken to take back for after the run, we were finishing at the house since it was perfectly placed just off the the Staffin Road down from the Wigwams, Andy and Karen were joining us for our evening meal.

Ken dropped us off at the phone box in Duntulm, Allan had instructions to have the bacon and egg rolls ready for his return, they were heading over to Raasay with their bikes unfortunately Ken’s bike gave up the ghost, I think they got a bit of cycling in before it died.

A nice gentle couple of miles on road for starters, then around a mile of heather bashing and bog hopping, Andy was keen to try and keep his feet dry so we picked our way through carefully, I think he was fairly successful, me, not so much, within five minutes both feet were soggy, at least I only went in up to my ankles, it could’ve been a lot deeper!  

The weather was dry but strong winds were forecast, (the travel report on the radio warned of bridges closed to high sided vehicles and to check ferrys for cancellations) I’m glad it was slightly behind us blowing us up the steep grassy climb to start with.

Once at the top you could feel the full force of the wind, I had to turn my peaked Buff back-to-front, the peak was blasted down on my face and hampering my vision, I was glad when we headed down into the slightly sheltered Quiraing.

We started to see a few walkers coming towards us, then loads of walkers, yep, there was a bus trip! After we crossed the road and headed upwards we never saw another soul all day.

I’m a bit of a light-weight and need my heavy winter coat and boots to make eight stone so I was a wee bit concerned about being blown off the Ridge, one reassuring thought, with being small built at least I don’t offer much resistance sideways on!  Luckily the wind wasn’t gusting much, it was just a constant fight, and we stayed well away from the edge. I could see for miles, looking over to Uig, the ferry was coming in, Andy pointed out the Fairy Glen, the Ridge wound on and we followed, we went up, we were blown sideways, we went down, we went up, we were blown sideways, we went down, we went up, we were blown sideways, we went down, with the wind chill, it was pretty cold, my hood was up and although fastened tightly, it was a deafening rattle in my ears. Progress was slow and steady, the effort arduous, but boy I was loving it, we took a wee breather from the wind behind a huge boulder, I wittered on about what a wonderful day I was having, one I was going to remember with a smile forever, Pauline turned and bellowed “What?” she had her hood up too and hadn’t heard a word “Never mind!” I answered, I’m sure she was enjoying her day as much as I was.

Time was marching on, quicker than we were, we decided that if we were eating around 8.00pm we wouldn’t have time to continue the Ridge so we descended at the Storr, for a short run into Portree on the road, missing out the “Bog of Doom” as Andy called it, oh dear, what a shame, never mind, I’ll look forward to doing that another time!  

Good food, beer and company was waiting, I wasn’t too upset about missing out a few miles, although I really didn’t want this run to end, the epic surroundings taking me beyond my fatigue. The Trotternish Ridge is stunning and I look forward to doing it again.

We had a chill out, rest day after our epic Ridge run before our final day on the Skye Trail, a low level mostly on road, not much in the way of hills, celebrating finishing with lunch in the Sligachan Hotel.

Day 4 - Portree to Sligachan 13 miles

With the weather we had for our final day it was just as well this was the “easy” section, Pauline and I left the house walking to the Staffin Road to stretch the legs before running, the bus shelter was about a hundred yards away, we went inside it to put on our waterproof trousers, we hadn’t even started the watches yet! Through Portree we stop for a wee blether twice, it was lovely to see a couple of folk we know, then opposite the Aros Centre we turned down onto the shore, the wet stones, slippy with seaweed underfoot made it slow going, just as well we were watching our feet as the cracking views were non-existent.

The Braes road was surprisingly busy with traffic, and fairly undulating which wasn’t so surprising, this is such a sheltered area that foxgloves and garden flowers were still in summer bloom, a different climate to the north west of the island.

During our runs in the rain I’d look up to the sky and say hopefully “I think it’s brightening up!” today it was just a lie, at no point ever did the rain look like it was going off, maybe not just so torrential at times but it never promised to ease up. Once off the road and onto the rough shore path along Loch Sligachan it was either boggy or if solid underfoot, a burn, we were carefully placing our feet, a lot of water flowing from the hill now required great care, we were wading through fast flowing burns where on a previous run a few years ago from Sligachan to the Braes and back we just had a skip and a hop over steppy stones without breaking stride.

We were a bit behind schedule, Ken, Allan and Val were in the hotel waiting for us, and phoned with concern, they were watching the waterfall and weren’t sure if we would get over it, and if necessary they would drive back round to the end of the Braes road and pick us up. I reassured them that we were fine, taking our time and we wouldn’t do anything daft, I’ll phone back when we were at the waterfall and let them know what we were doing. Once there we walked up and down to find the best place to cross, the flow was fairly strong but never went over our knees, Pauline phoned to say we were safely over and we wouldn’t be long.

The waterfall the last time we were here in August 2015

The path disappeared and it was another bog hop to the campsite and more wading through burns until we got to the Hotel.

Photo from Allan through the window of the Sligachan Hotel

Yay! The Skye Trail was complete (except for the Bog of Doom) in some challenging conditions and I’m not disappointed in the slightest that the weather wasn’t on our side, it was an epic adventure with memories I’ll cherish!

Once inside the Sligachan Hotel we dripped off to toilets to change, now warm and dry we ordered beer and lunch, I upgrade the Cuillin Skink (same as Cullen Skink but with mountains out the window) from starter to main course portion, it was the largest and finest Cullen Skink I have ever had. On the wall was art from local artists for sale with the proceeds going to Skye Mountain Rescue, I have admired Jeremy Rossiter's work for a long time so I treated myself to his painting of Marsco, a superb momento of an epic week now hanging in my living-room.

Flaming typical, the rain had stopped after we’d had our lunch and the following day the sun was splitting the sky, at least it was a pretty drive home! A fantastic few days in great company and stunning surroundings even though we didn’t get to see some of it this time, but that just makes it all the more special when you do.  Thank you Ken, Val and Allan for your company and making the logistics possible for Pauline and I do the Skye Trail over four days.

Pauline wondered that after we did it would we be more sympathetic to runners during the race lingering in checkpoints? Ha! Well, if you’ve ever come into a checkpoint where I’ve marshalled you’ll know I don’t do sympathy, so if you come crying into Sligachan don’t expect a “There, there, there!” from me. Just make sure you know what you’re taking on and your ability to do it justice.

Glenmore 24 - 2018

This year there was going to be a few changes in support, Ken and Sue were on holiday so wouldn’t be available to support, Gillian was off galavanting on Ben Nevis doing path repair,  Val would be our sole support but after Pauline saw Jonathan all rugged up and sat cosy dozing in the tent through the night last year, she said that she’s never done a twelve hour race before and would give it a go. So with Pauline going to be a part-timer doing the “sprint event” finishing at midnight, she would also do a bit of my support through the night and let Val get a break before having a wee kip herself.

Pauline and I arrived in the Hayfield Friday lunch time and set about getting all the race paraphernalia organised, our neighbours gave us a hand with the club tent, the ground was dry and pretty hard, one of the mallets came to an untimely end losing it’s head.  

We took it in turns hammering in the stake for the club feather with bits of rubber flying off the mallet! Finally we got our wee blue sleeping tent up without any hassle, time to chill and have some pasta before the party, a Hawaiian theme for this year and the question on everyone’s mind was What was Donald going to be wearing? He didn’t disappoint. After a few beers and a lot of laughs it was time for bed.

With the race starting at noon on Saturday, it was a nice relaxed morning, plenty time to get ready and have two pots of porridge. “Sunshine and no midges, are we really in Glenmore?” I got a row for saying it out loud on Friday afternoon but I didn’t jinx it, the weather was still looking great.

Val arrived and we went over our race plans, I was using last year’s sheet as my template with a few tweaks like having coffee a lap earlier through the night to pre-empt the falling asleep on my feet that happened last year.  My times for this year’s Fling and West Highland Way Race were slower than last year, did that mean I was getting old and slow? (correction - slower, I’ve never had speed) Each year for the past few I have covered less distance at Glenmore, as Strava would say trending slower! But I wasn’t going to let it dull my ambition, I was still going to target the 100 miles, magic happens at Glenmore 24.

Bill gave the race briefing at 11.30am and at noon we were off, yay, finally, back on that beautiful four mile loop, in 2011 I split it up into four sections,the first one ‘the lumpy bumpy mile’ round base camp, up the grassy hill and onto a narrow rough path with stones and tree roots, this year the bushes had been trimmed back a bit, the second section, ‘the long run’ a flattish wide forest track where in 2011  and 2012 I didn’t walk any of it, (plot spoiler- I didn’t walk any of it this year either) the third one was ‘uphill’ yeah, that’s what it did for around a mile where I picked points where to walk and stuck in some wee shuffles on the flatish part of the ups, which was followed by the ‘downhill’ where I took it easy on the steepest part of the descent preserving my quads, relaxing on the flatter part before the wee kick of a hill then turning left, down a few stone steps back to base camp on the Hayfield.  I took my camera for the first lap, it was overcast for a short while, I thought that the heather wasn’t as stunning as usual, with the weather being so dry over the summer it looked parched and brown with not a lot of vibrant blooming flowers. No rendition of Wild Mountain Thyme to go round my head while the sun shone then!

This year

Last year

Pacing 100 miles at Glenmore is quite simple on paper, run five laps in the first four hours when you’re fresh, spritely and raring to go then once you’ve settled into your groove a nice steady lap an hour does the job.  I was wearing my old faithful Timex Ironman that holds 100 laps, I was shocked that a new battery cost nearly £15, mind you, it will last at least another five years before I’ll need another battery, although I could’ve bought a new watch for less! For sentimental reasons, it was worth it, all my PB’s were done wearing it with some cherished race memories. I’ve never bothered with the faff of charging a Garmin on the hoof before, it’s not necessary on a lapped course as long as you know what lap you’re on you know how far you’ve gone. I got into the routine of shouting my number at Ada, clock the lap on my watch then dib my dobber. Val was also timing my laps and informed me that I was bang on to the minute the same as last year for the first seven laps, consistency is one of my strong points during 24 hours as long as I’m able to manage whatever challenges I have.

Pauline and I stayed together for the first lap but I let her go after that, with her ‘only’ going half way I wasn’t going to let her pull me along.  As the afternoon progressed the sun was beating down and quite hot in places, I was feeling a bit wabbit and there was salt on my face, that usually doesn’t happen to me, the last time I was this sweaty in a 24 hour race was Perth 2010 and I ended up having a very tough race, spewing my guts and struggling big time. I wasn’t going to let it happen again if I could help it, I ran easy in the heat and when I have the savoury stuff that was on my food plan I’ll ask Val to add a sprinkle of salt.

From the second lap onwards I’d swap my water bottle and pick up from Val either an Ensure, Yazoo or a Weetabix milkshake, have a few mouthfuls as I walked round the wee lap then put the bottle in my blue coolbox I placed at the top of the Hayfield for Val to pick up and take back to the tent ready for the next time round. Since being treated for mouth cancer in 2013 my mouth has remained very sensitive restricting all my food to bland soft stuff, eating is a challenge and slow going at the best of times, even more so during a race, and with my saliva glands being fried from the chemo and radiotherapy I have a permanently dry mouth and have to carry a water bottle all the time, so a liquid diet is the only way I can manage a race these days with an addition of some custard, rice pudding, soup and an attempt at tinned macaroni cheese but on the plus side I had my final check-up in July, I’m five years cancer free.

I had some custard on lap six and seven and on my ninth lap I picked up my tinned macaroni cheese with a wee sprinkle of salt, it was only a 215g size and it took my two goes walking round the Hayfield to eat only half of it, Val was concerned I wasn’t eating enough, me too, to be honest, walking round base camp didn’t give me enough time to eat it, I’ll go to rice pudding next time, it doesn’t need any chewing. I have a rule for 24 hour races. I will not stop, it’s only 24 hours! So pausing to eat was never going to happen!

I’m not normally a counter when I’m running but I do it at Glenmore, counting my laps, checking the time, doing sums in my head working out how much of a cushion I had for making the 25 laps, doing fractions in my head requires a lot of concentration and I needed to use my fingers too but always a boost when I worked out stuff like at around 6.00pm that I’d covered nearly a third of my target distance in just over a quarter of the time. What gave me a giggle was adding up my all-time Glenmore laps, so on lap eight it also coincided with the race number I was wearing.162. How mad is that? It doesn’t matter how many times I’d been round, no two laps have been the same, the light is different every time, I was lucky enough to see a beautiful sunset reflected in Loch Morlich in 2013. As the sun was going down this year, it was a softer peach tone and when I was along the side of the loch the sun had just dropped beIow the horizon and the reflection of the sky turned the loch the colour of champagne, another beautiful image to keep safe in the photo album in my mind. It doesn’t matter how weary or sore running becomes, the surroundings lift you.  

The colours of Scotland leave you young inside, there must be a place under the sun, where hearts of olden glory grow young.- Calum MacDonald / Rory MacDonald

photo stolen from Lorna Maclean

I picked up my head-torch and iPod which just went in one ear, it’s not just the route that makes this race special it’s everyone involved. Every runner is so supportive as we go by each other and great to have a conversation when we happen to have the same pace. Jo and Iona were so bubbly every time I saw them, it was easy to see they were having a great race, pacing it to perfection. The marshals and support crews were brilliant and enthusiastically shouting encouragement every time a runner went by, that’s a tough shift to keep up for 24 hours but they did! I felt a bit rude not always saying thank you, hopefully a thumbs up or nod or a smile was enough, especially when going round the bottom of base camp with a face full of custard or a milkshake moustache trying not to slaver too much down my chin.

Now dark, and cooler, I was well prepared for whatever the weather could throw at us, a choice of two rain-jackets, two pairs of waterproof trousers, several long sleeved thermals, a fleece and a down jacket plus a selection of hats and gloves, I remember the hailstones in 2014 but I’m glad I didn’t need any of it, all I added was a long-sleeved top and a peaked Buff under the head-torch. The Hayfield cooled considerably as expected but the trees on the loop held onto the warmth of day and in some spots even had the sensation of a sauna going on, I’ve never felt such a change in temperature in small areas near the loch before, the sky was clear and the stars twinkled, the moon rose, it was into its last quarter but still shone brightly, through the night I regularly kept looking up to the sky and would stagger slightly as I did, dodgy I know, but you just don’t get stars like that in Fife!

Now this is sounding all hunky-dory and I was having a brilliant hoppity skippity race, well, I was, although my legs hurt and I could feel a couple of wee blisters but that’s what you expect.  At around 1.00am I yawned and that triggered some dry heaving, I never threw up and eased back a bit when it happened, mostly when I went from running to walking, a great incentive to keep running then! I managed to maintain my run/walk ratio still keeping to the markers I’d picked from the start for where to run and where to walk, keeping my breathing easy and controlled, relentlessly moving forward.   

Pauline had finished her race at midnight and was doing my support giving Val a chance for forty winks. I asked Pauline for soup next lap, it might help settle my stomach, it was the same potato and leek I thoroughly enjoyed at Beinglas during the West Highland Way Race, I had a wee request that the lumps are mashed down to make it smooth and easy for me swallow. Harrumph! It was still fairly lumpy and I let Pauline know next time round, I was making no concession that she’d just covered 58 miles in 12 hours followed by a rub down with a wet wipe to freshen up and a quick change into warm clothes before pandering to my diva demands. Lucky for me Val was back on duty before Pauline made me wear the rest of my soup.

I continued to have the dry heaves, I had some flat coke, Val suggest I try some of Pauline’s diluted ginger beer she had left, that used to be my drink of choice until my mouth got so sensitive, I should’ve kept my water and just carried the ginger beer round the lap in my hand but I made the mistake of just swapping the bottles in my bottle belt, I tried to drink as much as my mouth could handle, every in-breathe felt cooling but every out-breathe I felt like a fire-breathing dragon, as least the intensity of the burning dulled my aching legs! Boy, was I glad to get round that lap and have some lovely cool water, another incentive to keep moving!

Looking for the dawn but still shrouded in darkness you are at your lowest ebb and working towards 100 miles is hard,  I decided that next year my goal would be to reach an all-time of 200 Glenmore laps, all I would need to do would be 17, that would be nice, 68 miles over 24 hours would be a lovely day out… BUT to do that I would still have to get 25 laps today!  There was no way I was letting go, during a big ultra you have to listen to your body and at the same time tell it to shut the fuck up, I’m not particularly numerate so concentrating on working out daft sums in my head helped drown out what my body was shouting at me.

Eventually the birds started singing, the sky lightened, and with it my body woke up and pretend that it hasn’t missed a night’s sleep, half a pot of porridge and it’s a fresh new day. Yay, around 7.00am, my lap split picked up to equal that of twelve hours ago, “Good Morning Glenmore!”  I ditched the long-sleeved top as the sun rose and brought it’s warmth. I’d perked up although I was still making faces at whatever milkshake Val and Pauline were giving me, but I behaved and had a few mouthfuls each lap, my stomach still wasn’t happy but no doubt neither was anyone else's and perfectly normal for having been running for nearly a day.

I always hugged the bends on ‘the long run’ keeping to the shortest line but on my second last lap there were loud shouts ahead and a peloton of mountain bikes came haring round at speed, glad I’d kept wide, it would’ve been a bit of a bugger getting run over and resembling road-kill at this stage, I’d eased back a wee bit after my wake-up lap, no heroics were needed, I was going to make 100 miles with about half an hour to spare. Last lap, glad to get it done but a sad wee cheerio wave to all the pretty views and points I’d picked to run or walk from, “See ya next year.”

I shouted my number for the last time to Ada, pressed lap on my watch, dibbed my dobber, under the arch to celebrate the horn… no sound… Eh?... What?.... Panic! Have I miscounted?

Nah, you’re fine, the air-horn used to signal someone reaching the ton was knackered!

Relief!  If I’d been mistaken there was no time for another big lap, Pauline handed me my wee cup, it had beer in it, perfect! Now for fun and frolics on the Benny Hill lap, (Bill’s name for it) round the grass, up the hill, shout my number to Matt, run down the hill, round the grass, check my watch, up the hill, shout my number to Matt, run down the hill, round the grass, check my watch, this new battery is broken! Roughly five wee laps was a mile, every time up the hill it got steeper, but the support got louder, Cat handed me some pineapple shaped sunglasses, I’d never get them on under my peaked Buff, I propped them on my bonce, Pauline gave me some Carnegie Harrier coloured garlands, they floated over my shoulder, Lois handed me my tent peg with my race number to poke into the ground at noon, it was getting close… push up the hill, belt down, sprint round the grass, push up the hill, belt down, sprint… Yaaaay! We can stop!

There is no race finish anywhere that can match this!  I even managed to stay on my feet, just had to rest my elbows on my knees for a few moments to catch my breath, no need to collapse on the grass this year.

Celebratory hugs and a stroll back to the tent, it was lovely to sit down for the first time in 24 hours (going to the toilet doesn’t count) I was in that post race phase of not sure what to do with myself, I was roasting, I put on a fresh t-shirt, I was chilly, where’s a thermal, can I have a cup of tea please, which took me ages to drink. Allan had brought his bike up on the bus to Aviemore this morning and cycled out, it was great to have  him here to help dismantle our home for the weekend because I just sat there, still having an occasional boak.

We took our chairs over for the prize-giving, I was so pleased for Jo and Iona, pacing it perfectly in their first 24 hour race for their podium places, the conditions this year were one of the best we’ve had, which I’m sure help 38 out of 120 runners made it to the 100 miles. I even squeezed in about half a mile further than last year, finishing with 102.61 miles and this I’m only doing 17 laps next year is just rubbish 4.00am talk, as long as I’m alive, hale and hearty I’ll be going for the 25!

Team Carnegie - photo from Allan Macaulay

The 100 Club - photo Allan Macaulay

My dobber splits 

Glenmore 24 means so much to me, the cherished memories and support I’ve had over the years, not just in 2013, have grown richer every year, this is no ordinary four mile loop, as beautiful as it is, the effort put in from team BaM, their volunteers and runners make it what it is.

A magical event whether you’re an elite athlete or new to ultra, if you are willing to test yourself over 12 or 24 hours you will find the best support for whatever goal you want to set yourself, you’ll never know what you can do until you try, magic definitely happens at Glenmore.

My Glenmore stats.

2011 - 108 miles, stopping at 23.46.49 hours, (no wee laps in the first year)

2012 - 109.01 miles (also 1st Lady),

2013 - 25.45 miles in a 6 hours special just for me after my cancer treatment,

2014 - 89.56 miles

2015 - 107.35 miles

2016 - 103.26 miles

2017 - 102.04 miles

2018 - 102.61 miles

183 big laps, quite a few wee laps and a total of 746.28 miles

West Highland Way Race 2018

My running has gone well from January, when I start to look towards the race, I haven’t run to a training plan in years but have enjoyed using a few races for my long runs, the Falkirk 8 hour Ultra, Loch Katrine Marathon, Keilder 50km, the Highland Fling and six days after the Fling I covered over 50 miles with a weekend of no sleep supporting Alistair Macpherson doing his 10 Island Challenge on the Western Isles starting in Vattersay and finishing on Skye. Although there was no running involved in being part of the race team for the Skye Trail Ultra at the end of May, a 5.30am alarm on the Friday morning and no sleep until Sunday night coinciding with my first weekend without caffeine was excellent sleep deprivation training.   

I dropped my gear off with Ken on Thursday night so he could pack the car at his leisure. I spent Friday just quietly pottering and snoozing.  Ken, Sue and Pauline picked me up at 9.30pm and we made our way to Milngavie, driving over the Kincardine Bridge the sky was gorgeous and promised good weather over the weekend.

At registration, between a million hugs I picked up my wristband, goodies and got weighed. Back at the car I decided the timing chip was going to bug me, a big flat square thing on an elastic wrist band around the size of a coaster! Well, maybe a slight exaggeration but on my scrawny wrist if felt that big!  Luckily it had a hole in it and I had a cord to thread through it so I wore it round my neck tucked in my vest.

For the first time ever in the history of Sean’s safety briefing he said that there wasn’t going to be weather! Just before the start I had a wee panic, Wilson and I were going to run together to begin with but I’d lost him, I jumped up onto a bench scanning everyone moving forward into position, “Ah, there you are!” Relief, we moved into the throng, so many runners and so much excitement, I love this moment, there are no guarantees of reaching Fort William but we all have the privilege of starting no matter how the adventure will unfold.

 

Before the 1.00am start there was a minutes silence for Don Ritchie, I smiled cherishing a memory of spending an evening in a Dublin pub with him after an Anglo-Celtic Plate. The hooter sounded, I let out a “WOOHOO!” hugged Wilson and we were off.  “Wilson! Get back here!” He was on a mission but I wasn’t going to let his emotion jeopordise a sensible start. Up through Milngavie High Street lined with support, high fives, camera flashes, cheers and shouts feels so mad at 1.00am in the morning and I giggle along it! So different for my first race in 2003, eerily quiet with just around seventy runners and the “crowd” was a bemused half dozen of merry locals heading home from a night out.

Into Mugdock, head torch on and watch where I put my feet, a bit of subdued chatter as we attempt to settle in, a perfect night, the moon was out, a clear night and never completely dark. Loved to see the bats again along the road from Gartness, I feel it’s a good omen. Wilson and I parted company when I stopped for a pee just before the big gate in Garadhban, he was moving strongly and settled. I was watching for the sun rising as I climbed Conic but with light cloud the sun didn’t split the sky, it just gently got brighter.

On the wooden steps heading down to Balmaha I phoned my crew to get the kettle on.  A hug for big Davie once I’ve dibbed my dobber at the checkpoint Pauline led me to where they were parked, not without a bit of palaver for them, when they first arrived it was full and they couldn’t get parked, so they drove off towards Rowardennan to find a safe place to wait until the car park emptied a bit, it meant they didn’t get as long to rest before I arrived and even worse, they didn’t want to risk getting their bacon rolls from the Oak Tree until after I’d gone through! At least they didn’t have to wait too long for their breakfast since I don’t faff at checkpoints, I walked through with my pot of porridge, Pauline carrying my mug of tea until I was ready for it.

photo from Sue Walker

I always love the section up to Rowardennan, listening out for cuckoos in the woods, along wee bits of beach and up the short steep climbs in the woods, this year I had Norma and Stuart for company along a fair bit of it.

At Rowardennan, my feet were feeling fine but I had a pre-emptive sock change, Pauline and Sue are faster than Formula One with wet wipes, Body Glide and fresh socks as I sat and ate a rice pudding,

photo from Sue Walker

I changed my 200ml water bottle to a 300ml one, since I won’t see my crew again until Beinglas, picked up my sunglasses, a wee skoosh of Skin-so-soft, the midges were out but not the worst I’ve seen, and I was on my way. I love the low road, it’s a proper enchanted wood, one of the marker posts is so ancient it’s covered in lichen and there’s only a suggestion of a white thistle which leads you up towards the narrow path with a hint of the technical section to warm you up for the scrambly bits after Inversaid, I just ease myself along, gently on the swoops down to the edge of the loch, steady on the climbs, carefully over tree roots and boulders, not stressing the pace just going with the flow, the path was really dry and easy to skip along (in my mind not for real) I remember how different it was in 2012 where Sue, Jonathan and I stayed together to see each other safely over the torrents of water hurtling down off the hill. At Inversnaid I pick up my drop-bag, I stood briefly but only long enough to down a chocolate Yazoo, so I could bin the empty bottle, I didn’t have much room to carry it after I stashed away a custard and a wee bottle of flat coke into the front pocket of my bag.

Apart from seeing a couple of runners just after leaving Inversnaid I was on my own for the technical section, I revelled in it being all mine, taking my own easy pace, no pressure to keep up with someone or feel I had to move over if I was holding anyone back. I’m not really greedy or anti-social but it was a pleasure having it all to myself.

When the ladder first came into my view I could see a runner sitting at the top, as I approached it he was still there, I climbed and asked if he was okay, he answered he was fine, but I wasn’t just accepting his polite reply and cringed at myself as I asked “Are you sure?” like I was his Mum. He did convince me he was just having a wee breather and I was glad to see him catch me up a few minutes later.

I always have a wee cheer to myself when I hit the flat grassy bit and ease my running legs back into action after their breather on the clambering. I looked forward to pausing at Dario’s post, and that thought pulls me on, the path is fairly runnable with some steady climbs and I catch up with Dave, it’s the first time I’ve see him during the race, I was having a really good spell, Dave was moving fine but a wee bit slower so I went by but not without a wee cheeky parting shot. “Keep up, I’ve got a 15 year old Glenfiddich!”  Dave wasn’t far behind me reaching Dario’s post and my wee hip-flask was passed around, glad to see around half a dozen take a moment in such a beautiful spot, even if they didn’t know Dario.

It isn’t far to the checkpoint at Beinglas from Dario’s post, it’s level with the pylons but they seem to take a while before they get closer, down through the trees, wary of roots, one thing I’ve noticed this year, the foxgloves are in abundance and blooming all over.

Just as I reached Beinglas Farm Ellen shouts “You are looking fresh!”  I laughed, 42 miles in I’ll take that, whether it’s true or not. “You’re just having a great day out!” she continues,  I certainly was, smiling from ear to ear even, how could I not be, the sun was out and I running my favourite race in the company of my family. I dibbed my dobber in the timing doofer and carried on walking out the checkpoint with a big mug of leek and potato soup, Pauline came with me to take the mug when I finished and give me updates on how everyone else was doing. What stars my crew are, they even pandered to my diva demand of mashing the lumps to make it easier for me to eat. I fair enjoyed the savoury after the milkshakes, rice pudding and custards. It was just after midday, the warm sun on my back, the open path towards Derrydarroch in front, and with a happy tummy full of Mrs Baxter’s finest I wasn’t going to push it, just keep a comfortable easy pace tootling along while the sun was at its highest and my soup digested.  

I giggled at the health and safety with the bubble wrap on the entrance to the Crack yer heid tunnel, it’s not the on the way in it gets you, it’s the way out you’ve to watch, but lucky for me I’ve always managed not to dunt my bonce!

Climbing the steep path after going through the tunnel under the A82, all of a sudden I felt quite weary, my legs didn’t feel the strength in them that I thought they should, hands on thighs I made my way up, after such a good spell, it was only natural to have a dip and mid-race wobble, I’m not quite halfway yet, I cannae be so tired!  Not to worry, I’ll soon be pulling it in, and the swoops and climbs of the rollercoaster will take my mind off how I felt. I was not amused having to wait ages to cross the road over to Auchtertyre, there were some guys on bikes waiting on the other side to cross too, one shouted over “At least you’re getting a rest!” I was polite and smiled but I HATE standing still, I may never go fast but I never stop either! I was looking daggers at the cars and muttering under my breath.

Finally I crossed over and keep it going round to the checkpoint, I was weighed and dropped 0.8 of a kilo, that’s fine I didn’t expect to change much. My crew had my macaroni cheese ready and a beer shandy made with Belhaven Best, far better than any sports drink. Pauline walked with me with my grub and beer but I still felt a bit full from my soup and probably the heat so I just had half and handed it back, it isn’t far to Tyndrum I’ll finish it there.

Tyndrum is where I feel if I reach there then I’ve cracked it, it’s over half way and Sue and Gillian were joining me. I’m happy with my own company but it’s a boost to get a blether and I’ll have pals all the way to the finish from here.

It was the back of 6.00pm when I arrived in Bridge of Orchy, Sue had scampered off with a wee change from my Diva Demands sheet, on my plan I was just going to have paracetamol at Kinlochleven whether I needed it or not but I had a wee niggle in the top of my right foot, it had been hurting since Drymen (12 miles) and was now jarring every step, so along with my first coffee in a month a couple of paracetamol would help take the edge off. As I was having a sock change I decided to put my thick tights on over my Skins and another long-sleeved top, it was cooling down, Rannoch Moor is wide open and can be breezy, (last year the wind took me off my feet)  I’d rather not wait until I was cold before faffing with clothes, it also meant I could sit down for my rice pudding as my crew hauled my breeks up my legs and do my socks, (Yep, I do Diva to the max)

Pauline was coming with me to Glencoe, it’s been ages since she’d done Rannoch Moor or seen Murdo and Peter on Jelly Baby Hill, we were blethering for ages before Murdo said, “Off you go, you’ve a race to run!”

Rannoch Moor gently climbs for quite a bit, we just plodded on, run a bit, walk a bit, I was wearying but only to be expected for being nearly seventy miles in, “I’m fed up climbing can I go down now please? Where is this Fleming Cairn? Bugger! It’s a wee dot in the distance! At least I can see it now!” I was speaking in jest, but as the saying goes. Never a truer word…  Yay, finally level with the cairn, I could head downwards to Glencoe. Kingshouse used to be the checkpoint, I don’t really mind the wee detour to the big car-park at the Glencoe ski centre, it’s perfect for a checkpoint it’s just the half-arsed excuse of a path-not a path-just a pile of rubble leading you towards the Ski Centre that irritates me, that and the steep slope of the car park, I’m not climbing anything I don’t have to, I dib my dobber turn on my heels and headed down the road, Ken is ready to go with me with my chicken soup, I giggled a wee bit to myself when told a sprint was needed to bring me my Yazoo milkshake and blue fleece, I must be moving well then! I thought.

Heading towards Altnafeadh I took my time with my soup, it was in a thermal mug so no need to rush it, in previous years I’ve shovelled in pasta or mashed tatties a bit too quickly then felt queasy.  Looking up to the top of the Devil’s Staircase it was shrouded in a wee bit of mist, I’ll put on my jacket as well as my fleece (wearing the blue fleece over the Devil’s Staircase has been one of my traditions since 2007) It must’ve been the back of 11.00pm heading up and Sean was right, there was no weather, I was roasting, the jacket came off and I pushed my sleeves up!  At the top Ken and I needed our head torches, he also had a hand torch, it’s not easy to find the best line over the rough path in the dark and an extra torch helps.

We made steady progress down into Kinlochleven, I was hugged and weighed by Julie, I remained exactly the same weight as Auchtertyre, I decided to deviate from the plan and change into road shoes for a bit of cushioning on Lairig Mor, my feet were feeling the dry hard path, the left one especially, I was trying not to favour my sore right one but I think I was letting the left do all the work, I sat down for a pot of porridge and let Pauline and Sue do my feet, I asked if there was a blister on the ball of my left foot, it felt quite hot, Pauline dismissed my query “Pfft, there’s nothing there!” and flossed between my toes with a wet wipe. Squirm-shudder-squeal.  I hate when she does that, she knows it and does it some more! (She’s a good fibber too, admitting after the race that there was a blister and didn’t mind making me feel like a drama queen!) Ok then, I’ll just straighten my crown and leave with my entourage!

Pauline, Sue and Gillian and I climbed the long slog out of Kinlochleven, my road shoes felt a bit snug to start with but my feet soon settled down, at the top we pause to look back and see torches at the top on the other side start to head down, it’s a tough section down to and out of Kinlochleven, I wished them well.  

We moved on and could see the lights of Jeff’s wee oasis in the distance, by the time we got there is was getting light for the second time in the race, Jeff had quite a selection of fizzy juice and sweeties but then he produced a miniature of an 18 year old Glenfiddich, well, it would be rude not to, he poured us a teeny wee dram each, just a celebratory sip, enough to raise a smile as well as spirits. (No pun intended)

photo from Jeff Smith

Lairig Mor is never easy, I might not be covering it at a great rate of knots but running in celebration of being alive and healthy surpasses any fatigue, pain or discomfort I have and with great company we pull it in, Lundavra takes ages to come into view, my stomach is not so happy but I manage some Cup-a-Soup as I go through, Pauline asked why I didn’t stop at the photo booth, “Eh? What photo booth? I’m so sorry guys how did I miss that!”  My eyes must have just been focussed on the path and putting one foot in front of the other, my legs are moving well and Fort William gets closer every step.

I laughed when Val appeared “Where have you been? I’ve had to come all the way up the fire road, down that steep path and all the way up this hill!”  Brilliant! Nobody needs a pal that asks how you’re doing ninety miles in. Sorry Val, I’ll try and go a bit quicker next time!

Down the long road into Braveheart car park the girls are behind me and don’t see the emotion crumple my face, this is my fourteenth West Highland Way and it has never stopped being special, Ken is waiting in the car park until we’re through.

The final mile, my body is ready to stop, my heart and soul are soaring, an overwhelming combination to fuel me to the Leisure Centre. Into the car park, the race has evolved and the finish has changed, it's now a big inflatable arch, Adrian standing by holding up the timing doofer, but during my chemo and radiotherapy in 2013 the mental image of slapping my hands on Leisure Centre helped keep my head up, and for me, I can not register my finish until I have touched the door, up the steps and symbolically place my hands on the glass. Adrian has followed me up the steps, I hauled the timing chip from my vest and finally registered my finish in 31 hours, 20 odd minutes and something or other seconds.  

I love that running is so adaptable to each and everyone of us whether your goal is to push your body to destruction in pursuit of a best time and position possible or in memory and celebration of a loved one or just having the health to revel in the beauty of our surroundings. The West Highland Way Race is the most perfect and tough challenge you can choose to do all of these. The selfless support of the race family from Ian and race committee, marshals, support crews and checkpoint venues make magic happen, the prize giving is the pinnacle of all the hard work and those that go home with a goblet are privileged to have the chance to realise dreams.

Just saying thank you doesn’t cover it, but I hope you get the gist of my gratitude from this photo.

Ok. I'm showing off now but this lot with the support of my West Highland Way family has helped shape my character and give me strength to face stuff harder than any race, I'm so proud to be a part of this very special family.