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Andy Mouncey's Blog

Aug 17, 2010 Top Tips For Ultras

Andy Mouncey's Blog

In the aftermath of the Lakeland 100 a friend of mine collared me: 'Go on then Andy - off the top of your head: Top Ten Tips for this ultra running thing.'

So off the top of my head with a little tidying up, here it is...

1. Remember - it's never the distance on it's own which will kill you.

2. Learn to love your feet. 

Cut nails straight across and file smooth, file down callouses, and keep the skin flexible. 

Preventative care beats emergency action every time!

3. Sort out which bits chafe on what combination of gear at a particular level of effort in different weathers - if not, it will seriously ruin your day. 

The only way to do that? Experiment.

4. Don't believe the hype 1: Just because it says '3 gels an hour' doesn't mean you'll need 'em. 

Remember who wrote that: That's right - the gel manufacturers.

5. Travel light: Just because you have a big shiny new rucksack doesn't mean you have to fill it with gear. 

(And it's very easy to because, boy, is there lots of lovely gear to choose from these days). 

Switch to a bumbag and hand-held bottle for that light, speedy feeling.

6. Give back, feel good. 

A great way to get your mind off your stuff is to hook up with someone alittle slower / newer than you and help 'em through the race or through a section.

7. The 'faff' factor. Pack your kit so you can reach the stuff you need to reach when you need to reach it. 

Supplementary pouches, pockets, loops are all great. Sort out which bits flap and fix 'em. 

Little irritants become big downers very quickly over the long stuff - and you'll need all of your sense of humour!

8. Don't believe the hype 2. Everyone on a start line has either not trained enough, injured, or is just planning to 'take it easy'. And if you believe that...

9. Never assume the person in front of you knows where they are going. 

Take responsibility for getting the route notes in a format that makes it easy for you to use. 

And if that means copying, highlighting, reducing / enlarging and laminating in the days before the race, then do it.

10. It's absolutely OK to not run at all for the last 10 days before a 100 mile race after spraining your ankle ligaments during your final key training session. Believe me, I know.

Aug 11, 2010:Images from Lakeland 100

Andy Mouncey's Blog

Trying my game face on waiting to start.

85 miles to the good and coming into Ambleside 

Catching up with Family Mouncey at Ambleside checkpoint: Charlotte, Joe, Tom, Daddy

'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, you're back!' About to drop my composure just before the finish

That's right: Bending & carrying after 104 miles - reunited and it feels so good!

What do you mean there's another lap? It's all over - really.

Aug 7, 2010 Lakeland Lessons

Andy Mouncey's Blog

Two weeks on and a certain perspective has settled, the feet have healed more or less, and I even survived my first 'pacey' session yesterday. A combination of analysis and reflection has thrown up the following nuggets so far:

1. Despite taking 3.5 hours off my 2008 time, I ran the 3/4 bit (around 65-80 miles) at almost the exact speed as 2008. And there's me thinking this section felt faster!

So much food for thought here on the benefits and discipline of using a watch - I didn't and don't as a rule - and making tactical decisions based on splits and time gaps. This is the difference between competing with myself and competing with others for the duration of the race - and getting to a conditioning level where I can go faster in the final third if I need to raise the pace / respond to a threat. If so, how to reconcile this with 'but the second half is just about who slows down the least...'? Hmm...more work on this one, methinks.

2. Despite saving huge chunks of time through the checkpoints by fuelling more on the move, I still lost sizeable chunks to winner Stuart on the 3 main checkpoints I did elect to stop at. Clearly there is more time to be had here - especially at the drop bag station at Dalemain at 59 miles - did it take me an age to get going again after this!

3. Got my fuelling nailed much better than previously, but still consumed far less in the final quarter than I planned / expected to. So how much did this affect performance? 'Cos I thought my energy levels felt fine, it was just my legs which were struggling to keep up...

4. Drank too much over the final third - urination at a ridiculous frequency - or is it just the rain which makes me want to pee? Is this normal, I ask, slightly bemused?

5. Even more downhill bombproofing needed for the final third. The climbs and flats were better, but I was not exactly breaking speed records coming down stuff - and gravity does indeed suck, dude - there's free speed to be had here!

6. How much did going out at record pace in the first quarter affect my race for the remainder? I mean, it all felt comfortable and I did relax and recharge during the first part of the night section, but...' Guess it's one of those 'never know till you try' ones.

7. I reckon my condition peaked towards to end of June - which begs the question what happened during the final 4-5 weeks? OK, so the final 10 days were completely compromised due to ankle injury, but even so...I put in an 11 week specific prep period and in that time I averaged just under 12 hours a week. That was all running except for 2-3 sessions a week bodyweight conditioning and plyometric exercises which took 30-90 minutes total a week. Which means from a good platform I can get in shape in around 6-7 weeks. The challenge then is to breakthrough that and continue to build as opposed to maintain.

8. R.I.C.E. works. It really really works! If you can get the first treatment in quickly after a soft tissue injury, and you are diligent about the rehab homework in the first 48 hours, then you can come back in a very short time from what can seem like a terminal encounter. I am AMAZED I was on that start line and equally STUNNED that my ankle survived the whole gig. Yes, it was all abit sore and stiff the week after - but heck, so were most things!

9. Recce time is big money in the bank and means more energy to put into the task of relentless forward motion - as opposed to worrying where you are.

10. Bottom line? Lotsa things went right. I was faster. I was emotionally and mentally strong throughout. It never felt like such a long way this time. Which begs the question: What does it take to go even faster - and do I want to find out??

July 30, 2010 The Lakeland 100: Finished Business

Andy Mouncey's Blog

It’s A Taper, Jim – But Not As You Know It

‘Well, Mr Mouncey, the good news is that it’s not broken.’

My entire being deflates about 3 sizes as every orifice that can exhales air.

Except I already know the bad news:

With 10 days to go to the start of the L100 I am sat in a wheel chair outside the X-ray department of Kendal A & E wearing a grimace and a with right ankle the size of a small football courtesy of badly sprained ligaments.

I’ve been out on my final big training run on the western part of the course when my foot just rolled from under me while coming off a rocky descent to send me crashing.

I lay there stunned for a few seconds before the pain came – convinced something was broken.

I was in the middle of nowhere and the only way I was getting back to my car was through my own efforts. So with much swearing and lurching I tried a few experimental steps, and to my amazement was eventually able to get moving again – as long as I kept the foot in a straight line everything seemed more or less OK.

Reassured, I continued and put in the planned two hours intervals and sat in the river when I got back to the car feeling very righteous.

Well, if it's going to flare it'll be after 1.5 hours sitting on my arse in the car...

And so it proved.

I drove straight to my physio folks at The Body Rehab in Staveley, but by the time I got there I was in serious pain and rapidly becoming a danger to myself and other road users.

Tipping myself out of the car I dragged myself through the doorway and a short time later was sitting with my right foot strapped into a cryo-boot doing a very poor impression of a grown man in control.

I could see 3 months dedicated prep going right down the tubes.

The gods however, had other ideas, and had sent me an angel called Roxy.

‘I’m 99% certain it’s an inversion sprain, she said.‘But it’s so swollen I can’t be completely sure – it’s off for an X –ray for you, young man…’

So followed 48 hours of intensive R.I.C.E. rehab, then more work, then a half hour test jog with 4 days to go.

‘I can’t believe it,’ I reported to Roxy, ‘That all felt fine…what the heck did you do?’

The angel smiled. ‘We started treatment only 5 hours after the injury – early intervention makes such a difference – and you have been a very good boy with your homework…’

I get home and practically skip through the door.

Charlotte my wife raises a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Well, am I packing my tent, or what?’

‘Well, there is some more rehab to do…’ I’m grinning like an idiot, ‘but we’re on!’

Making The Complex Simple

The day after the race Family Mouncey are relaxing at Coniston race HQ with my great friend Geoff who ran the ’50. We’re catching up for the first time and comparing notes.

‘Completely consistent – no low points at all. I’m mean, the legs got increasingly trashed to the point where I sat in the river just before the Chapel Stile check…but other than that, mentally and emotionally I felt fine the whole way.’

What Went On In That Head Of Yours Then?

‘Ah, that’s easy - three words: Relax. Light. Smooth, and I thought about my family a lot – Charlotte and our two small boys – so lotsa happy faces there.’

‘God, no. ‘Switched in and out. Really relaxed during the night section. Adam (Perry) and I who I was running with did the ‘torch off, have an ‘ooo’ moment at the moon above Briathwaite, for instance. Lots of moments like that.’

It looked like you held second pretty much the whole way round – that looked like a pretty consistent effort.

‘Not quite. There was some chopping and changing in the early stages, and Duncan (Harris) got away on the Braithwaite section – didn’t catch him again till halfway.

I ran this race completely differently to my other 100’s.

At this race 2008 I walked the first mile, and at Western States in 2004 I walked the first two!

This time I ran from the front ‘cos my primary goal for the race was getting answers to three questions:

What does it take to run at the front?

Do you have what it takes – and are you willing to make the commitment to find out?

So I was prepared to run hard to Wasdale – and I did: ‘Ran the whole way and go out on record pace to get time and distance – especially as the other advantage I have is that I know where I’m going.

I was also prepared to blow up – ‘cos that would’ve still given me an answer.

I didn’t think I would – but even if I did I also figured I could relax and regroup through the night.

I looked at it like this: Everyone slows down over this distance – the issue is who slows down the least.

Out of sight really is out of mind - I just figured my ‘slow’ might still be good enough.

Unfortunately for me, Stuart (Mills) had exactly this strategy and did it better than I did!’

So that, really, was my race. No drama, no screaming and crying or flaying of undercarriage like 2008.

Solid, deliberate, thought-through.

Remarkably, as I said to Charlotte a few days later, this time it didn’t even seem like such a long way. Now that is quite an adjustment.

I am however, all too well aware that a few short paragraphs don’t really cut it from a race report perspective. Y’all want ‘em coloured in don’t you? Alright then, here it is…

Off The Front

So exactly what pace do you run the first 200 yards of a 100 mile race?

No-one except eventually winner Stuart Mills seems to know.

The race is thirty seconds old and already Stuart is out of sight having shot of the front from the start. For those who know him it’s a tried and tested Mills tactic. Sometimes it works, and sometimes...

Well, he’s either going to come back or he’s not, I decide – no way am I following that!

I am however, going to do my thing which is to get moving in these first 20 miles or so, and as I don’t especially want to run with anyone, I fix my gaze to the front and get on with it.

The first little descent gives me a clue – I’m faster than the two guys who have come past me on the climb out of Coniston – and once again I have my desired personal space and a periodic glimpse of Stuart as we head up the Walna Scar Road to the high point of the stage. I’m caught again before the top and this time joined by a new face. I recognise Duncan Harris (Fellsman winner) and we share a quick mutual appreciation of the glorious evening sunshine. 

I redress the balance once again on the long descent down to the Seathwaite valley, but not before Duncan takes an almighty tumble infront of me – I mean, wipe out big style! I stop and check as he makes reassuring noises…but you really don’t need a fall of that magnitude this early into this race. No matter, gravity tugs and I follow her lead. It feels awful fast and part of me flashes a warning light or two, but I figure that’s just the girlie cautious part and key the manual over-ride.

Straight in and out of the first checkpoint stopping only to ‘dib’ and a bottle refill and into the woods around Wallbarrow at the head of the Dunnerdale valley. I’m dialled right in now and though I’m not wearing a watch, (and will not ask for time gaps till Ambleside) I know I’m on target pace which will mean 75 minutes to Boot. Relax. Light. Smooth.

I relax into the steep climb running easily through the rocks keeping half an ear open to voices and gate noises behind.

The action's ahead of you, Mounce...

I dance through the bogs and the rocky sections round the base of Harter fell with a confidence which comes with multiple recces.

A whispered ‘thankyou’ takes me successfully past the site of my fall 10 days ago and I belatedly realise that there’s been not a twinge from the ankle. Wow – maybe it really is gonna be OK…

Before long I’m cruising into Boot to the cheers of a handful of well-wishers outside the pubs. (I don’t know it at the time, but I’m only two minutes down on my estimation. What I do know is everything’s in the green and I’m grinning like an idiot. Having a good time? You betcha).

Another fast pit-stop at checkpoint 2 and onto the gradual climb out heading NE to Burnmoor Tarn above Wasdale. Still running everything I clock voices behind me for the first time as we clear the tree-line and head onto the open fell. Ah, so there you are…

I spot a figure ahead and assume it’s Stuart

Fleeting delight turns sour as I close the distance and realise it’s a lone walker. Stuart has well and truly gone – already 8 minutes ahead by the Boot checkpoint.

A couple of miles later Duncan and Adam Perry get their chance to move ahead as I pull over for a pit-stop with miles of open moor for cover.

An apologetic ‘Sorry!’ greets them as they run past: At least I’ve remembered to squat in the ‘cheeks away’ position.

Once again I hook up with gravity and run fast to catch them before the final road section into Wasdale Head. Introductions all round.

‘Sorry about the full moon back there,’ I say.

I find out later Duncan is surprised I’m back with ‘em so soon.

‘I thought that would give you much more problems,’ he admits as we compare notes afterwards.

Nah, just a bowel movement. Sorry, fella.

We beat the checkpoint crew to the checkpoint.

Biting down the spike of frustration we get on with the job of being in and out of there sharpish and turn our faces to the first big climb up Black Sail pass.

Duncan forges ahead but by the time we’re down the other side at the youth hostel we’re back together.

A jog and power-hike up Scarth Gap and we’re on the rocky drop to Buttermere.

Dance, man...

Relaxing & Recharging

Before long Adam and I are running easily along the western shore of a tranquil lake with Duncan some yards behind.

For the first time in 25 miles I can feel myself relaxing with the aggression-driven battle-grin being replaced with something much more serine.

As Adam and I do the ‘commune with nature’ piece I realise I am almost blissfully happy with where I am right now: At the front end of the race, running easily in the twilight along a beautiful silent lakeside with only our footfalls for company.

Getting here before full darkness has been a real bonus, and while the next section has a couple of tricky nav sections in, I am 100% confident can nail ‘em first time.

I still haven’t used my map or route notes – something I will continue throughout the race.

So I spend a few self-indulgent minutes putting big ticks against a few boxes.

I dally alittle too long at the checkpoint, breaking my rule about no food stops till 30, 55, and 70 miles, but the chicken soup proves a draw too much – or I’m still away with the cosmic fairies…

This allows Duncan to catch us and be gone ahead of us into the darkness.

I’ll see his headtorch twice more, but will only catch him again just before halfway.

I’m still not completely sure whether it’s because I relaxed or Stuart and Duncan pushed on, but I see later that over the next two sections Stuart puts close on 20 minutes into me.

That’s for later. For now, I’m a very happy boy moving at my own pace through the darkened fellside as Adam and I thread our way through the bracken NE to Braithwaite.

I separate myself from Adam as we drop into the village, and one rushed bowl of pasta and rice pudding later he still hasn’t appeared at the checkpoint. I spot a headtorch circling as I head onto the Keswick road.

‘Adam! Over here!’ I can almost hear his sigh of relief. ‘See you on the next section, fella.’

I spot his torchlight catching up as I climb through the switchbacks around Latrigg.

Relax. Light. Smooth.

It’s still coming easily and I’m still scoring 11 on the Happy Scale.

Then on the dogleg around Lonscale fell and Blencathra something strange happens.

I’m not looking but I swear I can feel Adam behind me.

‘Wont be long now, I think,’ he’s done well to catch up…’

Then nothing.

I get a chance to check for torchlight as I double back on the run-in to Threkeld, but again, nothing.

Next time I see Adam it’s at Coniston on Saturday evening.

‘I just blew big style,’ he told me, ‘had to lie down on the track. ‘Managed to get to the checkpoint at Blencathra Centre, got some food down me, but had to go to sleep again. Then as there was nothing there I decided I had to get to Dalemain – so that’s what I did – walked the next two legs.’ He paused while we all took this in.

‘I’m a bit pissed off, ‘he said, ‘Cos now I really will have to race in two weeks time at Bradwell!’

That’s all later. For now all I know it’s back to me and my favoured personal space.

Making Ground

Something new happens over the next 28km as we head into daybreak and the ‘halfway’ point (actually 59 miles) at Dalemain on the north shore of Ullswater: I make time on Stuart. It’s not huge and I’m still oblivious to relative progress being ‘split-free’ but I learn later it’s enough to cause a few  ‘oos’ and ‘ahs’ among the watching community as the live feeds come into race HQ.

What I do know is that everything’s still working, and despite slowing over the final section I’m still moving along at a reasonable clip.

I get a massive boost as I spot Duncan for the first time through the trees with about 3km to go to the checkpoint. I get another injection as I can see he’s looking behind him.

So I close to a couple of hundred yards then I sit there.

He solves the ‘how / when do I pass him?’ question by diving into the toilet just before the checkpoint proper.

(He tells me later he was feeling so rough that when he got through the checkpoint he crashed out on a bench somewhere in Pooley Bridge and really struggled through the next section. But he picked up something strong in the later stages and had closed a sizeable gap at 60 miles down to 20 minutes at the finish).

The problem is that I’ve stopped way too long at Dalemain and it takes me an age to get going again. It’s real exercise in patience and belief, and I’m talking to myself almost constantly on the couple of miles between Dalemain and Pooley Bridge.

I remember flying through this section in training imagining how revitalised I’d feel starting the final 40 miles.

Well, while my faculties are all there and firing, my trusty legs are somewhere else.

I do eventually get going again heading down the eastern shore of the lake, but someone somewhere has registered that I’ve lost what feels like oceans of time on what should be a simple section.

Relax, fella - your slow is still good...

Let’s hope so.

I vaguely remember someone telling me Stuart was about half an hour ahead at Dalemain, but I really wasn’t listening so I’m not sure how accurate that was.

I do know, however, that he’s not stopping for food – so whether it was half an hour or not, he’ll be a damn sight further ahead by now.

Unless he’s blown.

A business-like stop at Howtown and I set my face to climb up Fusedale Beck to the high point of the entire route at 655m with High Street off to the right.

This was where my world fell apart two years ago in driving rain, so I smile as I recognise that at least one thing will be different.

I climb strongly and get my lines nailed through thick bracken as I descend to the western shore of Haweswater.

And while I don’t know it at the time, I make up my biggest chunk of time on Stuart and grab back all the time I lost between Dalemain and Howtown.

By the check at Mardale Head at 75 miles the gap is the shortest it’s been since Braithwaite at 34 miles.

Back at race HQ the bets are being frantically re-made: Is this the start of a charge for the lead?

In a word: No.

This is as close as I’ll get.

Reality Strikes

Stuart puts an hour into me over the final quarter as my legs become progressively less able to cash the cheques my brain is writing for them.

I’m still able to power-hike up the steep stuff and hold it together on the flats, but to my dismay I’m getting less and less able to run the descents.

My ankle is starting to give me the finger on the wobbly sections and a combination of recent heavy rain and footpath repair work has given us all big horrible loose small rocks and big stones to travel over.

Throw in some wet stuff from the rain which has now set in and we’ve got one of the most user-unfriendly final 25 miles to cover.

And it’s the same for everyone, Mounce, so shut the **** up and get moving. Remember, your ‘slow’ will still be fast enough…

Fast enough to hold second place, but I can feel my hoped-for 24 hours slip away.

By the time I hit Ambleside with 16 miles to go I know I’ve got a near-impossible task on my hands to hang onto a ’24 time.

‘How far ahead?’ I ask.

‘About 45 minutes’, they tell me. ‘But he looked way worse and he walked out of here.’

That draws a snort: ‘Listen, I’LL be walking out of here!’

A sip of soup.

’45 minutes…someone’s gonna have to shoot him, then.’

Right then and there I consign all thoughts of a chase over this final section to the bin and turn back to paying attention to the internal indicators.

The world is a delightfully simple place when you’re 3 years old, and my emotional turbo-charge has been to meet the other members of Family Mouncey.

So while Tom races round the shop, I have time for a final hug with Charlotte and baby Joe.

‘You look great, babe!’ Her eyes are shining.

You just can’t bottle it – so after tackling our racing toddler for a goodbye, I head out for what I regard as the final section.

And while it all feels slow I also know it’s faster than two years ago, and that’ll do, thanks very much.

I have a blissful beef stew moment at Chapel Stile and pause just to ‘dib’ at the last check.

‘Sorry, gotta get on with it, ‘ I apologise to the crew.

There’s nearly 1000’ to climb over this last 4 miles or so and there’s no time like the present. I allow myself my first look behind as I drop through the mines above Coniston just to make sure…then it’s a very quiet jog through the rain back to where it all started one brief day earlier.

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy – you’re back!’

Tom cannons into me and I momentarily drop my composure all over the road.

I scoop him - and it – up, registering that it’s my first real fumble in a day that has given me so much.

And yeah, I’ll take it all, thanks.

Some Stats:

Total race distance: 104 miles / 6971m climbing & descending.

Andy finished 2^nd in 25 hours 37 minutes

Total starters 123 / Total finishers 70

Links

Results & photos www.lakeland100.com

More photos www.sportsunday.co.uk

More reports www.runfurther.com

June 3: So You Wanna Know What A Fellrace Looks Like?

Andy Mouncey's Blog

Big thanks to Richard at Settle Harriers for this clip of the Coniston Gullies Fellrace. 

About 10 minutes of big uppie-downie thanks to some bloke who ran it with a camcorder in hand...

http://forum.fellrunner.org.uk/showthread.php?11620-Coniston-Gullies-race-vid...

June 2: Intro To Ultra-Running: First Training Camp, Lake District May 19-23

Andy Mouncey's Blog

ALPINE-OASIS HOSTS OPENING TRAINING CAMP, KESWICK

‘This is quite possibly the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.’

I smile because that is quite some accolade from our well-travelled London-based Australian lawyer…but then this part of the western Lakeland fells is always something special.

We’re driving the final couple of miles to along the valley to Wasdale Head.

Alongside us Wastwater shimmers in the evening light providing a near perfect mirror for the surrounding peaks. Ahead of us the highest mountains in England rear up to form a magnificent amphitheatre through which we will pass at the start of our overnight run. It’s been a gorgeous sunny day and the night promises to be clear and fine as well.

So cautioning driver Annie to please keep her eyes on the road, the rest of us all do the silent staring bit. Wow oh wow…

Tonight my task is to guide our two clients Jennie and Belinda 40km or so through the Lakeland fells taking a line NE to Keswick then back to our base at Threlkeld.

If we’re still feeling frisky there’s then an option to hop over Blencathra  - alittle over 800m – and worth it for the sunrise.

Along the way we’ll top three high passes (Black Sail, Scarth Gap, Sail) pass one lake (Buttermere) and have the luxury of being met by support crew Phil and Annie three times along the way.

So actually, this is just a glorified picnic.

By my reckoning, darkness would hit us somewhere on the descent to Buttermere, and we may catch a lightening sky in Threlkeld some 6 hours ahead.

That’s the theory anyway.

So around 8.45pm we do the emotional goodbyes to crew Phil and Annie and head off through a very busy Wasdale Head.

Once clear of the village and about to head round the foot of Kirk Fell to start the climb to Black Sail Pass, I stop and do the pep talk bit.

‘Right. Now we’ve got rid of the crowds…We’re in for a special night – it’s going to be clear and warm and we should have some moonlight to play in as well.

Take it stage by stage, piece by piece, step by step. Keep your heads up, tread lightly and appreciate this magnificent landscape.

Remember that we have a Plan A, B, & C  - and all are good.

It’s your night, ladies, at your pace – enjoy it.’

The moon and the cameras came out at the top of the pass and we ticked the first marker off. A careful descent and then past the remote Black Sail youth hostel – no doubt giving the hostel residents round the campfire something the remark on as three figures came trotting out of the gloom.

The shorter climb to Scarth Gap safely put away meant we faced the tricky rock-strewn descent to Buttermere as light finally faded.

‘Keep your torches off as long as you can, ‘ I cautioned the ladies. ‘Relax, tread lightly, small steps – ‘kinda like dancing through the rocks – go at your pace - a pace which makes you feel in control.’

And so, with a few stumbles thrown in for good measure, we danced – sort of.

The torches came on halfway down the hill – much to the relief, we were to learn shortly, of Phil and Annie watching from Buttermere village. An easy run round the lake and then Rendezvous One with crew complete with big smiles and even bigger flasks of tea.

Just over two hours in and everyone is looking and feeling chipper – and clearly delighted to get the first stage completed.

‘I’m not allowed to say how many left, but I counted them all out and I counted them all back in again.’

Bless you, Brian Hanrahan, for probably the most repeated line from the Falklands War.

I’m such an 80’s boy…

So the first stage complete with lots of little victories along the way.

Belinda is moving soooo much more confidently downhill since she joined us Friday afternoon – from concrete London to the lumps of the Lakes in few hours, quite a transition - and Jennie is chugging away clearly relishing the new experience.

Time to narrow the focus for them, then.

‘I’m going to give you some navigation responsibilities on this next section. It’s a very different section to the one we’ve just covered – narrower, flatter, and now it’s dark as well. I’ll get us through the woods for the first 200m then you’ll rotate the lead for short sections to tick off points on the map I will give you. So a chance to practice some of the skills from yesterday – it’s just a bit darker this time!’

We’d talked a lot yesterday about effectiveness and efficiency in ultra-running.

Part of that was having as much energy as possible to use for moving forward. Skillful and confident navigation, thinking tactically and strategically means you’re not expending energy worrying about where you are, how far to go and what’s coming up. (Which is also why it’s far easier mentally just to follow someone – as long as you are cool with contracting out the decision-taking responsibilities and the ethics of freeloading…).

Hence more gas to draw on for that relentless forward motion bit.

So pressure for our ladies, sure – and a chance to cement the lessons from yesterday’s Mountain Navigation Day with Phil as well.

There’s one last addition: Jennie and Belinda ‘s headtorches are both of the ‘pocket’ size. Fine for emergencies and wide, easy trails – no good for leading over a dark Lake District fellside.

Fortunatlely, I’ve brought a spare searchlight with me: ‘Let there be light! Lead off, Jen!’

It’s Jen, Belinda, Jen, Belinda as we make our way gradually upwards pausing often to take in the view around and above us lit by a bright half moon.

‘Cos you can’t do it all, can you?

Run at night without falling over and look at the view.

It’s run. Stop. View. In that order.

(Still learning that one…)

It’s on the crux climb of the stage that Belinda voices her doubts for the first time as her energy levels and confidence dip. We make some adjustments and she keeps it together. She concentrates furiously on the loose rocky descent and makes it safely to easier lower ground. As mentioned earlier, she’s had the biggest journey and the sharpest transition – and for Phil, Annie and I the trick in designing this camp is to get the balance right between challenging our clients, or flattening them.

Well, we’ve done our homework but this is where we get tested as well.

For all that, our momentum is still good, navigation accurate and we run off the fell into Braithwaite pretty much on schedule.

Both ladies wonder at their sore necks and shoulders – tension over the tricky stuff in the dark – and Belinda is making noises about stopping here.

Well, we all stonewall her that decision and focus on the joy of drinking tea and eating cake.

And then Phil and I pull out the trump card: An interim stop about an hour away  - instead of the usual two - on the lower slopes of Skiddaw to the north of Keswick.

It will give Belinda little over 5 hours on the move if she makes it.

She checks the map, asks for the route description and timing again, allows the voices of encouragement to get through and decides: Another hour it is then!

And we positively fly out of the village en route to Keswick as the clock ticks towards 1.30am. And while it is a long climb out it is all pretty steady with both ladies moving well.

Then it’s just Jennie and I for the final few miles along the Cumbria Way back to Threlkeld, and for Jen, this is where she makes good on her commitment to go outside her comfort zone.

She wanted it, she focused on it, and we had talked about how she might accomplish it on this run.

And you know what? Generally speaking we tend to get what we focus on…

So she zeros in, shuts up, and gets on with the job of nailing this last section as I tune in to once again managing the ‘push-flatten’ threshold.

While it’s me that takes the prize for the biggest head-first dive of the night – in the last half mile as well, just tripped over my feet, can you believe that!? - Jen gets everything out of herself and more besides to get alittle closer to answering her question of the camp:

‘So this ultra-running thing then: Is it for me – or not?’

The full answer, we are told as we all sit feeling very self-righteous over a huge breakfast a few hours later, will be forthcoming after the small matter of the Davos Alpine Marathon later this summer: 50-odd miles or so up and down through Switzerland.

As for Belinda, she’ll be heading over to Chamonix in the French Alps for the half distance version of Tour de Mont Blanc.

Our pleasure? To share a few steps of their journey with them.

It wasn’t all about The Big Night Run, either.

The first evening we were over at the Keswick Mountain Festival ‘Lakeland Legends’ lecture, worshipping at the alter at which were seated fellrunning greats Kenny Stuart and Joss Naylor – a packed house and a unique and fascinating insight.

Thursday we were out in the mists on the Hellvellyn range.

Friday was Mountain Skills Day on Blencathra.

And Saturday? Saturday you know about – though we did squeeze in a morning run and some retail therapy in Keswick as well.

Sprinkled in among all that lot were conversations and demos, formal and informal on goals and goal-setting, mental race preparation and execution, gear choice and use, training plans, footcare, eating and drinking choices.

And sleep. During the day.

That’s right: Rest, reflection and recuperation – because the quiet down time is often where the breakthroughs come…

Our next camp will be at our French base either side of the Ultra Tour Mont Blanc race weekend at the end of August. More details www.alpine-oasis.com 0845 250 0648

May 8 2010 The Fellsman Hike

Andy Mouncey's Blog

It’s not a good start.

Halfway up Whernside the second mountain of the day – there are nine – I’m sitting on my backside with both shoes and socks off surrounded by bits of my first aid kit while concentrating firmly on the task of taping my heels.

And I’d been worried enough, thankyou, without this little addition.

I mean, you would be too, right, contemplating 62 miles of up hill and down Yorkshire dale on the back of little and sporadic specific training when the last race you did two weeks previously over a pathetic 24 miles had you hanging on like a dying dog over the final third?

Still, sometimes the only way to really see where you’re at is to really see where you’re at.

So I’d swallowed hard and made some mental adjustments.

Chief among these was to push Competitive Running Bloke right down into the bottom of my rucksack: Today would not be about him.

Today would be about head up, enjoy the views and the company, relax and keep everything in the green. Get to know the route for next time – so there’ll be a next time? - and finish with plenty still in the tank.

Got that?

My pre-start activity did set the tone: Chasing our very excited 3 year old round the start area who was intent on demonstrating his capacity for interval training with simultaneous commentary all at high volume: ‘Look at me, Daddy! I’m a really fast runner!’

This meant I chugged off quite happily way down the field of over 400 souls with a smile on my face mentally ticking off the ‘happy box’.

Thanks, son.

This continued up the first climb of Ingleborough as I threaded my way through the field pausing now and then to chat to folks I recognised and some I didn’t.

The hotspots on both heels started on the approach to Whernside, and while I am wearing brand new trainers this is not unusual for me: I’d used the same make, model and size straight out of the box for years with no problems.

Except today.

Today there will be screaming and crying and gnashing of teeth and rending of clothes later if I don’t STOP RIGHT NOW and sort this out.

So I press ‘eject’ on the lovely, calm, happy world with gorgeous views and easy running I’d been enjoying and get decisive about Reality.

Right, over this next stile then…

Rucksack off, sit down, shoes and socks off.

Footcare kit out, examine the damage. Yep, blisters about the size of 50p starting on the backs of both heels, but no fluid build up yet and it looks clean.

Good. Tape and strap. Make sure to get a good seal.

On with the shoes and socks taking care to lace firmly – I suspect that was the problem: sloppy, Andy, very sloppy – repack the sack, stand and test.

It’s as fast as I can make it, but Competitive Running Bloke escapes and  whispers that many minutes and lots of people have gone past.

I push him back down: Today is not your day…

Now, where were we?

Whernside is the first chance to get a look at the leaders as there’s an out and back detour to the summit. Steve Burkinshaw thunders past looking like he’s doing 6 miles not 60 followed by Mr Fellsman himself 10-time winner Mark Hartell and a bunch of other faces I recognise.

I have a little smile to myself and chug on upwards as the wind does it’s best to blow us all off the ridge, but the view really is to die for.

It takes me to Dent (about one third distance) to catch up with Pete again who’d I’d run with as we’d come off Ingleborough. It’s windy on the tops, sure, but the sun is out periodically and lack of recent rain has given lovely underfoot conditions. I’m running easy, climbing strongly and being Polite Sociable Chappie at checkpoints.

Dent village is the first big food stop.

I refuel to strict nutritional guidelines all at the cutting edge of endurance sport: Sausage roll (warm) and cheese sandwich washed down with a mug of tea.

(Well, this race is staged by Keighley Scouts and when in Rome…)

SE on the long climb out of Dent on the Craven Way talking ‘stuff’ with Pete as we head to the next top of Blea Moor. This is the first real route choice piece across open ground which is a key feature of the second half of the Hike route. Decisions are therefore a combination of your own navigation certainty, local knowledge, and the lines any other runner is taking infront of  - or immediately behind you.

Sure, it’s so much easier to follow…as long as you’re cool with ceding control, (and all the implications in that) and comfortable with doing the freeloading bit.

We nail it and head into the checkpoint at Stone House for another big feed and a moment of levity:

‘Secret kit check, lads!’

We’re pounced on by a group of scouts armed with clipboards and armfuls of enthusiasm.

Secret kit check?

‘Yeah, everyone’s getting it!’

So, erm, it’s not much of a secret then, is it?

‘Guess you had to be there…

The big climb up Great Knoutberry is the final one before halfway and also a second chance to check people infront on the out and back to the summit.

Competitive Running Bloke clocks the faces, notes the gaps and presents his report.

I grunt and file it away under ‘Pending’.

Halfway and Pete and I are drinking tea in the big checkpoint tent on the road between Hawes to the north and Ingleton to the south. I know we’ve been on the go for over 6 hours but I’ve no idea how much more. Closer to 7? Well, I’m not wearing a watch and I’m really not that interested.

Of much more interest are the faces and postures of runners in the tent, the refreshments on offer, and the realisation that I’m still feeling Mr Perky.

‘Must be his lucky day.

Pete and have been bigging eachother up periodically over the last section which has helped keep the momentum going. He is however, vaguely disgusted at my seeming ability to put away solid food at a rapid rate – he complains his digestive juices have gone walkabout and his mastication capacity seems somewhat diminished. Well, there’s always those lovely gels…

And so the fun begins. The second half of the race is full of difficult going over open ground where navigation, route choice, and an ability to move efficiently over the rough stuff will pretty much dictate whether you are Fun To Be With – or not. And while Pete and I make good time on the approach to Dodd Fell, we lose it all on the final climb to the top and the descent line. It’s all grass tussocks, heather, and dry peat bogs – and you either know where to find the sheep trogs, or you don’t.

We fall into the latter category, though still arrive at Fleet Moss in time to clock the Usual Suspects either in or just leaving the checkpoint. So, not lost that much then…or you lot are hanging about abit here.

It is tempting. I have reckoned getting across Fleet Moss with sanity intact is the crux of the whole route, and while it is unseasonally dry, the whole area is a mass of intricate up down peat bog beds which just sap the will and the legs.

The route choice is to either just go for it straight across on a bearing or to take a longer and more runnable route round the southern edge – though this second option only opens up if you know it’s there in the first place. Once again, route knowledge is a huge advantage, and care with your nav absolutely essential.

I seriously consider getting straight through the checkpoint in order to hook up with one of the runners ahead of us who is just leaving and I know he knows the route. And while I’ve also done my homework, I’m looking for some additional security on the section that has concerned me most. It also means I jump a bunch of places and make a chunk of time, because I’m also clocking that many of these guys are starting to hang around longer at checkpoints.

And are sitting down.

Yep, Competitive Running Bloke makes a massive full frontal appearance and I am hugely, hugely tempted…but only briefly.

Today is not that day.

Time to change channels.

Relax, feed, chat, feel good about progress and register a familiar face slumped in a corner. Charlie, bless him, looks on his chinstrap and as about as enthusiastic about this next bit as, well…

Time for a pick-up, then.

We go south with Charlie tagging and a handful of runners strung out infront of us which we periodically catch sight of as the ground opens up. It’s compass-contour stuff over stop-start terrain and a relief to finally catch sight of the summit trig on the high point of Middle Tongue.

Two smiling faces emerge from the checkpoint tent on the wind-blasted summit in the middle of nowhere – the things some people do for fun – and then we’re off on the final leg-sapping tricky section. Charlie has rallied big-style as we all stumble-jog-walk towards to enticingly-named Hell Gap. A final piece of easy running on a good track brings us to Cray at the foot of the penultimate climb up Buckden Pike.

It’s now pretty much south to the finish and in my mind we’re on the last section. I’m still Mr Chipper, Pete’s chugging along happily, and Charlie is a completely different bloke from the one who scraped himself off the floor at Fleet Moss. We put Buckden Pike behind us and not long after find ourselves being grouped for safety at the checkpoint at the foot of the final climb up Great Whernside. We’re now a group of seven which will run together as darkness falls sometime after 9pm.

And that’s pretty much it. There’s no drama, the headtorches come out for about the final hour, and sometime around 10.30pm I find myself ambling down the final road descent into Grassington and the finish feeling like I’ve just been round the block.

I’ve slowed so I can enjoy the quiet on my own, watch the stars come out, and wonder at a day that has allowed me to move beyond all my fears and worries.

So it’s just running, is it?

Yeah, right.

Mar 19 2010 Too Much Too Young

Andy Mouncey's Blog

...or 'too much and not as young and single as you were' is probably more precise!

After much faffing about since Joe was born just before Xmas trying this that and the other and wondering why everything seemed to be just, well, 'FAFF' Reality finally resorted to a sledgehammer blow to my thick skull to get my attention:

'What the **** do you think you're doing?' yelled an incredulous Reality.

'**** OFF!!' 

Charming. Well I'm ****ed if I'm having that, said Reality to itself - (cue sledgehammer blow)

'****!! OWWW!! What the **** was that for??'

Reality took a deep breath and composed itself. 'Right. Now that you've stopped ****ing about, pay attention: This swim Windermere, bike Fred Whitton, run Bog Graham Lake District thing back to back alpine-style...it's just not happening is it?'

Cowed silence.

'IS IT??'

'Well, no.' (Gimme a break - no one likes to admit failure, least of all me)

'So do the smart thing and let it go. It'll be still there next year, y'know.'

'I know.'

'Good. Now that's over -  for ****s sake, LIGHTEN UP NOW WILL YA??'

Reality: It used to be a friend of mine.

Mar 4, 2010: Business Benefits from the Lakeland 100 ultramarathon

Andy Mouncey's Blog

How’s that work, then?

Here’s how it usually does: A few folks head off to the company’s latest corporate challenge event, have a great time, raise some money for charity, and come back buzzing. Productivity spikes selectively for a while, most people are left cold ‘cos they weren’t in on it, and then normal service resumes.

Fair enough if that’s what you want.

But what if it isn’t…quite.

Help is at hand.

I’ve teamed up with Geoff Cox of www.rsvpdesign.co.uk and Marc Laithwaite at www.theendurancecoach.com to provide a programme for corporate competitors in the Montane Lakeland 50 & 100 mile ultra-marathon race Jul 24 www.lakeland100.com 

And that’s special because..?

The aim of the programme is to deliver direct, measurable benefits back to the client business.

Even if the guys don’t complete the race. Which is a possibility.

That means when the folks cross the finish line, they’re only halfway done.

So what are you saying, exactly?

We ‘book-end’ it: Set up and position the teams before the event – the goal setting bit – help them with the practical and mental preparation for the event, and then help them harness and disseminate the lessons of the experience afterwards in direct, measurable ways which stick.