A weekend of ups and downs

So, on the weekend of 17th - 19th August I headed south across the boarder to my homeland, Cornwall, to participate in an 11 mile cliff top trail race. The Roseland August Trail (the RAT) offered 11, 20 and 32 mile race options, all of them finishing at Porthpean where the race village was set up at the Porthpean outdoor centre and where camping was available for the bargain price of £5 per night.

This is the first time I have been back to Cornwall since February half-term when I came for a weekend break. I always feel a churning feeling in my stomach as I pass the 'Welcome to Cornwall' sign. Going back there, since my parents left in November 2009, has been strange each visit. It's all so very familiar, I grew up there and spent 25 of my 29 years there, and yet it all seems so distant from me now and I feel like I no longer belong there; I am just an erroneous guest in its midst.

Heading there this time brought mixed emotions. I caught up with some old friends, which was really lovely, but it also reminded me of how little I get to see them these days and how much I miss having them on the doorstep. Yes, Cornwall is only next door, it's just a 1h30m drive to St. Austell, but life gets in the way every time and I am lucky if I manage 2 or 3 visits a year. I also got to do a race on some of the most beautiful trails in the country: the Cornish coast path, finishing at Porthpean, which was my childhood beach where I spent many summers rockpooling, swimming in the sea, building sandcastles, collecting shells etc, but again, this just awakened memories of times missed and made me pine to still live here even more!

I was camping with a group of friends from my second claim running club, the Teignbridge Trotters. The weather was not exactly kind to us over the weekend. It rained whilst I was putting up my tent and it rained even harder the time it came to take it down! The view from the campsite, north up coast to Charlestown, Carlyon Bay, Par and the Gribben, was stunning, but for the most part obscured from view by the driving rain!

The event HQ and my tent: sea views... when the cloud and rain wasn't obscuring them!

It was a very surreal weekend in a way. The 3 races all set off at staggered starts with the idea that all the runners across the 3 distances would then converge on the finish at around the same time.This meant for those of us on the 11 mile race that we did not need to start running until 12.30pm. Having been awoken at 5am by the 32 milers who were all waking up, getting ready, having a safety briefing annoucned around the campsite on a loud speaker, it seemed like an eternity of waiting around before we could finally get on the bus to take us to the start, which was at Gorran Haven.

Ordinarily I would have been running the 20 or even the 32 mile option, but as I have Guernsey next week that was in no way possible. It didn't stop me from feeling like a bit of a fraud and a softie though as I set off on what was termed by those doing the longer distances as "the fun run" option!

As the bus dropped us off at Gorran I saw Fergie, one of the race organisers, who came up to me with a face of shock and said that one of the favourites on the 32 mile race had just collapsed, right there at the check point in Gorran. That was my first warning of how tough this route is: a top level ultra runner had pushed himself to breaking point, 21 miles into his 32 mile run. As we lined up on the slip way at Gorran Beach to start our more sedate 11 miles, Fergie warned us at the safety brief: 'Know your limits. Do not exceed them'. And so we set off up the hill out of of Gorran - the first hill of a great many - with this warning ringing in our ears...

When we left the campsite it was pouring with rain and quite chilly; by now the sun had burned through and it was starting to get hot and extremely humid. The compression arm sleeves I had put on before leaving, fearing that I would suffer from being too cold rather than too hot, were now redundant. As was the water proof jacket that was a mandatory piece of kit requirement. Both were quickly stuffed into my Camelbak as I crested the first hill and hit the coastal path, heading north towards Portmellon.

The first 3 miles were fairly easy; there were hills (when weren't there?!), but they were all runable. The climb up from Portmellon towards Mevagissey got me breathing harder, but was nothing that taxed me. I ran these first 3 miles with a fellow Trotter, Stewart Dunn. On the climb out of Mevagissey harbour I started to gain distance on Stewart and did not see him again until the finish. On the next stretch, around Dodman Point towards Pentewan, I picked off a great many runners from the 32 and 20 mile routes, who had set off earlier but running double or treble the distance, were now beginning to slow dramatically. I tried to impart some positive encouragement to each one I passed - and the passing was of course done at quite a lick as I had only been going for 4 miles and was on much fresher legs - and told them I was glad I was only doing the 11. This was partly true, I wasn't feeling my best, my legs were not fresh, I had raced too much leading up to it and wasn't even mentally fired up for it, let alone physically firing on all cylinders... but all the same, a large part of me still felt like a fraud for only doing a piffling 11 miler when there was a 32 mile D.D. length option of offer!

One of the roller-coaster Jacob's Ladder sections on the route

Summiting one of the horrendous jacob's ladders sections

After Pentewan, the hard work started. The hills were monstrous, many of them being like roller-coasters where you descended down 90 - 100 steps, then immediately climbed back up the same number on the other side. The steps prevented you from keeping to any kind of rhythm, but at least you could get a grip on them. On the steep hill sections without steps I tried to run but the tracks were so muddy and boggy that as fast as I was putting a foot forward, it was immediately sliding back down again. On some sections tt was almost impossible to get traction, even in trail shoes. I thought of the fun that Tarq must be having up ahead as he had, for some unfathomable reason, decided to wear zero grip, Brooks T7 racers. Crazy fool! I slipped and slided a whole bunch but fortunately managed to stay on my feet. This required a cautious approach, however, and meant I couldn't push on over the sections with slope or camber, so this definitely slowed me down. Fellies would have been a better option.

The route at Trennaren: not too far to go from here to the finish

Emerging from the undergrowth, just after Trenarren.

Because of the staggered start, it was hard to gauge my position in the 11 mile race. I knew about 10 people had gone off in front of me at the start, but with the colour coded numbers being worn on the front of vests, I did not always know whether the runners I was overhauling were people in my own race who had gone off too fast or people from the other distances. I guessed I was about 8th but upon crossing the line I was pleased to discover that I was 6th overall and 1st lady in the 11 miler in a time of 1:47:57. My slowest 11 miles ever!

                                      Finishing the race, right outside my tent: convenient!

As I crossed the line I felt shocking. Really dizzy and totally overheating. Only 11 miles, yes, but 11 of the toughest miles you could possibly run. This race is the same distance as the Snowdon Race, in which you summit and descend the highest mountain in England and Wales, and yet I ran that 11 minutes quicker - just to give you an idea of how tough this is! The biggest problem is that you could not establish any sort of rhythm as the terrain changed to radically, so frequently, totally messing up your legs and breathing. Despite this, my legs felt surprisingly fine at the finish. I think my strategy of walking all the really steep climbs and pushing on on the relatively flatter sections, was a wise one. I had picked off some of the other male runners on the route who went out too hard from the start and then struggled with leg cramps later on on the steep sections, which I avoided.

Utterly knackered and about to keel over!

Whilst my legs might have felt fine, I did not! I glugged a few glasses of water to try and rehydrate but I have never sweated so much in a race ever and before I knew what was happening, my legs buckled and I ended up in an embarrassing heap on the floor. This is the first time I have not been able to physically stand at the end of a race and it freaked me out a little bit, but mostly I just found it all hugely embarrassing! It meant a mandatory trip to the event first aid tent and a blood pressure check: too low! Way too low! 88/56. Oooops. More glasses of water, a cup of sugary tea and a granola bar later and it came back up, I felt less dizzy and was good to go! Thanks to nice ambulance lady and sorry for depositing 10 tons of mud in your shiny ambulance!

With my awesome prizes!

At the prize giving ceremony I was awarded with the most original trophy I have received to date. Sponsored by Tribute Ales, it's an old fashioned marble beer pump, mounted on a pure mahogany plinth. It's fab! Also a bottle of champers: big thumbs up for that one!

All the participating Trotters proudly sporting our 'survivor' tee-shirts

 After a great after-party, during which quite a bit of vino was consumed, I crawled into my tent. That night I slept like a log, even though I struggled to find a comfy position where my rib and hip bones where not digging right into the hard foam camping mat beneath. I drifted off to sleep reflecting on what a strange and emotionally all-over-the-bloody-place but truly awesome weekend it had been. A weekend of ups and downs, both in terms of the terrain we ran over and my emotions!! I fell asleep with plans to run the 32 miler instead of the Guernsey Marathon next year: no use having ultra ambitions but not acting upon them!