2009 Race - Rowardennan to Carmyle Cottage

So I was off again, glad to see the bad patch behind me. As I’d struggled here last time, there was no pressure to keep up a fast pace. Just take my time, walk the long ups, run the long downs. I loved it. This foresty section is quite special to me. I don’t know why, as many would probably say it’s one of the less interesting sections, but I love it.

Then the wide track narrowed to a path, and descended until I was back at water level, having been way up high on the edge. Then past the little cottage and onto the uppy downy section before Inversnaid. Again, no pressure, just enjoy it.

There were a scattering of other runners around me and I overtook and was overtaken a few times, and exchanged a couple of words of greeting, but to be honest my conversation skills were pretty non-existent.

Reached Inversnaid and ran straight through, as I hadn’t left a drop bag and was quite keen to get going over the rockiest parts. It had been raining lightly for some time, but wasn’t really enough to be a problem. It meant that the rocks and path would be slippery, but I had anticipated this and was wearing my roclites.

Just kept it steady, and before long I was passed the sign to Rob Roy’s Cave. I mentioned to the other runner near me that that meant the worst of the rock scrambling was over. From here I knew there were still a couple of fiddly bits, but nothing too dramatic. 

I thought I knew this section well. I had gone over it so many times in my head. Yet this time it seemed to stretch out endlessly. Each bit that I remembered was further away than the last. Where had all this filler come from?

I realised that the tiredness was starting to get to me, and I had to concentrate hard to keep moving forward. But then I reached the bit where it leaves the shore for a bit, and climbed up and past the ruined cottages, and then back to the shore. 

I knew that within half a mile or so, I would be leaving the shoreline behind for good. But again, it seemed to stretch on endlessly. Where was the respite I had been looking forward to? Where was the climb up and out into the open?

Eventually it appeared, and this time I didn’t even turn around for a final glance at Loch Lomond. My energy was completely focussed on moving forward, and looking back was a luxury I could not afford. Plus having been so desperate to reach the end of the shoreline, I wanted it gone as soon as possible.

But having the loch behind me meant that I was now in Glen Falloch, which I adore, despite having had a couple of miserable runs here. It didn’t let me down this time, and apart from a couple of tricky sections, I ran all the flats and downs. I was actually disappointed to arrive at Bein Glas Farm, as I’d been enjoying myself so much.

At Bein Glas there were water bottles left out on the bench, and my excitement rose as I spied a ribena carton, only to fall again as I realised on nearing the bench that it was empty. So I ran on, having no need of more water, and keen to get to Auchtertye Farm.

The joyful ups and downs of Glen Falloch. This section can be so demoralising if you are feeling negative, yet is enormously enjoyable if you’re not. Today I started off enjoying it, and finished it barely conscious.

The sleep seemed to suddenly envelop me, I couldn’t get away from it no matter what I did. I stopped and took deep breaths. I sprinted on. I crouched down and rested my eyes. I bent over to get the blood rushing to my head. I even started pinching underneath my eyes – my failsafe trick for waking yourself up (as it really hurts). But even that didn’t work. 

I kept faltering forward, tracking along at a snail’s pace. I clambered over the bridges, hauled myself up the climbs, and stumbled the downs. I reached Derrydaroch, and realised that I still had another half a dozen miles until I saw my crew. I wouldn’t make it. I tried to text them to tell them to meet me sooner, at Carmyle Cottage, but I had no reception. 

In my groggy state, I somehow remembered my emergency phone, carried in case my iphone ran out. It was on a different network, so I might have reception on that even though my iphone didn’t. I frantically switched it on. 

Blank. No reception. I didn’t even have any energy to cry. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared for my safety, as I’d tripped over stones quite a few times, and realised that I’d fallen asleep and the only tripping action had woken me.

I was scared that shortly I’d be too tired to wake up, and I’d just carry on falling and hit my head on a rock. Or that I’d just pass out. By now the three runners who I had got so far ahead of since Inversnaid had all overtaken me. I didn’t know if there was anyone else behind. If I was unconscious somewhere, I didn't know if anyone would find me.

I saw some walkers, and went up to them to ask for help. They could watch over me until my crew came looking, couldn’t they. Except by the time I got there a little bit of rationality had fought through, and I realised that would be pointless, and the end of my race. If I could get to Carmyle Cottage, there may be other crews there, or marshals, and I could have a rest. Then I could carry on running.

I had been checking my phone every step to see if I had reception. A bar flashed up, and disappeared. I quickly typed a text – ‘Carmile Cottage please’. It was the minimum necessary to hopefully let the crew know that I needed them. I didn’t even have the energy to correct the autospelling of Carmyle.

I kept hitting send, and eventually I got a flicker of reception and it went through. But I had no idea if the crew had any reception.

Then at the top of a hill I saw two people waiting. One had a red top, and the other white. It was Hendo and Santa. I nearly cried with relief. It would all be ok. They would look after me, and I would be fine. They would let me rest for a few minutes, wake me up before I fell into a deep sleep, and get me on my way. My race was saved.

But when I got to the top, it wasn’t Hendo and Santa. It was another couple of walkers.

I was devastated. In my head Derrydaroch and Carmyle Cottage were just either side of the railway line, minutes apart. But it was further than that, and at my stumbling, falling asleep pace, the mile to Carmyle Cottage took me 45 minutes.

But I reached it. I was safe. Except my support crew weren’t there. They must have no reception. But I knew I had to sit down. I was swaying all over the place, couldn’t keep my eyes open, and was only 45 miles into my 95 mile journey. If I carried on I would break myself.

I saw that the three separate runners who had overtaken me on that last crawl of a mile were here, all being treated or massaged. I clearly wasn’t the only one in trouble.

And so I asked the marshals if it was ok for me to rest my eyes for a moment. It was fine. I then asked if they would be able to wake me in ten minutes if I was still there. They said it was fine. The relief was amazing. I would be able to rest. As I headed over to a grassy patch by a wall (so I could lean against the wall and not fall onto the railway) the crew that were there offered me their chair. I was so grateful. I sat down and heard a car. Turned around and the sunshine bus screeched to a halt next to me.

My rescuers were here.

I was so pleased to see them. I had been laughing with the crew that helped me out, and as my crew turned up I was all smiles. Everything would be ok. 

I walked over to Steve and got a hug. At which point I broke down and burst into tears. For ages. With a proper wobbly chin and all.

I lay in the car for 5 or 10 minutes, while my crew tried to give me some peace. I couldn’t get comfortable, but just stopping and being able to close my eyes made such a difference. I could feel my energy come rushing back, and the tiredness gradually began to ebb away.

Resting at Carmyle Cottage

A handful of painkillers and pro plus, some proper food and more hugs, and I was ready to go again.

I was winning.