The morning of Saturday 9 July was dry and quite crisp as I hurried along the lane from Osmotherley to Sheepwash car park for my start time of 5.20 am. A few minutes later it was time to go, along the road, across the cattlegrid to take the path into Coalmire plantation, across a field, a ford, a road, up steep stone steps, across Carlton Moor, down Carlton Bank, to the first check point, Carlton Bank, 6.30 am.
After this, a little detour from the Cleveland Way meant less climb and less view but more progress, missing out Cringle Moor but this is a race and this is allowed; nipping through Broughton plantation meant missing out Hasty Bank and the viewpoint for the photo opportunity but sometimes the low road is the best. Down to the second check point, Chop Gate at 7.17 am.
Now here is a little climb, up Carr Ridge to another Round Hill, above Greenhow Moor; past Bloworth Crossing and along the disused railway which wends its way round the dalehead to Farndale Moor. Mile after mile it’s easy to imagine you are a train winding your way along the winding track… and then you pull into the Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge, check point number three, at 9 am. Here you are treated to rice pudding and peaches. Two cups of coffee here too. A marshall recognised my Striders vest and wondered where all the Striders were, he remembered there used to be a lot in years gone by.
Five years ago, I couldn’t believe people ran from Osmotherley to Ravenscar, the seed was sown, I started running and here I am, running in the Lyke Wake race. The overriding feeling is one of freedom, as you fly across the moors for just overv 40 miles relying on the kindness of strangers and you don’t know how you are going to get home.
This is a handicap race, the organisers decide your start time taking into account your previous times and your own estimated time. If you beat your estimated time by 2 hours or more you are disqualified.
Well, Geoff told me to get a team together and Sylvia told me if you believe you can run that far you will. There was some interest but strangely enough people had to move house the same weekend and taper for the Lakeland 50 so no team formed but I knew I could run that far and entered.
Dear Race Director.
Last time I entered the Lyke Wake race, I was timed out at Eller Beck, however since then I have taken up running.
I think I could aim for 10 hours but it could be longer but I am sure I could finish within 12 hours. With thanks. Etc.
The seven checkpoints between the start and finish provide water, jelly babies, biscuits, cakes, millionaire’s shortbread, and an opportunity to connect with humanity; there are some very fine people marshalling at the checkpoints and they are all part of the history and tradition of the Lyke Wake race.
Leaving the Lion Inn, you cut across Rosedale Head and follow the road round past Fat Betty and turn left where the tarmac has been helpfully sprayed LWW – this is the way to the sea, you see the path stretching out for miles ahead – once you have emerged from the boggy West Gill Head, you embrace Shunner Howe and past there, come to check point 4, Hamer Track at 10.21 am.
Past Blue Man i’ th’ Moss standing stone, you wend your way through Wheeldale Moor, keeping Bumble Wood on your left, I lost the path and realised quite quickly I was going in the wrong direction so ended up flying across heather to meet the path further ahead. It’s getting quite warm now. Arrive at check point 5, Stape Road at 11.24 am.
Stepping across the stones across Wheeldale beck, you then climb up to Simon Howe and enjoy fabulous views ahead; there is a good stretch here and you descend to cross the North Yorkshire Moors railway then you are at check point 6, Eller Beck Bridge at 12.10 pm.
Deborah, Joey and Tulip were meeting me at Eller Beck with dry trainers but I was going much faster than I had expected to, and had to rush off without waiting for them. It was singularly kind of Deb to agree to meet me at a random point on the A169 with little information other than the words Eller Beck between 1 and 3 pm… so leaving without the support I had requested I felt ungrateful but I couldn’t wait.
This section was the hardest. I lost the path and ploughed through heather possibly on the brink of becoming crazed. Where was Lilla Cross? Nowhere to be seen… But looking back I could see a group of runners and they seemed to be catching me up – I endured an ad hoc fartlek session looking for paths of burnt heather to make up some time on and eventually found the track which led me to Lilla Howe and the eponymous Cross where I thanked the heavens for my good fortune, inhaled a banana and a sports gel, wiped my face with my arm and off I went.
I took a wrong fork to the left and was overtaken by two people who stayed on the right path to my right; my path started to divert back to the right and just as I was about to meet them the man fell, the lady stopped, I ran past and then turned round to check he was ok – he was – so I kept going but they over took me again, I think. It’s all a little blurry from here on. Down the ravine that is Jugger Howe, up the other side and rolling along the tank road to check point 7, Jugger Howe Road at 1.45 pm.
The last hour of my run was accompanied by thunder and lightening but I escaped the storm, the torrential rain and hail which rained down on Fylingdales Moor running at a good pace into the Raven Hall Hotel in sunlight at 2.20 pm exactly nine hours after I set off.
“I’m here” I joked, as I lurched into the gazebo at the finish and picked up my certificate, a t-shirt (preordered and prepaid) and a very high quality glass memento with the Lyke Wake coffin floating in the middle; this memento recalling the Lyke Wake dirge which the route was named after, the old dialect verse describing the journey of the soul across the desolate moors on its way to heaven or hell.
Deb, Joey and Tulip surprised me by meeting me at the end which I hadn’t expected so seeing them at the Raven Hall Hotel was a real treat – I tucked into some houmous sandwiches, saw a wedding party in their finery promenading against the dramatic backdrop of the North Sea and Robin Hood’s Bay from the hotel lawns in glorious sunshine, had a shower in the Raven Hall Hotel and was whisked away as the heavy rain came down.
I was told at one check point that I was the first runner through, and would win the race if I got a move on - but two others finished before me; I was the second lady to finish which felt great but I did have a headstart on most.
My time: 09:00
My position: 24th
73 finished
86 started
102 entered
1st man
Neil Ridsdale 05:49
1st lady
Shelli Gordon 06:42
A letter from the Race Director dated 11 July encloses the results sheet, gives a weather report of the conditions on race day, and goes on to castigate previous entrants and clubs, for “None of the previous regular competitors that have ceased running have ever shown an interest in helping – especially the running clubs, the Valley Striders, East Hull Harriers and Chapel Allerton etc etc”. Well, I said at the end I would marshall next year and I was told I couldn’t because I would be running it. The race is in jeopardy with a dearth of marshals who are getting older (“more marshals between 65 and 80 plus than under 60”) and diminishing in number naturally.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
The London marathon, 17 April 2011
The London marathon, an amazing experience. Running a marathon is quite a quest, it really does have the long haul feel to it in the weeks, then days and hours leading up to it. I made so many friends on Sunday. The man at the bus stop waiting for the bus from Dulwich College to Lewisham, where the market traders setting out their stalls all called out good luck to me, the friendly bobbies at the [free] Docklands Light Railway station where I caught the DLR to Greenwich, the lady who sat with me on the DLR whose training plan had disintegrated the same way mine had due to injury, whose attitude - I am pretty damn sure I have got it in my legs to run a marathon without training - I liked as I realised that was mine when fully articulated...
When you finally get to start, setting off is quite daunting, you just try to stay calm, focus, relax and then settle into a rhythm. I liked the slow pace of pen number 5, I spent the first hour or so listening out for any niggles and tried to make minor adjustments to biomechanics to compensate for any. You just keep moving, checking your pace every mile, making sure you don't fall over and when that's all working well, actually enjoy it. Each mile took a fairly predictable ten minutes, the math was easy - if I kept this up for 26 miles and pushed my foot down towards the end, I might beat Peter's PB for the London Marathon and he would treat me to a coffee and cake. That was never going to happen though. I could dream. I did follow the thin blue line most of the way in honour of the athletes who preceded me along the route, and in fairness to save energy and hopefully a few seconds off my time.
Meanwhile, there were the water, Lucozade and Lucozade gel stations to interrupt any thoughts of victory over Peter. They seemed to loom into view as soon as the road became clear of empty bottles; this is not a criticism, this seemingly almost constant supply of food and drink was really welcome. Something else happened which almost caused memory loss especially when it came to the all important need to beat Peter's PB. Thousands of people applauding, smiling, cheering, shouting and by the end screaming all the way round... ... literally willing all the runners on, literally picking up those who fell. People in Hallowe'en costumes (or maybe they were just goths) outside a pub, jazz bands, horns, mobile discos, DJs on balconies, Darth Vader guarding a traffic island, blokes sat on settees on the pavement drinking beer cheering us on, bag pipes, drummers pounding under bridges... even a Valley Strider cheering a Valley Strider on!
The handful of images I have retained are a drop in the ocean of what I saw as I ran the 26.2 miles. The last 5 or 6 miles I cannot describe without my lip wobbling. I am pretty sure that there was a very loud wall of noise for a long time which was just constant and unwavering and I don't think I have ever been anywhere like it. I have to confess a lot of it is a bit of a blur. I was so proud to be taking part in such an amazing event and so proud when I finished. I beat Peter's time by seconds. He was gracious in defeat and handed me the crown, by gracious text.
At the end of such a momentous marathon experience it should have come as no surprise to receive a text from Bob before an hour had passed with his congratulations and observations on my split times. Well that was more welcome than an automated text generated by chip timing and deserves thanks, surely.
When you finally get to start, setting off is quite daunting, you just try to stay calm, focus, relax and then settle into a rhythm. I liked the slow pace of pen number 5, I spent the first hour or so listening out for any niggles and tried to make minor adjustments to biomechanics to compensate for any. You just keep moving, checking your pace every mile, making sure you don't fall over and when that's all working well, actually enjoy it. Each mile took a fairly predictable ten minutes, the math was easy - if I kept this up for 26 miles and pushed my foot down towards the end, I might beat Peter's PB for the London Marathon and he would treat me to a coffee and cake. That was never going to happen though. I could dream. I did follow the thin blue line most of the way in honour of the athletes who preceded me along the route, and in fairness to save energy and hopefully a few seconds off my time.
Meanwhile, there were the water, Lucozade and Lucozade gel stations to interrupt any thoughts of victory over Peter. They seemed to loom into view as soon as the road became clear of empty bottles; this is not a criticism, this seemingly almost constant supply of food and drink was really welcome. Something else happened which almost caused memory loss especially when it came to the all important need to beat Peter's PB. Thousands of people applauding, smiling, cheering, shouting and by the end screaming all the way round... ... literally willing all the runners on, literally picking up those who fell. People in Hallowe'en costumes (or maybe they were just goths) outside a pub, jazz bands, horns, mobile discos, DJs on balconies, Darth Vader guarding a traffic island, blokes sat on settees on the pavement drinking beer cheering us on, bag pipes, drummers pounding under bridges... even a Valley Strider cheering a Valley Strider on!
The handful of images I have retained are a drop in the ocean of what I saw as I ran the 26.2 miles. The last 5 or 6 miles I cannot describe without my lip wobbling. I am pretty sure that there was a very loud wall of noise for a long time which was just constant and unwavering and I don't think I have ever been anywhere like it. I have to confess a lot of it is a bit of a blur. I was so proud to be taking part in such an amazing event and so proud when I finished. I beat Peter's time by seconds. He was gracious in defeat and handed me the crown, by gracious text.
At the end of such a momentous marathon experience it should have come as no surprise to receive a text from Bob before an hour had passed with his congratulations and observations on my split times. Well that was more welcome than an automated text generated by chip timing and deserves thanks, surely.
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