Send in the Clowns - BAC 10K Challenge

Krusty_Clown wrote: »

I found a park less than a mile from the hotel, perfectly designed for runner's needs. Great open pastures and tree covered avenues made for great views and welcome shade. The running was still occasionally broken by the odd railway track or road passing through the park, but otherwise it was a very nice introduction to Germany...

Things I learnt from my run: Germans love parks. Germans only cross the road, when the green man is showing.
Summary: 10 miles in 76 mins, @7:37/mile

Krusty_Clown wrote: »

Well, it's been almost four weeks since I participated in the Davos Alpine marathon, and the memory is finally beginning to fade. I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing, but I figure I'd better get my thoughts on the race down on paper (electrons) as it's holding me back from updating my training log and with every beer, my recollection of the event is fading rapidly.

So how did I end up in Davos on that fateful morning? The wimmen-folk in the house had decided that a holiday in German and/or Italy would be nice. We decided on a suitable date, and I immediately set out to see if there were any interesting races, that lay along a route connecting the two countries. A quick search in MarathonGuide threw up a number of city marathons in Germany, which I had no interest in (next big city marathon will be another PB attempt) and a race in Switzerland that seemed to tick all the boxes. They had both a full and half marathon option (which would suit the better half), it wasn't flat, it was very scenic and different enough to anything I've done before that it should prove a different and memorable experience. As an added bonus, unlike most of the other places we would visit on our holiday, because of its altitude and position, Davos is quite cool in July (10'C) and it is also their wettest month of the year, so not unlike Irish Autumn conditions.

When I signed up for the race, I had set no expectations other than to enjoy myself. I had no plans to do any specific training as my goal was to jog the route. I'd be satisfied with any time that allowed me to enjoy the sights and finish with a bit of dignity (vanity kicking in!). Reading the periodical newsletters from the organizers, I began to realize that in order to enjoy myself, I was going to have to do a little preparatory training, as this was beginning to look a lot less like a race you could do for sh1ts and giggles and more like an actual challenge.

• Firstly they were recommending altitude acclimatisation for a few days before the race. I assumed this was more about boosting tourism than a real race need. Besides, we'd be in the Black Forest at 330m for a few days before the race (falling well shy of Davos' 1,530m).
• Secondly, the race featured a hell of a lot of 'up'. I did take a look at the elevation profile before I parted with my hard-earned beer tokens, but didn't realize exactly how much 'up' there was, until I attempted a few long uphill runs in the Dublin mountains and came to realize that there weren't any uphills in the area that came within an asses’ roar of the Alpine race.
• Thirdly, there was snow at the top. Not a big deal, but snow tends to be cold and slippy.
• Finally... Trail... I had expected nice forgiving tarmac roads that would lead one gracefully to the top, but there was talk of trail. Didn't matter. I wasn't bringing trail shoes, so running shoes would just have to do.

That's the risk of doing something like this on your holidays. Because it's a flight of fancy, rather than a goal, there's a very real risk that you (or more specifically I) will not give it due consideration and the respect it deserves. And that's pretty much the way it panned out.

Davos:
We arrived in Davos the afternoon before the race, for registration and last-minute acclimatisation (Yes, I know it doesn’t quite work like that!). I had expected to find Heidi-style hamlets, goats and chocolate cuckoo clocks with swiss-army blades for hands, but instead, Davos was a beautiful valley, in which someone had dumped a sh1tty city, where Gucci competed alongside McDonalds and a plate of pasta will set you back more than €20. Registration was a pretty sh1tty affair too. The Swiss may be leaders in the field of precise engineering and squirreling away ill-gotten bags of cash, but when it comes to sign-posting and marathon expos, they have a thing or two to learn. After an unfeasibly expensive dinner, we walked around the town and located the train station and hit the hay for an early night. One breakfast later, Emer walked me down to the Train Station where I awaited the train bound for Bergün.

Race goals:
1) Enjoy myself
2) Run all of the way
3) Finish in under 4 hours
4) Finish in the top 50 / 100 (wasn’t sure which was possible/feasible)
5) But mostly the ‘enjoy myself’ thing. I was, after all, on holidays.

In the days leading up to the event, we had been warned of very unseasonal conditions, where we could expect temperatures of 30’C - 32’C in Bergün, Klosters (where Emer would start) and Davos. As a result, we spent many days humming and hawing about doing the race at all. I’ve run marathons in similar temperatures before, but never at altitude (almost a mile above sea level), never on trails, and never with a mile of ascent. Added together, it just sounded dangerous for a freckled Irish lad, but as soon as I set foot on the train that morning, I was committed. Everyone else on the train that morning seemed to be sporting hydration packs, shiny Salomon trail shoes and every hi-tech piece of gear you could imagine. I felt a little naked in my old runners, shorts, singlet and sun-glasses, with just a couple of gels stuffed into a pocket. In the hour before the race started, I drank as much as I could and I clung to every bit of shade available in the beating sunshine, cheering on those leading brave souls who ran through Bergün on the road to completing their torturous 78km ultra journey.

The Start:
We lined up at the start and after a few minutes of waiting in the baking sunshine, we were off. I knew starting as slowly as I could was the order of the day, but getting passed by half of the entire body of runners was a little frustrating. Within the first mile, I reckon I had dropped down to around 400-500th place, as we wound our way on a short loop of the village, that frustratingly had us climb 100m, just to drop us back down to the village again, which seemed a little unnecessary, given the climbs that lay ahead. By mile 2, some of those runners who had passed me had already started walking as the heat and slight inclines were already taking their toll. I couldn’t imagine how these runners hoped to face what lay ahead. Arriving back in the village we hit the first water stop and though only two miles had passed, I was determined to get some water into the system, to cope with the heat. I grabbed a cup and moved on, only to look into the cup to see a large number of floating particles. I gave it a quick sniff to discover that I’d inadvertently picked up a cup of hot soup. Foiled! No way I could drink soup on an uphill climb in 30’C heat, so I dumped it in frustration and moved on to the start of the climb.

The Climb:
Despite the growing heat, the uphill climb leaving the village was magic. The competitors had thinned out and we were off the roads and onto trails not dissimilar to the kind of fire-roads you’d hit on the Wicklow Way trails. The views were terrific, and I was feeling great. So good in fact, that I was passing runners in droves, feeling like I was out for a jog. We hit a forest section, which meant a brief respite from the sun and I was beaming from ear to ear. Eventually, we left the forest and emerged briefly on a road, before we hit a sudden 100m single track technical drop. Like me, many others didn’t expect to find a really challenging downhill terrain this early in the race, and with no room to pass, a large number of competitors found themselves holding up more practiced downhill runners. I’d class myself in the former group, but ran like the latter, throwing caution to the wind and flailing madly down the twisty uneven surface, concentrating hard to avoid tripping on a tree root, branch or cleft of rock. The sudden switch between uphill muscles and down-hill muscles was tough, but was only a taste of what lay ahead.

Finally we surfaced back out on a road, and the real climb began, strangely, on a concrete road. At this stage, with the heat reflecting off of the concrete and the unrelenting climb, runners were dropping like flies, slowing to a walk. I still felt good, and though the pace had dropped, I was still running. I was however sweating profusely, with salt running into my stinging eyes, making it difficult to see where I was going. After a few more miles and a couple of water stations, we were off the road and onto the trail. Now those running were very much in the minority, with perhaps one in five still technically running. At this point, I was still feeling pretty good. I was still moving well and passing competitors by the dozen. I was beginning to get faux feelings of grandeur; that I was immune to hills and the heat; that I was actually a much better mountain runner than I thought I was; that I was feckin’ deadly. The climb was tough, but if I could keep running until 13 miles, then it was all downhill; plain sailing to the finish line. Whoop!

The Crash:
You know that movie Titanic, where a young feisty DiCaprio stands on the railings and declares that he is ‘The King of the World!’, but soon afterwards loses his wordly belongings, his buxom sweetheart, and ultimately his life? Well I reckon I faced a similarly dramatic change in fortunes and also felt that same sense of loss. After 8 miles (I really must study those elevation graphs) the climb got very steep, and the trail got very rough. If you’re familiar with the stony section of the climb up to the SugarLoaf in Wicklow, then you have a good idea what this terrain was like, but unlike the SugarLoaf, this climb continued for miles. I shortened my stride even further, and continued my run. Less than 1 out of every 10 people were now still running and it was easy to see why. With the steep climb and heat, moving fast came at a significant energy cost. I kept it up through mile 9, and looked at my watch to mark the occasion when I slowed to a walk after 9.25 miles. Over the course of a single mile, I’d shifted from feeling euphoric, to feeling beaten. Still, I had only to get to the 13 mile mark and then it was plain sailing to the finish. Right?

Hands on knees, we forged our way up the hill, occasionally breaking into a trot when the ground levelled out a little, or when an opportunity arose to pass another runner. However, before long, these bursts of speed came less and less frequently. The organizers to their credit had water stations placed every 3 or 4 miles along the route, however on this tough uphill climb, 4 miles meant 45-60 minutes between water stops. As we climbed, the temperature dropped by a couple of degrees and the vista changed, with patches of snow scattered around our route. Eventually, there was snow within reach and I grabbed a handful and held it to the back of my neck. We crossed the occasion alpine stream, which brought the melting snow down the mountain, carrying with it a haze of cool, refreshing air. Some of the larger streams had bridge crossings, while for others you chose to tip-toe across the stepping stones, or throw caution to wind and run through them.

The patches of green disappeared and were replaced with bare rock. The views opened up. We were getting closer to the top. Up ahead we saw an aid station where crowds had gathered, which lifted our spirits, as we broke into a run once more. Lots of cheering crowds, tents, a rescue helicopter as we arrived at the top of the climb. I looked at my watch, relieved that the worst was over, and saw that it had taken my 2:10 to get to this point. That gave me an easy 1:50 to make my way back to Davos. I don’t know if I have ever been as wrong, in my life. A doctor asked me how I was feeling, and I mumbled something to reassure him that I was ok, before grabbing some Isotonic tea and hitting the descent. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I hit the peak (altitude of 2,600m, after having started at 1,300m) in 34th place, out of the 1,200 finishers.

The Way Down:
Whatever hope I’d built up on reaching Kesch (the peak), was burst immediately as we hit the downhill. In my naivety, I had pictured a nice soft, bouncy, grassy trail, all the way to the finish. Instead we faced the rocky Sugarloaf-like trail once more, only this time, we were heading downhill and the risks were far greater. Soon afterwards we hit the first snow-crossing and I figured out why all the other runners were wearing shiny new Salomon trail shoes. My ageing Mizuno Precisions had absolutely no grip on the icy surface and with a precarious drop on one side, I could only gingerly step across the icy expanse. Snow was followed once more by loose rock, and then snow, and more rock. This pattern continued for about a mile, until we started climbing again. But, but, but… Where are the meadows and lazy, rolling down-hills? I cursed myself as I took in the expanse of the next few miles, and the climb that led us even higher than the peak we had just left. Why hadn’t I spent more time looking at the elevation profile? I cursed myself some more. Plenty more…

The Way Back Up Again:
I was following in the footsteps of another runner, when all of a sudden, he dropped to the ground, as though he had been shot. Great… Now on top of everything, we have to deal with snipers.. As I arrived at his position, he lay prone on the ground, clutching his calf muscles. I was glad of the break, as I offered to help him stretch to relieve the cramps. I pushed his feet forward, as I’d seen it done in many a football match, as he thanked me in a flurry of rapidly-spoken Italian. After a couple of minutes, he thanked me again and urged me onwards. I started climbing again as best I could, my uphill muscles having gotten a brief respite on the tricky downhill. I made it a further ½ mile, before my own legs muscles seized up with cramps. I hobbled out of the way of the approaching runners, as an Italian spectator made his way towards me to provide some aid. He took over the job of kneading my cramped quads (and if I’m being honest there was a bit of willy action there as well), while I stuffed down a gel to try to ease the cramps. We both thanked each other (each having gotten something out of the arrangement), before I hobbled onwards. As the route steepened, my will to continue drained away. With every step, I slowed. The terrain was very tough (icy streams, loose rock) and I felt pretty spent. I trudged my way to the top of the second climb (2,733m) this time with little enthusiasm for what lay ahead, again mumbling to the medical staff, wishing I had the courage to just give up.

The Real Way Down:
I was growing increasingly used to disappointment, so when I crested the second peak I wasn’t surprised that the terrain did not match the mental picture I had built up in my mind before the race. On a mountain bike with a full set of crash pads, the descent would have been bliss. Loose grit, steep drops, sweeping curves and large rocks would have been a thrill, but with 16 tough miles in the legs, cramping muscles and nothing left in the tank, I felt only despair. For the first time in my brief running ‘career’, I wanted out. I didn’t want to play any more. I still had 10 miles to go and my will to keep going had left me. But there was nowhere to go but down.

I stepped aside as runners with grippy shoes pushed into the corners, using the momentum of each twist and turn to launch themselves in another direction. By contrast, I had to brake into each corner, as my shoes gained little traction on the fine dusty surface. After a very tough mile of descent, we hit a mountain ridge and the terrain softened a bit, and for a couple of miles, I could run without breaking on the painful cramped quads.

The Last bit:
When the watch announced that I’d reached the 20 mile mark, I could only grunt. Normally this signalled the final 10k and a shift in mind-set to prepare for the tough struggle ahead. However, on this occasion, I had already succumbed, and the prospect of another six miles brought only further despair. My stomach was suffering and I could no longer contemplate the ISO sports drinks at the water-stations dotted around the landscape. I was so thirsty, but drinking water merely brought on a bloated feeling and never seemed to quench my thirst. As we lost altitude, the temperatures rose, and again, we were in the 30’s. I felt like I was being passed my hundreds of runners, but at this stage, didn’t give a damn. On downhill sections I could still run, but as soon as we hit the slightest of climbs, I was reduced to a slow walk.

After 24 miles, we entered a forest once more and the shelter from the sun was welcome, but like me, everyone around me was spent. Single track trails were the order of the day again, but this time I didn't have the energy to tackle the twisty downhills. I stumbled my way through the forest, stopping to massage cramped muscles or trudge up a climb. At one point, I crossed a rope bridge over a ravine, but looking down, I was hit by a wave of nausea inducing vertigo. I have never suffered from anything like this before, so think it may have been down to my depleted state. I had to avoid looking down the steep fall-offs for the next couple of miles, because of the resulting waves of dizziness.

Eventually I broke out of the forest and back onto the roads towards Davos. A group of three runners caught me, which briefly resulted in some enthusiasm, as I pushed on, on the flat or downhill sections, only to have them catch me on the climbs. There were more downhills left than climbs, and I pushed on over the last mile, little realizing that I had been running with the great Lizzie Hawker, who has won or finished in second place in the K78 event for the last number of years. Arriving back into Davos, I finally mustered some enthusiasm (more because I could see an end to this nightmare, rather than trying to derive any sense of dignity), and crossed the finish line after 4 hours and 56 minutes (in 54th place out of the 1200 runners).

Looking back, it’s hard to muster any sense of achievement or accomplishment from the race. In fact, apart from the endurance element, I’m not sure if I got anything from the race at all, which goes some way towards explaining why it has taken me so long to write this race report. I’m used to having the occasional mental failure, or physical failure, but rarely both at the same time. I planned for the race really badly and executed it really badly. Had the weather been different, had I carried salt tablets and worn trail shoes, had I spent some time analyzing the elevation profile and researching the course, I think I might have enjoyed an entirely different outcome. But the weather was hot and I was ill-prepared and suffered the consequences. If I had known that it would be a five hour pain-filled trudge, would I do it again? Like hell I would. Still, there’s a seed planted. Now I know what the course is like and what to expect, I can't help but wonder if I could break four hours in favourable weather conditions. I don’t think I’ll ever get to find out.

Race Achievements:
1) Enjoy myself
2) Run all of the way
3) Finish in under 4 hours
4) Finish in the top 50 / 100
5) But mostly the ‘enjoy myself’ thing. I was, after all, on holidays.

Summary: 26.x miles in 4:56.

Krusty_Clown wrote: »

Oh, most definitely. It's been top of my bucket-list for years, but life continues to get in the way. I can only imagine I'll get one shot at it, and as such, I'd rather do an uphill year than a downhill year. I couldn't do it this year, as it coincided with my son's leaving cert. In two years time, it will coincide with my daughter's junior cert. In four years time, it will coincide with my daughter's leaving certificate. By 2019, I fully expect to be focussing my attentions on rock-climbing, having ruptured and torn every muscle and ligament in my legs.

9 - Comrades 2015(Yes you better plan ahead).

This is the 90th Running of Comrades, and will be a major celebration, and all things being equal it will be on either the 31st May 2015 or the 7th June 2015 and it will be an up run, so please keep this in mind.

The CMA are likely to increase the field cap from 18,000 to 25,000(as they did for the 75th Comrades in 2000), and here is the problem, and that is finding a finish complex in PMB which can cope with a 33% increase in runners and supporters, so its quite possible, that it could be another 'Double Down', but we will know by May 2014 whether it is up, or whether it is down, but who cares, its the 90th Comrades Marathon, which will be celebrating the 100th Anniversary of the commencement of WW1, which itself lead to Vic Clapham starting the Comrades Marathon as a race in 1921, and I don't care whether they run it on the Moon, as I will be there, and I hope you will be there with me, and it would also be great if we could draw out some of those Comrades Veterans who might not have made the trip to Comrades for a few years, as most of them still have 1 more Comrades left in their legs.