Throwback Thursday

La Rochelle harbour

These are some marathons from my pre-blog era.

Kumamoto Castle Marathon (Feb 2015)

This marathon was run in much better conditions than I ran last weekend's Kita Kyushu Marathon. Although it was still cold, I woke up to a beautiful blue sky, no prospect of snow or even rain and very little wind. I was staying near the start so I left the hotel quite late and only just got my gear into the baggage trucks before they closed their doors, but then had to freeze for half an hour in the starting corral. I wore shorts and T shirt which proved to be a good decision, but I saw virtually nobody who ran in less than tights and a long sleeved top.

I was starting a long way back so I made a decision early on to not go for a fast time. But just like last week I ended up weaving around people. I find it interesting that the Japanese, who in daily life are the politest and most courteous folk you will ever meet, become totally oblivious to other people once they get out on a marathon course. They stop suddenly, they veer to the side with no warning whatsoever (especially when they notice a toilet), they elbow other runners without apologising and they cut in front of other runners at the aid tables in their apparent urgency to get a drink but then ironically take their time to make sure their empty cup actually gets inside the rubbish bin.

We started with a little tour of Kumamoto, crossing the river and generally tootling around. Every so often we had to use an overpass and this involved reasonable sized hills. There were lots of spectators as expected and all calling out the same words as last week: gambatte and fight-o. It's lovely: each person calls put this exhortation as if nobody else has ever thought of doing so, with vigour and genuine feeling. You can't help but smile back at them.

Although it's the Kumamoto Castle Marathon we started with our backs to the castle (a wonderful example of a Japanese castle) and ran away from it, and even at the race finish there wasn't a particularly good view of it. After a while we left the city and moved into the Japanese countryside, lots of rice paddies and clusters of houses. There were still loads of spectators, it was like the whole village must have come out to watch. There were also so many marshals, some having the awkward task of having to hold up large signs about toilets or turnaround points. I always find the number of marshals quite amazing at these events.

After half way the aid stations had food and this is when the real fun started. I must have spent two minutes at one of them sampling what was on offer. I took a red bean bun, an apple Danish, some wrapped churro-like things and half a banana. Then I noticed the other fruit, mandarins and strawberries so I had to eat some of those. Earlier on I had eaten something really strange that was a cross between a piece of solid treacle and a cube of sugar. They also had big balls of rice but they didn't appeal. I could hear the clock ticking but I knew I had started so slowly that I had already blown any chance of running a fast time.

But I was also enjoying passing lots of people, just because I had started so far back. I began to wonder if I could still run a reasonable time, and I got the idea of aiming for a Japan PB which would mean running under 4:11, the time I had run in Nagano in 2012. Nagano is a pancake flat marathon, though. There were lots of clocks on the course so I had a fair idea that I was moving ok to have a chance of achieving this.

It became rather uncomfortable in the last ten kilometres and I didn't respond quite so readily to each gambatte. But it was nice that I recognised some of the landmarks as we came back into the city. And then there was the hill up to the castle. Of course castles are always built on hilltops, I had visited enough castles in Japan to be fully aware of this. This one was hard, it was in two stages and once I had finished the first hill I wasn't expecting another one, but we turned a corner and saw another climb. Fortunately the finish line was close.

I saw from the clock that I would indeed have done a Japan PB. Luckily this was one of those races where you can collect your finisher certificate right there in the finish area, so I had the evidence I had run 4:09. At the finish area the helpers were wonderful as usual, congratulating us and thanking us for running in very formal language. We got little cardboard frames for the certificates and of course there were helpers to help us put the certificates in the frames. There were people handing out plastic bags for our finish line goodies, and helping us put our goodies in those bags. And suddenly everyone is looking where they're going, not cutting into lines and not veering off course.

Tokyo Marathon 2015

I felt a bit emotional arriving in Tokyo for this marathon. This is where my liking for many things Japanese started, when I ran this marathon in 2009. I was so blown away by the marathon that of the 78 marathons I had run at that time I told everyone this was the best, and I continued to regard it as my favourite marathon for several years afterwards. I talk about it in glowing terms in my book "Passion for Distance, the story of my hundred marathons". What would it be like the second time around I wondered.

My hotel was right on the start line but due to intense security measures I couldn't get into my corral from the hotel and had to walk for about 20 minutes. Since it was a cold day (yippee!) this was a way to keep warm before the race start. I noticed a lot of non Japanese runners, a change from the Japanese marathons I have run in the past two weekends, when I don't believe I saw a single non Japanese runner. 

We were able to watch the starting ceremony on a TV by our corral (I felt a bit sorry for all the dignitaries who would have had to get up early on Sunday morning to spend a long time sitting there in the cold), and only six minutes after the gun went off I was on my way. Amazingly for a race with 35000 runners and compared with two previous marathons of only 12000 runners I found I could get into a good pace almost immediately.

I enjoyed the noise and pizazz as before. The crowd was often well cordoned off from the runners so there wasn't quite the contact I had experienced in the other marathons but the gambatte was there as usual. Last time I had revelled in all the foodstuffs that were on offer but this time I wasn't so much aware of this. But I did keep a lookout for the tomatoes that were advertised as being at the aid stations because I have never eaten tomatoes during a run and this sounded interesting, although perhaps too acidic? Who knows, so I wanted to find out.

We made our way through Shinjuku, past the Tokyo tower, past Zozoji temple, around the edge of the emperor's garden and through Hibiya Park. I continued to have space to run, with only minimal weaving around. Heck, simply walking down the street in Tokyo is more congested than this. Having said that, I actually tripped over a runner, causing me to scream out in surprise; he had stopped to pick up a glove he had dropped, causing a runner right behind him to stop very suddenly and causing me, right behind that runner, to trip.  I spent a bit of time chatting to some Aussies and a couple of Canadians and noticed lots of Europeans.

Once we were past the entrance to Asakusa temple and then finished with the Ginza shopping area I turned on my music and hoped I could maintain what for me was a very reasonable pace of under six minute kilometres.

Eventually I saw the tomatoes. I had been rather restrained with the eating during this marathon and had only eaten a slice of cake during the first half. The tomatoes were cherry tomatoes, thousands of them in big boxes so I grabbed two. Delicious. It was nice to eat something that wasn't sweet, partly because it felt like real nutritious food and partly because it didn't give me a craving for something else sweet. Anyway it didn't make me feel sick so that was a good thing. I took another two further down the road.

Last time I ran this marathon it was windy and quite wet for the final stretch where you cross an artificial island in Tokyo Bay. This time it was dry and therefore more pleasant; the road was wide so it didn't matter so much that there were runners stumbling around, stopping suddenly and generally being erratic as we all are towards the end of a marathon. There seemed to be an increasing frequency of photographers towards the end and the Japanese love nothing more than having their photo taken, so they would run an extra few metres to line up for the photos.

And then I finished. I had done it in four hours and four minutes so I was happy. This is now my fastest Japanese marathon, having run my fastest last weekend also. Can't complain about that. 

The only thing is that with the Tokyo event the real marathon is getting back to your hotel after the race. I wrote in my book that it took me two hours and I wondered if I had exaggerated. But it took me well over two hours this time, and I was rushing because I needed food and I hadn't brought much money with me. Firstly you have to walk miles through the finish line area and out to the train station. A highlight of this walk was that we went past a booth with free tomatoes, full sized ones, and a chance for more tomato testing. At the train station there are hundreds of people getting off trains and coming to the finish area, presumably to meet runners, but it looks strange having the arriving passengers outnumbering the departing runners.

The train trip is long but at least the trains are well heated and comfortable. I find it amazing that after only one stop it already seems the runners are lost in the crowds of regular passengers. A woman asked me (in Japanese) if I had run the marathon; I wondered why me, the Anglo, when there are plenty of Japanese runners she could have asked, but I looked around and actually there weren't any. Big city, nice race.

Philadelphia Marathon (Nov 2015)

I had a good day at the Philadelphia Marathon. It's an intangible thing, but I can see some of the reasons. I ran the race without suffering, I enjoyed the scenery, I loved the typically American spectators with their silly signboards and their enthusiasm for calling out to runners for hours and hours, and I even managed a visit to the (extensive) Art Museum before returning to my hotel. Some marathon days go well, and this was one of them. 

I didn't put any pressure on myself before the race, this was going to be a marathon for fun not for a fast time; I'm done with trying for fast times this side of my 200th marathon. As it turned out with a wonderful tailwind for much of the final 10 kilometres, I finished at a better pace than I was anticipating in the early kilometres and I ran my goal time without difficulty. As a piece of trivia, I ran this 198th marathon a touch quicker than my 98th marathon, Los Angeles.

It was a cold day, luckily for me since I always prefer to run in the cold, and a bit windy which is apparently unusual for race day here. This was a huge race, 11 000 in the marathon plus many more in the half, but the wave starts worked very well, and I found I could actually run right from the start line, although I started 15 minutes after the gun.

We began with a big loop around the central city area and the historic bits like Independence Hall and Washington Square. It's all a blur in my mind but I remember that it was nice at the time. I had already been for a jog around the city the day before and I can confirm it's a pretty place, lots of streets of picturesque row houses, cobbled footpaths, little parks. As we ran down the main shopping artery I picked out a brew pub to return to for dinner that night.

After the city we headed out to Fairmount Park for a lap of its autumnal splendour - the trees in their autumn colours were fantastic all through the day - returning almost to the start line. This can be a bad thing, having to pass the start line half way through the race, but on this occasion it was welcome, because the start line is in front of the Art Museum steps made famous in the Rocky movie and you couldn't see them from where I stood in my starting corral. As we ran close to the gallery at the 13 mile mark we had an excellent view.

For the second half we had a long out and back to a satellite town called Manayunk, running alongside the Delaware River the whole way. I had some recurring stomach issues but I plugged along until I found a toilet without a queue. The discomfort returned from time to time, especially after I drank, even while avoiding the beer that was being handed out, but I managed to distract myself. It was windy on the way out, often gusty, but very pretty and reminded me very much of the Richmond Marathon. The spectators were great and I kept telling myself that after the turnaround we would have a tailwind to take us home. Manayunk was nothing special - I thought it should be special with a name like that - but it was on a hill so we had some nice downhill immediately after the turnaround.

The last stretch is also a blur in my mind now, but I know l enjoyed it while running increasingly fast. We had our name on our race bib and spectators were calling out to me all the way. I loved it. I had the rather strange illusion that they were only there to support me, which is an absolutely fabulous feeling during the late stages of a marathon and I ran as fast as I could so as to be worthy. Some of their signs were very clever and I kept telling myself to try and remember the slogans, but I can't recall a single one now! From 24 miles or so they were calling out that it wasn't far to go; usually I hate people saying that because even at the 26.1 mile mark there is a fair way to go, but today I didn't mind one little bit.

The best thing about the finish area was the chicken broth they were handing out. I don't normally have any desire for soup, whether after a race or any other time, but this soup was perfect for the occasion. I felt refreshed and ready for the delights of the Art Museum.

Climbing the Art Museum steps wasn't too bad, but I was worried about coming down again! From the top there was a fabulous view of the whole marathon finish area, worth the climb just for that. Inside the museum you got no clue at all about the marathon happening outside. I was quite surprised that nobody in there even asked me about it; in my experience Americans are very curious and solicitous on days like this when you turn up in their world looking unkempt and exhausted. For the record, the art collection is great and definitely worth a generous amount of time. But maybe not straight after a marathon. I enjoyed a whirlwind tour of about an hour then had to head back for a bath and a rest. 

The brew pub tuned out to be good, and as I sat at the bar a rather drunk runner approached me for a chat. He said he recognised me because we had been running together, although I didn't remember him. In fact he had finished in under three hours so we had definitely not run together, but I was flattered. Maybe if I look like a three hour runner I should try harder.

Marathon de La Rochelle  (Nov 2015)

This marathon had been on my bucket list for a long time and I wondered if it could live up to expectations. I really liked it. Which is a bit strange because I ran on very tired legs, I found the track too crowded to be able to run properly and I was dodging and weaving for the entire race, and the weather was bad - windy and often rainy. Two things really stood out for me: the way the entire town had got behind the race in terms of allowing us to run through the very heart of the town, in their enthusiastic support all along the route and the way the race seemed to take priority over anything else that was happening there that day. I didn't get any feeling at all of people complaining that roads were closed so they couldn't get to the hospital/the car parks/the museums (some of which were closed because of the race)/the shops. 

This is a marathon of over ten thousand runners in a smallish town. It's similar in design to the Bunbury Marathon but I can't imagine a marathon of ten thousand in Bunbury with all the concomitant inconvenience to the residents. Anyway, this is larger than any marathon in Australia and the point I'm making is that La Rochelle is just a small provincial town which manages to stage a great marathon.

The other standout feature was receiving two dozen fresh oysters and a long-stemmed rose at the finish line. 

I suspect you were intended to take the oysters home to share with the family over dinner that evening, but that wasn't practical for me so after I had enjoyed a relaxing bath I sat on my hotel bed and ate the lot of them. Once I had learned how to open them, of course. I hadn't been presented with a collection of intact oysters before. I used the windcheater we were given at the finish line as a tablecloth. And I have to admit two things after the experience of eating two dozen oysters at a sitting: firstly it is truly wonderful to be able to scoff oysters one after the other with no thought of either expense or table manners, and secondly I will not feel like eating oysters again for quite some while.

There was only one small weakness in the organisation: the finish area (after we had received oysters, rose, a bag of food, a commemorative towel, a commemorative but hideous windcheater, a big medal and drunk coffee, tea or hot chocolate) was extremely congested and thanks of a whole lot of barricades we had to file out through a tiny gap in these barricades. The French aren't so keen on queueing so they were trying to prise the barricades apart and as a result several runners fainted and a runner fell and apparently broke his arm so the ambulances were called in, there was general complaining and it took ages to leave the race venue. When we were allowed out we had to climb up onto a wall and descend the longest flight of steps ever (I'm talking about doing this immediately after a marathon, remember) so there was a lot of discomfort to be seen. A large truck had unfortunately broken down right outside the finish area and was completely blocking our exit.

The marathon was a great showcase of the town, two almost identical loops. We ran initially through the touristic centre, a sweeping cobbled road alongside the old port which is lined by cafes and boasts a lovely view of the two towers guarding the entrance to the port (there's a third tower which is just out of sight but was where the race finished). After that there wasn't a corner of La Rochelle that we left untouched. We passed parks, the old gates to the town, the cathedral and numerous churches, huge mansions, a few factories, the beach, the new port and many other sights that are a jumble in my head. 

The marathon was overwhelmingly French, with barely any foreigners. I don't think of the French as being particularly athletic, I always think eating and drinking is more their style, but they certainly turned out some good athletes for this event. Over two hundred runners went under three hours and the way the race website was worded it sounded as though I would have to get a hurry up on to be allowed to finish. This website suggested that anyone who was going to take as long as four hours to finish would be able to have a pleasantly leisurely run with time to "révitalisez" which I interpreted to mean time to sit down for a three course meal, sup a few glasses of vin rouge and frequently pause for conversation with spectators. I didn't manage any of those things alas. 

I felt my legs were tired right from the start - who knows why....so I started out taking it easy. Then I decided to try to push through the tiredness and I think this sort of worked. There were several clocks along the course and next to some of them there was a sign showing your projected finish time based on when you passed this clock. I watched my projected finish time get earlier and I was pleased. However my actual finish time and my time in the results don't quite stack up. Oh well. Keeping up recent practice I ran this 199th marathon a little faster than my 99th. So I am all set for the finish line now!

My 200th marathon, Malaga, Spain (6 Dec 2015)

I didn't have the easiest day at this marathon, but with it being my 200th I was very determined not to let what turned out to be a difficult race upset me. I knew it was only the heat and humidity that were causing problems. What did it matter if I didn't run my best. I owed it to myself to be sure I enjoyed the experience, whatever it turned out like.

This Malaga marathon was clearly going to be a bit out of the ordinary. I decided that after I had tremendous difficulty finding the expo and registration venue, and then was rather surprised at what I found there. 

The race website suggested taking the metro to the expo and I was happy to do that. But I couldn't find the metro station. I asked several passers by who didn't seem to think there existed such a thing, and then when I found someone who believed me she pointed me to a place about a kilometre down the road, but when I got there I still couldn't see the station. As I slunk back to my starting point this same girl noticed me and asked what had happened, and then she pointed out that the metro was still under construction. Oh. Maybe the race organisers had written their instructions on the website a bit too hopefully.

A bus was suggested, possibly the number 3. The driver of the next number 3 bus that arrived said I needed the 16. I tried to board the next 16 but apparently it was going in the wrong direction. There was a weird one way system in operation because of the construction of the metro.

Well, eventually I found the right bus. It was absolutely packed and was taking on more and more passengers but not one of them looked as if they might be going to a marathon expo. Against the odds I found the expo after a long bus ride and a long walk.

At the expo they had a stall piled with running and triathlon gear, sort of jumble sale style, and then a display of motor bikes and a display of cars. In our race goodie bag there were the usual leaflets, and a toy car. Different.

On the bus on the way back into town after the expo visit I met a couple of runners from the UK 100 Marathon Club and we enjoyed the sort of weird bragging contest that keeps people who run lots of marathons happy.

Right up until the morning of the race there didn't seem to be any runners in Malaga. It was supposed to be a big race. The place was crowded with tourists and locals but no obvious runners. So I was delighted when I stepped out of my hotel on race morning and saw runners walking and jogging down the street. I was in the right place after all. Apart from us runners the place was deserted. Nowhere to get a cup of coffee even and the marathon started at 8.30 which is not exactly the crack of dawn.

People had told me not to expect the race to start on time but I think the gun went off a minute early although I didn't actually hear it. I was in the final corral, but even with 3000 runners in the marathon I got going quite soon.

I have to say that the route was not terribly exciting. We headed out on a wide road and did a loop around a newer part of the city, then returned into the centre and headed out alongside the city beaches. The beaches had greyish sand and were deserted, but there were quite a few friendly spectators along the road.

I was very alarmed to notice myself starting to feel uncomfortable well before half way. I seemed to be getting the breathing problems that I have sometimes had on humid days, and this has wrecked a few marathons for me, but not recently. I was running a good pace and I worried if I had set out too fast but I was way down the back of the field and I wasn't passing anyone.

At the half way point there were masses of spectators lining the road and the way they were carrying on you could easily have thought we were reaching the finish. Maybe that made setting out on the second half seem extra bleak. Anyway by around 24 kilometres I was suffering extreme power failure and I know I had to do a little walking even before I reached 25 kilometres. I felt really bad, and to make things worse nobody around me was walking. But I continued to need short walk breaks for the next six kilometres. 

It was a very open stretch of road in the full sun. I don't think it would have been over 15 degrees but it was humid and I felt uncomfortable. I needed several drinks at each aid station despite them being quite at quite frequent intervals - once or twice I grabbed four cups - and In retrospect I think I may have come into the race dehydrated.

By well before 30 kilometres the drinks stations had all run out of cups and the aid station helpers were handing out their three litre flagons to runners, who would have a slug and hand them back. But there were hundreds of used cups lying on the ground. I've got no pride when it comes to drinking from used cups during a marathon, I mean we are all runners aren't we, so I had no qualms about picking up a cup from the road and filling it to get a drink. I did this over and over, and once I also picked up a discarded half full water bottle from the road when I didn't think I could make it to the next aid station. I'm writing this the next day and I'm not dead from road poison.

After some tedious running around various sports stadiums, including a circuit of the running  track at one of them, and with quite a lot of walking, we suddenly turned onto a long straight road just after the 31 kilometre mark. It was shaded and almost immediately I felt better. I know I picked up the pace. I started to pass people for the first time in the race.

From then on things were not so desperate. I was still having to walk from time to time but I felt a lot more like a marathon runner struggling in the late stages of a race and a lot less like I shouldn't be there at all. Looking back on it my bad patch did not actually last all that long but at the time I thought I was going to feel awful right up until the finish. That was not the way I had wanted the marathon to turn out. There were a good few sections of shaded road in that last quarter of the route. I felt very tired but at the same time my spirits were higher than they had been for several hours. 

We came back into central Malaga and were running on narrow city streets. There seemed to be rather little race signage so I took care to have a runner clearly in view ahead of me. We had to dodge shoppers, spectators and cars but somehow it worked out ok.

The final kilometre was an absolute delight. We wiggled around the heart of Malaga's old town, which is a real gem, and also I had come to know it very well after my days there. We passed right by the cathedral, a truly phenomenal place, the Roman amphitheatre and the Moorish ruins, and emerged into the huge park that separates the old town from the port. You could see the finish line way off in the distance at the end of a half kilometre of straight road.

And at that moment I knew I was going to make it to the end of my 200th marathon. I started to feel tears welling up, but that was no good and I forced a smile instead. The crowds were huge. Everyone was cheering loudly for everyone. It was a blissful occasion and I loved it. Then it was done. And I was truly spent. My brother in law was waiting just beyond the finish line, and he said "You look tired Julia". Yep, tired and happy.

Johennesbad Thermen-Marathon half marathon (Feb 2016)

Maybe I shouldn't have tried to wing a half marathon, but I wanted to do something to round off my very long trip to Europe before heading home so I decided on the Johannesbad Thermen-marathon (half marathon) in Bad Fuessing, Bavaria. I'm not a fan of thermal baths so this was rather an odd choice of race, being based at Europe's largest thermal baths complex, but there was nothing else on the calendar that was conveniently located. Although this one didn't prove to be as convenient as I expected. 

I was staying on the Austrian/German border in Austria at a town called Kufstein and the train/bus trip to Bad Fuessing required me to change trains at Rosenheim and Neumarkt St Veit, then take a bus from Pocking to Bad Fuessing. It was only about an hour by car but very circuitous by train.

I had 6 minutes to make the connection at Rosenheim but I missed it. There was extra security on the train across the border and the first train was a bit late. So I had to cool my heels for 2 hours in Rosenheim, in the rain. I got through Neumarkt OK but when I arrived at Pocking station the station attendant wouldn't let us cross the train tracks to reach the bus stop until the train I'd been on had departed and, as it happened, until the bus for Bad Fuessing had also departed. So I missed the hourly bus that makes the 8 minute trip to Bad Fuessing. They'd sold me a ticket that decided on all these connections for me. Definitely not happy about this. But I think this must happen pretty much all day long because there were lots of taxis waiting there. A group of us ended up taking a taxi, which was lucky for me because there were other runners heading where I was heading, but I didn't know exactly where I was heading.

My hotel was full when I got there (bad luck number 3), but they had arranged for me to stay at another one which turned out to be nearer the race. I rushed off to register for the race and did so without really understanding the entry form so I can't be sure if I answered the questions correctly. I probably got my name back to front and gave my postcode for my age.

Bad Fuessing was a weird place. It reminded me of Canberra because there were lots of big roundabouts. But apart from that it was a town of monotonous hotels side by side, all advertising the prices of their restaurant meals, and the promise of a selection of boring monotonous rooms. I'd been anticipating a quaint Bavarian village.

That evening I tried the indoor section of the thermal baths nearest to my hotel; they were very busy, but not with runners, just patrons hoping to get healthier by sitting in the warm water. Might be more entertaining than watching CNN in my hotel room I guess, but not by much.

The race turned out difficult. The course itself wasn't the most entertaining, as we ran alongside wintry fields and through the occasional wintry village. I set out too fast and paid the price later, after about 3 kilometres. My main problem was my legs not wanting to play the game. I can't really blame them as I had only run twice in the past month, and that was on snow or patchy ice so I could not use a normal pace. Also, it was warmer during the race (which only started at 10 am) than I expected (it had been snowing when I left Kufstein the previous morning) and I regretted running in tights. I ditched the gloves with relief at half way. But I noticed almost everyone else was really rugged up with tights, beanies and long sleeves, even thermals. There were only 3 aid stations on the course which for me wasn't enough in that temperature. These aid stations did have a great selection of fruits and many types of drinks, including warm isotonic, hot tea and (cold) water but I expected to get this treatment every few kilometres.

However, I had gone to a lot of bother to get there so I wasn't going to have my day spoilt by barren pastures and uncooperative legs. My legs didn't like this attitude and well before half way my quads were burning. My knees, which had become sore from skiing, ached and reminded me that they would prefer not to bend repeatedly, but thank you for doing it with running shoes rather than heavy ski boots. Even my shoulders hurt. I got slower and slower until I'm embarrassed to say I walked a little around 18 kilometres. I don't think you're meant to walk in a half marathon.

Anyway, I did make it to the finish, as I knew I would. But it wasn't pretty. I perked up when I saw the array of cakes and fruit laid out (and alcohol-free beer, which didn't appeal to me although  German runners love it). That's one clear advantage of running the half marathon as opposed to the full, because by the time I finish a marathon the good food is usually all gone.

I made a return trip to the thermal baths and this time I tried the outside baths. These were vast, with all sorts of little areas you could sit and get healthy, plus corridors of water with current to push you along. It was nice to amble about in this warm water in the sunshine, and I enjoyed it except that I couldn't linger because I had to catch the bus back to Pocking. 

The bus and trains didn't match up well on the way back to Kufstein, so the ride took forever again. I ran through Rosenheim station to be sure of making the connection, or at least I tried to run but my legs had stiffened up and weren't really functioning at all. I must have looked a complete idiot, attempting to run while being afraid of falling down the steps, but I didn't want to spend another 2 hours there. Kufstein felt like home when I finally got there, and I felt like I had done far more than a half marathon.

La 6000D - 65 kilometres of French trail

Rule number one: Don’t go into the mountains without a rain jacket. What could I have been thinking, leaving my new rain jacket behind in my room? Well, France was in the middle of an amazing heatwave for one thing, I’d watched the weather forecast three days ago, and I don’t like carrying stuff I probably won’t use. So the weather, rather than the huge climb to the glacier, turned out to be my story of the day.

By 5.45am I was on the start line for the 6am start and it was raining, lightly but steadily. Oh well, I thought, that’s the rain out of the way. It was so warm and humid that I wouldn’t have put on my jacket anyway. It was quite pleasant in fact to be cooled a little for the early kilometres. After loud emotional music and a baton of fire we were on our way, following a wild river. People surged but I ran slowly.

La 6000D is an iconic French trail race, a 65 kilometre event in the huge Paradiski area involving a climb from the ski town of Aime to the Chaupe glacier and back in a loop, taking in many ski resorts, a bobsleigh run and the promise of a run through the snow. There is more than 3000 metres of climbing and the same amount of descent, hence the name (D is for dénivelement). We had to carry trail running crampons for the snowy trail on the glacier and I used hiking poles for the first time. We were over 1500 starters. That’s huge for the ultras I’ve done but normal in France apparently.

The opening kilometres were not that interesting, undulating and passing through some ski resorts, with mountains all around but we weren’t climbing them yet, in fact the opposite: we seemed to do a fair bit of descending. It was very crowded. Then we reached the bobsleigh run, the first major feature of the race and only recently introduced into the race. It was built for the Albertville Winter Olympics in 1994. This was a strange experience, running through a half open tunnel, and it was not as steep as I would have expected, lucky for us as we were running up it.

We continued through ski terrain, chairlifts always in view as a bit of a scar on the landscape, but the mountainsides were nicely green and there was plenty of forest. We climbed and fell and with much cloud cover we were protected from the heat of the sun. I was mostly running but many people were already walking; I would pass lots of people on the uphills only to be passed on the descents.

After 20 kilometres we reached the first aid station, at Plagne Centre, the base of a ski area. I was curious to see what it would be like - I expected tables and chairs and a feast. It wasn’t quite like that, more a tent and no seats, but the sustenance was fine. I ate pieces of marble cake, banana and raisins. Then onward and upward. The climbs were getting longer and steeper and after a while there was a little snow by the trail. We passed a lake.

Then the serious climbing started. I could no longer run and anyway we were all caught up in a long conga line. I loved using my new hiking poles. In the whole day I probably would have seen fewer than ten runners without poles.

At Roche de Mio (2681 metres) near the second aid station there were clusters of spectators, including the family from my AirBnB home, and it was great to see them. I thought we were much nearer the glacier than we actually were; at this point we had only done 26 kilometres, after five hours. From here there was a swooping descent, bad news as we would only have to regain this height later, but the views as far as Mont Blanc were superb. I was pleased not to be noticing the altitude at all except if I tried to jog, so I didn’t. 

Following that descent we embarked on the real climb to the glacier. Runners, all walking, stretched along ahead and above I could see people like tiny ants, moving along where I had to go too. I hiked strongly and passed lots of people on the rocky ground. Nothing grew here, it was all rocks and snow. Quite bleak. The clouds were closing in and there weren’t going to be any views from the top. In fact the summit of the glacier (3047 metres) was uneventful and I had to ask another runner if this was it.

About five minutes into my descent the weather really came in. For some moments I could not see anyone else but I could see the trail so that was ok. There was a very steep bit through snow and I fell over. Yes the snow was cold but my body was still warm. Then it started raining heavily. I remembered I had no rain jacket. Then I could hear thunder. Then someone mentioned 'la grêle'. They were not wrong, they correctly identified hail. Then there was lightening. Just as I was thinking to myself it was not good to be on top of a mountain with metal hiking poles in a thunderstorm, someone yelled out to us not to put our poles in the air. The gondola for taking spectators up the glacier appeared to have stopped running. At a point where I expected to see runners coming along the trail in the opposite direction there were none (I learnt later that they had paused the race for those not already on the final glacier climb).

I was very suddenly absolutely frozen. I was also the most scared I have ever been in the mountains. Only for about ten seconds, though, because I reckoned the storm would soon be over. I put on my fleece, but even when I stopped to do that I got colder (because it was a lot of messing around taking off my cap and vest and getting the fleece out of my vest pocket) and I wasn’t sure it would be much use in the rain. However it did give me a little warmth. I had no feeling in my hands (but I was gripping my poles ok) and I had an odd sensation around my shorts: I had to keep checking I was wearing them because I felt as though I wasn't! We had lots of snow patches to cross but we didn’t use the crampons because the snow kept alternating with proper trail.

After maybe half an hour we emerged from the cloud and were high above a green valley. We had a lovely gentle descent and the sun was trying to peep out. The views were fabulous, and not a ski lift in sight. Part way along this trail there was a huge hold up. We had to cross a tributary of the river in the valley and because of the storm (I found out later) it was a raging torrent, a real waterfall. We had to cross using a rope and very slowly on slippery rocks. I felt quite nervous but there was no alternative.

Not long after we had a big climb to the Col de l'Arpete at 2337 metres. And at the top we had only done 40 kilometres. It was a fairly endless slog, punctuated by an aid station. And speaking of toilets, there weren’t any. It was all very public. This climb was sapping but you could see that everyone was tired. Just before the top was a lovely round lake. I kept my wet fleece on for ages, long after I could comfortably have taken it off. Well at least it had been worth the effort of carrying that. Fat use my crampons had been.

Eventually we started to descend for real. Much of this was in the forest but it was a bit too steep for my liking. I was glad of the poles for getting me into a good downhill position and they helped me relax my upper body. And so we undulated along, dropping down towards the valley and then inexplicably climbing again. We passed through a couple of major ski resorts where there were really vocal crowds. That was wonderful, and they must have been doing that all day long as there had been earlier races too. But it started raining again. Then the sun came out and it was hot. The last aid station had brie and crackers which were perfection.

I thought it was about time to be done but the forest continued for a long time. I was playing cat and mouse with the same people, some of whom I had been with all day. I witnessed some vomiting and heard many strange sounds of fatigue around me. We emerged onto a sealed road alongside the gushing river, the Isère, and I thought this must be close to the finish. There were numerous nice little name placards at various points along the river, but no sign of Aime itself, then I was finally happy when I saw a signpost to the showers for runners as this must surely mean we were near the race HQ. After many years of running we crossed a bridge and were back in Aime. But we had to run the entire length of this vast metropolis (population maybe as much as a few hundred). At least I was going to beat twelve hours. I could not believe how long this had taken.

And then, as usually happens, I was done. 11hours 43 minutes. I held my poles aloft in triumph. It was a wonderful moment. As it turned out I finished half way up the women’s field and hundreds of runners didn’t finish at all. I think they stopped the race during the storm so many people would have missed some of the later cutoffs but I was not affected.

I was greeted by the other couple staying at my house and we had our race beer together. I ate a small part of the plate of pasta we were given. Then I went home to bed.

Race to the Stones 100k, England

While I was running this race, and writing my report in my head, I was sure I would be focussing on the heat and little else. It was certainly a hot day, in the high twenties, and I thought of writing about the brutal heat, the unexpected heat, the blazing sun that reflected off the fields, the heat that didn’t diminish as the day wore on (and the sun didn’t go in until after 9pm when I was almost done), the heat that was clearly responsible for my slow pace (because there could be no doubt that I was well trained for this event). But then everyone I spoke to who had run the race before told me how lovely it was and they were right, it was a lovely run on several levels. That’s what I choose to remember.

The organisation was the best I have ever come across, especially the aid stations, which they called pit stops and which had both great food selections and very enthusiastic staff who made me feel I was reaching the finish line every time I arrived at one. Unfortunately I was so delighted by the food available at the second pit stop after 22 kilometres that I ate far too much and had indigestion; for the rest of the race I don’t think I ate enough.

Almost every kilometre was marked and there was a marker at one kilometre before each pit stop. I found these helpful. At each pit stop they had a sign telling how far to the next one and an elevation guide for the whole course. So you didn’t have to memorise everything.

Most of the route was along The Ridgeway, Britain's oldest footpath. It is basically an elevated path alongside farmland, where you can see the very typical English patchwork of fields in all directions, sometimes a rutted wide track, sometimes stony and sometimes single track. From time to time there were villages to pass through or farms to pass, country roads to cross and patches of woodland. Quite a few gates, too, and one stile. There's one famous part where we ran a dead straight line through a field and you could see a line of runners stretching into the distance. Lots of people stopped to take photos here.

 My favourite stretch in hindsight was the part alongside the River Thames which took us to Goring, the only town on the route. This part was flat and at the time I found it hard work but the river looked so cooling.

There were few landmarks as we couldn’t see the White Horse and the other famous sights near the path, apart from an amazing crop circle at kilometre 92. And I’m not at all convinced that the race route did justice to the stone circle at Avebury (the stones in the title) because I only saw two stones. But it was unceasingly pretty despite the radiating heat.

At first the race was crowded - we were sent off in waves of about 200 and I was in the third wave - but by the second pit stop I noticed a lot of people were already walking and well before half way I would sometimes not see anyone for several minutes. There were about 900 people in the non-stop version I was doing plus the same in the two day race, and we were all mixed in together. I chatted with a few people but mostly ran alone, and I often found it lonely work. I think I was in quite a bleak place mentally for a long time and I had to do a lot of self talking to keep myself on an even keel. This was undoubtedly caused by the heat. 

I had no idea if I was running well or not. My marathon time was about six hours, which sounds slow but I was trying to pace myself, and I think this worked. I never had that feeling of being completely drained, and while I walked a lot I never walked for very long at any one time. 

The route was undulating with some distinct hills. I had read several accounts of the race beforehand and the accounts were so different they could have been describing different events so I was not sure what to expect. In the end I found the route less dramatically hilly than I anticipated and the downhills were all very runnable, admittedly I have been practising downhills.

I had my fair share of drama before the race. Once I decided to enter the race I booked a room in a pub which seemed to be handy to the start line at Lewknor, a village near the only stop the London-Oxford bus makes outside the two cities. I booked online in January for the July race and relaxed; two days later I got an email from the owner saying she had double booked the room but could offer me a "very small single"; it sounded like an attic storeroom, cell or such! After I had issues with my booking for another race (the one I’ll be writing about next) I reconfirmed this booking and it sounded ok. Except that I would have to walk almost four kilometres along the A4 from the bus stop to reach the hotel and then back again on race morning to get the shuttle that would take me to the race start. The pub was not quite where I had thought.

The walk turned out ok as there was a pavement along this busy road. But when I reached the hotel the owner, quite a grumpy woman, had no record of my booking and said she had promised the room to a friend. I begged not to be sent away and she said "Yes, your nearest option for tonight would be in London. I’ve had about 50 people call today asking for a room.” She gave me the room when I told her how long ago I had booked it and reconfirmed. It wasn’t a cell at all, it had a nice bed and a view of the garden, an ensuite and coffee. The owner was grumpy because she had once taken a group of runners to the race start but had forgotten one of the women in the group, who had then posted a very unkind review online; she clearly had it in for the race. I heard her muttering to one of the locals hanging around that I was expecting her to take me to the race start, which was not the case at all. But she cooked a very reasonable bangers and mash (and peas) for me, and her husband made me a honey sandwich as takeaway breakfast. 

I allowed plenty of time to walk to the shuttle bus stop and I got there exactly when the bus from London (that the shuttle was meeting) arrived, which was ten minutes ahead of schedule. The shuttle loaded up and left for the race, so it was lucky I had got there early or I would have had to walk another two kilometres. I still had 100 kilometres to cover that day.

I remembered all this while I was running, reminding myself I had already done extra. When I came into half way, where people in the two-day race were stopping for the night, I didn’t feel like I wanted to do the same again. I wondered if I was undertrained. The problem is that you cannot run more than 50 kilometres at one go during a training block because you need too much recovery afterwards that would disrupt the training. So I wasn’t undertrained, I was just having to respect the distance. I was revived by eating some pieces of cheese wrapped in plastic and very sweaty due to the heat. Delicious. I had wanted to sit down at my rest breaks and have a proper rest as I had no time pressure but there was never anywhere to sit! The only option was to sit on the ground and I wasn’t going to do that because getting up would be too difficult. So I barely sat except for about a minute on two occasions. 

I was pleased I remembered both to drink at the aid stations and to fill my bottle, since I often forget to have a drink at the aid station when I carry a bottle, and I was remembering to drink between the aid stations which were up to 12 kilometres apart. I drank to thirst but I was sure I wasn’t drinking enough, although I went to the toilet twice and I didn’t get the hot face sensation I get when I’m dehydrated.

All day I ate a lot of sweet things, chocolate bars (yay, they had Twixes at one aid station), fruit, Nutella sandwiches and crisps (bliss - two packets). I drank Coke and Ribena and water. I mused on how the race could afford such generous food supplies, and I think it was because the race entry didn’t include any merch: no T shirt, drink bottle or other junk.

I was counting down the kilometres from about the 30 km mark. I thought of other long races, especially the SaintÉlyon 72 km on similar terrain. The kilometres passed slowly. I worked on my mental state. I could see that sometimes I was running when others were walking. I played cat and mouse with one particular pair of guys for hours. You could just tell that everyone was struggling.

There was a wonderful long downhill in the final kilometres as we ran to the Avebury henge, 1500 metres from the finish. I had hoped to finish in daylight for no particular reason except to give myself a challenge, even though I had my head torch in my backpack and I did not actually know what time it would get dark (in my four days in England I had not yet gone to bed after dark). I missed by minutes, so I got to the stones in rapidly fading light, did my circuit and put on my head torch to cross the final field to the finish line. 

I loved the finish, with lots of spectators clapping and ringing cowbells. I felt a hero. Then I collapsed into a chair. I only had a rough idea of my time but I knew I would be happy with it. It was not long after 10pm. There was plentiful food at the finish: pizza, hot dogs and chips (both sweet potato and regular). 

After eating I wanted to lie down and sleep, as I wasn’t scheduled to leave until the next morning. I was suddenly very cold. They had a big shed with mattresses. I had put on my sweatshirt and raincoat and tights but I was still really cold and I shivered as a I lay there; I think it was because I was still wearing my sweaty race clothes but there was no way I could imagine having the energy to take them off. I went and told the medical staff that I was cold; they had run out of foil blankets but they said I could go and lie in a tent. Amazingly the race had organised about twenty individual tents and they let me have one of them. I was still cold but I managed to sleep for maybe three hours. Later on I sat in the sun (yes, sun again at 5am) to watch the constant stream of finishers and dozed a few times. Also I enjoyed some more food courtesy of the race: breakfast including hash browns, sausages and bacon. 

When I looked at the results I found I had finished in 14 hours 21 minutes and I had won my age group by over an hour. So not too shabby really.