Race Reports
September 9, 2023,
by Pete
There’s probably not a large amount to be written in a race report for a race you DNF’d 2km in, but I did learn something about myself: I discovered I’m the kind of person who’ll be violently ill for six hours then try to run across the alps in a snow storm. I might not achieve my goals, but I’m relieved to know I’m still stupid enough to try. I’d been feeling pretty confident in the morning. There was a severe weather warning – snow, wind, plummeting temperatures – but I thought that could play to the advantage of British runners. As I frequently assert, I’m from the north. I was in the right head space to try something hard. It felt like this was a moment I could grasp. As I gazed up as the storm clouds drifting across the Alps, I thought of Antoine de Saint-Expury in Sand,... View Article
There was a beautiful dissatisfaction to every breath as I pushed my way up to Passo del Monte Moro, the high point of MEHT. I was breathing heavily and the air was crisp, clean and scented with pine trees – but at sea-level the air is 21% oxygen, at the pass that drops to about 14.5%. It’s not extreme altitude, but my lungs sure knew about it. I’ve been following a training plan and have had weeks of building up again following the Bob Graham effort. Less overall volume but more quality, with some cracking sessions. The plan said to try to find a race that would take six hours and be steep and technical: Monterosa Eat Himalayan Trail Sky packs a lot into it’s 38km, with 3100m of elevation gain and a mammoth ascent that’s dwarfed only by the even bigger descent. Perfect. My strategy was to keep the... View Article
November 26, 2022,
by Pete
I don’t like razor wire. It looks really sharp. I realise this is the point but still, it’s not my favourite. So when you’re squeezing through a gate at the exit from an airforce base at the highest point in the Valencia region, hands frozen and struggling to stay upright in the wind, razor wire is the last thing you want to negotiate. But that was later, of course, and we’ll get there. That must have been almost seven and a half hours after the fireworks illuminated the skies above the small town of Finestrat. A few hundred runners burst from the plaza, headtorches illuminating the streets as they headed for the hills. A tension pulls at us; not wanting to go off too fast but dreading the bottleneck if you start slow. Ultra Trail Costa Blanca had began. Moments later we’re single file, a thread of illumination weaving its... View Article
October 14, 2022,
by Pete
“The earth,” wrote Antoine de Saint Exupéry in his classic fell running memoir, Wind, Sand and Stars, “teaches us more about ourselves than all the books in the world, because it is resistant to us. Self-discovery comes when man measures himself against an obstacle.” Okay, so maybe the book was about flying not fell running, but the sentiment fits. The Langdale Horseshoe is a classic fell race; runner against a collection of all that the Lakeland fells can throw against them. It’s got everything from scrambling to fast runnable sections, river crossings to waist deep bogs. And it’s ran in October, because fell runners are daft in the head. Why go into the mountains on a nice day when you could go up in whatever Autumn is throwing at you? Last time I ran this race I was recovering from flu and my body just didn’t want to go. It’s... View Article
September 22, 2022,
by Pete
About once a year or so, I conduct a highly scientific experiment: which is stronger, my body or granite? I never plan when this experiment is going to happen but I know immediately when it does. 4km into the Ring of Steall last weekend, granite extended its lead to three nil. I’m hoping it’s a best of three kind of competition and we can call it quits now. I’d taken my running poles moments earlier to help push up Sgurr an Iubhair but they’d spent most of their time clutched redundantly in one hand while I navigated bogs and stone. I got my toe on the edge of a big rock and then, without hands to pull-up, I slipped off it and my shin bounced down the granite edge. A hand steadied my rear. A marshal quipped that the person behind and I were now an item. I just wondered... View Article
September 14, 2022,
by Pete
If you’re not from Newcastle or South Shields, it might be hard to understand how big a place the Great North Run occupies in the collective consciousness. It doesn’t matter where I’ve travelled to race, or how far those races have been, for many people here the question is always; ‘are you doing the Great North Run?’ After route changes due to coronavirus restrictions in 2021, the world’s biggest half marathon returned to the traditional route this year. You start on the central motorway in Newcastle and you run to the sea in South Shields. Given I live near the start and was born near the finish, it always feels a little like coming home. I know how I should pace a race but on a fast road race like this, I just don’t want to. I’d rather fail spectacularly knowing I gave it 110% than pace myself around to... View Article
I’d never considered Poland for a mountain running break before. There’s a degree of familiarity with the famous running destinations in the Alps or Pyrenees but as soon as I saw the promotional video for Tatra Sky Marathon, I knew that it looked like something special. The evening we arrived in Koscielisko I saw the sun set paint firey hues behind the towering, cross topped, presence of Giewont and it’s neighbour Kopa Kondracka. I may not be in good shape but whatever my legs chose to do, nature had given us an incredible theatre to run in. The race started close to Zakopane and the atmosphere was electric well before the seven am start time. Runners thronged together under the starting arches and listened to the race briefing. Only two words were translated for me: snakes and bears. Right then. Let’s be having it. Four trombita’s sounded the start and... View Article
Don’t set out to impress. It’s childish, for one thing. Bloody childish. And for another, it will get you into trouble. Because when you’re out of the slips at quicker than flat 5k pb pace running up a lakeland fell, you’ll realise you’ve once again went off too hard. I glance around. What am I doing in fifth? This is lunacy. I’m not even performing at a level where I always accept the sobriquet of ‘fell runner’ so sitting in fifth in a race in the Lakes? Absurd. Sort your life out, Jobes. But also. Also, what if all of the Bob Graham training has transformed me into being half decent at this? Only way to find out is to push harder. At the mile mark I’d lost a few places but was still top ten and, having mocked Prefontaine last blog, I decided to employ another of his maxims:... View Article
Blood. I knew there had to be a way to identify other marathoners in the crowds running up the beach towards the finish. All race distances had different coloured numbers, but from behind that was no help. Luckily, mud caked, bloody and scratched legs were a dead give away. But that was later. Of course. At the end. We’d started almost four hours earlier, wide eyed and shivery in the shadow of Alnwick Castle. It was a surprisingly cold start to the day – or perhaps I just have a poor grasp of how cold clear mornings in February are. The event was Endurance Life Northumberland, with four distances culminating in a finish at Bamburgh. A friend and I plumped for the marathon distance, though it was of course a mile and a half longer because in trail world no one cares how long you hurt for. I imagine this... View Article
November 26, 2021,
by Pete
If you’ve read many of my mountain race reports, you’ll know that nothing cheers me up like the sound of cow bell. So imagine the scene; I’m approaching the top of the longest climb of the day, the midday sun is filtering through the trees and I’m in desperate need of refreshment when I hear the sound of bells. My legs start to turn over that bit quicker, my head picks up, and my lips break into a smile. I glance around eagerly, tastebuds already sensing the coca-cola that the volunteers are somehow keeping ice cold, and realise I can’t see an aid station anywhere. I look to my right, my gaze following the sound of the bells up the slope. Goats. There’s always bloody goats. A whole herd of them, threading their way down through the trees, the largest of the group with a bell strapped to his neck.... View Article
