My feet are up on the couch as I write this, so this title just popped into my mind.
Why we run – for trails like these
Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time lying on the couch. In my “glory days” when I was a youngster, it was for much needed rest, my body exhausted from training twice a day. I’m older now, need less sleep, so consequently get up every morning before 5am. By early afternoon, I’m back on the couch, having a granddad nap, or ‘recharge’ as I like to call it.
Looking for inspiration before the Joss Naylor Challenge
The couch is also one of my best place for reading books and day-dreaming. Where all my best ideas usually come from. The Lakeland Trails being a classic example.
Another one of my dreams was to become a running coach one day.
That day has arrived.
Now I feel ready. Looking forward to helping others with my lifetime of running experience, stretching back more than forty years. In this time I’ve had many, many coaches myself. Each one I owe a debt of thanks. Along the way, I’ve also made many, many mistakes, becoming wiser and learning from them all.
Trail running on the Lakeland Trails
There is only ever one way to do things, and that’s the right way. This is as true for coaching, as for every area of life. There’s no such thing as a ‘quick fix’. Everything needs to be built on a strong foundation. A lot of thought needs to go into why, where and how.
For me, I’ve been waiting patiently for a few years, learning my new trade, going on various leadership, mentoring and coaching courses. The main thing I needed was having enough time to do the job properly.
Me, finally being able to run the Cartmel Trail in 2018
During the last fifteen years, much of my time has been taken up with managing and marketing the Lakeland Trails events. Over the last eighteen months, I’ve been working hard behind the scenes with our Event and Operations Manager, Phil Blaylock. We wanted to create a seamless transition. The Lakeland Trails have now had more than a year looking after themselves with Phil’s great leadership.
So now the time is right for me to get stuck into my next adventure, coaching.
A few of the many books I love to read on the couch
I’ve been a student of coaching all my life. An avid reader of everything and anything to do with running, training, nutrition, psychology and related subjects. I guess I’ll always be a student. Always learning. It fascinates me how some coaches transform individuals and their performances.
What makes them stand out from the crowd?
My own coaching style will take a slow, long term approach. Coaching is a two way process and relationships take time to develop. This is not something that can be rushed or taken lightly. Every individual is different, with their own unique set of personal circumstances. Being able to see the bigger picture is something I’ve trained myself to do over many years. Asking the right questions, listening to nuances in the answers, prioritising, then making the best decisions for that particular situation.
The most important thing for me to encourage is to inspire people to dream big. Really big. Sky’s the limit big. As the saying goes, reach for the stars and you’ll maybe land amongst them.
Dream big! Nicky Ridley went from couch to 55K Ultra runner
For some, this may be to complete a 5K ParkRun. The classic Couch to 5K. Why not a 10K? Or a Half or Full Marathon? Maybe an Ultra Marathon? Nicky Ridley (in photo) went from being overweight and on the couch, to Ultra runner – read my blog about her, “Trails less Travelled”. Who knows, you may aspire to completing a personal challenge like the Bob Graham Round in under 24 hours? Even making the podium in a World Championships?
Winning a Silver medal in the World Masters Orienteering Championships 2018
Whatever the dream, it needs to be YOUR dream. It’s worth spending some time really thinking hard about this.
Dreams are what will fuel your determination and persistence.
Trail running inspiration, where dreams are made?
Coaching follows on from knowing that big dream. Then the hard work for a coach begins. Reality checks of where someone is now and where they want to be in the future. Improving poor technique and correcting bad habits. We all have them. We can all improve. So for me as a coach, it’s back on the sofa, doing what I enjoy the most – thinking and planning.
Using all my experience, I can help with making achievable goals along the way, creating realistic, individual coaching plans.
“It’s not about winning. It’s about the journey”
This has become one of my mantras. I say it all the time, as I believe it’s so true. Once you have a big dream, have set some goals, then the really fun bit is starting out on a new journey. Memories from this will last with you forever, regardless of the final outcome. It’s like life. Having a purpose makes things much more worthwhile.
A photo memory from the journey of completing all 214 Wainwrights in 214 days
Getting started and taking the first step is always the hardest.
So what’s your big dream?
Get in touch and together we’ll work on making it happen.
9th October 2018
Subscribe today! – Win six months’ personal coaching worth £500
For my initial period of coaching, I am going to limit the number of clients that I coach to just six people. One of these, Rebecca Atkinson, has been chosen as the lucky winner in a prize draw made at the Lakeland Trails in Ullswater event. To have had a chance of winning, you just needed to be a subscriber to my Trailrunning blog. Congratulations Rebecca!
I started orienteering again almost two years ago, after a 30 year break from the sport. It was a way of trying to encourage my son Ash to take up the ‘thought sport’. I’ve always valued the lessons it teaches about decision making and independence, lessons that can be used in every aspect of life.
One October weekend in 2016, I just told him I was going orienteering on some sand dunes near Barrow in Furness. It was a shock to get lost so many times, unable to see map detail properly, despite my new sports contact lenses. I returned home finishing some 15-20 minutes behind people my own age.
The second time I went, again I couldn’t believe how much time I lost to my contemporaries, although the words that inspired me were from Ash. He was just seven at the time, and as I left the house, he simply said “Daddy, when you next go orienteering, can I come too?”
Those words were music to my ears.
So, our family orienteering journey started a few weeks later in some woodland on the shores of Derwent Water in the Lake District, my partner Claire shadowing Ash. Me running around too fast on the long course, getting lost again and again, unable to find the checkpoints hidden amongst the bracken. Tripping up all the time, trying to run in half eye reading glasses.
It’s fair to say I’ve been a better than average runner, and not such a good orienteer. Over the years, I’ve dipped in and out of the sport, since my first event way back in 1969. There weren’t really any suitable courses for kids back then, and my induction was a PFO club event at Dean Clough, near Burnley. Running in some woodland to the finish from the last control, I was flung backwards, catapulted by a single, rusty wire fence, landing spread eagled on my back. The wire was at head height and I just didn’t see it. I thought I’d got something in my eye, so put a hand over it as I ran back to the finish. Blood was everywhere. I’d been lucky. The wire had ripped one of my eyelids so it was hanging off, and the other was cut deeply. Off to hospital to get everything stitched and cleaned up. I remember wearing an eye patch for the next week or so, like a pirate.
What a badge of honour for my first orienteering event!
My dad, Alistair, was a big fish in Pendle Forest Orienteers in those days, one of the early pioneers in the sport. As a family, we did go with him a few times, although with four children fighting in an overcrowded Morris Minor, these were always chaotic, stressful days out. With nothing to do at the events apart from wait for dad to return, we quickly grew bored. It put my three siblings off any kind of sport for a long, long time.
One of these early orienteering experiences was an event held at Timble Ings, a small wood on the way to Harrogate. It was in around 1972, and I was doing the M12 class, the youngest course on offer, even though I’d only be 9 years old. I remember winning a small Yorkshire cheese, along with a map of the course, with Winner, M12 Yorkshire Championships typed in red across the top. I had this on my bedroom wall for years. It’s still the only ‘perfect run’ with no mistakes that I have ever done.
Unbelievable setting for orienteering at the Italian Dolomites
By the time I reached 16, there were more local orienteering events and this time round I started going without my dad, cycling to events with friends, getting lifts further afield with the late Gerry Charnley. I soon got asked to join Peter Palmer’s GB Junior Squad and had two years improving my rudimentary skills with training camps in Scandinavia. This started my life long passion for travel.
After experiences at big events like the Swedish O Ringen, orienteering in the UK suddenly lost a lot of it’s appeal. Then breaking my leg in a fell race when I was 18, it was some time before I had the confidence to run in rough terrain again. I’d also just gone to University in Cardiff, to study Optometry and found I quite liked parties, girls and booze. So that was it for orienteering for a while.
Instead, I ran cross country and on the roads for a season or two, although never quite made it into the ‘big time’, finishing with PB’s of 30.30 for 10km, 50.38 for 10 miles and 67.32 for Half Marathon.
SELOC Racing Team, 1988 winners of the JK Trophy Relays. Left to Right : Rob Lee (Leg 2), Rob Bloor (Leg 4), Stuart Rochford, Me (Leg 1), Ian Christian, Iain Rochford (Leg 3), Mark Seddon
The most fun I’ve had and my best year’s orienteering in the UK was when I was living with my brother Andrew for a while back in Lancashire. I joined SELOC in 1987 and spent a winter training with the likes of Rob Bloor, Mark Seddon, Rob Lee, Ian Christian & Iain Rochford. We dubbed ourselves the SELOC Racing Team, and with Ian’s contacts at Ron Hill Sports, where he worked, we brought a dash of colourful lycra to the UK orienteering scene. They were great times. Hard training, hard racing, with beers and barbies afterwards. We peaked too early though by winning the JK Trophy the following year. It all went downhill from there.
Then I fell in love with a beautiful Scandinavian girl and moved to live in Denmark for a while, running for Farum Orienteering Klub. I couldn’t even make their A team. Future stars like Carsten Jorgensen and Allan Mogensen were at the club too.
Moving to Bristol in 1989, I set up an Optometry practice on Redland Road, near Clifton Downs, and joined the local club BOK. I did the odd orienteering event, battling with a youngster in the club called Clive Hallett, although by now I was mainly running road, cross country and fell races. However, it was always mountain trail running that I enjoyed the most, after discovering superb races in the Alps, the Sierre-Zinal, Matterhornlauf and Thyon-Dixence amongst many others.
Then I drifted away from orienteering again after selling my practice and moving to live in Ireland. I won the Irish Mountain Running Championships in 1994 whilst living there – the only other name on the trophy belonging to the legendary John Lenihan, who had won it the previous ten or eleven years.
I took up a new sport, paragliding, and spent roughly half the year floating around the skies above the Alps of New Zealand’s South Island, the other half peering into peoples’ eyes, doing Optometric ‘prostitution’ around the more scenic parts of the UK, to fund my travels. Stuart Parker, from WAROC, came out to visit me in Wanaka, New Zealand, one year. He’d been running in the World Masters Orienteering Championships up in the North Island. I remember taking the piss out of him for taking part in an event for oldies.
I never, ever thought I would take part in one myself.
For a decade, I moved around a lot. Travelled a lot. Huge cycle touring journeys, one for six months. Massive hikes. New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Nepal, all over Europe and Scandinavia. Flying with huge birds of prey. Amazing experiences. I couldn’t settle down anywhere though. I was “like a cat on a hot tin roof”, as one of my friends, Shane Green, described me.
Finally ending up here in Kendal in 1999. I’ve been living here, off and on, ever since.
On the Lakeland Trails in Keswick 2017
For the last 15 years I’ve been organising the popular Lakeland Trails running and walking festivals in the Lake District. When I reached the ripe old age of 40, I just couldn’t face chasing veterans titles. So instead decided to put something back into the sport that has given me so much pleasure during my lifetime. I wanted to bring some of that European glitz and glamour to the dull world of fell running. Trail running was new to the UK back then. From humble beginnings – the first event had just 80 competitors, the events soon grew. We now get over 12,000 competitors every year. All ages and abilities take part in events from 400m Fun Trails for the Under 8’s, then on to 5K, 10K, 15-18K, Half Marathon, a Marathon, even an Ultra Marathon of 55K and 110K. Runners and walkers come from all over the world. I’m proudest of the fact that more than half our competitors are women! Check us out here : www.lakelandtrails.org
I gave up Optometry. Now I could combine my passion for sport with travelling during the winter months with my partner Claire. Ash was born back in 2009, and life has reached some sort of equilibrium since then. Although by the time he was six, he had been to New Zealand five times for long trips during the winter months, the first when he was only 9 weeks old!
A blink in time.
Suddenly Ash is seven. It’s October 2016 and I’m orienteering again to inspire him to hopefully join me.
How did that happen?
So the World Masters Orienteering Championships this year in Denmark always seemed to have my name on it. The event centre was even in Farum, where my old club was based. I felt I just had to go back again after living there 30 years ago.
Before this could happen though, I needed to get a few ducks in line. As the World Masters was going to coincide with our Ultra Marathon event in Ambleside, I knew I couldn’t be in two places at once. So this particular journey started even more than a year ago too, helping my friend Phil Blaylock, to work on managing the Lakeland Trails events, taking over from me.
It had been a dream of ours to have a year long family adventure living in France, with Ash experiencing life in a French school. Suddenly this became a possibility too. Last October, just after the Lakeland Trails ‘Dirty Double’ weekend, we bit the bullet, moving out to the Ariege Pyrenees to begin the challenges of a new life in France for the school year.
Me and Ash on the podium in Gran Canaria – Ash 2nd in M10, me winning M55
We enjoyed an orienteering Christmas holiday on Gran Canaria, running in the G-com 5 days there. My very first Sprint Orienteering event too on the opening day. A magical experience at night in the Medieval town of Aguimes. Palm trees and finish gantry lit up with fairy lights. PA and commentary blaring away in the balmy evening.
Our favourite control in Gran Canaria
Controls next to sculptures, our favourite one a camel. Luckily for me, I had a chat before the start with big Jon Musgrave from MAROC. He told me his best sprint races were when he didn’t try too hard. I listened. Instead of running fast, I took it easy and won by 2 minutes!
The start & finish at Agen, home of our French club PSNO
Early in the New Year, we found out about a weekend of “Sprint” orienteering events taking place in France in a town called Agen, a two hour drive away. Fortune smiled on us that weekend. Ash was full of cold so didn’t take part, yet I won both Open Sprints, a day and night one, outright. The organising club, PSNO, Pole Sports Nature Orientation, loved it. A totally unknown English H55 beating all the young guns. They were full of enthusiasm and support, welcoming us so warmly into their big family. Suddenly we were being invited to orienteering events all over France. We are all proud to be part of this fantastic club.
Meanwhile, there was still lots of work to be done with Phil on the Lakeland Trails, with frequent trips back to the UK, combining some of these with orienteering events.
The first Lakeland Trails event of this year was our Trails & Ales Party in Kendal for all our volunteers, around 200 of them, in February. On the same weekend I had an awful performance at the British Night Orienteering Championships in South Wales. Next came the Cartmel Trail in March and an opportunity for me to run in the 10K event, joining everyone in the Baltic, freezing cold. The next day, driving in the early morning through snowdrifts on the M62 to get to the Midland Orienteering Championships, only to find it being cancelled at the last moment due to the weather. A frustrating six or seven hour round trip.
Training in deep snow near our home in the Pyrenees
In France I was getting fitter and training hard, despite the deep snow, although still making some big mistakes with my navigating at orienteering events. So I got in touch with an old friend, Rich Tiley, from Lakeland Orienteering Club, the same one I had joined in 2016. Rich is an orienteering coach and quickly steered me in a new direction. Another person I need to thank. My running speed and fitness needed a degree of balance that I just couldn’t find. With Rich’s help I soon had a framework to build on, some sense of purpose. A formula to work with. Four words summed this up : Plan, Direction, Picture, Distance.
PDPD became our new mantra for orienteering.
I also bought Carole McNeill’s book and this became my bible. For anyone who hasn’t got a copy – buy one now. I read sections of mine almost every day, learning something new each time.
Spring sunshine for the Hawkshead Trail in April and it was now becoming the norm to turn up at the Lakeland Trails, everything perfectly set up. Strange to have time to chat with fellow Lakeland Trailers, being there in case I was needed. However, it was becoming obvious that I just wasn’t. Everything was running smoothly under Phil’s leadership. So I left him to it, and ran in the Middle National event in Graythwaite, just down the road, finishing a couple of minutes behind Quentin Harding.
Winning the French Middle Distance Championships 2018
Staveley in May and time for a big decision. The first Lakeland Trails event in 15 years that I wouldn’t be going to. With Phil now happily in charge, I remained in France, fretting and anxious, like a nervous parent watching his eldest child leave home. Big surprises too this month, despite plenty of errors. Winning my age class in the French Middle Distance Championships, by a whopping 8 seconds. Losing out by a few seconds in the British Long Distance Championships to Clive Hallett, in the sunshine at Balmoral Castle.
The Lakeland Trails Marathon in June and now I’m helping with event marketing, uploading photos and videos, seeing the event from a different perspective, in the virtual world. Finding time during the day to drive down to Corbiere in the morning for a blast round Mediterranean scrub and pine forest, my orienteering improving, winning the Open senior class once again. Back in time to upload the results online for the first Marathon finishers.
Me and Ash at the French Relay Championships 2018, Lens en Vercors, Grenoble
Before we knew it, time had flown by. It’s the end of June. We’ve pulled Ash out of school a couple of weeks early and the start of a month long family orienteering road trip. It began with the French Long Distance Championships near Grenoble, and another victory for me, this time by 5 minutes.
Running from the last control 5 Days of Italy 2018
We all run the next day for PSNO in the Relay Championships, serenaded by a 50 piece band at the finish. A week in the Italian Dolomites, for the 5 Days of Italy, mixing it with the Scandinavians, eating humble pie.
Mixing it with the Scandinavians at the 5 Days of Italy 2018
A few days later we are in Denmark. Spending a couple of days in the warm sunshine at Legoland, a real highlight for Ash.
Ash in Lego paradise
Then we move campsite to be closer to Copenhagen and the World Masters Orienteering Championships.
Sprint podium, WMOC 2018, H55 & F55
It’s a fairy tale that I made the podium in the Sprint race. The whole journey from two years ago has been absolutely amazing. It’s hard to absorb the fact that I only did my first Sprint race just six months ago, and have now won a Silver medal in the World Masters. It’s one thing day dreaming, wanting something and working hard for it. Quite another actually doing it. And to be so close to a Gold medal too. Just one second!
Me, Ash, the Little Mermaid and my WMOC Silver medal, Copenhagen 2018
The higher you go, the bigger you fall. Denmark still had more surprises in store for me.
I thought I was on for a chance of another podium finish a few days later in the Middle Finals too, although it didn’t quite work out that way. It’s interesting that the Control 15 that I messed up big time affected the 2nd, 3rd and 4th fastest overall at Control 14. All three of us lost a lot of time on it. I was going very well up to that control, running within myself, not really missing anything. I couldn’t find Control 15 though – despite going into the thicket three times from the path bend, only 50m away. Eventually I convinced myself that I was in the wrong bit of the forest, and ran a big circle, in a panic, about to pack in completely. Then I realised I could hear the MC at the finish as it was only 450m away, so I relocated on that. The control still took some finding – it was hidden in thick undergrowth.
Whilst the Middle Final was disappointing, the next news was a disaster. Losing so much time at Control 15, nearly 10 minutes, meant I was in the bottom 25%, so would be dropped from the Long A Final on the last day. That was always my target event. Grib Skov is my favourite wood in Denmark. A fast, rolling beech forest criss-crossed with tracks. I was heartbroken!
A thumbs up from Ash on the final day of WMOC 2018 – my B Long Final
Ash saved the day for me. At first, like a petulant child, I said I wasn’t going to run in the B Final. Yet Ash has been doing well all this week, orienteering on his own, gaining confidence, enjoying himself. He wanted to run the M10 event at Grib Skov and it was a reminder to me about why I took up the sport again in the first place – to hopefully inspire him to go orienteering.
Somewhere along the way my own selfish ambitions reared their ugly head. His needs helped me to see things in a more positive light, the bigger picture.
It’s only sport.
So I ran the B Final, finishing 2nd, although I found motivation difficult, making lots of silly mistakes. It was a bitter pill just to be there, watching the A finalists come into the finish, wishing I was one of them. Yet by swallowing it, I can move on. Ash had his best day too, coming 6th in his class. It was wonderful to see how pleased he was with himself, proudly wearing his pink and blue PSNO running kit.
Having had some time to reflect and learn from my first WMOC, if anything, the experience has inspired me to try and get fitter, work harder technically by specific orienteering training on my weaknesses, such as relocation strategies. I want to work on my sports psychology too. My short term goal is simply to try and improve.
Who knows what may then happen when the World Masters Orienteering Championships takes place in Latvia next year?
My long term goal is to be World M90 Champion. I’ve plenty of time yet.
Learning so much from others, I’m now keen to start earning my own tickets as a coach for both Running and Orienteering, so that will be another interesting journey.
Orienteering, a year living in France, a new language to learn and a different role with Lakeland Trails. All these changes in direction have brought us many memorable life experiences. What a wonderful journey.
And who would have thought that just by slowing down, I could run quicker?
20th September 2018
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Get Stuck In
Recently I returned from a run in the woods in a state of high euphoria. I was buzzing. The light was perfect with intense late autumn colours. I captured some of these images with my camera. I wondered if others experience this heightened sense of self that comes after a brush with nature? What is it that makes a run in the woods so special?
As I thought about it, there was a sudden realisation that this is where my own running journey really started. Maybe that’s the reason I always feel this way. Is it as simple as that?
The spark that ignited my love of running hit me when I was fifteen years old.
Memories of cycling along quiet back lanes with a couple of school friends from my family home in Clitheroe, nestled in the damp, yet beautiful Ribble Valley. Half an hour and a handful of miles to the north, to a small mixed woodland, called Bashal Eaves. A low key orienteering event was taking place there, and my mates Gary and Mike were keen to come along too. It was the first time I’d gone to an event under my own steam, although I had been orienteering a few times before with my dad. Almost all of these events took place on dreary open moorland or in dense man-made plantation forest. Neither were that inspiring.
Now I clearly remember that special moment. Even thirty years later, I’m smiling at the memory of it. I was running through dense, dark conifer trees, concentrating hard, trying to read my map. Almost impossible to keep any momentum on the rough ground underfoot. Staggering around, fighting over rotten tree trunks, stepping knee deep into hidden ditches full of black stinking mud.
Then I came out into an area of mixed deciduous trees. Shafts of sunlight streaming through the leaf canopy. My feet felt lighter, I had a spring in my step. I could run more quickly. Moving through the trees gave a real sensation of speed, perceived or otherwise.
That was it. I was hooked. That was the moment I suddenly appreciated the sheer, exhilarating joy of running. I’d fallen in love and I’ve been under it’s spell ever since.
Without fail, every time I run in the woods, I come back gushing with enthusiasm and inspiration. If I’m feeling in good shape and want to run really hard and test myself, I’ll go to run in the woods. Nothing beats a tough fartlek session through the forest, playing at speed, a return to being human.
On the other end of the scale, whenever I feel jaded and in need of a pick-me-up, I go and find some trees to run through.
Once I ran barefoot in a pine forest in Norway, where the ground was covered in deep moss.
Another memory of my first orienteering international in Sweden, when I saw a huge moose antler lying amongst the bilberry bushes. I stopped in my tracks and carried the thing nearly a kilometre to the next checkpoint, hiding it close by. It weighed two or three kilos. As soon as I finished the course, I doubled back into the forest to retrieve my trophy. I can’t remember my result from the event.
Standing mesmerised for a few minutes during another big event in Scotland, my first encounter with a Hawfinch.
In late summer, or autumn, I’ll often come back from a run in the woods with a bag full of wild mushrooms. Apricot yellow chanterelles perhaps, or a big, slug eaten cep. Occasionally I’ll discover something exotic, like a cauliflower fungus or the delicate purple of an amethyst deceiver. Year after year, I return to these ‘hot spots’ when the time feels right, my running turning into foraging missions.
I never tire of taking photos of all the simple things. Leaves against the sky. Light and shade. Or the graceful shape of a tree trunk. I get inspired by winding trails just inviting you to run and explore.
Silent, secret places
Woods are silent places. Full of secrets.
Stepping off the trails, you can soon be in another, primeval world. All your senses become razor sharp, attuned to every nuance. A loud, rustling amongst the leaves turns out to be simply a blackbird. An angry bark from a stray dog, a roe deer buck, calling out a warning.
A strong, almost sweet, musky smell of a fox in spring. Heavy, earthy aromas of organic matter slowly decomposing in the rains of late summer.
Often I’ll stop and stand completely still for a few minutes. Letting the woodland life slowly return back to normal. The deathly quiet starts to change. Animals and birds busy themselves again. So much can happen. The distant incessant chittering call from woodpecker chicks in a rotten old silver birch tree. The rounded silhouette of a tawny owl, big black vacant eyes following you, then silently taking off.
Before you know it, the minutes have flown by and an equilibrium has been restored, a nature cure.
For inspiration, I just go for a run in the woods.
© Graham Patten
11th December 2017
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Get Stuck In
I couldn’t see a thing. Like a blind man, my arms outstretched trying to feel in the darkness, making contact with a wooden gate. I climb over into deep, wet grass. Where the hell is the path? Not the best start to the biggest ultra run of my life.
Minutes before I’d set off from the Moot Hall in Keswick, just after 6am on Thursday 5th October. A kiss for both Claire and Ash, then I jog through the square, weaving around people busy setting up their market stalls. I wore my half eye orienteering reading spectacles with a map in my hand. Over the bridge, turn left, then … pitch black.
I didn’t have my head torch, thinking the dawn light was good enough to see by. I waited in the field for a couple of minutes, letting my eyes adjust to the dark, retracing my steps. More by luck I found the footpath. I started running through the puddles, laughing to myself at such a ridiculous start to this big ultra challenge. Suddenly I get the fright of my life. I’d almost run into another person walking the other way, silent like a ghost. He hadn’t a torch either.
55@55 – Leg 1
Along the tarmac road I realise I need to change my plan. It was far too dark to run through the paths in the woods. My only option was to keep to the lane. I was wearing fell running studs. Not ideal on this hard surface. Originally I’d planned to wear trail shoes for this section, then remembered the steep grassy descent from Dale Head. With all the rain it would be suicidal in anything other than studs. Another decision had been made for me.
Gradually the light improved and I could see my map. The dark bulk of Robinson lay ahead. A relief to finally get off road and hit the trails, water oozing everywhere. Hands on knees, relaxing into the steep climb. A compass bearing through low cloud, a strong north westerly cross wind to the summit cairn.
With the first one of my fifty-five peaks ticked off, I start to find my rhythm to Hindscarth then Dale Head. The first shafts of sunlight appear, some blue sky through the summit clouds. I couldn’t believe I was finally on my way. I’d almost given up hope. The weather had been bad for weeks. It was now or never. I thought back to where the idea had come from. How a freak accident many months ago brought me to where I am now.
The Ski Trip
One moment I’m skiing fast nearing the coffee shops and terraces at the bottom of the ski run. The next, I’m flat on my face, winded, out cold. I could vaguely hear a cheer and hands clapping from the cafes. I thought I’d been shot. Then I realised what had happened as my boots were still hooked over a thick rope that was still moving, my skis scattered. I’d skied under the beginners drag tow rope. With no-one on it, the rope was lying on the rock hard snow and I hadn’t seen it as we were racing down the slope. Claire was laughing her head off, tears were rolling down her cheeks. I could hardly move, the pain in my chest was unbearable and I still couldn’t get any air into my lungs. I wriggled on the ground like the hunted prey that I was, got my boots free and kneeled down first until I could breathe again. I put my skis back on and slowly skied down to a sunny terrace. Claire couldn’t look at me without laughing. The shame of it!
It was February earlier this year and we were out in the Pyrenees for half term holiday, and had found the quiet, friendly, very French ski resort of Mont D’Olmes to be cheap with no queues for lifts and wide slopes perfect for families. As I sipped my expresso, the feelings were coming back to my body and I remembered watching someone else a couple of days before perform exactly the same face plant trick as I’d just done. We skied the rest of the day, although I started suffering more and more as the bruising in my ribs built up. By the time we arrived home three days later the pain was excruciating and Claire drove me to A&E for a thorough check up. Cracked ribs. Strong painkillers, take it easy and I’ll be unable to run for 5-6 weeks.
To think the morning before the ‘Ski Trip’ I’d set off in darkness with my head torch to run up the 2000m summit of Mont Fourcat for sunrise. I ran using micro spikes to negotiate the final exposed ridge on hard, icy neve, feeling euphoric surrounded by spectacular Alpine views. The run was effortless, I was enjoying my current fitness levels, looking forward to running a fast ‘solo’ Bob Graham Round in May.
Now I was grounded. Literally. Even breathing was painful. All winter I’d also been training for night orienteering, after nearly 20 years away from the sport. The British Night Championships were on my doorstep at Great Tower Woods. I would’t be doing them now. Nor the Northern Championships at Bigland the next day. I was gutted.
Positive from negative
I needed to search for something positive to come out of such an unfortunate negative. For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything. Despondency overwhelmed me. I’d been training hard through the cold, dark months, and it had been going very, very well. I’d been knocking off Wainwright summits again in batches of ten or more, and had run more than 80 of them before the ‘Ski Trip’, all at a good pace.
With so much wasted time looming over the next month and a half, it would be an impossible task to then get myself back into a similar shape by May. There was only one solution, abandon the idea of a fast ‘solo’ Bob, and think of something else.
Suddenly the idea came to mind. I switched on my laptop to do some research. As far as I could gather, only three other people have run this round within 24 hours : Paul Murray (23.24) in 1997; George Brass (23.44) in 1998 and Dennis Lucas (23.36) also in 1998.
The thing that really swung it for me was seeing the name of George Brass. He was my godfather, one of my dad’s best friend’s, although he’s sadly no longer with us.
I decided I’d attempt to solo run the 55@55 within 24hrs, in George’s memory, when I reach the ripe old age of 55 myself in late September. This would take in around 75 miles of arduous Lake District terrain, 55 summits, ascending more than the height of Everest from sea level. Now I was happy. I could accept my immobility and get on with recovering from my battered ribs. I’d found a much more difficult and fulfilling challenge to get my teeth stuck into, when I do get back running again. The very idea of running a Bob Graham Round and adding an extra 13 summits along the way had an immediate, audacious appeal. All that night orienteering will come in useful too, as I would plan to start at midnight. The number of hours of daylight would be shortening. I checked which extra summits the other three had done, making outline plans of my own.
Now I’ll have the whole of the rest of spring and summer to fine tune those plans and get myself in shape. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad ski trip after all …
It was a last minute decision to go anti-clockwise. I’d heard the River Caldew between Great Calva and Blencathra was in flood. Going the opposite way round would hopefully give water levels a chance to subside. The knock on affect would be my starting time. I didn’t want to be running the ‘gnarly section’ over the Scafells at night. Leave early, get these peaks out of the way during the daylight hours. It was another forced choice.
Going round the route anti-clockwise was an unknown. My preference has always been clockwise, with Skiddaw and Blencathra at night, early on, whilst I’m fresh. I was confident enough about my orienteering skills. Running solo made it easy to be super flexible too.
For now, I was just happy enough that I had a weather window. I’d trained hard for the last four months with this target in mind. The opportunity was a chance I had to take.
55@55 – Leg 2
I was going well. Taking it easy from Dale Head down the steep wet grass, wondering if Claire would be at Honister Pass. My ‘schedule’ had three hours for this first section and I was an hour ahead already. My tracker, the size of a small matchbox, used OpenTracking software to create a moving dot on a map for her to follow my progress on her mobile phone. The wonders of technology.
They were ready and waiting.
Shoes off, socks off, towel my feet dry. Claire has everything laid out in the van. Clean dry socks, fell running shoes, thermal top, my running pack, a new map. I drink strong fresh coffee answering her questions from our check list. Ash is helping too. Excited at seeing his dad so soon. Running after me to collect the empty water bottle once I’d drained it of the rehydrating drink he’d prepared. Munching on a bacon butty as the climb steepened. Picking out raised patches of ground. My feet getting stuck in anything soft.
I was soon slithering over greasy rocks marking the summit of Grey Knotts. Then another compass bearing to Brandreth. The cloud thinning now, more like a hazy mist. Wind cooling my right cheek. Legs feeling strong. In control.
Alone in the hills. I was enjoying my day out. A pattern was emerging. Between summits, the sky was clear, the cloud broken. I slowed down taking in the majesty of the views all around. On the climbs I’d enter cloud, sometimes thick as pea soup, using a compass bearing, keeping close contact with my map. Another bearing for the descent, coming out of the murk into another world of sunshine.
From Great Gable, I was on familiar territory from my ‘Joss’ run last year, although the ‘scree run’ descent back fired. This morning the scree is solidified from all the recent rain. More like an ice slope than a scree slope. I stop at the col to re-fill my water bottle, adding half a Nuun tablet. I’m eating a sandwich or a muesli bar every hour or so, a mix of jelly babies, cashew nuts and raisins in between.
My new found orienteering skills came into their own going to Kirk Fell. A route I would never have taken a year ago. Contouring round open fell and scree, coming out perfectly near the little tarn with only a small climb to the summit left. I wondered how much time I saved going this way.
Looking Stead was a completely new summit for me, my first ‘extra’ summit from a usual Bob Graham Round. I’d been told by my dad, Alistair, that this was one of the summits Bob included in his original round. No one knows why it got removed, replaced with another. It was a nice feeling, looking down towards Ennerdale, thinking Bob Graham had once stood here too on that iconic first round.
Pillar, bleak as ever, visibility down to a few metres, windy as hell. Greasy rock on the climb to Black Fell, another ‘extra’, taking care descending. The wind blowing me off balance, using my hands for support. Steeple, Scoat Fell then Red Pike. Ticking them all off, feeling my spirits lift along with the cloud.
I glanced up to look for the route up Stirrup Crags. Vertical rock kept my gaze for a moment. The next thing I was spread eagled on the rocky path, twisting my ankle, banging my left knee hard. I got to my feet and looked back. Just one of the stone steps was wet and greasy. I hadn’t seen it, being distracted and paid for my inattention. I thought I’d got away with it. I was a bit sore that’s all. It will be OK.
All 214 Wainwright summits for 4th successive year
The climb was a rock scramble, made more difficult being in shade, a black mould like a veneer over wet surfaces. At the summit, I realised I could have avoided this steep, slow climb. I could have gone my ‘usual’ BG way around, doubling back along the ridge. It was extra summit number four, another first for me. My legs loosened up along the wet ridge run to Yewbarrow. I remember this was my final Wainwright summit of the year. My fourth successive year completing all 214 summits. I shouted out a yay, pumped my arm in the air, although it was anti-climatic. Originally I’d left ten Wainwright summits for this section going clockwise, so I could count them down as the going got tough nearing the end of the 55@55.
Now I just felt a bit foolish. I still had a long way to go. Finishing all the Wainwrights again didn’t seem so important now.
My left achilles felt strange on the steep, stepped descent. Hard to describe, like a tightness as my foot landed. I struggled to make sense of it, took it easy, decided it would just sort itself out.
Running into the National Trust car park in Wasdale, Ash was on the lane taking photos, smiling happily. I gave him a hug, went through the routine, changing socks and shoes, running gear, pack, food. I’d been going only six hours and was way ahead of my schedule. Despite the wet underfoot conditions I was feeling strong and in control. Claire read through my check list. When she read out ‘painkillers?’, I remembered my achilles. I took some ibuprofen, just in case. My pit stops were taking less than ten minutes. We’re a well oiled team. I was soon away, Ash chasing after my empty water bottle.
55@55 – Leg 3
The sun was out now, it was warm climbing Scafell. A long, long drag. Bog and wet tussock taking it’s toll. Behind me, a darkening sky. I could see a rain shower coming my way. It was ferocious when it hit, strong gusts picking me off my feet. Hail stones hammering the side of my face. I’d already got my cagoule on in preparation and kept going into the maelstrom. Two walkers were sheltering behind a boulder. “You’re mad. Why don’t you wait for it to blow over”. I pushed on. If anything the storm built up even more. Leaving the summit I could hardly penetrate into the wind. It was a relief to drop down steeply towards Foxes Tarn and warm up. I stopped to re-fuel and drink, then started down the narrow gorge.
It was like climbing down a waterfall. I faced the slope, trying to pick out hand and foot holds through the fast, cold running water. Every now and again water would find it’s way inside my cagoule, freezing my back, my chest. It was slow work and at the bottom, I took off my cagoule, shaking the water out from inside.
Picking my way through the climb on rubble and rocks to Mickeldore, I warmed up again, the sky now blue, the sun shining. Cold and cloudy amongst crowds sheltering in the lee of the memorial on Scafell Pike. Relief to get to the lower peaks, scrambling over boulders, out of the cloud, down to Esk Hause.
I could run again now and the big climb out of Wasdale had obviously stretched out my achilles. Esk Pike then on towards Bowfell. Another hailstorm, as vicious and sudden as the last one. I get battered and disorientated coming off the summit, trying to find shelter to put on my soaked cagoule. I struggled taking a proper compass bearing and get pushed by the wind, finding myself overlooking some big crags. At least I can get my cagoule on, make sense of the map, running along the ridge in thick cloud, looking for the ‘ramp’, my route down to Hanging Knotts.
I could’t find it. I thought I’d overshot it, so set off down a steep rocky slope, contouring round, looking below. Where is it? The going was tough. Slow work. Scrambling and climbing over rocks, edging round small cliffs. Only when I reach Hanging Knotts, I realised I’d descended too early. I could now clearly see the ramp above me. I’d wasted time, maybe twenty minutes or more. I stopped and ate the last of my sandwiches. I had been eating steadily just to keep up my body temperature. Now I had one muesli bar left. I decided to keep it for emergency only.
The sun tried to come out again. The view down from Rossett Pike was unbelievable. Low light bringing out contours into sharp relief. I was back in a magic wonderland and felt inspired.
A good route through Black Crags, a drink at the stream. Then a long, bog sapping drag up to the Langdale Pikes. This section is a peak bagger’s dream. With my ‘extra’ summits of Loft Crag and Pavey Ark, I was quickly knocking them off my list. Neil Burnett had come to see me and missed me by minutes. He took a photo of me running in the distance. Some very wet, peat bog to pull myself through, then the gentle climb to Thunacor Knotts. More thick cloud, a compass bearing to High Raise, another on the short, soggy downhill run to Sargeant’s Crag. I stopped to eat the last of my food, the emergency muesli bar. I’d worked out I’d now run 30 summits and had only 25 left. I wanted to celebrate.
Only 25 summits left
A wild run on a compass bearing off Sargeant’s Crag, keeping to grass, away from lethal wet rocks. I fell a couple of times. Skidded with my feet flipping high in the air, landing on my bottom. I just rolled over in the grass, my backside a bit wetter, laughing like a child.
Soft conditions slowed me down between Calf Crag and Steel Fell, it was a relief to start descending down to Dunmail Raise. I took it easy, concentrating, looking forward to hot drink and food. I could see our van and there was a welcome party waiting for me too. Ash had company. My friends Chewy, Macca and Nick had all come to see me. Their enthusiasm a welcome distraction after six hours of solitude. Claire was busy plying me with food, pizza, chocolate, hot tea. I changed into warmer gear, dry shoes and socks. Ash was in the van, smiling and ‘helping’. “Is that hat warm enough?” I remember Claire saying. My pack felt much heavier with two sets of head torches and all the extra food.
I’d decided not to take my running poles – the Helvellyn ridge was thick with cloud and I knew I’d be map reading, needing both hands for compass bearings. After ten minutes or so, I set off up Seat Sandal. “Smash it Graham” shouted someone. I’d now been going twelve hours. I thought to myself, “All I needed to do now was keep going. Relax, just enjoy it”.
55@55 – Leg 4
I felt strong going up the climb. Evening light was fading when I reached the summit. On with my head torch. Full power, they don’t come any better than my brother’s AyUp Lights.
A twinge in my left knee as I start descending and I slow to a walk, trying to work out what’s going on. I jog again and the twinge returns, more of an ache than anything. I dismiss it. It’ll work loose.
The climb up Fairfield feels endless in the dark. There’s thick cloud too with a very strong northerly wind. The forecast was for the wind to die down, a clear night with a full moon. I guess that’s not to be and now I’m enjoying the challenge of navigation in the dark. Grateful for all those night orienteering events I’d been to, organised by my Lakeland Orienteering Club.
Surprises in store
Some surprises were in store for me as I turn around at the summit. The wind is so strong I can hardly make headway. It’s freezing cold too. What’s bothering me though is my left knee. It’s now very sore. Painful. I’m unable to run properly, yet I want to run to stay warm. I console myself that I’m moving steadily though, just not as quickly as I’d like.
I slow down, taking it easy on the looser, rocky sections. Using the path, rather than cutting down the steeper grass, as I usually would. I didn’t want to put too much pressure on my knee until it had sorted itself out.
Around Grisedale Tarn I found a fresh spring amongst all the surface water and stopped to get my water bottle out. I knew this was the last place for water on the Helvellyn ridge. I’d planned to drink, then take a full bottle with me.
Shit. It wasn’t there. I must have left it behind in the van when I repacked my running pack at Dunmail.
I quickly thought through scenarios, deciding to drink as much as I can, using my hands to scoop up the ice cold water.
A few minutes later I started off again, my knee if anything feeling worse for the short rest in the cold. I struggled up the steep climb of Dollywagon Pike, although it was sheltered, so I started warming up a little. My knee felt much better going up than down. I was still moving well, feeling strong.
Cresting the summit the full power of the wind took over, penetrating through my clothing, my hat, my gloves, my cagoule. I had maybe one or two metres of visibility in front of me in the thick swirling cloud, the glare from my head torch bouncing back. I love nothing more than challenging conditions for navigating in the mountains. This ticked all those boxes. I kept on my bearing and reached the summit cairn bang on. Two silver plovers took off, flashing away into the dark. I wondered what they might be. Dotterel? Golden Plover? It didn’t matter, they were a welcome sight amongst the gloom and I took seeing them as a good omen.
Right, I told myself. Climb over. Now you can get running, get warmed up.
This is my favourite ridge line in the Lakes, a real runner’s roller coaster, with easy climbs and gradual grassy descents.
I set off and immediately realised running wasn’t going to be an option. A sharp pain seared through my left knee every time I landed my foot. I was only able to painfully limp and shuffle along. I knew I had a lot of time in hand though, so wasn’t unduly concerned at this point. I’ll just keep limping along at a fast walk. Put up with the pain, get the job done.
No problem. Or so I thought.
An ultra run too far?
Gradually, I started to get cold. Very cold. Freezing cold. Hand numbing, feet numbing, head numbing cold. I was still on compass bearings, battling into the teeth of the northerly wind. Despite this, the summits were getting ticked off nicely. High Crags, then Nethermost Pike.
By Helvellyn, I could’t really even walk properly downhill, it was more of a hop and an ouch. The wind was 40-50 mph, thick cloud, hail at times, and pitch dark – the full moon hidden. I was dressed for running, not walking. I was getting hypothermic and making some unconsidered judgements, such as ignoring my compass in zero visibility, thinking it was wrong and going off in a different direction. This wasn’t a good move, and I found myself wandering around in circles trying to find the summit cairn of Stybarrow Dodd, even though at the time I knew I was going downhill!
All I wanted to do was get out of the cold wind. Shelter behind the summit cairn, maybe have a little rest, a recharge, a sleep. That’s when I realised I was suffering from the early stages of hypothermia. The reality of the situation struck home. I had some strong words with myself about survival, took a compass bearing and climbed back up to the summit. From then on I slowed down even more. I still knew I had time to finish, yet the risks were stacking up against me. By Calfhow Pike, I decided it just wasn’t worth it. On Clough Head, my 48th summit, I turned my mobile on and told Claire I was calling it a day, even though I still had seven hours to spare. I just thought it foolish to carry on solo in darkness in such a state and in appalling weather – there will be other times.
It then took me an hour and twenty minutes to hobble down to meet her and Rich Walker, who were looking out for me.
I’ll live to fight another day
So it was a real adventure and I’ve learnt a lot more about myself and my limitations. Many, many lessons that will help with future successes. I’ve no doubt it was the best decision. I’m happy with that, enjoyed every step and gave it my best shot – even testing myself to the outer limits.
I would like to thank everyone for supporting my adventure, and to all those who contributed to the amazing total raised of £1138 for the charity Cancer Care North Lancashire and South Lakeland, via my Justgiving page :
I’m already planning another attempt next year. This 55@55 has really whetted my appetite now and I have some unfinished business to attend to.
© Graham Patten
3rd November 2017
Get Stuck In
Summary, Lessons & Observations
I have included these personal details as they may help others with planning for similar adventures, Bob Graham Rounds or indeed, the 55@55. After all my big personal challenges, including every Lakeland Trails event, I go through all the good, the bad and the ugly from the experience. I find it all helps for the next time.
Fitness – Couldn’t be better, perfectly peaked, 4 months of injury free hard training
Taper – Maybe too much ‘active rest’ waiting for a weather window- nearly 3 weeks
Local Knowledge – Poor, no recce routes of any legs, no extra peaks checked & going ‘blind’
Conditions – Unfavourable, very wet underfoot, flooded River Caldew
Forecast – Too small a weather window, high NW winds Thursday, easing Friday night with clear skies, little wind Friday, weather front in the evening bringing rain
Full Moon – Thursday 5th October plus a couple of days either side
Navigation Ability – Excellent, lots of orienteering, compass & map reading
Focus – Not 100%, too busy orienteering at weekends, bagging Wainwrights for training runs instead of recceing legs, insufficient time to do both, switching off, almost having already decided that I would not be able to do it with the poor weather and forecast
Psychology – I didn’t respect the toughness of the challenge enough, thinking a sub 24hrs would be achievable. My mind was on a fast time
Time of year – less daylight hours (11hrs) than nighttime hours (13hrs) = one tough challenge
Not enough attention to detail with course planning, meaning too much time lost finding local knowledge routes ie Bowfell, 20-30mins, Stirrup Edge climb, 5-10mins
Plans changed last minute without consideration of knock on effects of an anti-clockwise round, the main ones being these five :
a) Night stages at the end when most tired, needing to carry the most weight of food & kit
b) Totally unfamiliar with some of the local knowledge routes anti-clockwise (Bowfell)
c) Easy running for the first hour – setting too fast an early pace to avoid the gnarly peaks in darkness, then the Scafell climb a real ball breaker out of Wasdale, poles would have helped enormously on this section
d) The psychological benefits of seeing the sun rise and the day getting easier because of daylight and warmth, along with a lighter pack, not harder and heavier
e) The lack of water on the Dodds, meaning water was only available near Grisedale Tarn and carrying a water bottle would be ESSENTIAL
Insufficient thought about anti-clockwise timings, consideration given to the more convenient timings for my support crew
Inadequate clothing – very cold in the wind from Wasdale, eating everything just to stay warm, then real winter conditions from Dunmail, early stages of hypothermia on Stybarrow Dodd, too cold as not generating heat as unable to run
Kit – Unconsidered kit – poles, water bottle and winter hat were all essential from Dunmail, none of them were brought, I did consider the poles, although with cloud covering the tops, I knew I’d be on compass bearings and therefore unable to use the poles, they’d just be extra weight to carry
Water – The water bottle may have been another factor. I only had some water by Grisedale Tarn on the way to Dollywagon, four cupped hand fulls. As I slowed down because of my knee, I didn’t have another drink for around 4-5 hours. I had no option but to completely forget the importance of it, as I couldn’t carry any water with me. I must have been extremely dehydrated
Poles – would these have helped take some of the weight off my knee BEFORE the injury? Should I have used them for such a long distance regardless?
Wind – Forecasted wind stronger than expected on Thursday, lasted until 3-4am on Friday
Cloud cover until 2-3am on Friday when full moon finally made an appearance
My psychology – at Dunmail, I thought it was already a done deal, with 12 hours to spare, although aware I had to just keep going
Date – Wrong time of year – Apr-May being the preferred dates, October date only if stable Indian summer conditions
Worse Case Scenarios – No consideration of dealing with problems, a laissez faire attitude to : first aid, medications, muscle injury, endurance related trauma (blisters, damaged nails, skin); no back-up plan for failures – massages, pep talks etc
Decision – Final decision was the correct one in the circumstances – too much risk in carrying on, I was an accident waiting to happen
A better decision would have been not to have started in the first place, accepting the conditions, weather forecast, time of year and lack of recceing would all contribute to the potential outcome
I would be dead if I’d taken off paragliding with a similar attitude to this level of circumstances
Lots of lessons learnt from this ultra run. However, despite all these, I thoroughly enjoyed testing myself and was pleased I tried, even more pleased I had the strength of character to make the decision I did. I may have slipped into bad habits, it’s not really my style to do something and set off without making sure the odds are stacked in my favour first. I’ve been doing this with orienteering over the last few months too – no specific training, just taking part. With the 55@55 I was too complacent and the main lesson learnt here is not to allow this to happen again.