Exmoor Stagger

26/10/2003 Martin Lascelles

This race is the 11th of the Somerset Series of which I have done 10 this year. Its also the toughest, not only of the  series, but also of my admittedly short running career. The course changes every year, but its always at least 14 miles, and  very hilly. I passed under some evil looking black clouds on the 60 mile journey to Minehead, but by the time I arrived, the  skies were clear, and remained so for the entire race. In fact the weather was perfect, so that excuse was shot. I met up  with friends Lin and Dave in the race HQ and took note of the array of cakes and sandwiches on offer. The start of the race was a short walk away from the Minehead college and when the race finally got underway after a long, rambling and almost  completely inaudible race briefing I decided to run for a while with Dave, having learnt from painful experience not to try  to start with Lin on anything less than a 10k. We set off pretty slowly, and wound through the edge of the town and quickly  onto some pretty woodland paths, gradually trending upwards. The path got steeper and uglier and it was more or less single  file although we were able to overtake as more and more people were reduced to walking, including Dave after a mile or more of this. I ran on alone, keeping my resolution not to walk, at least for the time being. After the first drinks station, at  about 3 miles, the race trail split with the Stumble runners being directed onwards and upwards, and the lucky Staggerers sent off to the right and downwards into the woods. "Oh good", I thought as we started down a nice wide path, "I could do with a bit of a rest". I should have learned by now that running downhill is not necessarily any easier than running uphill.  The muscles used are different, but if the downhill is steep enough, and it was, it can be as tiring descending as ascending. The slope was so steep that in places, I had to hold on to trees to avoid careening out of control. I didn't want to twist an ankle with over 12 miles of the race yet to go. The track finally emerged into a steep grassy hill with a stile at the bottom at which I just about managed to stop in time. There was a brief section of road through a pretty village with the locals clapping and encouraging us with shouts of "well-done, keep going". I swear at least 80% of the scores of onlookers I passed said exactly those words. I don't mind the lack of originality, or even the inanity of the "keep going" part, I just find it  interesting. I wonder if they say to every one, or is it just me who appears to need the encouragement to carry on. Do I  look on the verge of giving up? I try not to, I usually try to relax and smile as I pass, but perhaps instead of looking happy and relaxed, I seem exhausted, and my smile is mistaken for a grimace of pain and despair. Certainly the race picture I saw afterwards (taken by the race photographer at 2 1/2 miles ) bears this theory out. I put on a specially insouciant smile as I lightly ran past, at least I thought I did. In the resulting picture, it looks as if I'm wincing at either a stone in my shoe or a stitch in my side. I must get someone to videotape me in the middle of a race some time.

Anyway, back to the race, which was going a lot slower than expected. At the 2 mile marker the elapsed time was an amazing  25:51, about my usual time for 4 miles. At 4 miles, despite some faster (too fast in some cases) downhill stretches, it was still 43:06, and we were just approaching the start of the big hill, and I do mean big. The next mile took 13 minutes of  agonised climbing. I was still avoiding walking and therefore steadily passing people albeit at a slower rate than before because I had started to catch up with people nearer to my own level. Mile 6 was not quite as steep and took 12 minutes, reaching the drinks station and some spectacular views, as advertised. To take my mind off the increasingly dilapidated state of my legs I got into conversation with a couple of fellow staggerers. One of them seemed a little overdressed with sweatpants and a sweatshirt on. Apparently it was his first race for a couple of years, and he was taking up running after retiring as a boxer and this was what he alway ran in. At mile 7 we finally reached the very top at Dunkery Beacon I thought they would pull away from me and I wished them luck for the rest of the race, but as it turned out as soon as we started downhill I passed them again, and then a number of others as I sped down the slick, rocky and uneven path leading down from the beacon. I tried to keep it a little more under control than the last time at the Muddle, but I was really moving, let me tell you. Its probably only a matter of time before I take a horrendous spill on one of these races, but damn it, its such fun!

After the initial steep drop there followed what was the best part of the race for me. Mostly downhill, but not too steeply, with views of the Bristol Channel, and a mixture of grassy and lightly wooded paths with the sun shining brightly. My legs were partly recovered from the uphill trudge to the beacon and I was still on an adrenaline high from the downhill rush. It doesn't get much better. It was about to get much worse in fact. Reaching the bottom of the hill and into the village, the miles were starting to tell and I was mentally counting them down. I had already run for as many minutes as I had for the complete "Beast" and "Mendip Muddle", my longest races prior to this one. Most of the spring was long gone from my stride, when passing the 11 mile marker and coming out of the village and around a bend I encountered a sign saying "Prepare to Stagger". Bad news, I wasn't prepared at all. The steep hill that we had pounded down at 3 miles was now to be attempted in the direction of up. At the steepest point of the initial grassy slope was a person reclining comfortably with a Digital Video Camera. I resisted the urge to hurl him and his camera down the hill and instead attempted to spoil his fun by pretending to be full of energy and actually enjoying dragging myself up a 1 in 2 hill. I don't think he was fooled, but I had to try.

The hill continued. A woman who passed me at the bottom managed to keep running, but everyone else was walking now. I actually passed a couple of them. I was surprised, because when you feel that tired, it seems impossible that anyone else could be more so. I was expecting, no, looking forward to, the hill ending at the point where we had split off from the stumble, but no such luck, it became less excruciatingly steep, but was still going up for another half mile before finally peaking at 12 miles where there was a drinks station and a dear little girl giving out jelly babies, much appreciated. That mile took 15 minutes! With the path going gradually downhill, after a while the energy from the jelly baby kicked in, and I started to enjoy it all again. For a half-mile or so I was feeling pretty good, descending through a mature mixed woods with that wonderful smell of pine trees that you get. This euphoria wore off all too quickly as the path got steeper, darker, narrower and wetter. Finally, it came out at the bottom on to the road back into Minehead and the finish was only a half-mile of jarring tarmac away - no sprint finish at the end of this race, I didn't want to push my luck, and I was well behind the person ahead of me. As my dad always says, "its so nice when you stop".

With the legs starting to seize up I hobbled back to the car to down a couple of Ibuprofens before picking up my race teeshirt and more importantly a cake and cup of tea at the race HQ. Had a pleasant hour sipping tea and chatting with friends in the hall. Lin, despite suffering from a cold had put in an outstanding effort of 2 hours 17 minutes and picked up 2nd Lady 35+ Vet. Richard had beaten me by just over 2 minutes which was good because he usually beats me by more than that on shorter races. I finished in 2:29:04, about 70th place. I decided not to buy the race picture.

My next race is the Cheddar Half Marathon, a dead flat 13.1 miles. I can't wait.