Story for The Glencoe Marathon

Billed as one of the toughest marathons in the UK, the Glencoe Marathon is completely and utterly insane.
 
Doing it just 7 days after the Loch Ness Marathon, I had a really restless night before the start, I’d taken it easy in the week in between the marathons, doing just two training runs and some weight training beforehand, my legs were ok but, every time I tried a hill, I felt pain in my thighs, a little leaving present from last weeks Baxters Marathon.

As I stumbled to the pick-up point in Fort William in the early hours of Sunday morning, watching the mist rise off Loch Eil as I trudged along, my breath steaming in the near-freezing air I was scared. Scared that I’d blow up, that I’d get hurt and end the 2016 miles in 2016 quest, scared that I’d fall or get lost or...god. The only people up at the time were runners, and not just the normal marathon crew, the trail runners, the hill-climbers and fell runners, some of the fittest, most experienced runners in the country. And me, who couldn’t run to the end of my street three years ago.

There was that fun kind of chaos at the pick-up point, runners milling around, waiting for the off and a single marshal trying to count people in. The bus arrived and we boarded with minimal fuss, then slowly climbed out of Fort William and along Glencoe, the sky was cloudless, eggshell blue and the sun hadn’t risen above the  mountains on either side. Even though I am fortunate enough to live in the Highlands, the Scottish West Coast has a kind of beauty that defies belief. In the always-online, 24/7 human bustle of 21st Century living, it is good to sometimes feel insignificant, to be humbled by the sheer, unrelenting awesome of the mountains.

We pulled into the Red Squirrel campsite at about 8.15am, the queues for the toilets were manageable, the bag drop well organised and the coffee station fantastically co-ordinated by a lovely team of volunteers. The briefing was delivered by a charming Englishman on top of a Land Rover, he was funny and good natured and pleasant. And it was cold, no wind, out of the sun, in a valley in the Highlands, 800 people shivered and smiled and sipped coffee, waiting for the off.

We departed in waves, the fittest headed off first to great applause, then the B group, then my group. Applause ringing through the campsite as we started the hardest race of my life. First on tarmac for a few miles and then the trail along Glencoe, still shrouded in shadow as the sun fought to rise above the enormous peaks on either side. Breath steaming, cold muscles protesting as we jogged along, the trail was narrow, single file in some places, snaking down the glen, climbing crash barriers to cross the road on one side, then curving back to cross the road again. The sun breaks over the mountains and the temperatures rises immediately, we’re hot rather than cold now. People are so slow, I don’t know why they are so slow, this is easy. Gently climbing, I fight to pass people, to get some room, some breathing space. Then we turn again onto a Land Rover track that continues to climb. Some folk are walking the hills already, I fly past them, these slopes are simple, I am made of Inverness rock and Nairn hills, I can do this.
At mile 7 it all changes, we cross the road and the gravel Land Rover track vanished, swallowed by mud and bog and hill. There is no route, there is only mud, feet soaking, sinking knee deep into the sludge. People are falling. I push on, it’s like the Culbin bogs past Nairn, where the beach gives way to soggy marsh, but it’s uphill. My calves are burning agony, my feet are numb from the constant soaking.
 
It goes on for miles. Miles of unending bog. I still have more than 15 miles to go. I cannot do this, I am city boy flab and corporate drone. The clever, slow folk built up to this, I was stupid and now I’m broken.

I see it in the distance, the Devils Staircase, tiny people swarming around a twisting trail up a mountain. It likes something out of Dante’s inferno, tiny souls caught on an endless climb uphill. Finally, mercifully, the bog ends and we’ve swapped one form of torture for another. A leg breaking, lung-choking, murderous climb, rocks slipping underfoot, nobody can run up this, but they are. I catch my last glimpse of the ‘A’ group as they hit the summit, I will not see these folk again until the finish. C group are walking, we are humans rather than mountain goats. We sweat and swear and fight our way to the top of the staircase, the view at the top is insanely beautiful, 360 degrees of mountains, lochs and glens, and not a house or mark of civilisation anywhere. Just Scotland, in all of its sun-kissed glory. 

Then it’s down, plunging down 1800 ft over the course of a few miles. The trail is rocky and people fall, I fall, fortunately onto the trail-side heather, then we’re onto easier terrain, a gravel track down into Kinlochleven. I’m halfway, there’s a food station and tarmac, blissful, smooth tarmac through the town before we hit the trail again. We’re in forest now and climbing. It’s the Devils staircase all over again, another twisting, tortuous trail uphill. There’s very little left in my legs. Gels are sucked, shot bloks chewed and water drank, but my legs are burning stumps by the time I get to the top. Heart rate is too high, sweat-drenched and everywhere there is nothing but majestic hills, at least it’s a well put together, wide trail. We are moving through another valley now, flanked in every direction by imposing mountains. The route is flatter, but every rise and fall of the trail reduces me to a walk as mile 15 rolls into mile 20.
 
The Gucci feed stop deserves special mention. At around mile 20, a group of people haul 4x4’s into the middle of nowhere and set up the feed station to beat all feed stations. Offering the traditional water, snacks and electrolyte drinks, they go the extra mile with iced fruit punch and a very well stocked cheese board that can be washed down with a glass of port should you wish it. Water bottles are filled without asking and whilst the volunteers across the course were wonderful, the fine men and women of the Gucci food stop deserve special mention, so polite and quick and pro-active and lovely. I don’t trust my stomach with the port, but the iced fruit punch is like nectar from the gods.

I am fuelled to the finish, but there is a sting in the tail that’s hidden in the elevation graph of the Glencoe marathon, three, short, steep, sadistic climbs, that sap the last energy from already broken legs. There’s a final climb at about mile 23, then you come onto a wide, smooth, lovely gravel trail that spins you downhill over three miles onto the finish line. It’s a bit cramped at the finish, with several hundred marathon and half marathon runners all coming together into a narrow stretch of side-road, but there’s so much goodwill and positivity and water and a wooden medal that you overlook the crowds and just soak it all in.
 
I did it. 26 miles, 4,400ft of climbing in 5 hours and 9 minutes, just a week after doing the Loch Ness marathon. I’m going to wait for feeling to return in my legs before I consider doing it again next year. It was brutally hard in perfect weather conditions. I am terrified to think what that race would be like in the rain, wind or snow...

Type: 
Run
Workout_type: 
default
Date: 
2016-10-02T08:10:25Z
Avg Pace: 
7:12/km
Elevation: 
1291
Distance: 
41866.3
Moving time: 
18068
Activity id: 
732201704
Strava title: 
The Glencoe Marathon
Total photo count: 
7
Title: 
Story for The Glencoe Marathon
Summary Polyline: 
eh{xIli}]sAeOhd@oqAbEuXcGmh@i@ua@{FwIiSofAcDiw@lGs~AxIg^g@_fAjPaRuF}Y`C{e@rGy[sF}T~BwRqDaj@zBw^o@}yAxHqb@M}\dE}UwA}JcTyWua@iMiNbOiCkCG~IyPnAcXvW{`@gPuRi@GpJyBcFiDvOaCyA`ApHiM`@iDdFwEzk@iMvn@yGjNkCmDcCvMbS`ViBjCpCjI}GjCNbHcUhOwRuDcOiMoJnCiJtj@mCgAsIb`@fC`KiUxW^ti@mIrNM~OoG|G_@dZmB[_@|K{JxTcAdm@}l@xxDwFp~AqEvUlBpzAfNz_AQfb@dPr{A_Mp_@_VvSyWxf@u}@xWo`@iR{|@mPoHsJySiG_g@gmBah@iaAk]cEgKpJoEuJeMlG_AaO~GkYgNlQ{DrYeGtLas@~RyJjNePzHcFwFEcPrEqD
Description: 
Over 4300ft of climb over 26 miles, all on trails in the shadow of Ben Nevis. Brutal. Beautiful. Brilliant.
Average speed: 
2.317

Comments

Pierre Joly
Sat, 01/14/2017 - 23:06
Hiya, looking at blogs and write up of the Marathon and really enjoyed reading yours. Ours is posted here: www.hillmarathon.co.uk, hope you enjoy it too.
Send

Please login to save your comment