Archie Gemmill Magic

I remember Argentina '78 like it was yesterday. That ill-fated World Cup campaign when Ally MacLeod tipped his Scotland team to win the tournament and the nation believed him.


I was 9 years old at the time and it made quite an impression on me. That 3-1 defeat by Peru when we were taken apart by Cubillas, the dismal 1-1 draw with Iran, one of our star players Willie Johnston caught using performance enhancing drugs, only one game to go against 1974 runners-up Holland, who we had to beat by 3 clear goals, and it looked like the dream was well and truly over. But wee Archie Gemmill had other ideas. Having put us 2-1 up from the penalty spot Gemmill picked up the ball just outside the penalty box, jinxed past 3 flying Dutchmen and with his left foot, chipped the ball over the goalie to score one of the greatest world cup goals in history. It wasn't enough to save Scotlands world cup hopes though, and the team were on the next plane home.


The Gemmill goal was re-enacted all over the country by various 9 year olds often wearing wellies (the Brazilian kids used to learn to play football on the beaches in their bare feet, the Scottish kids played on the road in wellies) and the lesson that we might be down but we've all got some Archie Gemmill magic was learnt.


So, if you happen to be passing the 24 hour race in Fitz park in Keswick as part of the Commonwealth Championships on Thursday/Friday this week and you see a wee man in a Scotland shirt (no wellies), extracting the last ounces of magic from his legs, jinking past a few Englishmen, maybe to snatch some last minute glory, then you'll know it's the Archie Gemmill magic at work.

Tales of Random Scottish Punters

It was a hot afternoon in Chamonix, the town was starting to fill up with runners, some have just arrived, others have been here for a few days spending more time hanging around town as race day draws nearer and resting becomes a priority. In one of the towns supermarkets, searching out ingredients for a healthy meal was one of the worlds most accomplished ultra-runners. The seven times winner of Western States, three times winner of Spartathlon, twice winner of Badwater Ultra and many more races was contemplating the fruit and veg when suddenly a voice next to him boomed



"MR SCOTT JUREK!!"

El Venado was startled briefly as he looked up to see the tattood, skinheaded, Cumbernauld academic Brian Mc grinning back at him.

"do I know you??" stammered Mr Jurek, with a hint of panic in his voice

"NAW, I'm just a random Scottish punter!!" declared the gallus Glesga cutieboy

In a second he was gone. The taper momentarily forgotten as he made a sprint for cover not even hanging around to work out what a "punter" might be let alone a psycho Scottish one.

The Tartan Ultra Army was in town.

Brian, Drew (qualifies as Scottish through the Grandparents rule) and myself arrived on the Saturday, had ran the last UTMB section from Vallorcine over La Flagere and back to Chamonix on the Sunday and were now trying to busy ourselves until the weekend. I had also walked the first section to Les Houches with Brian one afternoon and spent the day at the Auguille du Midi cable car station with Drew, George R, Davie and Sharon. At 3800 metres we thought that if we spent the day there it should help with acclimatisation, it was also a beautiful day for lazing in the sun with amazing views of the mountains around. I had had a few extra runs during the week too since I was doing one of the 'shorter' races (106km 6700 metres ascent) so I felt I could do a bit more than the other guys who were trying to preserve themselves for the brutality of the UTMB (softies ;0)


View from the Auguille du Midi

As we walked the guys down to the start line the atmosphere was electric, crowds of people lined the streets so much so that we had to push our way back to the flat in time to get to our vantage point on the balcony above the main street. We had front row seats as the 2300 ish runners passed below us to start their 102 mile journey around the foot of Mont Blanc.

At the start

I finished off sorting out my kit, drank a bottle of Yop! (yum) and set my alarm for 3.30am to give me time to eat and digest some breakfast for the 5am start of the TDS race then lay in bed trying in vain to sleep as the group of drummers outside did their best Cozy Powell impressions till after midnight. I handed in my bag to be taken to the finish at about 4.15am and met up with John M then we wandered to the start line, with a fine drizzle and the temperature about 12 degrees it was just like home. We hung around, then at about 4.45am the road was closed and 600+ runners crammed into the start area, the race 'theme music' was blasted out to wake us up and we were off. About 60 of us shot off at a pace much too fast and it was all a bit surreal as we left the rest of the pack behind and sprinted through the now deserted streets. This was going to be the low-key race of the weekend I thought.

I didn't bother chasing the lead pack as I was reluctant to go faster than I felt comfortable, this was a new race after all so the chances are most of these people would blow-up at some point and I didn't want to get sucked into anything daft. I ran with a group of 3 or 4 which made it easier to see with the combined torch light and it wasn't long before we reached Col de Voza and left the familiar UTMB route to descend into the valley and to the first main aid point at Saint Nicolas de Veroce. I was 44th with 2 and a half hours gone, it felt really fast at this point and even though it was quite cool I was soaked through with sweat. The pace would change now though, with the long 1350m climb up Mont Joly ahead.

It took me about an hour and 45 minutes to reach the summit, I'd had to stop and rake around in my bag for some raisins to stave off a bonk near the top, and my climbing hadn't been good... no change from recent races then. A wrong line by a group of us sent us below and past the summit so a quick double back and a short climb to the checkpoint then I was back running again along the ridge. The mist was swirling around but you could see the drop-offs going away into nothing. I tried not to look down too much and just concentrated on my footing. A good descent down to Col du Joly saw me start to overtake people, too much guddling about with poles meant that lots of them were going really slow on the descents, I just held mine and battered downhill. I tried to force a couple of biscuits down at the checkpoint but didn't really manage so instead downed some coke in my fancy big cup (you have to carry your own cup to save waste, so I thought it would be good to take a BIG one, BIG cup= BIG drink).

Next we passed the familiar Col du Bonhomme from the main UTMB race but instead of going off left along the edge of the valley we went straight ahead and down through some rough stuff and along the valley floor. Again I was taking places descending. The scenery was beautiful here as we ran along next to a small river, the feeling of remoteness was noticible too, which isn't something you normally experience in these races. The next aid point, Cormet de Roselend (51k) was more of the same, cheese, bread, dates, dry stodgy cake, ham, biscuits which I think they got from the pet shop... you name it- I couldn't stomach it. So, another BIG cup of coke and I was off again. All I was able to eat so far was a few Shot Bloks and some sweets, I'd have paid good money for some mashed tatties.

The next section was again pretty technical, with some really rough, rocky ground and then a very steep climb through a jumble of rocks to the col, the poles were a real pain here getting in the way all the time as I was trying to use my hands. Some good steady running followed then it was down past a big castle and the steep, never-ending descent to Bourg Saint Maurice. After about 45 minutes of quad hammering descending and my toes jamming into the front of my shoes on every step we made our way into the town. It was much hotter down in the valley and I was lashing with sweat and seriously thirsty. The crowds were out in the main street clapping and cheering and since I was running with the first lady the cheering was extra loud which took my mind off how bad I was feeling for a few minutes. As soon as I got into the aid tent, though, I realised I had to eat here or else. The menu was the same as before but there was some noodle soup which I tried but I just couldn't stomach it. I was wretching as I tried to force some down, so again it was a BIG cup of coke and off on my way. I felt terrible, running on empty was a timebomb waiting to go off and I knew I only had a few more miles before I crashed and burned. As I left the busy town contemplating the 1400 metre climb ahead and hit the quieter trails I started walking, I knew I'd had it, a low wall next to some houses in the shade looked so comfy so I sat down and wondered what next. My options were 1- get a taxi to Courmayeur; 2- beg a lift from a local back to the aid station; 3- lie and sleep behind the wall and hope this was all just a nightmarebut before I got a chance to decide a runner came past, Italian I think, and encouraged me to follow him. I started behind him and kept pace for a few miles but ran out of gas as the trail steepened and started walking again, it was then I decided I would finish this, as long as I could stay upright I'd walk to the finish. One of the things which kept me going was the beautiful scenery as I was climbing higher more and more of the mountains were coming into view, it was just stunning.

I started to wonder why I was missing all this scenery just to run in some race looking at my feet all the time so I sat down at the side of the trail, put my feet up on a rock and had a nibble on a sweaty dog biscuit I'd stashed in my pocket. Runners were steadily passing me now, some asking if I was ok, one or two even stopping to sit for a breath or two and take in the scenery too. This was the pattern for almost 4 hours, walk, sit, enjoy the scenery, chew on a sweaty Bonio biscuit, then eventually I reached the top. The Col Petit St-Bernard was the Italian border, the wind was blowing and it was cold. A large bonfire was roaring and spitting sparks, this wasn't a place to hang around long. I took out my scrap of paper with the race profile on and had a look, a 600 metre descent was next, then a 300m climb then a 700 m roll down the hill and a wee climb to finish, 25k in total. I'll try a jog down the descent, see what happens. I seemed to click into it here and started passing people, I knew that the race website was tracking me going through checkpoints and that people at home would be seeing my collapse so far (48th place now), so I thought maybe I could put on a bit of a resurrection here. By the time I reached La Thuile at 90k I'd taken 14 places, my target was to pull back 20 by the finish, surely that would be around where I was before my 'collapse'?

I was flying on the descent through the woods, the lights down below getting closer and closer, 17 people I'd passed now as I crossed a bridge into a car park. I could hear the music, people clapping... wait another 3 runners ahead, I sprinted hard past them to the finish... hang-on another marker... a winding street... up into the woods... I looked at my scrap of paper, oops still 4km to go, now I felt awful. My stomach heaved as I puked on the trail, run 100m, puke or dry wretch, run 100m this was the pattern for the next few km. I could see the torches behind, they will be working hard to catch me, the nutter sprinting at 102km. I was so glad to see the markings on the road in Courmayeur 500m to go, still managing not to lose any places I crossed the line in 24th place in 17 hours 16 mins then wobbled, shook, puked and was escorted to the medical area.

By the time I got back to Chamonix it was 4am, I managed about 4 hours restless sleep then was up and getting ready to watch out for the UTMB'ers coming into the finish. First in was Drew looking far too fresh for having ran for 39 odd hours, then Brian and Tommy together then George, Davie and Michael. It was really amazing to watch the finishers coming in, very emotional, if you don't want to run this one then I'd thoroughly recommend going as a spectator for what is a really positive, life-affirming experience. Big jugs of beer later on only enhanced our life-affirming positivity.

George at the finish

We never saw Scott Jurek again after that, I heard he finished 20 something ish, a bit down the field for him, with the UTMB giving him a bit of a going-over just like it did to the random Scottish punters.

Sur les Traces des Ducs de Savoie - Update

I made it!



The UTMB organisation delivered yet again with this superb new race. It was like Stuc a' Chroin, The Ben, Glen Rosa, Jura and Borrowdale all rolled into one with some trail added in for good measure. The route was really quite technical with loads of rock hopping, scrambling and even some scree running. I finished 24th from 632 starters in 17 hours 16 mins.



I'll post a full report soon. Some good pics of the route HERE


Brian, me, George and Drew showing off our gilets... ooh la la!!

July and Everything After

The 4th of July, appropriately enough, was the Dollar Hill Race. Two weeks after the West Highland Way Race might have been a bit soon to be attempting to re-enter the world of spit and snotters hill racing at its much faster pace than ultras but it's just along the road and what else am I to do with a sunny Saturday afternoon? It was on the climb up Kingseat Hill when i realised that cutting the grass might have been the more sensible option and on the descent down the other side, as my uncomfortable Walshes were forming a nice blister on the bottom of each foot, that I came to the conclusion it was too soon to be racing full-tilt again and my quads were really going to take their revenge. I reached the finish only a few seconds slower than last years PB but for the next few days I paid for it by putting myself back about a week in recovery terms and no amount of McVities Chocolate Digestive consumption was going to make up for it. I tried though.

A week later, having not managed much running due to my trashed quads, I was off to Chamonix. The plan was to run the UTMB route over three days with Lucy and Andy R who would join us after his race at Seirre Chevalier. Day 1 was the big day, Chamonix to Courmayour, about 50 miles with 10 000+ feet of ascent. We had to crack on at a good pace to make sure that we got there before dark and most importantly in time for food. By the time we got to Saint Gervais, about 15m into it, it was clear it was going to be a tough day for me. Lucy was bounding along bursting with energy whilst all I wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep. I filled up my Camelbak with water and Coke and hoped this would perk me up a bit then we headed off and promptly got lost. I was really losing the will to live at this point, wondering if I could get a bus to Courmayour or something, but there was really no option but to plod on. We ran with a French guy for a bit who got us back onto the route to Les Contamines where again I had to stop and down more Coke, strawberry milk and cake as locals and tourists stared at the two of us. The route started to get steeper and less runnable now and the more it did the more energy I seemed to get, the cake was kicking in. It was amazing to be running this part of the route in daylight since it was dark when I raced it, the scenery was incredible and it felt great to be running in such an amazing place. The long descent into Courmayour was made bearable by the thought of good pizza as we had now crossed over the border into Italy and it was a pleasant surprise to discover the place we had booked into was a lovely luxurious hotel. I don't know if they were as happy to see us though, standing in the reception area all dusty and sweaty from 14 hours of running, but it's not an understatement to say I was glad to be there!
Day 2 the plan was to run on to Champex, a shorter distance of about 25 miles but some huge climbs. It was a real treat though. I was starting to really enjoy the running now, flying down the descent from Grande Col Ferret was fantastic! We flew down the trail, with snow capped peaks and glaciers all around what better a place to be.
Day 3 began in style at the best bakery on the UTMB route. It's owned by Leon of Petite Trot a' Leon race fame and his family, and boy do they know how to put on a breakfast. After stuffing ourselves with food and coffee we were off into the final section back to Chamonix. Another day of some of Europes best trails followed with Andy and I racing each other on the descents and some lung busting climbs with the odd wrong turn thrown in for good measure. We stopped for lunch at Vallorcine, as it was getting really hot, filled up with water then it was off over La Flagere and back to Chamonix and the end of 3 fantastic days running.

Just over a week later and I was passing by Aviemore, Scotland's version of Chamonix only cheaper and with a good chippy, on the way to the Dufftown Highland Games to do the Ben Rhinnes Hill Race. This has become a bit of a habit now as I've done the race for quite a few years now, so it was good to be lining up on the games field again with the sun shining down on us for the start. It's a very runnable route for a long race so it's fast going, but this time I felt in much better shape and took 9 minutes off my PB. All that Alpine air must have done wonders!

Next up on the training plan was a run from the Linn O' Dee up the Lairig Gru to Aviemore and back. I set off a bit late in the day, about midday, and felt pretty trashed by the time I got to Aviemore so decided to get some chocolate milk, coke and crisps and let them do their magic before starting back. I sat in the warm sunshine and before I knew it I'd drunk a half litre of choco milk, half litre of Coke and some water. As i waddled off back down the road my stomach was protesting vigorously so I thought I'd better sit down on a grassy verge and let things digest, and in the warm sun I somehow fell asleep for an hour. I woke up, looked at my watch, jumped up and started running. It was a couple of miles down the track when I realised I was going the wrong way so after doubling back eventually got back in the direction of the Gru. I was thoroughly knackered when I got back to the car, the detour had meant my the distance was exactly 45 miles and it was pretty rough running in sections too but what a day to do all that in a oner! (And get a kip in too!)

As I lined up in Tyndrum 7 days later at the start of The Devil O' the Highlands Race I was a bit worried that the Gru might still be lingering in my legs but this is one of my favourite ultras so I was raring to go. The pace was fast to start so I dropped back and just got into my own groove. I ran along with Peter H a fellow Carnegie until just before Kingshouse, it was Pete's first ultra and he was going well. Then George C passed me and I knew it was game on. I chased hard past Kingshouse and planned to pass him then disappear into the distance up the Devils staircase but George was much too strong for me this time and he made the climb look easy as he passed me and I disappeared into the distance... behind him.
I still managed a good time, 6:07, but was about 12 mins slower than last year.

So, here I sit, back in Chamonix waiting for tomorrows TDS race. It's part of the UTMB only a shorter race at 106km and 6700m of climbing. I've been here since Saturday doing a bit of running and trying to get up high to acclimatise. Yesterday I spent all day up the Auguille Du Midi which is 3800m. I was joined by a few other WHW'rs George R, Drew S, Davie and Sharon, Hugh Kerr also. It's amazing how light-headed you get up there, especially when Sharon asked me if I was looking for a good time! Of course she meant in the race! Well I'd love to run well in this one but I'm wondering if I've maybe pushed it a bit far recently. Soon find out.

Saying Goodbye

The West Highland Way family turned out in force yesterday to say farewell to Dario, coming from far and wide to pay their respects. It was a very emotional day, so many race tops, buffs, and T-shirts.

Every now and then I would forget for a minute and expect to see him with flourescent top and big smile, clipboard in hand, running around.

During the service his sister, Diana, asked us to pick a memory of Dario and treasure it and remember him that way. Well, mine would be from the night run we did just a couple of weeks before this years race. I ran on ahead of the group over Conic Hill and down to the car-park in Balmaha where Dario was waiting to meet us after his run. It was after 3am and my torch beam caught sight of his flourescent jacket and as soon as he recognised me he started chatting away, he laughed and said "I don't know why I'm doing this, I'm not even running the race!" then he beamed and said "yes, but it's great fun, isn't it?" And it was.

Thanks Dario

The West Highland Way Race has taken over my life for the past five years so I was really sad to learn last week of the passing of Dario Melaragni who has been responsible for organising the previous ten races. He also organised this years Cateran Trail Ultra, one of the loveliest, friendliest wee races I've had the pleasure of taking part in. He even hand-drew each runners race number! That says so much about the man and his attention to detail and just how much he loved the sport of ultra-running in Scotland. They don't make them like that anymore, he'll be missed by many.


The hand-drawn race number from the Cateran Trail



Dario presenting me with my prize at this years WHW race
(pic by Alan Young)

The West Highland Way Race 2009

Sitting down in Lochaber Leisure Centre with a poly bag between my feet throwing up and shivering uncontrollably as people mill around hardly batting an eyelid. I might not have looked it but I was happy. Elated in fact. Not only because I'd been thinking about the finish line and having a good puke for hours now, but also because I'd got there faster than I'd ever thought I could on my own two feet.

Team Carnegie (well most of us!) at the start

Before the race I had felt confident of knocking a good bit off my previous best of 18 hours 27 mins, I had even written out some splits for the dream time I thought I could do one day with a wind behind me and all the luck in the world on my side. Whisper it... 17 hours. But quicker than that was beyond me. Or so I thought.

I was really nervous at Milngavie as I queued for registration, seeing some familiar faces and trying to avoid getting into conversation with anyone because I felt so uptight. As I waited race director Dario came over and told me to introduce myself to the TV people because they might want a few words with me, oh no, I thought. After collecting my race number I went outside, was put in front of a camera, waffled for a few minutes about I don't know what (bound to end up on the cutting room floor...please!) and then I was changed into my kit and off to the start.

My plan was to run near the front but to be careful and not get pulled into the early miles too fast. I was running with Adrian D and Paul H and we were to stick together for about 35 miles being joined by George C and swapping places all the way, pushing each other on.

pic courtesy of Alan Young

At Balmaha (20 miles) I was feeling good but a little concerned that I was going too fast. I decided to stick with these three guys though because the pace felt comfortable. I chatted with Adrian on the way up Loch Lomondside and said to him a couple of times that I was going way too fast for my split times but I felt ok so would stick with it. Through Rowardennen at 27 miles and I still felt fresh, grabbing some mashed potatos and ketchup, a full drink bottle and some sweets and off again. The midges were terrible here, they seemed to cling to the hair on my legs and the itching was driving me nuts. The good thing was it made me run hard to try to create a breeze, I'm seriously considering shaving them for next year though! As I was running I was thinking about how bad I felt at this point last year, how I had been so close to DNFing, should I be more cautious and cool the pace or roll the dice and risk blowing it? I had to go for it, if I wasn't going to push myself to the very limit in this race then when was I? I would keep pushing myself to the very edge and if I ended up in a mess then I'd deal with that when it happened. George and myself were pretty evenly matched and Paul and Adrian are experienced runners so if the pace was ok for them then it was ok for me I thought.

I passed through Inversnaid hardly stopping to grab my drop bag, I asked how far ahead the leaders were and was told about 10 minutes. It was my clubmate Scott B and the Dutchman Jan Albert who were up-front, neither of them had completed the WHW before, so I felt ok about running comfortably behind and just trying to keep in touch.

As we went through Carmyle Cottage I noticed Adrian had dropped off the back and as I left only George was chasing behind. We swapped places a few times going over the hills above Crianlarich then as we crossed the main road I ran hard to try to open a gap but George wasn't for letting go and was only a minute or so behind at Auchtertyre.

This was my crew change here. Lucy and Ken were taking over from the night-shift of Mark and Neil who had done a great job of moving me through the checkpoints with maximum efficiency. This was a crucial point in the race for me, all the good work of the last 50 miles could be lost with one bad section, which is what has happened to me in previous races, it was really important for me to be taking on food as well and I was relying on Lucy and Ken to manage this for me. I had my first real stop of the race here, maybe about 3 minutes, to shovel in some mashed tatties and ketchup and get a refilled drinks bottle then it was on my way again. My stomach was being good to me today as well, which was really significant. I had been eating well, with a little potatoe about every hour or so and sweets and energy bars too. I had to make sure I didn't let that slip though.

As I passed through Tyndrum I grabbed a few more bits of food and hit the track for Bridge of Orchy. The last few years I've ran this section hard so I wanted to do the same again and I knew on the long stretches you can see a mile or two in front so I might catch a glimpse of the front two if I'm lucky, that would give me a real boost. The mileage was starting to bite, I was running hard and George was right on my tail so I knew I had to keep this going if I didn't want to slip back a place. As I ran toward Bridge of Orchy train station I was met by Ken and Lucy with a tray containing virtually one of every type of food I had but, you guessed it, they didn't have what I wanted. I was feeling quite sick at this point but because I had ran the last hour or so hard my energy reserves were low and I had to eat something. Lucy ran off to the car to make up a Complan drink and Ken tried to persuade me with all sorts of things but the thought of solid food just made me feel sick. I gulped down some complan at the car and took a few biscuits but ended up throwing them away, I was managing to eat Shot Bloks and Fruit Pastilles though so that would have to do.

Over the hill and down to the Inveroran Hotel and George was still right behind me so I decided to hammer the mile or so tarmac stretch and try to move out of sight of him. A quick fill up of my bag at Forest Lodge and then I ran up the track towards Rannoch Moor. This section was what I had decided beforehand would be the crux of my race. I fell apart in a big way here the last two years and was determined to stay strong this time. It was getting warm too and the sweat was pouring off me and soaking my top, I reached for my bottle as I should be drinking small amounts constantly to stop getting dehydrated. Damn! I'd forgotten to pick it up! Ok, I thought, the only way to solve this is to get to Blackrock Cottage as fast as I can and get a drink there.

I ran the climb steadily then as it levelled out I really let go, still no sign of anyone in front as the track stretched out into the distance, surely I must be getting closer running at this pace. I pushed on until I rounded the bend above Glencoe and I could see a figure moving fast in the distance, surely that was Scott in front. This gave me a massive boost when I needed it most, the hairs on my neck stood on end as I realised I was in this race now. I reached the car and had to take 3 or 4 minutes to get some food into me as Lucy told me I was catching the two in front and her and Ken sorted my bag whilst giving me words of encouragement. The role of the crew is so important at this stage in a race because I find I'm so "stripped down" physically and emotionally that any positive or negative things can have a huge effect on me. Their enthusiam was really driving me on at this point.

As I left the car and ran through the Kingshouse checkpoint my body was feeling bad, I was having to concentrate to maintain a proper stride but my mind felt so strong. I was sure I was going to catch the leaders now. As I left the short stretch of tarmac after Kingshouse, climbed the short section then arrived at the road again, Lucy and Ken met me and made sure I ate some more, gave me more positive words and off I went up the Devils Staircase. I kept a good steady pace here, powerhiking the steep climb and as I looked up I could see Scott with only a small gap between us and above him I could see Jan Albert. Game on! Scott seemed to be moving very slowly and Jan Albert not much faster, I was instantly energised. I wasn't going to do anything crazy here though, there wasn't any point in blowing myself to bits to catch up so I'd just keep it moving nice and steady. As I got to the top I could see Scott about 50 yards below so I let rip on the descent and caught him up. He was really struggling, saying he was out of it and talking very negatively. I told him he was fine it was all just peaks and troughs and told him to hang on and we'd run into Kinlochleven together. He responded and we ran strongly over the rocks and down the never ending, knee buckling descent into KLL.

Scott and I on the Lairig Mor (pic courtesy of Tim Downie)

I was really feeling it now, but the adrenaline was pumping as Ken and Lucy told me Jan Albert was only a few minutes ahead. There were also camera crews buzzing about asking questions and seeming to be fascinated by my mashed tatties and ketchup which I was ramming into my mouth and trying very hard to swallow before joining Scott for the last big climb of the race onto the Lairig Mor. I've ran this section loads of times in training so I was starting to see the end in sight now. We powered up the climb, I was battling with my stomach but I was also determined to keep the pace going with Scott for this last section. As the track flattened out as much as it does over the Lairig Mor Scott and I got into a good fast rythmn and as Jan Albert came into view it spurred us on even more. Walkers were giving us encouragement and telling us he was about 7 minutes in front as we pushed each other on but as we got about a mile from Lundavra I started to crash, badly. I told Scott to go for it and I battled with my body and my mind but I couldn't make myself go any faster.

I stumbled into Lundavra and Lucy and Ken were shouting that it was all to play for, they were only 5 minutes or so in front. I was destroyed though, I told them I was struggling and was in mid-moan when someone else pitched in and said something, I can't remember what, but it hit home and I took off my bum-bag emptied it on the ground, grabbed a bottle and ran up the hill absolutely fired-up again!

I looked at my watch as I left Lundavra, 15 hours 15 mins it said. The slowest I'd ever done this section was 1 hour 50 mins and the fastest was 1 hour 15. Sub 17 was definitely on and sub 16:30 a possibility and if I can catch up with the other two....

My quads were screaming on the downhills, the pain was getting really bad. I could still run hard on the uphills and the flats though so I just kept pushing on along the ever undulating track until I reached the new bulldozed track section then I knew all I had to do was grit my teeth and let gravity pull me down to Fort William. I remembered it took me about 30 minutes from here last year and looked at my watch, 15:55, sub 16:30 was more than on!

I passed Alan Y taking photos and he told me Jan Albert had been passed by Scott but he was only a few minutes in front, my mind had wondered elsewhere though. When I first became aware of the WHW race and started to think one day I might be able to do it, I remembered how I had looked at the race record at the time of 16:26 and thought what an amazing record that was. Could I run inside that old record?

I ran through the Braveheart car park and passed George's wife and son and gave them my bumbag, then hit the road as hard as I could run. I stared straight ahead trying to put every ounce of energy I posessed into moving myself forward, the tarmac was agony on my legs but only a matter of minutes now, the speed limit signs, the roundabout then the clapping and cheering as I reached the Leisure Centre and the sounds of the piper meaning it was all over. It was all just a blur, Lucy and Ken were there to congratulate me and hold me up, I said no to the quaich of whisky this year, I wasn't going to need that to be sick this time.

My finish time was 16:24 exactly and 3rd place.

A special thanks to my support crew of Mark and Neil on the nightshift and Lucy and Ken who took over, you made it all possible and without your help, encouragement and inspiration I couldn't have done it. Also to Dario and all the volunteers who make this race possible, all the other runners out there and the walkers who encouraged us along the way, a big thankyou to all of you.

...and next year?? I've got a new time in my head but I daren't even whisper that one....