Mauritius marathon - number 75 and 2nd lady

It can be a gamble entering the first edition of an event, but the Mauritius marathon went very smoothly. My hotel, Les Pavillons was part of a hotel group sponsoring the marathon, and I’d had a few outrageously lazy days lying on a sunlounger under a palm tree on the beach, reading, snoozing, sipping cocktails and going for dips in the sea. Friday’s race briefing was at another hotel in the same group, the Tamassa on the south coast near Bel Ombre, which is still very nice but not quite as indulgent and luxurious as mine. I got chatting to a girl there who has whispered seductive thoughts in my ear: she’s running marathons on the 7 continents. Hmmmm, yet another excuse to go on even further flung holidays… The briefing was by a hunky French doctor and featured the race director, a charming French gentleman with experience of Olympic events. We were in good hands.

The race started at 6.30am on Sunday, plenty of time to get the bulk of it done before it got warm. The route wrapped around the south western corner of the island, starting at an otherwise deserted shopping mall, and heading north for 5k then returning south through small villages, past Le Morne, the considerable rocky outcrop that overlooked my hotel, then along the stunning south coast past Baie du Cap and Bel Ombre to St Felix beach. The first stretch to Le Morne was standard issue – clumps of posh houses, pockets of villages with odd restaurants and shops, patches of wasteland and lots of sugar palm plantations. The highlight was running along the colourful Avenue de Jacarandas and getting glimpses of the sea as the sun came up.

The southern stretch was truly fabulous, the road follows the beach with mountains on the left and the sea is postcard perfect there – clear, azure blue water completely still up to the shoreline and waves slamming onto the reef break further out. By the time we’d got down there, more locals were out and about and, while they clearly had no idea what was going on, they were very friendly and smiley. It was mildly uncomfortable running past a funeral in the final kilometre, especially as it was open casket and I got a glimpse of the poor chap’s Sunday best suit, I felt quite disrespectful, but they were largely very encouraging. The good thing about this event is there was a ½ marathon and a relay going on at the same time which attracted a far greater proportion of Mauritian runners than international ones. It didn’t feel like a tourist jamboree, rather a Mauritian race that we were welcomed into.

Looking back at the race route at about 30k with Le Morne in the background

My race wasn’t so good today. I’d certainly tapered, having run very little this week, and was well rested. I probably hadn’t eaten enough, the food at my hotel was excellent in the big white plate and towers of food and smears of jus fashion, but I’d skipped lunch each day (pina coladas count surely?) and hadn’t really had that much more than usual on Saturday. I’m not sure that was the problem though, it was probably more an electrolyte issue. It wasn’t so hot during the race, no more than 25 degrees and fairly cloudy but very humid. For a fairly non-sweaty girl, I was sweating like a stuck pig today. There was pepsi at the water stations and I’d had two gels but I may have been a bit low on salts. Whatever it was, by 30km the wheels were coming off and by 2km later, they’d fallen off entirely.

Up to that point I’d been feeling good. It’s not an easy course with a lot of undulations, and a couple of significant hills, one long drag from c.11k and a shorter but steep little bastard at Le Morne. Still, I was running comfortably and at a decent pace and went through half way in 1’52. With only 10k to go though my legs gave up and felt like solid lead weights, there was no running in them whatsoever. At the 35k checkpoint, 7k seemed like such a long way left and it was pretty dispiriting really. I dropped quite a bit of time and was lucky to come in as second lady in a (for me) woeful time of 4’04. That was enough to bag me a podium finish but I ought to have been a good 20 minutes quicker. I’m not sure what’s going wrong at the moment. Yeah yeah, I’ve still got the 10 in 10 in my legs. But why am I so bleeding unfit?

There wasn’t much ceremony over the finish line, though the presentation was good and the police brass band most entertaining (how often do the police have a brass band, let alone one that does covers ranging from Louis Armstrong to Celine Dion?). The medal was tiny and far from memorable, though offset by a larger version for coming second lady and a rather nice prize of a 3 night stay in a Naiade hotel and free entry to the race next year. I'm now 3/4 of the way to the 100 and it was another lovely place to mark it (50 at Marrakech, 75 at Mauritius and 100 at Malta). What was by far the best bit was taking off my runners and getting straight into the sea. Not quite an ice bath but supremely refreshing.

The Langport double

Within a mile or two of Day 1 of the Langport double, we had reached a section that reminded me precisely why I prefer road: thigh high grass concealing a surface that pitched and rolled like a ship in the southern seas. Since we were the only runners and therefore some of the first people to go through (the walkers had set off a bit earlier) Paul and Colin were doing a grand job of trailblazing while I desperately tried to hang on to the back of them. Saturday’s marathon happily had some good long stretches of tarmac but there was a lot of this very difficult deep grass to wade through. The high stepping running style you have to adopt is pretty exhausting. 

What was even more unpleasant was being nettled half to death, the paths were totally overgrown and you just had to grit your teeth and get stuck in. My legs tingled all Saturday afternoon and evening and, even though it had eased off by the morning, they’re just as bad again. I’m very glad no one went into anaphylactic shock, I’m not sure it’s possible from nettles but I reckon it gave the wasps a run for their money.

There are always some pretty hamlets and views to reward your efforts in LDWA style races. Sadly, these events lacked the usual checkpoints with tables groaning from the weight of sandwiches, sausage rolls, cakes and rice pudding. Squash and a tin of sweets had to do. I was a bit caught out by the promise of “food” and definitely found that being on my feet for 5-6 hours on a few chocolate mini eggs isn’t ideal, I was very low on energy on both days. Overall though, they were well organised races with friendly marshals and even some tape marking the route.

My times weren’t too bad for a route-finding off-road double, 5’16 and 5’58. We had some lengthy pauses at checkpoints and especially at CP3 today where we all got a bit lost. They do seem like obstacle courses with numerous electric wires to duck under (I discovered not many were live) all the gates to open and close, particularly the Bristol gates with a good 12 inch clearance, and dozens of stiles. They honestly do get taller and taller the more miles you do until they turn into mountains. I lost count of the number of times I was grateful not to have short legs, it’s a minor advantage but one I was very grateful for.

Sunday was much the same though a different route so we didn’t have the benefit of Rima dragging her tyre and clearing the trail for us. I was tired today and struggled from early on, having managed to hang on to Paul and Colin for most of yesterday, I lost them fairly early on and then 100 club Danny and 2 ladies who ran today after about 30k. It was good timing, virtually all the rest of it was along the mightily tedious River Parrett and while my mood could barely cope with it by myself, it was unlikely it could have maintained enough good humour for company. I was glad to see the finish.

It wasn’t a bad pair of races, but they were purely for the numbers. That makes Mauritius next weekend a reward for the off road, and number 75. And then a rest.

Paul, Colin and me after Day 1

Dartmoor Discovery

Apologies, my internet access has been reduced to a painful dial up crawl over the past few weeks and I'm only just catching up with posting my race reports.... This one was great, you can skip the Chester and Langport maras, deadly dull.

This was the third consecutive year I’ve run the Dartmoor Discovery. In 2008, it was my first ultra and I’d gone down there by myself, knowing no other runners and rather nervous of going beyond the marathon distance, especially as this is a notoriously tough race over many hills and exposed moorland. This year was very different to then when I’d run a mere 5 marathons (it’s relative, ok?) and felt a bit like a sacrificial lamb. The weather extremes are legendary, some years the runners have been burned to a crisp, some years (like 2009) deluged by so much rain that several were pulled off with near hypothermia. So even though it was forecast to be warm and sunny on Saturday, I still set off in a long sleeved top, fully expecting the mild start to turn into near freezing temperatures and sheets of icy rain. It came off within an hour, it was a very warm and humid day and I was more than happy to be proved wrong. Quite a few suffered with the combination, but happily it’s one that suits me, I’d far rather be hot and sweaty than cold and wet.

My training in 2008 had been pretty similar to my marathon training, with extra back to back runs, building up to 10 miles on Saturday followed by 20 on Sunday. It worked well but I suspect that running 10 hard marathons on 10 consecutive days prepares you as best as is possible. Sure, it’s made me a bit slow, but it’s provided the endurance and included a lot of hill training. That meant that I got round this feeling very comfortable on a cup of orange squash (the E numbers must help) at each of the 10 checkpoints and only half a lucozade sport energy bar. What a difference from Day 7 of the TiT!

Having heard me talk about how fantastic the DD is, Patrick had also entered and we set off together. He’s run several marathons this year and Comrades 5 times so he’d have no trouble, plus he’s a bit quicker than me so I fully expected him to push off as he usually does after about 10k. He decided, however, that he’d rather ease back and keep me company so we ran the whole thing together, the first time I’ve ever run an entire race with someone since my very first marathon. It was surprisingly nice, some of the time we’d chat, some of the time we’d be running alongside each other in very companionable silence and our pace seemed perfectly matched. It helps that I’m now a lot stronger up the hills, there’s no question that even a few months ago he would have got bored after about 10 miles, and it was a revelation to be able to run so much more of the course than I have done in previous years. I’ve always been hopeless on hills.

I’m by no means an ultra runner, but I will keep coming back to the DD as long as I’m able to and as long as it’s on. Sadly Phil Hampton can’t run it any more, it’s a massive commitment and he’s not getting any younger, but I very much hope the Teignbridge Trotters take it over. They have such a huge representation in the race that it would be a big gap in their club calendar. Plus it’s a very special event now, the last of the dying breed of ultra marathons on road. The trail ultra scene has taken off in recent years but the road ultra scene is facing extinction and a large part of it must be because it’s so much more difficult to organise a road race now, with licenses and permits etc. The DD has retained its competitive nature, it’s not just a distance to get round like many trail ultras, it’s a serious competition with some very exciting racing up at the front. It would be a huge shame to see it disappear.

It’s not just because it’s competitive that makes it so special. I’m never going to be anywhere near the front in the DD, I come for the superb organization, the way Phil looks after his runners, the atmosphere among the runners themselves, the weekend away and the stunning route. Of all the marathons and ultras I’ve run, this and Connemara are my two stand out events. Both have those wide open skies and soaring views that are somehow incredibly soothing. In the DD, you run down into wooded valleys, over ancient stone packhorse bridges, past tumbledown thatched cottages, through picture postcard hamlets and up onto the open moor with the tors punctuating the skyline. At this time of year, there are dozens of ponies about and lots of foals, some so fresh out of the box that they appear to be all long, perfectly turned out leg. Funny how several years on, they appear to be all stocky body. Not just humans who suffer that then.

It was the perfect counterfoil to Chester on Monday which was pretty disappointing. We were running well all the way through, even picking people off in the last few miles and not slowing down too much. We’d paced it well, relaxing on the downhills, maintaining momentum on the ups and coasting along the flats, neither pushing too hard nor being lazy. I was pleased with an average pace of 10’15 / mile given there are a lot of very serious inclines and an 11 minute course PB. Energy levels were good, the weather was great, the company excellent and the views fabulous. It was a proper life affirmer of a run.

At the start: L-R Paul, Patrick, me, Riel & Helen