Reaching the Peak - 54 Minutes Of Flow

My legs feel relaxed as I drop out of the woods into the car park and on to the main street; the rhythm destroying transition from steep roots to flat asphalt not affecting me like in the previous three years. Hitting the seafront I involuntarily punch the air as drivers beep their approval and the gathered crowd clap and cheer.  Needlessly I hurdle a sign on the pavement before cruising through the finish line and releasing a guttural roar, pure emotion cascading out.  I'm not in control of my actions, the essential link between brain and body is somehow removed, a severing that took place sometime prior to the race and remained missing throughout.  I've smashed a course record that seemed previously untouchable and it felt painless, almost effortless.  I feel that I may have discovered the most elusive of sporting qualities, the concept of flow, and it feels incredible!

I have a love/love relationship with Slieve Donard, Northern Ireland's highest peak.  Rising 853 metres directly out of the striking coastline of Newcastle, County Down it has provided me with some of my most satisfying athletic achievements.  Last year I completed a 3hr 25min Donard Hat-Trick as an extreme training exercise in preparation for the World Running Champs in mountainous Colorado.  This year I completed a different kind of Donard hat-trick, winning Ireland's oldest and most prestigious mountain race for the third consecutive year.  It's the peak that initially inspired my interest in fell running when I read about the exploits of superhuman athletes who could somehow reach its distant summit and return in under an hour.  Now I can count myself amongst that elite group, a triumph of hard work and self belief over age and inexperience.

My first attempt at the Slieve Donard race was back in 2012, two years after Stevie Cunningham tore up the record books with a blistering 54:33 winning time.  I ran pretty well for a newcomer, finishing 7th in 1:00:46 but it was a result that brought more frustration than satisfaction.  Position mattered little to me as I never considered that I'd be a contender for honours but I badly wanted to break the hour.  The worst aspect of this was the knowledge that I'd be compelled to return the following year and go through the sheer agony of dragging myself over the steep and treacherous ground once again. So twelve months on I returned fitter, wiser and with better technique, aiming purely to knock 47 seconds off my time, thus allowing me to retire from competition happy in the knowledge that I could do 'the hour'.  That year saw a mini blizzard decimate the lead group high on the slopes and I found myself alone out front. The shock of winning took literally weeks to sink in.  My name was on the trophy with a 57:01 and some kind folk were even suggesting that I could've troubled the course record if conditions had been slightly less ridiculous for a mid-May day.

With that optimistic inspiration in mind I returned the following year with the sole goal of beating Cunningham's mark.  A weaker field left the result in little doubt.  I'd continued to improve rapidly in the sport and my closest rivals were away with the International squad so it was mainly the fast time that I sought.  I buried myself on the climb, summitting in 38:42 but my legs were hollowed out and I limped down, collapsing over the line incredibly in an identical 57:01.  I never considered it possible that I'd win the Slieve Donard race and be left disappointed but in truth I felt none of the buzz of my previous totally unexpected victory.  My ambitions had shifted and I'd fallen way short of the 55 minute times that characterised the wins of the top previous champions.

Apparently pushing the pace from the start!

And so to 2015 and an anticipated epic head to head with the most exciting prospect that Irish mountain running has seen in a long time.  My friend and occasional training partner Seamus Lynch has propelled himself to the top of the elite pile this year.  He's served his apprenticeship over previous seasons and pushed me to new levels in 2014 in my desperate attempts to keep ahead of him.  After a Winter that demonstrated both his improving speed and widening versatility, victorious in Cross Country races as well as 10k's, he's crushed everyone in the hills so far this season, winning everything that he's entered.  The knowledge that he's never beaten me on an open mountain race kept me confident but although the official pundits had us as joint favourites I knew that the majority fancied Lynch for the win.  My preparation generally went excellently and even a flare up of a stomach ulcer three weeks before the race allowed some enforced recovery time which ended up as a positive.  Nine days before Donard I achieved a long held ambition of taking the title on the brutal 'Binnian to the Top' race on a route that climbs a tortuous 2,000ft in just two miles.  It holds both special importance for me as venue for my first ever fell race and also special frustration after three consecutive second places! Following that success every session went as planned and I maintained firm self control to drop a few extra pounds to keep my weight to an absolute healthy minimum. With every quality session my self belief grew.  It's hard to explain but my psychological strength grows very gradually, day by day, with every strong training performance and every day of minimising unnecessary calorific intake. When asked by others I maintained my line that a sub-55 minute time was my only ambition but with a week to go I began to re-frame my objectives.  I could feel something special brewing.  As ever I visualised every inch of the race, playing out possible permutations in my mind.  What to do if I find myself behind, how to react if I'm alone out front, when to attack, what lines to take.  It sounds like overkill but these races are won as much in the mind as the legs.  A single thought kept returning to my mind and that was the commentary of race chief Joe McCann as I ran the home straight to win and then his shocked proclamation that I'd beaten the record.  This theme dominated my thoughts, a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Race day was simply perfect.  An early morning jog felt good with the pain of recent Plantar Fasciitis in my heel flaring less than expected.  My kids were really placid, minimising race day stress and as I drove to Newcastle I felt an excitement devoid of the usual nauseating nervousness.  I managed to secure the last parking place right next to the start area and was signed on and registered with ninety minutes to spare.  And that's when strange feelings started occurring.  With time to kill I went to visit my wife Anna at work for a chat and as I did I became aware of a total calm, all nerves dissipating and anticipation disappearing.  The best way to describe it is that time was no longer relevant. Instead of the usual longing for the event to be over so I could release the pent up tension, I felt that I wasn't even sure that the race hadn't happened already.  Reading that back sounds ridiculous but it was genuinely how it felt.  Most people have heard of being 'in the zone', a state of intense focus on a singular goal but this went beyond that to a state where the goal was no longer tangible.  I felt almost absent, out of body as we lined up and the whistle sounded.

Leading out towards the open mountain

I went easy down the road, legs moving without cerebral input and breathing barely registering.  It's only seeing the photos afterwards that I've realised that I opened up a lead on this section, shaping the fast end of the race into the kind of arrow you see when the pace is high.  The lower forested sections of the course are steep and heavily rooted but my feet found their way instinctively and I pressed on, still feeling remarkably comfortable and waiting to be passed allowing someone else to dictate the pace.  Crossing the river on to the open mountain I continued to move smoothly up to the famous 'black stairs' a rocky outcrop that runners pick their way through with varying degrees of caution or abandon.  It was at this ridiculously steep section that I noticed a gap opening back to Seamus, only a small one but on ground that wild in gradient even a few feet is enough to constitute a breakaway. Under normal circumstances I might've been tempted to accelerate and try to open a potentially race winning gap but my tactical mind was firmly overcome by the overwhelming calmness.  As I pushed on up the open moorland I maintained the rhythm, lacking both the usual muscular pain and also missing the common leader's sense of feeling hunted by the 200 hungry runners behind.  I never look behind me when I race, it serves no function but the temptation is often overwhelming.  On Saturday it seemed irrelevant, if Seamus was back on my shoulder I wasn't concerned and when I moved out right to gain better, more runnable ground I expected Seamy to appear on my left taking his usual aggressive direct lines.

The masses hit the Black Stairs

I topped out in exactly 37 minutes.  My previous fastest ascent was 36:45 on my return from the Worlds last year when I was benefitting from some time spent running at high altitude.  However, that time didn't include the two road minutes of the race route so by that reckoning I'd just done the climb in 35 minutes!  Between the Northerly summit cairn and the actual summit cairn is fairly flat and it's essential to sprint this section on the way up to maximise any gaps on chasers.  A friend on the summit has assured me that I looked in a fair degree of pain as I fought the vicious headwind and turned to descend but inside my head the calm remained.  A heavily folded ankle simply sprang back into place and I dropped my head and sprinted as I passed Seamus still finishing his upward journey. I could see that I had a gap but I know that Lynch is an incredible descender, just the right combination of nerve and technique and I knew that he'd be dropping like a man possessed, whittling away my lead.  As I passed numerous ascending runners I was aware of a strange sense of enjoyment that I've never experienced on that technical, ankle straining plummet before.  I was also aware of at least four people saying 'go on Seamus' to me, unsurprised to see a flash of red Newcastle AC running kit but not aware that it was hanging off my back and not his.

My pre-race visualisation had always included a mantra that stated if I was leading as I crossed the river then the race would be mine.  I'm so familiar with the bottom section and it seems to favour my slightly skinnier and shorter body as we weave through trees and jump through slippery rocks and roots at full speed.  The auto pilot continued to guide me off the final steep section, leaping the ditch and hitting the car park where this blog began.

Coming back from the mountain alone

The finish straight was met with an overwhelming euphoria.  Yes I pumped my fist in the air, yes I pointed at the crowds, yes I hurdled that sign and yes I screamed out loud as I crossed the line.  But no, none of those actions were planned or even conscious.  The disconnect remained, mind and body working harmoniously but independently.

I've been told I looked fresh at the finish.  I certainly felt fresh.  Adrenaline, endorphins, pure delight, who knows what was in control of my mental faculties, but physically I felt good for another lap.  I bounced from handshake to hug and was vaguely conscious of Joe McCann announcing the new record.  On the one hand it was a huge shock as all the way up I'd been telling myself I'd better start putting some effort in if I wanted a decent time.  On the other hand it was no shock at all, I'd already heard him announce it tens of times before in my head the week before the race.

Reading this back I'm aware that it could be seen as disrespectful, claiming that the biggest performance of my life was actually pretty effortless whilst others were burying themselves behind.  I haven't written this blog to boast.  I'm actually trying to find some kind of explanation for myself, if only so I can replicate that performance again someday.  Another bizarre happening in the run up to the race is that I couldn't get an image of Pete Bland out of my head from the photos in Richard Askwith's brilliant 'Feet In The Clouds' homage to all things fell running.  Bland is leaping in the air in total ecstacy after finally winning the Ambleside race in 1968.  He was quoted as saying 'it was like being in a dream - I had no pain'.  All I know is that I now understand what he meant.

Pete Bland after Ambleside 1968 (wearing kit borrowed off Barney Rubble?)

And so to the facts and figures.  I finished in 53:45, slicing 48 seconds off the previous 'modern day' record that involves the four minutes plus of road running to and from the mountain proper.  The previous record for 'just' the mountain was 50:30 held by Ian Holmes, a man sometimes described as 'the greatest fell runner of all time'.  My mountain time was definitely faster than that and I'd confidently, if totally speculatively go so far as to say that I may be the only person in history to run the mountain in less than 50 minutes.  Other genuine greats have also been surpassed including Irish athletic legend, World Championship medallist and all time Snowdon ascent record holder Robbie Bryson who's fastest win was 52:28 in 1999 and nine time Donard winner Deon McNeilly who's 1998 personal best stands at 55:08, neither including the road.

Let me state this in clear, unquestionable terms.  I'm not suggesting for one minute that my abilities are on par with those legends of the sport.  I've undoubtedly now made my mark but those men won all the big races in many record times that have stood for decades and may well stand for all time. What I have done is helped prove that there is a new generation of Mournes based runners who will hopefully be viewed in the same league as those few (and there are others I've not mentioned).  I've also moved my psychological goalposts and now believe that I can compete in the biggest races.  I dearly hope that I'll get one last run out for the NI squad at the Snowdon International race and I'll attack it without fear.  Likewise, with an entry for Ben Nevis and the World Masters taking place in North Wales I may well be looking for a blaze of glory end to my running career!

I've stated my desire to stop competing on numerous occasions.  The pressure I put on myself to achieve can be debilitating and effects my health, my mental state and those around me who have to put up with my moods and singular focus. Unfortunately I can't compete purely for enjoyment, and the quest for results sometimes hinders my appreciation of the pure joys of being able to get amongst the peaks at will, moving at speed and appreciating the connection between man and nature.  It's a sad affliction but one that I have to accept.  I just wonder whether having had a brief glimpse of that unique mental and physical state which I've best heard described as 'flow' will leave me happy to stop, content in the knowledge that I once reached that level or will it leave me forever chasing the unique set of circumstances that generated it in the first place.

Only time will tell but in the meantime I'm just enjoying these memories...

Broken Dreams - A Cautionary Tale Of Woe

Not really broken dreams, just broken bike bits but I thought a dramatic title might suck you in and it has!!  Anyway, the Rock and Ride crew have been hit by the rear mech gods last week with both Paul and myself doing expensive damage resulting in unplanned walking and swearing combos.  Mine wasn't the usual blap it on a rock type of incident though so I thought I'd briefly share it with you to avoid a repeat and save you some annoyance.

I was literally two minutes into a ride when for the first time in over 25 years of MTB I snapped a gear cable.  Faced with the prospect of spending the entire ride in top gear (not appealing, I've tried singlespeed on a 32-16 and that was bad enough!) I had to fit a new cable.  Smugly buoyed by the fact that I always carry a spare cable having spent years telling MBLA candidates the advantages of doing so I was quickly back on a fully functioning bike.  As I don't carry cable cutters I did the obvious thing and coiled the spare foot of left over cable into a neat little circle and got on with enjoying my day.

It was the final run of the day when my bike suddenly (and I mean very suddenly) locked up and stopped.  A glance down at the mangled wreck of metal near my back wheel confirmed the worst, my wallet was going to take a battering!  I carefully removed the twisted gear hanger, took off the snapped mech and tried to get out the chain that was wedged behind my cassette.  Simultaneously I was trying to work out what the hell happened as I hadn't hit anything.  Long story short, the spare cable had unwound and wrapped itself around the back wheel behind the cassette, instantly destroying the hanger and pulling the mech into the gears, snapping it in half.  The chain got thrown into the back wheel and got so badly wedged that I decided a 45 minute walk back to a chain whip and cassette tool was better than killing the back wheel by ripping it out.

Check out the twist on that hanger!!

Unfortunately upon taking the cassette off I found most of the drive side spokes were trashed anyway so I still had to rebuild the wheel, so the final tally was about 12 spokes and build time, a new hanger, new mech and obviously another new gear cable too.

So what's the moral of the story?  Be better prepared and carry a set of cable cutters?  Be less prepared and never carry a spare gear cable?  Actually neither.  As I carried my bike a few miles back to the van I was overcome by a strange calmness.  It dawned on me that I was walking through a beautiful forest in fine warm rain enjoying an inner peace to match the tranquility of my surroundings.  I felt energised and healthy and thought of friends who haven't been so lucky on bikes recently, damaging bodies instead of kit.  My ride had been brilliant, fast and loose.  For the first time in about 2 years I felt pretty pinned but the breakage allowed me a different kind of experience and I was all the better for it.  Like Ferris Bueller said. 'life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it'! 

Small Margins, The Lowe Alpine Mourne Mountain Marathon

This one definitely wasn’t my idea!  When I decided last year to focus my efforts on mountain running for 2013 I had a few targets but they were all focused on joining the exclusive group of runners capable of winning the short course races.  A strong Winter's training developed my capability to run full speed up tortuous gradients before releasing the brakes and letting my legs pick a terrifying line down through uneven mountain terrain but never for much over an hour.  It’s safe to say that I over achieved in this respect, bar an untimely DQ that cost me one series, everything else I managed this year has pretty much astounded me.  The ability to drop weight at will, bury myself physically and learn from mistakes has led to a pretty satisfying season!

This progress clearly didn’t go unnoticed and so it was that I got an offer I couldn’t refuse, as much as I’d have loved to!  Earlier in the season I was very nearly tempted into taking part in a major running and sailing event around the Scottish Islands by Deon McNeilly, a legendary figure in Irish mountain running.  Very fortunately for me work commitments staved off that event but it meant that refusing the next offer was to prove too hard.  With his regular partner taking a year off, Deon was seeking a team mate for the Mourne 2 Day Mountain Marathon and it was me he again asked.  My initial reaction was suitably non-committal, it was less than tempting for a few reasons.

1)      It’s long (55km) and involves carrying all your kit and camping out before doing it all again the next day.

2)      It takes place in September, way beyond my planned season end (even if I went to the World Champs in August) which meant having to stay fit and lightweight for much longer than anticipated.

3)      I’ve never really done any distance running, except for my two Mourne Wall runs (see previous blogs).

4)      I hate being hungry and I knew that we’d be carrying minimal food!

5)      It’s another event I used to read about with bemused interest (much like all fell running really) but under the impression that I could never actually compete in it.

The only thing that really tempted me was the fact that Deon has won it before and obviously wouldn’t ask unless he thought I had a chance of helping him win it again.  Despite all the arguments against, simple flattery overcame them all.  Ego can get you into some strange situations.  So it was that I entered the world of balloon beds, scooping water from rivers as you run through, weighing food, reading maps whilst running up hill, titanium stove pots and many other new concepts, the world of Mountain Marathons.

30 seconds to start and feeling relaxed!

The Lowe Alpine Mourne 2 Day has been running for decades, always along a similar format.  Pick what class you want to enter (these days from Elite down to ‘D’) and move as fast as you can through the allocated checkpoints whilst navigating yourselves in pairs.  The winners are simply the teams that complete the distance over the two days the fastest.  As long as you ‘dib’ all the checkpoints, route choice is entirely up to you meaning there is plenty of scope for being creative, and in many cases simply being lost!  We were entered in the main event, the 55km Elite race.  I was dubious as to how close a race could be over such a long and varied course but a pre-race tactical chat with Deon and a peek at previous results clarified that even over 10 hours of running, fine margins really can count.

After a week spent teaching navigation in freezing 40mph winds coming into the weekend’s race it was safe to say that I was very apprehensive and more than a bit unenthusiastic.  The reality of what I’d signed up for dawned on me and I had a few sleepless nights.   Extremely fortunately, the stunning Summer weather kicked in again just in time and we were faced with a forecast of mild, still days and even better a dry overnight camp.  Buoyed by this I packed an extremely light bag (12lbs) containing simply the obligatory kit list items and only one luxury (a hat to go with my Buff).  On arrival at Tollymore it was clear to see that not all teams had been so precise!   There was a very clear distinction between the Elite and ‘B’ class runners adorned in lycra, fell shoes and carrying as little as possible and the ‘C’ and ‘D’ classes, many of whom were wearing proper waterproofs, hiking boots and carrying a hell of a lot.  Us competitive types were obviously smug about carrying less weight but it was clear who’d have the last laugh at the campsite when comfort became an issue.

Following kit checks and final goodbyes and good lucks we were bussed to a ‘mystery’ location and as our allotted time arrived we grabbed our grid references for the day, got them plotted and started running.  I’ll not bore you with the details but basically we cocked up the first point and lost 10 minutes but then had a very solid day, moving well over some of the worst ground imaginable before reaching the campsite after around 5.5 hours.  I was pleasantly surprised by how easy I found it, having to move fast over that ground (and I really can’t reiterate enough how poor underfoot it mostly was) for several hours meant that we were never at our limits.  In fact, myself and Deon were able to chat away through much of it, sometimes about the navigation, sometimes about the race and sometimes about navigation in the race!  Not all teams were so careful to conserve energy though and it was a great surprise to us when a rival elite team overtook us despite starting 15 minutes behind.  It was less of a surprise though when they subsequently ‘blew up’ and ended up losing over 40 minutes.  It was very useful having the experience of Deon and my own experience of years of endurance biking to keep our pace suitably steady.

2 second pause for a pic and then up Slieve Muck

As the day one results came in we’d been informed that the front end of the elite race was close.  As it happens, it was extremely close.  After 330 minutes of racing only 6 minutes separated the top 3 pairs with us enjoying a slender 4min 40 lead.  I tried to put this out of my mind and focus on shoving as many calories as I had into me to attempt to recover for the next day.  The overnight camp was actually a total pleasure, some great banter, lovely sunshine and soft grass to pitch the tent on.  I strolled between the various pitches marvelling at some of the items carried by other teams, full size stoves, 4 man tents, cans of food and even some booze!  How the other half live.

Day 1 over, still smiling and a near 5 minute lead

Day 2 dawned bright with heavy cloud just touching the summits.  Remarkably my legs felt strong and relaxed and I felt really confident about the day ahead.  The format was slightly different with no staggered start and ‘clusters’ of checkpoints meaning that teams could choose the order they wanted to visit them.  This allows totally different route choices and adds a whole new element as you therefore have no idea how your closest rivals are fairing.  Myself and Deon were hoping for some better ground and more climbing to drive home the advantage we felt we had in terms of running ability and we weren’t to be disappointed.  Summit checkpoints on Slieves Binnian and Bearnagh meant some hard climbing but also some more established tracks and we flew round the course aided by some very precise navigation.  We occasionally crossed paths with the English pair who were looking like our closest rivals but it was obvious that they were taking a completely different route.  It wasn’t until the cluster was completed that we were headed to the same checkpoint again and as we approached it contouring round Luke’s Mountain we caught sight of them sprinting down the opposite side of the valley, it was going to be close!  As it was we led them by a couple of minutes and stretched out that advantage in the final run in through Tollymore Forest aided by the local knowledge of running on our familiar training routes to the finish back at the National Outdoor Centre.  In the end our advantage was 9 minutes but in the context of a 9 ¼ hour run it certainly isn’t much.  Another error like ours on the very first point of the weekend and we’d have probably lost it.

As I stood agonisingly in the shower watching blood flowing from my toes and a huge blister on the sole of my left foot I contemplated all the small decisions that had resulted in our victory.  There are so many ways in which you can lose ten minutes in an event like that with so many variables.  It truly is a combination of fitness, mountain craft, preparation, experience, pain denial and luck.  It just so happens that I got a very capable partner and the fortune required to pull off a first time victory.

Elite winners 2013!

I can’t express what a superb event the Lowe Alpine Mourne Mountain Marathon is.  Perfectly organised, a really friendly atmosphere, suitably challenging but also fun.  This year it was dedicated to Denis Rankin who was central to the event’s organisation for decades and who sadly died during a fell race earlier this year.  At the prizegiving his wife gave a great speech which coincided with a huge sunbeam breaking through the clouds and bathing a stunning Mournes vista in light, I couldn’t have imagined anything more poignant.

Huge thanks to the organisers but most of all to Deon for persuading me to take part.  I’m happy to retire from competitive running now but Deon is still searching for the ‘perfect 2 day’ as he has been for years so I’m sure he’ll be back again next year!   If only we’d pinpointed that first point maybe Deon could be feeling as satisfied as I am right now… 

Sorry for the lack of pictures by me, we could’ve had hundreds of stunners but my phone weighs 82 grams which any serious Mountain Marathoner will tell you is far too much to ever consider.  Given the choice between nice pictures or extra breakfast there really is no choice, you can’t eat a phone and as the title says, it’s all about the small margins!

DIY Winter Training Camp

In an ideal world we'd all be able to head away to the sun for the Winter.  A few hours on the road bike every day, run up a mountain and then have a swim and spa whilst the chefs cook us numerous tasty and healthy dishes to keep us fuelled.  We'd return tanned, chiselled and destroying our PB's for fun...

Another sunny Malta day

Reality time!  For most of us a week away over Winter is a luxury and even then exercise comes way down the list behind family duties so I was delighted when my wife suggested we head to Malta for three weeks this February.  Now I'll be honest, the major factors behind this idea were more to do with the fact that our two year old son couldn't pick the sun out in a line up and heating the house for our new baby is more expensive than buying a foreign island but in the back of my mind I was hatching a plan.

Having decided to train properly this year I'd had a great December and January but was already getting jaded with the idea of getting frozen and soaking yet again every day through Feb so I jumped at the idea.  Luckily with two weeks paternity and a part time contract I was able to free up a whole three weeks.  Here is what I learned.

1) Do it!

A self catering apartment in a 4 star hotel cost us 21 Euro per night for 2 adults and 2 kids!  21 Euro!  Fresh towels every day, cleaners, gym, pool, spa and all for less than it costs for us to be at home with heating, fuel etc.  The flights cost us £350 and food was really cheap with fresh veg and fruit markets everywhere.  The journey with a 2 year old and a 7 week old was a dream, Easyjet were excellent and allowed us 4 big free extra bits of luggage as well as priority boarding, brilliant.  Can't say we'd expect the same level of service from other well known (and much hated) low cost airlines though!

2) Be Organised

In the first week I was trying to fit in my running whenever I could which is really difficult.  Anyone who trains seriously knows that having no time to mentally prepare for a hard session makes it doubly hard as well as the problem of not being able to exercise within a couple of hours of eating.  By day five I decided to get up early and get out there, it was still hard on minimal sleep but at least I knew it was coming every day.  It also meant that I could spend the rest of the day being as relaxed as possible.

3) Be Realistic

I was on a family holiday which with our kids meant little sleep, constant playing, virtually no genuine relaxation and impromptu weights sessions (carrying a knackered 3 stone kid over a mile up a hill from the beach!).  As fun as this all is it isn't classic recovery time so be prepared to listen to your body and adjust your sessions accordingly.  I managed to train every day, some sessions were absolutely brutal and others were a bit more relaxed but I was amazed how well I did recover despite never stopping all day, just the mental relaxation of being on holiday can spur you on physically.

4) Be Creative and Go Explore

Malta is definitely not your quintessential mountain running training venue.  There are no mountains for a start, as well as that, virtually all spare land is used for growing veg so there are very few trails.  On day one I headed out just to see what I could find and ended up with a 7 mile loop with road, beach, trail and off-trail elements ending with a big hill.  This formed the basis for getting in some miles.  Outside our hotel were 112 steps which provided some amazing endurance and sprint interval sessions.  This led to some funny looks, filming, photos and fighting through the stink of the morning smokers but definitely made a difference.

The 112 Steps

Done 100 times!

5) Lay Off The Booze!

I'm no drinker these days but the local Cisk lager was amazing and the wines were really good too. There's undeniably something about being on holiday that makes you want to drink but if you're going to get going at 7am then you need to be disciplined. Couple of glasses at dinner = Good. Couple of bottles at dinner = Puking on the aforementioned steps.

6) Think How Bad It Is At Home!

The weather in Malta wasn't amazing initially and I wasn't hugely delighted when everyone's Facebook was showing blue skies in the Mournes but then I saw sense.  Running in shorts and short sleeves in the dead of Winter along a stunning deserted clifftop path at 7am is a total joy.  The skies were blue in the Mournes but then so would my skin have been if I'd headed out in what I could wear on holiday.  Smugness is a top motivator and no matter how much I may have dreaded an upcoming ball buster of a session, knowing it would be warm made all the difference.

7) Let The Family Know

Don't just sneak out every day, tell the family your plans.  If your partners are anywhere near as understanding as mine then it means that at least you'll get time for a shower and some breakfast when you return from running up and down 11,000 steps before you become a human climbing frame for the day!  Also there's nothing better than an adoring child saying 'did you have an excellent run daddy?' when you get through the door (obviously those with teenagers wouldn't expect this!)

Getting the family involved - Rowan doing some resistance work

So that's that.  I've never run more than three times a week in my life with biking taking up so much of my fun time so I was really intrigued to see what effect my DIY training trip had.  Since coming back I've taken chunks out of my quickest times on two of my usual testpieces and there's more in the tank.  I definitely feel fitter, stronger and mentally great having got more Vitamin D than I'd usually see this side of August in a year.  If you can free the time then I'd really recommend putting together your own Winter camp.




Malta was great, the people were lovely, the weather good, food and drink good, prices cheap and lots for the kids to do.  I'll happily pass on recommendations based on my experiences, drop me a line at ian@rockandrideoutdoors.com if you'd like some details.