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Health Warning: This advice is a response to numerous questions received regarding improved mountain running performance.  If you attempt to follow it, do so with care and proper planning.

'Hydrate or Die'

So said the original Camelbak tagline, and at a fundamental level that statement is absolutely right.  Symptoms of dehydration include thirst, dry mouth and lips, headaches, stomach problems, loss of concentration, muscle weakness, low blood pressure and then at the serious end of the scale, death; none of which are conducive to peak performance, especially the last one.

However, I'm about to share an approach that has definitely increased race speed, particularly on the climbs, extremely simple in concept but more complex in actuality, carry less water.

Very hilly 13km, hot day, definitely no need for water

Many people ask me about improving their mountain running performance, somehow under the impression that I may have a clue, based on my own efforts and results.  Having given it endless consideration over the years, the answer doesn't have to be overly-complicated, just lose weight.  That's right, it's that simple and if you drop the bulk through upping training mileages, intensities and gradients then your progression will be more rapid.  

If, like myself, you're a stats geek who pores over ancient race results then likely you've noticed certain runners rise through the ranks, incrementally or sometimes briskly heading north on the results sheets.  If you match the performances to photos or memories then you'll pick up the almost direct correlation between skinnier frames and faster times, but it's not only what's in the body that weighs, it's what's on the body too.

Readers of the recent 'timely reminder' blog will know that when it comes to safety equipment, I don't ever take the mountains for granted, happily lugging all the necessary clothing required to stave off hypothermia throughout the year.  However, technology as it is, I'm in possession of some superb equipment that packs small and is notably lightweight.  Over the years, advances in materials have slashed the grams from our gear, but unfortunately it's impossible to do the same for fluids.

Water is heavy at 1kg per litre.  Imagine the positive effect on uphill motion of dropping a kilo, or even more if you're a serial slurper.  Noticing this, a few years back I began to experiment with drinking less, breaking that reliance whilst maintaining peak performance and hoping not to die in the process.  Initially it was daunting, uncomfortable and at times devastating on energy levels, body almost grinding to a halt, cells screaming for liquid sustenance.  Yet gradually the needs abated, legs no longer fading after an hour, mouth not perpetually dry, and importantly the mental cravings entirely disappeared.  Within a couple of years I was able, and entirely comfortable to complete hard 2-3 hour mountain sessions on 250ml of water or less, even on warm days.  Pre-hydration is obviously important but not ridiculous amounts, usually a glass of water and a cup of peppermint tea as soon as I get out of bed and then straight to the hills.

Hydrate well before and after the race, but don't carry litres during!

The human body is an incredibly capable instrument, ceaselessly adaptable to endless alternate environments and situations.  Maintaining performance on limited fluids seems to be a trainable trait, just like all other aspects of training, the more you do it, the better you adapt.  Buoyed by results, the next aim was ditching the food.

I've never been a huge eater whilst running, possibly because my stomach reacts badly to anything solid being bounced around inside for hours on end.  Gels provide the required energy boosts on occasion but the sugar laden, gummed-up, post-exercise lows were enough to seek limited usage.  As with the water, cutbacks were slow, but over time the same results were forthcoming, a breaking of necessity and fully-functioning muscles regardless of calorific intake.

Do you ever finish a run with water or food to spare?  If so, then you're already set to cut down.  Do you always finish your water as a matter of principle?  Then you're probably also ready to make gradual limitations.  I set off for the recent Mourne Skyline race carrying just 200ml, and even that was for emergencies only.  Forcing down 500ml at the Fofanny Dam feed station was more about getting the caffeine injection required to up the pace over the much more mountainous second half, and I ended up jettisoning about half of the 400ml also carried from the Dam to see me home.  Nearly four hours of boggy running, 22 miles and 3370m of ascent on less than a litre, and I finished feeling comfortably hydrated.  I consumed four gels and finished feeling full, not eating again until some soup at the prize-giving nearly five hours after race finish.  

Even carrying that 200ml for the first half of the race was the same weight as my jacket.  I know runners who agonise over kit weight and shoe weight and who would never carry any more than the bare bones of compulsory lists and yet they'll set off on a two-hour run armed with heavy liquids and food.  The way I see it, even with the most thoughtless cock-ups I'll never die of dehydration in the mountains of Ireland, chances of succumbing to exposure are infinitely higher, and so to keep overall weight down, the jacket will always stay but the food and drink will often stay in the van.

And now time for a BIG disclaimer....

1) This is obviously only relevant if you're already at or near your perfect race weight.  Saving a kilo on pack weight is insignificant if carrying 30kg excess on your body.  Nevertheless, if you're serious about improving then don't be afraid to work on ALL aspects of performance and this could be another useful string to the bow.

2) Even having experimented extensively with this approach over the last four years or so I still make massive and costly mistakes.  Most notably this season when taking on the very hilly 33 mile Wicklow Way Maurice Mullins Ultra on just half a litre.  To compound this foolishness it was a beautiful sunny day, extremely sweaty for Ireland in March.  31 miles in, I was comfortably inside record pace but ended up crawling over the line nearly fifteen minutes outside it.  Needless to say that last two miles was a chastening experience that I thought might cost me the win!

50 hilly km, warm day, 500ml of fluids, almost, but crucially not quite enough.

3) If you're going to try this then do it gradually and don't expose yourself to unnecessary danger.  You can always carry the required sustenance but try not to use it, before ditching it for good and benefiting from the weight saving later on.  Best of luck!

Switching on the Lights - The World Long-Distance Mountain Running Champs 2017

The sky blackened almost instantly, a malevolent darkness banishing all shadows, accompanied by a foreboding deep rumble. The thunder stretching out a baritone roar before cracking in a spectacular crescendo. Huge droplets began to fall, instant saturation and brown rivers for trails, icy flows shocking a reaction from exhausted feet. 

I’d best describe the feeling as if someone had just turned on the lights. The hazy sluggishness that had blighted the last 150 minutes instantly ejected. Eyes suddenly focused and a primal energy, finally feeling the mental re-connect between brain and body, previously eroded as a defence mechanism against the pain, anguish and disappointment. It may be too late to really matter but it was suddenly time to race. 

Winning the qualifier - Maurice Mullins Wicklow Way Ultra

Here I was again, the World Long Distance Mountain Running Champs.  Another chance to represent Ireland, another chance to pit myself against the best and an opportunity to renew old friendships and create new ones.  This lifestyle could never be a chore, being sent to incredible places by generous federations simply because of the ability to move faster than the norm over steep, uneven and technical ground.  Yet personal ambition can serve to taint these occasions, to create undue pressure that can overwhelm the undeniable enjoyment.  Ultimately, I try to rise above such frivolities, just being there and experiencing is reward enough, but intrinsic desires can be difficult to silence; this year I wanted top twenty. 

Preparation for these landmark events has become a self-perpetuated cliché.  Train well early season, excel at the qualifying event to guarantee selection and subsequently injure myself in the interim, hindering progress at key junctures.  At least this year it was a mountain bike smash rather than the usual over-ambitious mileage.  A torn rotator cuff at the end of April was poorly timed, destroying domestic race ambitions and forcing some creative session planning.  Stints of one-armed turbo-training and terrifying fights for footing on treadmills, rapidly succumbed to pain-defying journeys back into my beloved Mourne Mountains.  Adopting a stiff, right-side dominant style created numerous physiological issues, and descending in slow motion through terror of falling was humiliating, but at least I was out doing what I love.  Ultimately, the distances, and corresponding physical attributes came through, with a first-ever quadruple Slieve Donard (22.4 miles and 3,400m of ascent/descent) dispatched, convincing my fragile mental state that I’d at least last the distance. Unfortunately, the shoulder had prevented any speed work, denying that amazing race-tuned feeling that breeds vital confidence. 

Torn shoulder and some creative training

The Giir Di Mont is a wish-list event, famed for spectacular beauty, inhumanely steep rises and a massively vocal and passionate crowd.  The Italians certainly know how to do mountain races and Premana was no different to previous experiences, a tangible feeling that you’re undertaking something that matters to more than just your own ego. Being swooped from the airport by classically attractive Italian ladies to a waiting BMW reminded me instantly of the advantages of international selection, as did the breath-taking view from the hotel window.  Being the sole Irish representative guaranteed the luxury of a huge room and nobody else to annoy with hastily strewn kit, but also forced an unfamiliar sociability, beyond the usual ‘bubble’ of team mates.  Despite my social anxiety, I needn’t have worried, the mountain running fraternity were, as always, as friendly as they are interesting, and very soon I was at home amongst new friends. 

Usual preparations, unfolding journey-fatigued legs and fretting over weather conditions and footwear selection. There was talk of course alterations if the threatened lightning appeared, ridges and peaks are no place to be with millions of volts marauding free.  Come race time though and the skies were clear, an oppressive mugginess like a physical weight, a sheen of sweat from the lightest of warm-ups.  Packed-in like sardines, the elbows-out hustle of initial exchanges and then settling into a rhythm designed for efficient forward propulsion. The race was on. 

Always a proud moment.  Team Ireland (me!) at the opening ceremony

A downhill start was an unwelcome novelty, hard not to cause lasting damage when the field are set on sub five-minute miles.  Torn between maintaining contact with the front, and fear of over-cooking, I allowed myself to be swept along mid-field.  Plenty of time for making up places when the ascents began, or so I hoped.  The reality was the horrific realisation that my feet were sucking invisible quicksand, muscles weary and head lolling despite the race being very much in its infancy. Climb one, an 800-vertical metre brute with steep, narrow trails should’ve been bread and butter, not the tumultuous mental struggle that it proved.  Knowing you’re going so badly, so early on is a double blow, dreams rapidly disappearing and the bleak realisation that the suffering has barely begun. 

The far side of the climb saw essential respite as crag-like technicality underfoot brought out a broad grin and my reckless side.  Unfeasibly steep drops were dispatched with lightweight skips and numerous places were gained.  Making the classic mistake of switching off once the slopes eased, I managed to badly turn an ankle, one of those where you get to see the tread pattern on the sole of your own shoe.  Admonishing myself loudly, I pressed on gingerly, you can run those off but it takes time. 

Stunning views but there's pain to come among

 the peaks

Climb two commenced with a shallow gradient and solid surface, my least favourite combination. The victims of my lightning descent cruised back past, their gearboxes on a different ratio to mine. A new experience as a helicopter downdraft created a micro-hurricane, fruitless to oppose such forces, progress slowed to a crawl.  As seems to be the case, the lowest ebb brings the kindest reactions from rivals who share that intimate knowledge of suffering.  Recognising the pain, a Slovenian offered motivational encouragement before top GB runner Vic Wilkinson invited me to run in her slipstream. Hanging gamely on for a few minutes, the elastic soon snapped, leaving me alone once again to the frustration and struggle. 

Anticipation of another lengthy descent drew enough reserves to survive to the col where a cacophony of noise barely registered with pain-dulled senses. Looking to salvage pride, I threw myself vigorously into the initial switchbacks, tripping, cramping and stopping dead.  Self-pity and acceptance of failure, all that remained was a prolonged death-march to the finish.  And yet, I wasn’t even half way through the distance, a fact previously shielded from my conscience by the internal drive of inevitable completion.  I don’t drop out of races, full-stop.  Never have, and barring genuine injury, never will.  What’s the point when you still have to make your way home, regardless of whether you’ve metaphorically torn off the number?  The numerous helicopters were busy enough extracting several genuine casualties, focus on the next mile and eventually sweet relief will come. Secretive deals brokered between brain and legs, finish this one and we’ll never force you this deep again, time to retire, out to pasture. 

The feed station represented a final throw of the dice. Team GB had kindly carried in essential sustenance, much required but never desired by a delicate, motion abused stomach.  Stopping to re-arrange gels and drinks cost a minute, normally an action considered beyond sacrilegious but I was way beyond caring.  The race could get fucked, one foot in front of the other, left, right and repeat.

Then came the deluge. 

Bright lights in the darkness, the sweet smell of mountain pastures and the noise, my god the pull of the din from an impending feed station.  As if woken from a coma I became suddenly aware of my breathing, my sleeping senses discovered a symbiosis with a newly athletic body.  TV camera in my face and a corridor of mayhem, like the Tour De France climbs, clapping hands, smiles, so much support from total strangers and that wall of sound.  My teeth appear for the first time in hours, not gritted now, opened wide in a disbelieving grin.  Legs churning, on the toes and feeling great, is this really a 25% slope? 

The final 5km ridge-line was a resurrection.  Climbing steadily, I pushed hard up the kicky rises, tempo pace round the cliff-hugging, bench-cut contours.  Passing others for fun at this stage of the race is a novelty, a delight.  Distant figures become targets in the crosshairs and a ridiculous tune trips into my mind, ‘the green train is coming, everybody out of the way’.  Rounding the final uphill corner, I re-pass Vic, never expected that!  One final huge descent, ultra-rocky, uneven, a real rhythm killer and a reality check.  Keep pushing hard but don’t forget to survive, I’m going to make it, tears prick at ducts, it’s been emotional. 

The cruel terminal rise is a step too far, an attempted sprint finish with Team GB’s Jack Wood ends predictably, his huge stride disappearing into the distance.  Push for the line, high fives with the kids hanging over the barrier and done.  Bent double, breathing hard and an overwhelming sense of relief, what the hell just happened? 

I finished 41st, an OK result, 41st in the World!  Comparative to ambition it’s a disappointment but running top 15 splits for the latter half of the race is a big consolation.  I can compete at this level, but still lack the undeniable evidence of finishing position.  Maybe next year. 

Exhausted but happy.  What the hell just happened?

From that point on it’s all smiles, alcoholic haze and the blending of cultures through the medium of drink and shared experience.  These people have a glow, the physical manifestation of health and fitness and a fire in the eyes.  Conversation comes easy, as does sleep once the party dies down.  I love mountain running and I love mountain runners, this was more than worth the suffering.  I hope I’ll be back for more. 

As ever, huge thanks to IMRA for sending me on these unique experiences and to Newcastle AC for some financial assistance. To Anna and the boys for tolerating my obsessive training. To the WMRA, Giir Di Mont organisers and the people of Premana who created such an incredible event, but most of all to the athletes, kindred spirits or as a drunken Bulgarian put it, ‘mountain brothers’; without all of you, this would be meaningless.

The Power Of Certainty

I wake groggily, the weak grey light forcing through a crack in the curtains.  Gusting wind driving rain at the window in sheets, flexing the perspex and sapping my will to rise.  Slipping back out of consciousness I shelve the planned early morning session, later, later...

The next time I'm truly aware of what's going on is about 45 minutes later.  I feel myself rejoining my body, vision becoming clear and I'm no longer in my bed.  Heart rate is pumping and hamstrings a touch tight, I'm a quarter of the way into my eight-mile testpiece and moving well.  Obviously I know how I got here, I was vaguely aware of slipping on the Skins and Inov8's, downing a cup of tea and driving to the trailhead but none of it involved much cerebral input.  There's a deeper power at work, an internal drive that supersedes conscious input, I call it the power of certainty.

Living in Ireland, for every training day like this there are twenty in the drizzle!

I'm not always a big trail running fan, not compared to the wildness of the mountains where technicality of terrain adds excitement and a sense of space is all-encompassing.  Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy it but there's little to deflect the pain and so I get lost in internal monologue, self-conversing and emphasising suffering.  The four week trail running training block I'm currently undertaking is just praying for excuses to skip a session.  Today they included;

- A tough and successful week already completed, surely an extra rest day would be beneficial?
- A slight tightness in the hamstrings that may be exacerbated.
- A tough work day yesterday with a four hour commute and the mental strain of delivering a course.
- It's Sunday, how's about a lie in?
- My god, that weather sounds shocking...
- I'll delay until later and enjoy breakfast with Anna and the boys... 

Any one of those in isolation could've derailed the session if I'd stopped to think but the power of certainty overrides almost every time.  So what is it?

I read a really good statement recently that said if you want to get fit then relying on motivation is futile.  I think it related to the frantic post New-Year droves seeking gyms, detox, weight-loss, fitness and all the other resolutions that rapidly fall by the wayside.  The fact is that motivation alone isn't enough because it fluctuates so rapidly and readily.  Even for the most driven of competitors with clear goals and a burning desire to achieve, there are plenty of times that the will to skip a hated session is almost overwhelming and the impeccable logic of excuses seems indisputable.  If you want to be your best you have to have a strategy to overcome the lack of motivation so I use organisation and fear tactics.

Planning my diary well in advance I decide on the sessions for a whole block, considering the specific gains I want to make based on the attributes of my next race and the dates I want to peak.  Once those sessions are in my head, that's it, they're set in stone and only very extreme circumstances relating to family, work or injury will allow alterations.  At this point I've mentally begun to accept the guarantees of future struggle, the likelihood of freezing, the certainty of burning lungs and tired legs.  All the excuses are dissipated long before the allotted day and so when it comes to it the run begins on auto-pilot.  At some juncture during every effort I do become aware of how I've duped myself again but by that point I'm already out and the battle is won.

The fear aspect is provided by the knowledge that if I do decide to skip a training session then a domino effect could be instigated, easing the cancellation of future efforts, allowing the spurious excuses to gain a foothold.  The power of this knowledge is enough to tip the balance on the occasions my consciousness is alerted before the exercise is commenced, usually when I've been unable to train first thing and allowed time to dwell.

The key to this approach is realistic planning.  If your training blocks are too ambitious then you'll either get injured or exhaust yourself attempting to stick to a debilitating schedule.  You need recovery, savour it and the strength it provides.  You also do need a small degree of flexibility, the ability to read your body and respond to its messages decisively, but once the re-arranged session is planned then you must instantly set that in mental stone as there's still no room for excuses. 

And if you want to reap the rewards, you have to find a way to make the sessions happen!

Motivation is great, sometimes I'm chomping at the bit to hit the mountains again just hours after getting down.  Training can be amazing fun and we all know that the aftermath is almost universally positive, particularly after completing the toughest of sessions.  In reality though, the times it feels best are usually when the hard miles are already logged and you're reaping the benefits.  Without the power of certainty I'd never again reach that state and so this trick of the mind will always remain a vital tool.

The Finished Article

I was watching the football recently and drifting off as tedious commentators reeled out a barrage of cliches to fill in the gaps of a lacklustre nil-nil draw.  Their observations were largely washing over me until one of them used the well worn line;

'well he's not quite the finished article yet' 

And that set me thinking, what the hell does the finished article look like?

I've been training for about 29 years now, initially for football, then tennis before, at the age of fourteen making some serious, if misguided forays into physical conditioning for cross country mountain biking.  Even during the booze laden university years I continued to push hard on the bike and occasionally jogged through the picturesque suburbs of darkest Swansea.  Since then I kept fit for a decade before finding mountain running and seriously ramping up the commitment and intensity in order to compete at my current level.

As well as training harder I've also become a lot more clued up on the other essential aspects of diet, mindset and running technique and searched hard to find those marginal gains that may keep my ageing body ahead of my rivals.  To maintain this degree of focus takes a dedication and mental fortitude which is always motivated by that search to become better.  But where does it ever stop?

I always thought that the onset of my thirties would signal the beginning of a decline with metabolism slowing and fat appearing in previously toned areas but in actuality the opposite occurred with the discovery of a new sport where malnutrition (or at least minimal non-essential calorific intake) is par for the course among top competitors.  As I approach the exit to that decade the scales are informing me that my default weight is now a stone lighter than ten years ago.

So I'm lighter, fitter, better technically and faster than I used to be but only the totally deluded would consider me anywhere near a finished article.

2015 Mourne Skyline Skyrunner win.  Certainly one of my better days but I still could've gone faster and subsequently have so no finished article there!  Photo Credit: Jayne Bell

So what about true masters, Pele, Beethoven, Kasparov, were they the finished article?  Certainly at a point in time they could all have been considered the pinnacle of human achievement within their extremely narrow fields but to consider they were incapable of further improvement would have been insultingly misguided.

So if true legends, the all time top proponents weren't the hallowed finished article then can it be achievable?

Well, yes possibly it can but you need a high degree of specificity and very clear goals.  To narrow the field and have stated aims at least allows you to be the finished article at one point in time and one very specific achievement.  For example, I hold a couple of record times which I specifically aimed to set whilst racing.  By beating a target set by myself but also all previous competitors I can convince myself that on that day and at achieving that aim I was indeed the finished article.  But it doesn't mean that others can't be infinitely better.  You can only be your own finished article.

I'm not foolish enough to believe I'll ever be the World mountain running champion. That particular boat probably sailed years before I even discovered the sport.  However, at some point I will be my finished article within mountain running, the best me I can ever be.  It may have already happened, my best ever performance where it all felt effortless and flowing may be behind me, I'll find out too late, when the times do get slower despite the effort remaining constant.  A facet of always believing you can get better is the fact that ultimately you'll be wrong, barring a premature retirement or untimely death you will start to naturally deteriorate.

Which could be a pretty depressing thought....

Except it's not at all because you can always be improving at something, working towards being your finished article all over again in a totally different field.

I've been unable to run for twelve weeks now due to injury but have been given a reprieve from mental torture by my incredibly generous physio who lent me his cyclocross bike.  Instantly I set about a new training regime of high intensity turbo training, 'ugly fifteens' and two wheeled drifts round grassy corners on a bike that's definitely not the best designed tool for that kind of behaviour. The learning curve has been seriously rapid and massively enjoyable.  It's so bizarre taking a pastime that is seemingly so close to my comfort zone (as a mountain bike coach) but actually in many ways is miles away.

So a few weeks ago I sped around a local trail centre feeling far too upright with bars too narrow and brakes that barely functioned.  The 80psi in my tyres to ward off pinch flats gave my hands a beating that'd reduce a jackhammer operator to tears.  Initially I tensed up, slid, over braked and did all the things I coach out of beginners on mountain bikes, but pretty rapidly I found the boundaries and started launching the drops and letting it go on the corners before inevitably the front tyre did blow out on one less than finessed landing.

Armed with a decent level of fitness and a very small modicum of specific CX ability I than set about taking on my first race.  Like an idiot I was conned into doing the 'A' class before seeing that the majority of rank amateurs go into the 'B'.  The great thing is that I didn't care!  Obviously I tried to bury myself physically but found that I actually struggled to burn myself out because my lack of skills on the endless sharp bends gave me too much time to recover!  Not being 'gridded' and starting at the back denied me the chance to have a brief flirtation with the quick lads at the front but really it was a lack of technical ability that saw me forced back into a respectable but unremarkable 19th place finish.  When it comes to cyclocross I'm currently so far from the finished article that I'm barely an article at all!

Cyclocross.  Just riding bikes around a field, how hard can that be?  Actually pretty damn challenging!

So the moral of the story for me is that far from being dismayed at the ultimately doomed search for unending improvement, maybe we should instead just focus on being our own finished article every time we compete.  Clear goals allow us the satisfaction of success whilst accepting that another, harder target is then required to motivate us to push on.  When finally we do succumb to the natural decline through age or injury then we can accept it and either keep competing at a lower level or really excitingly take up something new and work towards once again becoming our personal finished articles.  Cue a lifetime of new experiences!

Form Is Temporary...

Saw this semi-literate graffiti when driving home from a race last year.  Captured my mood perfectly.  Why is my mind so weak when it comes to self-belief?  I can really be my own worst enemy!  I was a bit sad when the council replaced the sign.

I'm worried...

I've not had a decent training run in what seems like forever.  I've lost that sparkle, the one that drives me on and convinces me I'm making constant progress.  My last PB is a distant memory.  Is this the start of my inevitable decline?

But what are you talking about?  This is periodisation.  Your last race was only five weeks ago and it went really well.  Since then it's been all about long and slow, building the miles again.  It's the same plan as ever. 

But the PB thing... I FEEL slow.

And so you should!  The PB's should come again after two weeks of speedwork, then you taper, then the next race.  It's always like this, why are you beating yourself up?

But that last long run, I had to actually stop and take on fluids, I'd nearly ground to a halt.

But you've just answered your own question you idiot, you were chronically dehydrated.  Getting your fuelling wrong was daft but that doesn't mean you're losing fitness.

But I feel so tired, sluggish.  There's no spring in my step.

Look at your diary, you did over 8,000m of ascent last week, and even more the week before.  And didn't you just win a mountain bike race at the weekend?  Relax, recover and start the speedwork as planned.

But that was mountain biking, this is running and there was no real competition, it was a gimme.  And I ache, what if the speedwork doesn't show results?

Hang on a minute, you've been sneezing, you're snotty and your resting heart rate was up this morning.  You're ill, and possibly overtrained.

But it's just a head cold, I've been on Google and read up, unless it hits my chest it shouldn't effect my training.

But listen to yourself, you've been doing big miles, loads of ascent and you've got an illness.  Hardly a recipe for feeling sprightly is it?!

I suppose you could be right, but what do I do?

Stick to the plan!  Couple of days rest, let the cold clear and then on to the speedwork and don't forget to rest and rest properly.  A decent nights sleep wouldn't go amiss.

Ok, ok, Mr Sensible, I'll do what you say.  You know best...

Damn right I do, you've been following this cycle for years and it nearly always works.  Why are you so insecure?

I don't know, it's just that I really want this next race.

I know and you really wanted the last race too and what happened there?

Yep, you're right, I know you are, it's just hard sometimes.  I get the fear... I'll try to keep the faith...

2 Days and One Decent Tempo Session Later

That was awesome, I'm back!  Can't wait to get back out, reckon I could squeeze a mountain session in later tonight.

Wait a minute, what about the recovery?

Yeh, whatever, did you not see my splits?

Give me strength!  Do you learn nothing?  Rest hard, train hard.

Nice idea, but I think I'd better capitalise on this form whilst I can.  Maybe some hill reps...

LISTEN TO ME!!  You need to recover.

Aye OK, maybe later, now where's my X-Talons...

 

Emptying The Tank

I just broke a record.

Not, as sometimes happens as a by-product of a battle for the win between athletes at the top of their game.  Instead this was totally calculated, planned meticulously, specifically trained for and executed effectively.  It was one of my key season's goals and I achieved it with time to spare.

My 3:36:04 clockwise lap of the iconic Seven Sevens race took exactly two and a half minutes off Stevie Cunningham's ground shattering 3:38:34 from 2010.  I really coveted this record simply because Stevie's time was so unbelievably quick.  To put it in context, only a handful of runners have ever been under four hours on this course and only two in the slower direction.  Four hours remains the benchmark time to aspire to and in most years is also enough to guarantee the win on the epic 19 mile assault on the Seven Mournes' peaks over 700m in elevation.

Some FAST splits there but some average ones too

I should be delighted so why do I feel so flat?

As is often the case I've been left bereft of the emotions you'd expect to attach to such an achievement.  For the sake of therapy and future understanding I've decided to try to explore my psyche to seek an answer.  Here are the possibilities.


1) I'm just a miserable person

Very possibly so!  I'm a complete perfectionist by nature and am unbelievably hard on myself.  So far this year I've been left utterly gutted with a third place in my first ever Ultramarathon (despite successfully hitting the World Champs qualifying time) and pretty annoyed when breaking my own record on Slieve Donard at Ireland's most prestigious race.  Unless I feel I've got everything right then I'm unable to shake a deep-seated discontent.  Bizarrely, the only race I was truly satisfied with this season was the Worlds where crippling cramp and extreme conditions battered me severely and cost me untold time.  The pleasure in that case came from destroying my legs to get a result and also allowing myself leeway as a relative newcomer at International level.  The intention with the Sevens was to put in the first ever sub 3:30 time and so 3:36:04 fell some way short.  I guess this was a disappointment even though training showed me that it was virtually impossible for me lapping in this direction, with required splits that would be ambitious for a team running it as a relay.  Nevertheless, I went all out and managed to stay on target for the first third of the distance before inevitably fading and having to consolidate mid-race.  It was a gutsy performance that saw me actually get back on to 3:30 pace for some of the later interim sections between the peaks despite the headwind and increasing heat.  Plenty of reasons to be satisfied!

Record breaking but unsatisfied on Slieve Donard

2) It wasn't a real race

Well, as a round of the Northern Irish NIMRA series it very much was a real race with plenty of people out to push themselves hard.  The problem for me was that, at risk of sounding like an arrogant prick, I knew that barring injury I was going to win comfortably.  I'd been training specifically for it since June and had been round the whole route four times in the preceding three weeks, more than most Irish runners manage in a lifetime.  I kicked hard off the start line and probably effectively sewed the race up before we'd even run the length of the football pitch that it started on.  I knew that nobody would be silly enough to come with me, borne out by my winning margin of over 31 minutes. 

There's little doubt that competing against people is fun!  The camaraderie, tactics, panted snippets of conversation and extra motivation that come from running in close proximity to your rivals can't be understated.  The temporary bonds of mutual suffering are powerful and racing against split times, stealing glances at my watch at key predetermined moments definitely lacked that poetry.  As a result there wasn't anyone to share my experiences with whilst collapsed at the finish line, instead I had a quick chat and then headed to the pub to watch the Olympic Steeplechase.


3) Post achievement blues

This is a pretty common phenomena when you become so focused on a particular goal that it can't help but be an anti-climax once it's all over.  I did get fairly fixated on this race, dragging myself out on some awful days to scope the route despite zero visibility rendering the recce almost entirely pointless bar the physical aspects.  The completion, satisfactory or not of an all encompassing target can leave me feeling empty until the next one is ascertained.  In this case though I already know my next goal and therefore lack this excuse, in fact I can get away with viewing the Sevens result as a stepping stone towards greater achievements, something that makes subsequent training easier to handle.



4) The shitty diet blues

As previously mentioned I'm a perfectionist and leave nothing to chance when seeking to achieve a goal.  I simply don't see the point of doing things half-baked and won't bother doing a race unless I feel I've prepared 100%.  That doesn't mean that I don't sometimes toe the line carrying injuries, or feeling leggy from recent efforts but I'll never sabotage my performance through poor nutrition.  What this means is that I eat a very regulated diet, denying myself the 'treats' that most people take for granted, the upshot being minimised weight and constant training without dealing with sugar lows or hangovers.  Unfortunately the human brain has a cheeky and self-destructive side that demands childish rewards despite knowing that they're toxic.  Like the Olympians that posted pictures of post-competition McDonalds binges I can't resist having a spell off the wagon after meeting a big goal.  For about a week after I'll ride the sugar rollercoaster with ice-cream, beer and buns back on the menu.  Needless to say this leaves me sluggish, sleeping worse and therefore mentally drained and low.  It's not long before I feel satiated and the logical part of my brain regains control but in the interim I can definitely experience post-event diet related mood swings.



5) Emptying The Tank

This is a big one and probably the most important discovery in this mini spell of soul searching.  Most athletes will have heard people talk of 'emptying the tank'.  It's associated with pushing the physical boundaries, often resulting in diminished performance or if timed right, cramping and collapse at the finish line.  I'm very familiar with stretching my limitations, taking for granted the pain, dizziness and occasional hallucinations that go hand in hand with extreme exertion.  From the physical perspective the regenerative properties of a good meal, hot bath and a gentle spin on the turbo trainer are pretty remarkable.  It never ceases to amaze me that even at my advanced age I can go from limping geriatric to near full recovery often in little over 48 hours.  What I've never previously considered is the psychological damage of digging so deep and putting such excessive pressure on my body.  There was a period about eighty minutes into the Seven Sevens that required a huge injection of mental fortitude.  I'd come over Slieve Lamagan absolutely flying, on 3:30 pace and surviving well.  The subsequent half hour saw me pick an awful line, nastily turn an already damaged ankle and then fade badly in the deep heather on the short cut to Binnian summit.  Hitting the top at 1hr 41 instantly put the nails in the coffin of my 3:30 dream and with my quads unexpectedly feeling the strain I could see my record attempt falling off the rails too.  At times like this you can either give up or raid the brain's precious chemical supplies.  I always opt for the latter.

Tank emptied, body and brain at their limits at my first Ultramarathon

The positive links between exercise and mental well-being are heavily documented and indisputable but I can't recall reading much about the potential damage of digging so deep during races.  Following the Wicklow Way Ultra at the start of 2016 I suffered a deep mental and physical fatigue that left me drained and demotivated.  Undeniably pushing hard whilst unwell accounted for the bodily tiredness but disappointment at my performance almost certainly prolonged the symptoms.  With body and brain being so ultimately symbiotic it's surely unarguable that over-extending physically will negatively impact mentally and vice-versa.

So What's The Verdict?
The post-Sevens funk has left me already.  I've just enjoyed a brutal session on the bike and celebrated with a largely healthy meal.  Of the five explanations I've considered I'd say that on this occasion numbers 1,2,4 and 5 conspired to deny me my righteous sense of delight.  It's definitely been a useful experience digging deeper into the reasoning behind my post-race blues.  I'd be really intrigued to hear whether other people ever experience this phenomena. 

Olympic Dreams - Can A Part Timer Be World Class?

I like the Olympics.  It's not just the fact that as a non Sky TV subscriber it actually gives me the opportunity to watch some live sport on TV.  It's not even the fact that the BBC's lust for medal coverage gives some relative minority sports and their talented proponents some otherwise non-existent mainstream TV coverage.  More than all that I like it because to some degree I feel I understand.

I love the fact that all these individuals are prepared and capable of being so totally focused towards a single goal.  The way that they'll put their bodies and minds through untold strain and pressure for years with the carrot of Olympic success as an incentive.  For the victors a gold medal can be a life-changing result, not just in terms of financial gain and personal recognition, they've got the opportunity at a young age to write a key line of their own epitaphs.  Whatever may befall them over the course of their life their names will always be preceded by 'Olympic gold medallist...' 

Listening to athletes being interviewed there is often a palpable sense of relief at ambitions realised and you'll hear mention of 'sacrifice' and 'pressure' above 'enjoyment' or 'satisfaction'.  At this elite, World Class level the need for results has often transcended the desire to enjoy their chosen sports.  These lucky few who are able to pursue their dreams full time, training and competing for a living, can also be tainted by the experience, losing sight of the reasons they compete in the first place.

Part time Internationals.  Professional preparation without the wages!

I'm not an Olympic athlete but I understand sacrifice.  I know what it is to drag myself out into horizontal rain and zero visibility, to condemn myself to hours of continual pain, to dread a session so much that I can't sleep even two nights before.  I know how it feels to deny myself things that most people take for granted, to stare into a kitchen cupboard six times in an evening before dragging myself away because weight is everything in my chosen sport.  And yet for me, and others like me who's sport doesn't get the Olympic seal of approval there isn't that all-consuming goal.  Instead we look to other events as the pinnacle of our achievements and accept that the financial rewards will never be there.

I'm not deluded.  There's a strong chance that if mountain running became an Olympic discipline then I'd no longer be one of Ireland's best.  Younger athletes with far fewer commitments would be able to potentially take my place, training almost full time and unaffected by the responsibilities that come with advancing age.  However, that said, I'd be surprised if my lab statistics were that different to your average Olympian, my resting heart rate, V02 max and fat percentages would almost certainly put me near that level so maybe I could've been there in Rio had my chosen sport been chosen.  As it stands I've competed at two World Championships, the peak of mountain running events, most recently finishing 39th in one of the strongest fields assembled.  I was very pleased to get that result and equally happy to initially meet the selection criteria to represent internationally but the fact is that I was 9% off being in the top ten which seems to me to be quite a lot.  It's left me with the quandary of how much faster would I need to be to realistically call myself world class?

So what does world class even mean?  Obviously my first port of call is Google, so a quick look turns up several similar definitions;

'Being among the best or foremost in the world; of an international standard of excellence'

'of or denoting someone with a skill or attribute that puts him or her in the highest class in the world'

'ranked among the world's best; of the highest caliber'

Given those fairly wide and subjective definitions I'd find it pretty easy to justify tagging myself 'world class'.  After all, amongst all of the World's mountain and trail runners I rank in the top 40.  However, when you dig deeper there are other factors to consider.  For a start, all the world's best mountain runners weren't present in Slovenia, just the top four selected from each nation.  That means that stronger nations like Italy, GB and the USA probably have runners on the bench who would have beaten me.  Likewise, there are many other top runners who would've chosen not to try for the Worlds, favouring other goals instead.  More telling for me is the consideration that Alessandro Rambaldini ran a 3:44:52, a full forty odd minutes and 15% faster than I managed.  If we equated those times to an Olympic discipline like the marathon then if we assume he would run something like a 2:10:00 (about average for an Olympic marathon winner) then I'd have run a 2:29:30, fast but still ten minutes outside the IAAF marathon qualifying time for the Olympics.

Crossing the line at the World Champs.  Fast but not World Class

So my World Championships performance probably wasn't a world class performance.  I can live with that, but a second question is then posed, have I ever done one?  There's no doubt in my mind that the Slovenia race wasn't my best ever performance.  The heat, humidity, distance and sheer size of the hills took a heavy toll and although I dug deep and beat plenty of excellent runners I was still hoping to go about 15 minutes faster, a time that would have placed me in the top twenty.  Over the last year a couple of results stick out for me, my records on both Slieve Donard and the Mourne Skyline, two very different races and two standout performances.

My 53:40 lap of Slieve Donard is almost a minute faster than anyone else has ever run for that exact route but realistically I know it probably wouldn't stand up to scrutiny.  I'm pretty confident that on the right day I could go sub 52:30 myself and given that my strengths seem to lie in the longer races I reckon the World's best could do somewhere near to 50 minutes.  That would put my record theoretically about 7% off the best achievable, definitely getting closer to world class.  The result that really interests me though is my October 2015 Mourne Skyline record.  Almost certainly my best ever run, it saw me beat second place Dan Doherty (17th in the World Ultra Trail Champs that year) by almost thirteen minutes with a 3:51:22.  My time also beat Kim Collison's previous record by almost six minutes.

Mountain race records are a bit arbitrary really, there are so many factors, primarily weather and ground condition related that have a huge impact on times on any given day.  The longer and more difficult a race, the greater the environment caused time variations.  However, I've reason to believe that my time last year may well be genuinely quick.  Given that the Mourne Skyline has only been run twice, my assertion is purely conjectural at this point but as the Skyline is part of the prestigious UK Skyrunner Series it has already established itself as Ireland's premier mountain race.  It's the only race here which draws top international names and as such my record will be challenged over the coming years by some genuine world classers.  I look forward to seeing if it stands the test of time.

So, when it comes to mountain running I reckon that it's safe to say that I don't quite have what it takes to consistently rank amongst the true world class athletes.  I am however hopefully capable of occasionally reaching their levels when the conditions and course suit my talents.  I'm confident that as a 38 year old with a busy business, a permanent part-time job and two young kids I can certainly call myself a part-time athlete.  I train as hard as I can for as much time as I can fit in but my schedule is generally fitted around daily life with other factors taking precedence.  Surprisingly this does still allow me to often train around fifteen hours a week but the recovery time is non-existent and it's actually that lack of genuine rest rather than lack of training that sets aside my routine from professionals.  In other factors such as diet I could barely be more disciplined and probably put many pros to shame. 

On my way to setting another big record on Slieve Donard. How would the World's best fare on this route?

So can any part-timers be world class?

I need to make the definition here between amateurs and part-timers.  Mountain running is an almost entirely amateur sport but there are plenty of athletes who manage to live like professionals, getting by through bursaries, sponsorship and part-time jobs, often within the industry, that are very supportive of their athletic endeavours.  To all intents and purposes these are not part-timers and I occasionally jealously read of the exploits of running acquaintances who seem to be able to just train constantly with few other considerations.  I do however know for a fact that some of the top British fell runners are proper part-timers and are also amongst the World's best so it can be managed.  I just need to find that magic formula before age starts to signal my inevitable gradual deceleration.

So back to the title question and the simple answer is yes, I think extremely disciplined and driven part-timers can be world class.  As for myself, I'll keep plugging away at the mountain running and hope that the accumulation of miles will keep pushing me towards that World's top ten.  In the meantime I have the consolation that when it comes to parallel parking and hoovering I'm almost peerless and when they become Olympic disciplines you'll see me beaming out from cereal packets and Quorn adverts into your own homes.  Watch this space...