Team Vasque presented with the Four Inns President's TrophyA common theme of British ultras is that they are often called a "hike" or a "walk" despite their being nothing of the sort at the sharp end. The Four Inns Walk fits into this theme. The Four Inns Walk has a proud, though at times tragic, history stretching back more than 50 years. The race is for teams of 3 or 4 people and crosses the length of the Peak District from Holmbridge to Buxton. Team Vasque arranged a scratch team consisting of two Martins, Stephen Watts and Neil. Three of us had won the race in 2008. We got a last minute entry on the day and the latest possible start time of 7:34am.
We ran well from the start, running uphill almost all the way to Black Hill. Once off the now-paved Pennine Way at the summit of Black Hill, we hit the peat bogs and continued well, passing lots of teams on the way to Crowden. We followed the main Pennine Way (along Torside Clough) most of the way up Bleaklow, despite most of the competition being well off to our right. Swatts navigated a blinder across these wild moors and we seemed to run along good bouncy paths all the way. Despite some extra distance and some extra height gain (we almost summitted on Shelf Stones moor), we gained further places before hitting the Snake Pass road.
The Snake Pass road was typically dreary, but we ran quickly down it and were soon starting the graunch up to Kinder. I could tell at this stage that Neil was starting to suffer and so I carried his rucksack up the hill. He got cramp at the top of the hill, but after a couple of gels, he was on his way again. Over the top of Kinder, we looked down on a beautifully lit Edale valley and the hills towards the Cat and Fiddle Inn in the distance. Fifteen minutes later, we were running into Edale. There is an "out and back" to the Edale village hall checkpoint and it was here that we passed the Macclesfield Harriers coming in the opposite direction. I looked at my watch and when we ran past the same point (on the way out), I noted that they were 5 minutes ahead of us (though having started 18 minutes ahead of us, we had been 13 minutes quicker over the course).
Edale is more than half way in the race, but for Neil, it was only just beginning.
Neil was looking somewhat tired in Edale village hall. Swatts and I split Neil's rucksack between us soon after. This certainly made a big difference to me and made me feel decidedly less sprightly. It had the same effect on Swatts. There is a big hill out of Edale to Chapel en le Frith and we all struggled up this, but Neil seemed to struggle more than the rest of us. On the way down to Chapel, Neil was heard to say "at least we'll get a good time to Chapel". What did that mean.
We got into Chapel and Neil suggested he retire: the wheels had come off, he was spanked. He argued that if the other three of us continued, we could finish the race and claim a moral victory. Swatts was having none of it: "if you retire, we can't win a trophy. Get that cheese sandwich down and get running". Neil didn't answer. Neil got running. Our lead had been whittled down to 8 minutes.
In an ultra race, you'll typically hit a low some time during the race and Neil had hit that low big time. The problem for Neil was that his other three team members were bounding along. In order for us to beat the Macc Harriers, we'd have to run as a team and nurse Neil to the finish. Along the railway line to Combs, we let Neil slipstream us and kept up a good pace, but the hill up to White Hall was a physical and psychological killer. With energy reserves rapidly draining away, Neil slowed down significantly on the hill. I could just picture the Macc Harriers bounding off into the distance like little lambs. Something had to be done. I broached the subject of pushing Neil up the hill. This wouldn't work with some people, but Neil was well up for it. So I got my hands on his buttocks and pushed. We speeded up. I pushed and pushed and we started moving well up the hill: good effort Neil. We were moving again. I was huffing and puffing with the effort, but it seemed like we might as well all cross the finish line as knackered as each other, so I just went for it.
We felt like we stopped the rot at White Hall. We were 7 minutes in front which meant that the Macc Harriers weren't pulling away quckly anymore. We took turns in pushing Neil all the way to the Goyt valley reservoirs. Neil showed good courage and ran well downhill. We optimised time by someone always running ahead and opening gates so Neil could run through unimpeded.
It all came down to nurturing Neil, who was showing some real character in the way he kept up to it. I ignored Swatts when he said he was suffering a bit: I knew it was nothing like what was happening to Neil. Martin ran along on a cloud as he always does.
There's a big hill from the Goyt valley up to the Cat and Fiddle and we pushed again. It was a long gruelling push that Swatts and I shared. Then Neil succumbed to cramp. Oh no, after all this effort, it can't end this way. I had some Deep Relief gel in my rucksack and whipped that out. Martin and I were on the ground, each massaging one of Neil's calfs, hoping that we could get him going again. He got going again after a minute and we continued to the Cat and Fiddle with the clock ticking.
Swatts was given a food and drink order from the team at the Cat and Fiddle checkpoint. There would be no time to lose. We had to get in there, report to the marshalls and get out. Neil showed signs of lingering, but I was having none of it and bundled him out. We were too early for sandwiches at the Cat and Fiddle, but Neil must have looked in such a state that a marshal ran out after us clutching a handful of custard creams: "take these, take these". We checked our time with the marshals: our lead had been cut to just 2 minutes. This was not good. We had about 4 miles to go. We had one pretty exhausted team member and we had a 2 minute lead over a team who were clearly going better than us.
It dawned on me though. If we were two minutes ahead and there were 4 miles to go, then they'd have to run 30 seconds a mile faster than us to win. If we could keep a decent pace, like 7m30s / mile over rough tracks, then they'd have to run something like 7 minute miles and that seemed unlikely. The plan was thus hatched: we'd just try to keep our pace above 7m30s and that might just do the trick. And so we ran downhill as a closely knit team, urging each other on, Neil running free at our sides.
There's one last gentle hill up before the drop into Buxton and this could be a stopper. We saw a team ahead (Rolls Royce Harriers) who had been split apart by the hill. We timed them and realised that we were catching them. We were in with a chance. Maybe we'd stopped the rot. The hill was too gentle to push Neil up, so we switched tactics and started pulling, Swatts pulling one hand and me pulling the other. And so we ran to the crest of the final hill down into Buxton, making sure that Neil had the best terrain to run along (on the rocky track) and the pullers taking whatever punishment they received on the rocks.
Down into Buxton we ran, hand in hand, pulling. By this stage, we'd sent Swatts off ahead: the last thing we wanted now was a navigational disaster on the run in to the finish line. Martin and I pulled. We were tanking along at less than 7 minutes per mile. The Macc Harriers surely couldn't have been going much faster than this. Swatts crossed a main road at some traffic lights and sniffed out the finishing line. We saw him on the other side of the road as the lights changed. The traffic started moving. The gods were with us, the traffic parted like the Red Sea and we were across to the promised land. We ran along the final road to Buxton school seemingly on a wave, on a rollercoaster of emotions. We were really tanking along at this stage, hand in hand, with the finish almost within our grasp. We made a mental note to not stop running until we'd handed out tallies into the marshal on the finish line. And so it was that we ran into the school and the finish line and the clock stopped for us: 7h23m.
The Macc Harriers were there at the finish. They were looking strong. We knew that the finish was close. We just hoped that we were the right side of the line. The marshal went away to consult start times and then we were told:
Team Vasque: 7h23m
Macc Harriers: 7h24m
We'd done it by the skin of our teeth. I was so happy. It had all been worth it. I felt it was a great team performance and what amazing courage Neil had shown. I also felt sad for the Macc Harriers: they'd run a fantastic race. Those lads are going to be difficult to beat in 2010.
Phew!
[posted by Martin]
Come to think of it, a Ceilidh is a pretty sadistic form of torture when you're just run 53 miles. But the champagne has an anaethetising effect, and if we didn't like pain what did we sign up for?
