From Coast to Coast
Coast to Coast - Race Report
Be strong, live long
Always be true to yourself
Right wrongs, sing songs
I am praying for your health
Be strong, keep it real
I know you will succeed
Hold your head up high
You have got all that you need
Be strong, keep it real
Life goes so fast it is like a race
But even when the pace is toe-to-heel
I still see a smile on your face
With your dreams you are making progress
You are an inspiration to your friends
Peace, I love you, and God bless
I am in your corner til the end
***
Saturday 13th September 2014 - one year on
4.45am
I wake up and snap my eyes open, ready. I pull on my race outfit quickly, but carefully, double checking, as if I might forget something essential like my shoes. Triathlon shorts, blue cycle jersey, socks, compressport calf guards (in matching blue), trainers, arm warmers. Ready. I step outside and feel the air; it's warm, in spite of the darkness which envelopes the hotel grounds. Good. I get my breakfast - the same breakfast I've been eating for 2 weeks now- quinoa and amaranth, linseed, flaxseed and chia muesli with nuts and almond milk. I make some coffee and clamber back into bed. Everything feels ok. I begin to get excited. Everything is done, ready. The race is just waiting to be raced now. Let's go.
6.25am
We are hearded into the starting pen. I look around nervously. Lots of intense-looking people. Or maybe they are just nervous. I wonder if I look like that- intense, scary, good, or whether I look as terrified as I feel. Hopefully somewhere in between. There are men with ripped, shaved legs, professional-looking women with focused eyes. A lot of wild beards and facial hair. One man is wearing a hat with octopus legs, which makes me giggle. I like him, and go and stand next to him. Despite the hat, he is very much in the zone. How can you be in the zone wearing a yellow octopus hat? I shake my legs out one more time, wave to my Mum, and settle towards the front of the pack behind the line.
The night before I'd heard that the run route followed a road for about a kilometre before narrowing into a single track trail through the forest. This first 11.5k was to be considered a warm up- going too fast in this section would be the surest way to ruin your race. As the shortest stage, nothing would be won or lost here. I definitely did not want to go out too fast, and my legs needed to be fresh for the following 80k bike. With his in mind, my plan was to run strong and steady, and well within myself. If at any point I felt like it was too much effort, I would ease off. This plan was thrown in the air somewhat when I heard about the single track route; if I found myself too far at the back and behind slower runners at this point, overtaking them would be almost impossible. I wanted to run steady, but I didn't want an unnecessarily slow time.
Nervous smiles at the start!
6.30am
As the gun goes off we surge forwards and I quickly settle into a high-cadence easy rhythm. The front runners go off at a searing pace as expected; I figure they either really know what they are doing, or they really really don't. I spot a couple of girls in front of me and begin tracking them, more because I guess they will be running at the right kind of pace than because I am eager to be in front. As we feed into the start of the single track woodland trail I tuck in behind a strong looking lady in white compression socks. Another lady falls in behind me. I have no idea where I am in the race, but am happy at this pace and keen not to go any faster. I can tell Socks Lady wants me to overtake, but I force myself not to.
The route is windy and undulating, soft underfoot but riddled with tree routes. The sun is rising through the trees to my right and the only sounds are the soft patter of runners' feet. I love this, I think. I really, really love this. It feels natural and easy, and right then, I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be. It will be the best I will feel for the rest of the day.
As we wind our way through the forest, I feel my mind wandering. I begin to ponder the enormity of the day and what it means to me. All the talk, the planning, the wondering, and I'm finally doing it. I think back to this time last year, and my chest tightens, my throat closes with emotion. I fight back a few tears and suddenly hit the ground chest first as my foot catches a tree root. Shocked, I clamber to my feet and carry on without losing my place, thanks to the kindness and concern (a trait of the whole race, it turns out) of the other runners around me. Ok Gaz, I get the message, I think. Focus. Don't think about the accident. I smile, and realise he is with me.
11km later the forest opens out onto a road and we see Cawdor Castle, and the first transition, in the distance. I spot a few spectators and then a huge banner with 'GO LIVVY!' on it. Amazing! I lose all composure and scream 'wahoo!!'- my supporters are the best! My Mum also helpfully although rather embarrassingly shouts '2nd lady! She's only just in front!!' I run into transition grinning. 55 minutes and I feel great. What a fab race.
Excitement gives way to utter panic as per usual, and I forget I am in a long distance race, grabbing my bag and bike and hurtling out of transition as if I am being chased. Which I suppose I am, really. I fling my bag over my shoulders without doing up the straps (which would then stay undone for the entire 80km as I am too afraid to stop). About 30 seconds later I remember my garmin which I'd been carrying in my pocket for the run (I forgot to charge it the night before so couldn't leave it on my bike, typical). I scrabble about trying not to fall off while putting in on my bike, and manage to drop the bracket. Sod it, I think, I'll just put it in my bento box thingy. I really really should have just stopped, retrieved the bracket and done my straps up. Oh well. I wouldn't, as it turned out, need the garmin anyway.
I overtake a few people immediately, including Socks Lady who is riding a monstrous-looking mountain bike and already seems to be struggling on the slight incline. Hurray, I think, let's go. A few minutes later I overtake a guy who looks pretty good and I wonder if I have gone off a little too hard. Oh well, no point worrying about that now, I think. About a minute later he draws level and we have a little chat before be pushes on ahead. Bugger, I think, you've gone off too hard you bloody idiot. Next I get overtaken by a very professional-looking pair, sporting fancy backpacks with trail shoes strapped to the back of them. That's interesting, I think, and I look down at my Brooks trainers and hope they'll do the job.
"Great running!" one of the guys shouts. "Thanks!" I reply. I prepare to let them pull away and then think better of it. What are you doing? I think to myself. You can ride that fast for gods sake. So I tuck in behind them. We catch the first guy to overtake me and he gives me a little smile, "Hello again" he says, probably also thinking 'this girl is an idiot'. Which is basically what I am thinking too. Another pair joins our team and we hurtle on, catching a few people here and there and making me think 'Why aren't they coming with us? Are we going that fast?'. We are. I am terrified- I've never ridden in a group like this before and my thoughts turn variously between 'ohmigod I am going to die' to 'this is way too fast, you are definitely going to pay for this' to 'this is so much FUN!' I consider slowing down but realise if I lose these guys, I'm buggered anyway. I've never ridden so far on my own and I know I'll struggle.
The guys are taking turns on the front and keeping the pace fast. I realise I am probably going to piss everyone off if I don't do my fair share, but I'm a) knackered and b) scared to jump on the front, having never done it before. In the end it happens without me realising and as the group slows approaching an incline I instinctively jump on the front. This is met with cheers from the guys, "Oh here she is! The girl with running shoes and flat pedals!!". I realise I am the only one not wearing cycling shoes. For that matter, two out of the five of the guys are actually on road bikes with slick tyres. I am buoyed by this but also fearful - how can I be keeping up? You are most certainly going to die, I think. But, not a lot I can do about that now. I push the thought to the back of my mind. Around this time it also begins to dawn on me that I might be the first female. I really thought I was in second still, but we have been going so fast for so long- could she really still be in front? Surely we would have caught her? Stop thinking pointless thoughts, stay in the moment, eat something, focus.
Around 2 hours later I look at my watch and despair. I am knackered and we still have an hour to go. How can this be? How is it not 10.30 yet?! But the next thing I know we're rolling into transition- I want to hug someone! Elation overtakes exhaustion for a moment and we hurriedly rack our bikes before running about looking for the kayak exit. No one seems to know where we are supposed to go- it seems we gave arrived into transition earlier than even the officials were expecting. The official timing suggested that the first Expert would be expected at the Fort Augustus transition at around 10- it is now 9.50- meaning we have taken just over 2h15 to cover almost 80k. I follow another guy down to Loch Ness and grab a paddle and life jacket in a daze. Ok, moment of truth I think - let's try and kayak! I babble excitedly to my kayak partner - the next guy in line - who breathlessly admits the bike was way faster than he'd planned. Oh god, I think, not for the first time.
As I jog back to transition to find my bike I spot a very special spectator- Gaz's Dad. I ignore the lump in my throat and fling my arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Go on! You're doing great" he says, or words to that effect. I hurriedly grab my bike without stopping to refill my water bottles- my first major mistake - and go on my way. As I'm coming out of Fort Augustus I see Pippa and Jamie, who have just about made it. Again I wave wildly, before turning off down the canal towpath to begin the 33k off road section.
This was possibly the part I was most worried about - even though each section had kept me awake at night - because I simply had no idea what to expect or how I would handle it. Would I have the right bike? Were my tyres grippy enough? Would I be able to handle the technical sections? How bad would they be? What if I get a puncture? Fall off? I don't know how to fix the chain if it breaks!! On and on the panic went. But I was here now. I have a few things written on my hand that I try to play over in my head: Be Strong. Be Brave. You have all that you need. Come on Liv, I thought, be brave.
I feel tired as I turn off the towpath onto the road and towards the first real off-road section. I see my amazing supporters again, and stop to give Pip a big hug. "Darling this is seriously seriously amazing," she says. I'm actually doing this, I thought. I can't believe it. I head into the trees and tackle the rocky ascent with trepidation. It doesn't start well and I mistime it, jumping off and walking the bike for a few metres. I try to shake this off and refocus. I stop and let a little bit of air out of the tyres. Doesn't matter, I think; you're ok, you're fine. But you're totally knackered, too, another voice shouts from somewhere inside. Focus, stay in the moment. I stop and let a little bit of air out of the tyres. Do not think about the half marathon.
The technical stuff seems ok and my confidence starts to come back a little. Just like I practised, just like in the Surrey Hills, I think. A big sign ahead warns that the real technical section is about to begin. I steel myself. Be brave. But I'm going too fast; it's steep and the corners are deceptively tight. I sit back off the saddle and let my arms and legs take the shocks. I mistime a corner halfway down despite the ropes indicating that it takes no prisoners. I just about hang on, and not for the first time I thank Nora* for saving me. For a moment I listen to the forest and am struck by the silence- what would happen if I do go over the edge?? No one would know, not for a while anyway. Nearly there, surely, nearly there.
I pop out on the road and feel like screaming with relief. I made it!! Thank god. I made it! I dare to hope that might be the end of the off road section....could it be? I round the corner to see Pip and Jamie again, this time joined by Mum. They're holding up a huge banner that reads "You're a mermaid!" Amazing!! I AM a mermaid!! I push on and think, 'I bloody wish I was a mermaid because at least then my legs wouldn't feel like this.' A couple of guys have caught me and I recognise them from the road section. "Hi! We caught you again!" one of them greets me. I'm confused - how did I get so far in front of them? What have they been doing?? They ask how I'm doing and I admit I have cramp all over. Don't worry, same here, just keep drinking, they say, before pushing on up the (gravel) hill head of me.
Excellent plan, but I realise I'm now running low on water. Arg! Why didn't I fill up at the transition?! That's twice now, you total tit, I think. I promise myself that at Fort William I am going to have a Proper Rest, get some water, stretch, etc. I hope I make it. About ten minutes later I pass one of the guys again- his slick road tyres are no match for the rough stuff and he's calmly fixing a puncture. I keep thinking he must catch me again, but I don't see him again until the finish.
I'm really starting to suffer now. I wonder when on earth the off-road section is going to end?! My calves are cramping as well as my quads. I'm running out of water. I'm starting to feel quite hopeless. A couple more guys catch me and I'm grateful for the distraction and company. I hang onto them for about ten minutes but come a little unstuck on one of the rocky uphill drags and end up losing them. I stretch out my calves. You are ok. Be strong. Come on. Do not think about the half marathon.
Finally, but finally, I hit the Tarmac again. Thank god! I stuff some protein bar in my mouth and try to reset my brain. Come on. 22k to go. 2 laps of Richmond park. Anyone can do 2 laps of Richmond Park Liv! I pass another puncture. Later I'll look back and realise I'm still in 6th place overall. But right now it feels like I'm dead-ass last. I'm out of water, my head hurts, it's hot, my muscle groups are taking it in turn to cramp. I have to keep standing up and stretching out my calves. Around this point I start to think 'I wonder if my bum is actually on fire?' Because surely that can be the only explanation for this level of pain?
It is however, breathtakingly, stunningly beautiful. The roads sweep in and out of forests and glens and the lochs glisten in the midday sun, framed by rolling hills and dramatic cliff faces. It's still and ethereal. And it's just me, all on my own; except, except I'm not. This is where the magic is, I think. Right here.
I see a sign for Fort William and want to cry. Come on! 10k! The route spits me out onto main roads and a strong-looking cyclist immediately joins me. Where did he come from?! Great work! I say. He laughs and admits he's not in the race. I suddenly hate him. It's so unfair, he gets to cycle off home. Arg! "Do you want a tow?" he yells. I love this man! Yes! I do! But I am so exhausted by this point I can barely speak. He turns off a few moments later wishing me luck and looking a little concerned. Do NOT think about the half marathon.
Finally, oh finally, I turn into the final transition. The whole crew are there- my Mum, Gary, Pippa and Jamie. There are a few guys milling around and a couple of competitors but everyone seems very relaxed. I am timed out and go to rack my bike. Only later will I realise that I could, and probably should, have hung out here longer, rested, refuelled and stretched. But to me, a race is a race and I wasn't about to let anyone run off ahead of me. I refill the bladder in my backpack, make a quick loo stop, have a quick stretch, hug my Mum and head off. I leave feeling determined. Do not think about the - oh.
My legs can't quite believe what I am asking them to do- this is by far the longest I have ever trained or raced before (to date my longest race is a sprint triathlon, or half of an Olympic, if you count that) and I'm just praying my body holds out. I know it shouldn't - apart from the fact that I am not conditioned for this kind of work, I also have some serious injuries hanging over me that could cut my race short at any moment. Part of - in fact the main reason I left it so late to enter the race (about 6 weeks beforehand) was due to my uncertainty over an old foot injury. I'd been battling a stress fracture in my left foot for 2 years, and while I'd have days where I could run almost pain free for 20 minutes or so, these were invariably followed by days where I couldn't put any weight on it at all. Cycles of rehab and treatment worked, and then didn't work- I was at my wits end. But about 2 months ago the treatment seemed to start working. I couldn't believe it- might I actually be able to run again? The seed was planted in my brain and I began to think the race might become a real possibility. I approached every run session with trepidation, convinced my foot was about to break. But it didn't. It hurt, but it didn't break. With 6 weeks to go, I took myself off on a final test session- a 2 hour on/off road bike followed by a run lap of Richmond park. I felt elated- my body passed the test, and I entered the next day. It was a tall order and a big risk- only a couple of weeks prior I couldn't walk on the foot and I knew it could go at any time. And it was now a race against time to get myself fit. I just have to finish, I thought.
As I set off for the final 22k mountain stage I banish all thoughts of the stress fracture- I know that's not going to stop me now. Even if it hurts, I'm not stopping. No way. Be strong. I set off at a jog along the streets towards the start of the Ben Nevis ascent, willing my legs to come back to life and start feeling normal. I feel ok. My calves feel horrible but nothing I can't handle. Come on, stay in the moment. I face the first hill and attack it with small, determined steps. I know I can run up hills, I've done this before. Come on Liv- you're a runner, this is what you do. But my legs have other ideas. I'm distraught by how terrible they feel as soon as I try to go uphill. No! Not now! Why do they hurt so much?! I try and push on but the track winds relentlessly upwards, it looks long and the switchbacks seem never-ending. I slip back into a power walk after wrestling with my head. I remind myself I will be using less energy walking than pushing on at a run at this stage. Nevertheless I feel deflated. One pair catch me (they would go on to win the team category), and I try to keep calm and accept it. It will get better, it will get better, I tell myself. It didn't.
The road finally flattens off a little and I begin to pass hikers coming back down the mountain. They look exhausted- I know how they feel. They start cheering me on as I jog on past them, lifting me with their incredulous shouts of 'First girl! Yeah!' One guy says 'There's only 6 guys ahead of you! You're awesome!' Which sends me bounding up some steps with renewed determination. You're ok. Be brave.
The trail opens out into the hillside - it's magical. This is what you live for, I think. Right here, right now, this is it. It doesn't get any better. I'm following the magic. I look to the sky and smile. I hope he's enjoying the ride.
I push on, up and down, up and down, resorting once more to walking ascents that I would normally run up with ease. It's all about survival now. Just keep moving, and you can still do it. Just don't stop. I pass through streams and stop each time to throw some water over me. It's baking hot and I know I'm dehydrated. I'm almost out of water again and starting to feel a bit delirious. Hold it together, focus. At one point I drink some of the water from a stream- it looks pure enough to me, and it tastes amazing.
Another guy passes me - he's done the race before- and tells me we're halfway there. Ok. Ok. Treat the last couple of miles like a rest, he says, you can't run up it anyway, it's too steep. Oh, excellent, I think. Did he say rest? Or climb?
Sometime later I blunder through a river, marking the turning point and the beginning of the last treacherous climb. Just this and then it is downhill, it has to be, it has to be, I think. I am out of water and my head really hurts. My quads keep cramping and I keep expecting my body to shut down. But it doesn't. I keep moving. Up, up, up. I have no thoughts left now and only the autopilot trudge trudge of my feet up, up, up. I know if anyone catches me now I'll have no answer. I'm all out. But there's not a soul for as far as I can see in all directions. Just me on the mountain. I keep tripping, my coordination totally gone.
Suddenly I see someone at the top- is that the top?! Who is that? "You've done so so well today!" He says. It's all downhill from here, all downhill! I want to hug him. No actually I want to marry him. He bounds off in the opposite direction, in search of his two friends who were somewhere on the mountain behind me. An official appears and I beg him for water. After gratefully chugging as much as I can, I bound off down the mountain. 3k to go! All downhill! There's no way I'm not going to make it now, I think. No way.
I stumble blindly down the mountain, falling more than once and tumbling though the soft grass (is this a better strategy? Maybe just roll down?). But each time I pull myself up and push myself on. Nearly there, come on. I can see the Loch and the final obstacle between me and the finish line. It looks beautiful and menacing at the same time. I stumble through some bracken and out onto the road. 1km. I can see the kayaks in the distance and start lurching towards them. Cramp is overtaking my body but I'm not even in pain any more; I just have nothing left. I want to go to sleep. Why are the kayaks still so far away?? I look back. Still no-one. I feel sick. I'm so close, I've got to make it. Come on. You're ok. I start counting the bollards at the side of the road- they're about 10m apart. 1,2,3,4,5. How can I go 104miles and not be able to make this last kilometre? Come on Olivia, come on. 6,7,8,9. Look back. Still just me. Ok, where are the kayaks?! 10,11,15,17. Come on. 17,18,17,17. Then parked cars. I'll count the parked cars. 1,2,3,3,5. I stumble blindly into the final transition.
I start reaching for a life jacket and then see water. Can I have some water? I know I only have a kayak left but oh my god, I need water. Quick, water, jacket, kayak. Paddle. I need a paddle. Do I need a paddle? The officials tell me I can go on my own or wait for the next person to come down off the mountain. Convinced it will be a lady I am resolute that I go on alone- and this is a Race! - you don't wait for people! But then I realise there is a real possibility I may get cramp and be stuck out on the Loch. The officials convince me to wait.
But the next guy looks in an even worse state than me. We head out onto the Loch, him, glassy eyed, me determined. I try to keep him going by talking, asking about his training, life in general, just anything to keep him paddling. The poor guy gets cramp and starts screaming in agony. Bloody hell, I think, uncharitably, that's all we need. I've also got cramp but I've crossed my legs to make it go away and try to make him do the same. But there's no helping him and I try to block out the pain and Jamie's screams as I paddle us both toward the shore. My arms burn and my hips feel like they are stuck in a cheese slicer. I can't feel my feet and eyes are stinging with sweat. I think I have cramp in my stomach. No one ever told me the kayak would take so long! Where am I even supposed to be going?! I vaguely see some people in yellow jackets and hope that's where I am supposed to be heading. Push, push push, don't pull, push, I think.
I hear a voice on a loudspeaker, 'Paddles in the air!' And I am vaguely aware of people cheering. As we get closer I can see them- a finish chute, my friends, the end! "You're a mermaid!" The loudspeaker booms. That's right! I AM! I laugh and jump up out of the kayak as soon as I can, leaving poor Jamie to scrabble out by himself. I clamber up the bank and tell my legs to run but they've shut down. I waddle down the finish chute to cheers of "First Lady!". I see my Mum and Pip and fight back the tears. I think I did it.
***
This day and this race is dedicated to Gary Brown, the love of my life; my soulmate and best friend. Gaz died suddenly on 13th September 2013, in a motorbike accident. He was 30 years old. Gaz and I had talked about doing this race before, but we never got round to it. He would have loved this race, and he'd have smashed it. A couple of Christmas's ago he bought me a backpack to do it with. Gaz- it was perfect.
I'm so thankful that I was able to complete this great challenge in his honour and I hope it is a fitting tribute to such a special soul who is so greatly missed.
***
Thank you:
Thank you to the many special people for all their support in the lead up to this race. You really knew and understood how much this meant to me and I am touched beyond words by your selflessness and love.
My wonderful, lifelong and special friend Steve at Perfect Balance- you performed the ultimate miracle! I don't know how I can ever thank you for fixing my foot and giving me back the greatest gift I know - the joy of running. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to me for the past 15 (15!) years.
My awesome training partners, old and new- thank you for your help, advice, and support. For listening to my endless worries and reassuring me. For lending me watches, bike bags, garmins, cycle jerseys. For pushing me on the bike and dragging me up hills and mountains :) it made all the difference.
To my special friends- home, work, north, south and beyond, you have held me up over the last year! From taking me out and getting me drunk, to feeding me, to dragging me round Richmond Park at times when I was so consumed with sadness I couldn't function. In your own ways, you've all been incredible. I love you.
Pip- my sister. With me every step of the way. Wimbledon, Newcastle, Mallorca, Scotland- like my wonderful Dad last year, you've hardly left my side. I don't know where to begin; your love and support continues to astonish me. Your beautiful soul shines through everything you do. I love you.
My brothers, Toby and Dominic, and my Mummy- despite such a hard, horrible, sad year for you you've still held me up and helped me through day by day. I love you more than words. Mum- all this!! All this is down to you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me realise this dream. I hope one day when I am a famous something or other I can actually repay you somehow. Love you MORE!
Daddy- you and Gaz shared a unique, ridiculous, unreserved belief in me and my abilities! I wish I hadn't waited so long to win something. Thank you for carrying me through my darkest days. I hope you guys are keeping the party going up there with some spiced rum. The next chapter is for you. Xx
***
