Castle Drogo

Hand Hana a shot gun? No I can’t, she’s already killed me with this hilarious race report!

Drogo 10, 20 November 2011

6:3Oam, the alarm activates and the body protests. It’s Sunday, a day of rest, no work and the paper needs reading with a cup of tea to aid the absorption of current affairs. But no, it’s the Castle Drogo 10 and I must get up, pack my kit bag, eat some breakfast and await the arrival of Julie.

Husband at home is off to Golf……….should I think about changing sports?

I choose a nice bowl of porridge with a sprinkling of Demerara sugar and fresh raspberries on top. Very virtuous and very tasty. I try to convince myself, that this breakfast will help me up all those horrid hills I know await me on this off road race. Time will tell.

The A30 is quiet, the journey only takes 1hr 15 and the car park is full. Chaos appears to be the order of the day, with the national trust car park attendant having to sprint down the drive and direct the constant flow of arrivals onto the grass next to the long drive leading to the property, but before long, order is restored.

First priority is to find the toilets at the visitor centre and my god, I find something I have never seen before at a race meeting……a long queue of men, all waiting for the gents, and absolutely NO QUEUE at the ladies. Wow.

What's her number?!

Registration ran smoothly and I was now in possession of my race number, No 71. This could be an omen, would I end up feeling this age after what was to come?

I had looked at the web site for this race a few days earlier, and the test run of the course had shown that it was muddy (no surprise there) and the slopes slippery (you don’t say). Thankfully there had been no rain for a couple days, so I was hopeful that the need to wear a life jacket on this course would be an option I could avoid.

Julie and I looked around for  any other TRC running vests in the ever increasing crowd and there was Graham’s friendly face which increased our numbers from two to three. We saw a few St Austell runners, well about three in total and then Dave from Newquay appeared from nowhere. We were now lining up for the start and suddenly, just in the nick of time, Jon arrived, having had to park miles away from the start and literally run to get to us on time…he was well and truly warmed up.

A quick prep talk from the organisers and we were off. Graham and I had been stood in the same section of the line up, but he was soon speeding Up the drive on a short piece of tarmac, would I be able to keep up with him? This was followed by a sharp right hand turn and down some rough dirt steps to join a beautiful footpath that sits high above the gorge below. The sun was starting to peek through and the views across autumnal tree tops was stunning. Sadly the need to watch where you put your feet, stopped me from soaking up the whole vista.

No time to take it in...

The path was narrow, so overtaking was hard and it then turned left down hill again along a very slippy slidey path, where the first casualty of the day was stood to the side, waiting for all the runners to pass, before hobbling back up the hill. It was the same place last year, that this race took it’s first prisoner, and thankfully I had passed by without problems. Barbie pink and black multi terrain  running shoes were fulfilling their duty nicely.

We now reach the suspension bridge across the river, and the first and only hold up in this race. The only runners not affected by this section are the very fast ones, and guess what, I’m not one of those. Graham is ahead and off he disappears. From behind me I hear “Get a move on Hana, you’re holding us all up” I look over the top of my glasses in my sternest of looks and just make out Jon, who is waiting to get onto the bridge. Then he asked if I need a hand over the stile…yes stile…the narrow bridge is exited over a stone stile…not quite as bad as the spiral staircase in the Plymouth 10 mile race earlier in the year. Could I think of a witty reply, no and I thought better of a rude one…it was Sunday after all.

Anyway, I managed to get myself over the stile with some dignity, and mud glorious mud was now in plentiful supply. In fact stagnant, smelly mud in places, but there was no point screwing up my nose and tippy toeing through it, I just had to plough through and see if I could keep ahead of Jon, and catch Graham. One of these options was a possibility the other wasn’t.

Mile three, Bl—dy great hill, the sort of hill that makes you want to weep. I ran the first 100yds then there was no option but to engage a lower gear and speed walk. It was then I heard the voice of Jon, making a comment about my choice of  hill tactics, but with lungs busting, brain suffering lack of blood, I could not formulate an apt response and he was soon making me eat his dust….no, mud splatters. I could cope with that, but nose clearing by others was not so nice.

Breakfast porridge was now well and truly slopping around my stomach, and to me I sounded as if I had a half full bottle of water on my person. It didn’t feel too good either. Not sure if anyone else could hear it?

This hill is at least ½ a mile of torture and getting your legs to work at the top is really hard.

It was now an undulating muddy path and a gate was open which allowed us into a section of forest, where I was hoping the feed hoppers and seeds on the path that I could see, was for pheasants and not brown Bears or Lions. I started to wonder though, as from behind me I could hear a deep growling noise. It drew ever closer, and I didn’t have the energy to flee. Thank god, it was a male of a certain age grunting and growling, in an effort to get up the incline.

Ah, a down hill section and I could see Graham ahead, time to see if I can catch him. At Mile 7 I did. All I could muster in the conversation department was “this is hard”. And all Graham could say was “yes”. I was sweating like a pig, no way was I glowing like females should but I was now just ahead of him. Was this a good idea I asked myself? No point dwelling on this too much, I had to concentrate on keeping my heart pumping, my legs moving and stopping my brain from shutting all my functions down due to over heating. No air con available!

Mile 8, Fingle bridge, Tarmac section over the bridge, a kind hand holds out some “Jelly Babies” and we now pass the pub. A very tempting place to stop and down something cold and refreshing whilst sat by the river watching all those silly runners pass by, but NO the other and last hill from hell had to be climbed. Yes climbed, not run. It’s the sort of hill that again makes you want to weep and give up, and it has grown since last year. Graham is still behind me, but my energy levels are disappearing fast. I could have easily sat down and refused to go any further.

It's purple!

Somehow I made it to the top, and Graham is off, he is ahead of me and the will to chase after him has gone. I manage to run on, along the footpath with a view, up some steps, along another path, then we are home and the finish line is within sight. I can hear Jon cheering me on….well I think he was encouraging in his comments. A sea of purple shirts can be seen and the Finish line is crossed. Belated birthday Garmin registers 1hr 38:41 some 4 minutes faster than last year. Job done. Please don’t let me enter this race next year!!!!!

Sadly no team photo possible, as the car and camera are too far away, and Jon and Graham had to leave.

Julie and I stagger back up the drive to the car, Purple T-Shirt in hand and once the mud is scraped off we head to the café for a cuppa.

So all in all:

• Race location fabulous. You have castle, views to die for, café and shop. Plus Belated birthday Garmin registered that I burnt 997 calories, so eating a large caramel slice wouldn’t be a problem.
• Parking plentiful, and only a little disorganised, but race no’s have increased dramatically since last year.
• Toilets. Clean tidy and no queues for the girls.
• Showers…none….wet wipes to the fore. One lady was Ok though. Her partner sat her in the boot of their car with legs sticking out and then washed her legs and feet with a can of warm water he had prepared earlier. Is that love…real love? No, he didn’t want mud in his car, but she was going to buy him lunch…probably in that pub we ran/staggered pass earlier.
• Goodie bag….Well a cup of water and a purple T-Shirt. I haven’t had a purple one before and I am of an age where one wears purple.
• Would I run it again……..shoot me if I say yes!!!!!!

Mind you, running is like childbirth. It hurts whilst you are going through the motions, but within no time at all you can’t remember what the pain felt like. You can still shoot me though!

Results

Overall Results

Full results available from the Drogo 10 website

TRC Results

Gallery

Race photos courtesy of Tony Gale from Drogo 10.