Metros Running Club

Metroline Articles

Montane Lakeland 50

Harrods refused to let ‘sweaty’ runners...

Flying the Flag for Metros at the Polar Marathon in Greenland

Marathon de Dunkerque- customer focus en Francais

 

Montane Lakeland 50

By Julia Buckley

What did it take for me to get around the 50 miles of ferocious fells featuring colossal climbs (3100 metres in all) of the Montane Lakeland 50?

20 hours 43 minutes, three servings of hot soup, two pairs of socks, a box of plasters, and a £6 bag Pick n Mix. And that’s just for starters.

Other essential aids included…

Stunning Scenery

From majestic hills to crashing waterfalls, the landscape of the Lakeland 50 course was nothing short of stunning. Lakeland terrain is not to be trifled with, but it also tremendously beautiful. The knowledge that at the summit I’d be rewarded with breathtaking views did a lot to keep me going through many an arduous ascent.

Vicious Weather

It might seem odd to cite the fierce rain and wind we encountered in the race as a plus point, but somehow it wouldn’t have been quite right if the weather had been kind. We were out there for the full Lakeland experience and that’s what we got. Plus, by Cumbrian standards it would probably have been considered quite reasonable, mild even.

A Wrinkly Foot

There were seven checkpoints where we were fed, watered and sometimes even offered the luxury of toilet facilities. My favourite was Kentmere. There was pasta, rice pudding, even homemade smoothies, physios giving massages and medical professionals taping people’s blistered feet (all of which I took full advantage of before leaving). It was ultra-nirvana. Paul Cosgrove, from Montane, was running the show. We chatted as I removed my sodden socks to examine my prune-like feet. Seeing my grimace, Paul said:

“You think that’s a wrinkly foot? I’ll show you a wrinkly foot.” He produced a camera displaying a crumpled mash of skin that was barely recognisable as part of a human being.

” He produced a camera displaying a crumpled mash of skin that was barely recognisable as part of a human being.

“This is the foot of one of the 100 runners who came in earlier.”

If that guy could carry on, I had nothing to complain about.

Camaraderie

I met some amazing people at the Lakeland 50. I don’t know what things were like at the front of the field, but at my end (i.e. the back) the atmosphere was wonderfully friendly, jovial and completely uncompetitive. And the banter was top class.

Weighing In

There’s nothing like having your body weight written on a band around your wrist to keep a girl moving. For medical reasons everyone was weighed at the beginning and end of the race. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered I’d actually put on 0.2 of a Kg! That’s what £6 worth of pick n mix does for you I guess.

Frothy Pint

I knew that waiting for me back at the Traveller’s Rest Inn where I was staying in nearby Grasmere there'd be a comfy bed, a good meal, and a frothy pint of local ale. Not necessarily to be enjoyed in that order.

It wasn’t until I was sat snugly in Traveller’s Rest Inn bar with my boyfriend Ian that I really began to grasp what I’d achieved. Sharing the tales from trail over a well-earned pint brought home what a fantastic experience it had been and how much I’d learned and grown over those 50 miles.

This period of illumination was rather short-lived however, as halfway through my second pint I was giggling like an idiot and had to go to bed.

The Lakeland 50 was without a doubt the toughest thing I’ve ever done. It was also one of the best. I’ll be back next year to do it all over again.

taken from
The Running Bug

 

 

Harrods refused to let ‘sweaty’ runners buy bottle of water

Duncan Smith
28.06.10
Security staff at Harrods have been accused of humiliating two runners who called in for refreshments after a run in the hot weather by refusing them entry to the store.
Julia Buckley and Gertrud Porter said they were made to feel “like criminals” when trying to enter the Knightsbridge department store on Friday morning for water and a sandwich.
Ms Buckley, from Harrow-on-the-Hill, said: “The doorman looked us up and down and asked if we'd been on a marathon. He told us we couldn't come in dressed like that.”
The pair had been on a 20-mile run through London and finished at Hyde Park. They were wearing running shorts and t-shirts. Ms Buckley's arm was bandaged after she fell and fractured it that day, which the doorman also questioned.
Ms Buckley, 33, said: “There were all these women going in to the store dressed in little tops and shorts, much shorter than ours.
“It was really humiliating, I felt like a criminal being held at the door.”
The doorman allowed the runners in after checking with a manager.
The Harrods dress code forbids athletic singlets, cycling shorts and dirty or “unkempt” clothing.
Ms Buckley added: “I had hoped for a better welcome from what is supposed to be a friendly customer-focused store.
“It was pretty bizarre considering Harrods incorporates a well-known chain of running shops where they sell the kind of kit we were wearing.”
A spokesperson for Harrods said they had no record of the incident but store policy does not include “excessive sweat”. She said: “We do not allow entry to those dressed in work-soiled or excessively sweaty clothing.”
(Copied from Evening Standard website)

 

 

Flying the Flag for Metros at the Polar Marathon in Greenland

On the 21st of October, feeling a bit excited and with some trepidation, I set out from Heathrow to Copenhagen on the way to the Greenland Polar Marathon. After the Dingle Marathon in Ireland in September I had scarcely thought of anything else and I couldn’t quite believe that the moment had finally come.

The plane took off in good time and, on arrival, I managed to negotiate my way to my hotel by train. I was quite pleased with myself as I don’t have the best reputation for finding my way around! At the hotel I met Katie, a lovely girl from Surrey who was going to be my roommate throughout the trip. We hit it off straightaway. Escaping our fairly small and basic room we decided to go and see a bit of Copenhagen. We wrapped up in our woollies and started to head toward the centre of town. After 10 minutes we were both freezing and dashed back to the hotel to put on more clothes. Take two: feeling warmer, though even more hungry, we headed back out again. It was now that awkward time of day when it’s too late to buy lunch but too early to buy dinner. Eventually we found a Costa Coffee and refuelled over a large cappuccino and Danish pastry (which, strangely, the Danes call “Viennese bread”).

We sat back and got to know each other, which included talking about what enticed us to run the polar marathon. Katie was on a 3 month, action-packed sabbatical from work. She had just returned from a holiday in the US, was now heading to Greenland and afterward was going to South America with her boyfriend, who had just left the army, shocked by the horror of combat and losing some of his friends. My story was not so dramatic. However, having signed up to three marathons in 2009, my entire year had revolved around training and scheming how best to rob the bank to finance my hobby. Greenland was always a place that I had wanted to visit, and the thought of being so close now put a smile on my face.

After coffee we walked briskly back through the freezing streets to freshen up for dinner. On the flight over a friendly Danish man had given me an address for an excellent Italian restaurant in Copenhagen. We were soon there, devouring a huge plate of spaghetti and clams, washed down by a compulsory large bottle of water. As we finished, the city was starting to come alive for the evening, with everyone – young and old – apparently well refreshed and full of beans. But as we were flying out early the next day we couldn’t stay out to play.

Back at the hotel we were too excited to get our heads down and ended up talking to the early hours. Soon it was morning and we were off again to the
airport, fuelled by more coffee and Viennese bread. At the airport we met the events rep from 2:09, the company through which we’d booked our trip, along
with other runners and supporters. We were given our race numbers and a short brief on what to expect – and, for me, that’s when the excitement really started. No turning back now; it was all real, and I actually was on my way to fulfil my dreams of the past few months.

The flight to Greenland was about 5 hours and my fellow travellers were a real mix of ages and nationalities, nearly all of whom were flying out to take part in the marathon or support runners there. The largest groups seemed to be from Spain, Italy and France – usually countries up for a fiesta, I thought, and this certainly helped keep our spirits up in the days ahead. The food and service was excellent and I gave into temptation and had a small bottle of Rioja with my lunch, which made me feel very relaxed.

About an hour out from the airport Greenland came into view. We were all mesmerised by the landscape of snow, ice and rock, stretching endlessly into the horizon – and, like excited school kids, we took turns at the windows to snap photos as we came into land. The airport, in Kangerlussuaq on the western coast of Greenland, is an ex-army base left by the Americans after the cold war. From above, it looked nothing more than a sheet of flat ice compared to all the rocky ice around it. On leaving the plane, the cold, chill air literally took my breath away – and, along with my fellow travellers I quickly dashed to the nearby building that would be our home for the next 5 days.

After a talk from the organisers we were told to meet in a marquee behind the hotel which was decked out with fairy lights. Our dinner consisted of barbecued deer and local trout prepared in foil. It was definitely the best fish I’d ever had and went some

way to distracting my attention from the bitter cold, which the space heaters at the end of our tables did little to drive away. After eating our fill we left the marquee looking like a trail of Michelin men, all wrapped up with in hats, gloves and scarves. On looking up, to our amazement the Northern lights were dancing on the horizon ahead. We had been told they didn’t happen very often at that parallel – and everyone fell silent in the magic of the moment. It was a wonderful and happy omen.

The next day we met bright and early to inspect the course. We took off in 4 big landcruisers, all equipped with snow chains to stop them slipping in the snow and ice. We were all chattering and excited to see what the next day had in store. From Kangerlussuaq it was a two hour drive to the start of the course. Or so we were told. After about 2 hours, the cars came to an abrupt halt. Despite the snow chains and our very experienced drivers, the cars were unable to climb to the top of the ice cap where the race was due to start.

Shivering, and now slightly nervous, we disembarked and began to walk the remainder of the route to the top of the ice cap. It took over 20 minutes to get the top. Everyone fell silent, lost in the amazing landscape – and thinking
about what the next day had in store. At that moment, I suspect that everyone shared my thoughts that it all looked a lot harder than we’d expected. We decided to walk some of the cap to inspect our route more fully, but after a mile or so and with snow up to our thighs and knees we turned back to save energy for the next day.

After getting back to the hotel, a number of us decided to get kitted out to test what we’d have to wear the next day. After a couple of takes we decided we needed three layers on the legs and five on top. As well as that, we laid out: walking boots for the ice cap; running shoes to change into after kilometre 5 (after we got off the ice cap); plus all manner of gloves, hats, balaclavas and windbreakers – all quite a performance! After dinner, Katie and I were keen to get to bed early and we re-checked the seemingly endless list of things we needed. We were allowed to leave personal supplies of clothes and food at certain kilometre markers – and I dutifully packed my various bags, leaving my trainers at kilometre 15 and extra clothes, along with assorted jellybabies and nuts at kilometre 30.

I had a fairly restless night’s sleep and woke up far too early with nervous energy running through my body. I decided there was no point in trying to get back to bed and instead sat down to pad up and protect my toes against the route ahead. Like me, everyone was very anxious to get started, but we still faced the long drive to the start line. It was still a beautiful, shining night when we set off – pitch dark save for the stars overhead. It was a surreal but very peaceful moment and I couldn’t help wondering what I’d left myself in for.

Two hours of treacherous driving later we were back on top of the ice cap, where a handful of cheering supporters greeted our arrival. We started more or less as soon as we all out of the car – no time for warming up! It was about -9C, I found out later, and due to get colder. Crossing the start line was a great moment, which we all greeted with a big cheer… though our cheers quickly died when, almost immediately, we hit a big hill – the first of many obstacles that we’d have to navigate.

The top runners disappeared very quickly from my sight, but I was not the only one talking more time. The cold hit my chest, making it hard to breathe and I had no choice but to walk most of the hill. A number of other people were in a similar position. Not a good start! After the 2 kilometre marker we faced a narrow cliff wall, pointing the way to 3 more kilometres on the icecap which we’d have to complete. I stopped for a moment, stunned by the beauty and quietness of it all. I walked gingerly, trying not to look down and putting aside – or, at least, trying to put aside – thoughts of falling down.

On taking my first few steps onto the snow I immediately found myself in a drift up to my knees! I struggled on, one minute wading through snow drifts, the
next trying to stay on my feet on sheet ice that glowed grey, green and blue – and which was probably hundred of years old. Tears of happiness and joy rolled down my face; in the quiet of the morning, and looking out onto the unspoilt landscape, I truly felt I’d gone to heaven and back.

We all struggled on the icecap. There were lots of marshals and three medical teams, pointing the way and doing a great job at keeping us on our feet. The route itself was well marked with red and black danger flags. And, finally, three kilometres later, and totally out of energy, I got to the end of the ice cap and felt rocks under my feet once more. I was extremely hot and tired and proceeded to discard 2 jackets and my windproof hat. I noticed that most people were now changing into their running shoes and, much to my horror, I realised that I’d sent my shoes to kilometre 15 rather than to kilometre 5 as I’d planned. I had no choice but to carry on in my walking books, which were weighed down further with gaiters and spikes, to the next stop.

My legs felt very tired and lifeless, my boots seemingly becoming heavier with each stride. At the 15 kilometre marker it was a blessed relief to get my hands on my shoes, new socks and a handful of jellybabies. I also changed my top layer, which by this stage was partly frozen to my back. Well, I say, I did this… but, in truth, it was really the marshal who took my boots off, laced my trainers and fed me sweets like a baby.

I felt so much lighter with my trainers on and was finally able to get into a good stride. Having purposefully left my watch behind I had no idea what the time was, nor how long I’d been running for. The cut off time for the race was 7 hours. Not a problem normally but a stiff challenge given the difficult conditions. I was going to give it my very best shot, but I had decided the day before that I didn’t want to spend the race worrying about the time and running against the clock. I would just do my best and see where that got me.

I had a good next 5 Ks, but then started to feel very cold and did not manage to get warm again. My teeth were chattering and my hands, which are generally cold at the best of times, were frozen and lifeless. All I wanted to do was to get to the 30 kilometre marker, where I’d left a change of clothes, including a warmer jacket, and some nuts. I was elated to finally get there and also to get a drink of warm juice from the marshals (sounds horrible I know, but it tasted like manna from heaven). The marshal helped me into a warm fleece and a padded jacket, wiped the icicles from my nose, gave me a

hug and told me I was going to be OK. They were truly wonderful people and played a big part in getting us to the finish line.

When I got to the 10 kilometres to go marker I began to truly believe that I was going to make it. The skies had cleared and I consciously woke myself from the rhythm of my breathing to enjoy the magical surroundings. But then, out of
the blue, clouds rolled in and it began to snow, softly at first, but then more and more steadily.

The last 10 kilometres were mostly downhill but became harder as the snow continued to fall. I had no idea at that stage whether I was the last runner or whether there were still people behind me. In total there were only 51 runners doing the full marathon (40 men and 11 women), so most of us ended up running alone. I found this very therapeutic and wouldn’t really have wanted it differently – I was very happy lost in my thoughts and breathing, at times feeling like the 24/7 world I’d left behind didn’t exist and that I was the only person alive.
After a final, killer hill 3 kilometres out, our hotel – and the finish line – came into view. It was a magical moment and I knew I was going to make it. I sprinted to the finish line to be greeted by Katie and two other friends, Rufus and Jamie, along with some of the officials. It was bitterly cold and most people had gone back to the hotel rather than stay and clap the stragglers like me in. I couldn’t blame them! It turned out that I’d finished the course in 6:33:38 – one of the slowest of my marathons by some distance but without a shadow of doubt the most challenging and rewarding.

I limped into the hotel for a hot cup of tea and bite to eat and was greeted by several others like me with tears in their eyes relating their experiences. After calling home, Katie and I joined the Spanish contingent to celebrate. They’d booked a large table in the formal restaurant and I was delighted to discover that the Spanish men had nearly wiped the podium with 1st, 2nd and 4th in the men’s race. Needless to say they full of heart and in top form. After a wonderful dinner we went to the bar, where I bowed out fairly late (and I suspect some of the runners stayed through the rest of the night).

We’d arranged to go on a 3 hour walk with the race organisers the following morning. Everyone was still on a high from the marathon and also looking forward to the gala dinner and award ceremony that evening.

The gala dinner, which was appropriately named, consisted of a superb buffet with lots of meat and wonderful desserts. I also ordered a northern lights coffee – with lots of flaming alcohol – which was made at our table by a very handsome young waiter. We were all happy and sad; the week had gone far too quickly for everyone’s liking. At the awards ceremony, I was truly shocked and humbled when Javier, who had finished second in the men’s race, presented me with his award, saying that I deserved it more than him for completing the race at the age of 66 and battling with the snow and cold for 6 and a half hours. While I was chatting away obliviously, he had arranged for all
the runners to sign the back of the trophy and also presented me with a poem on behalf of them all. I was choked by the emotion of the moment and, after gathering myself, said I couldn’t possibly accept it because he needed to take it home to his wife.

Smiling, he replied that he already had his medal and that his wife had him – and didn’t need anything more!

The polar marathon surpassed all of my expectations. I made some great friends and have already arranged to meet up with some of the Spanish contingent for the Barcelona marathon in March 2010. I’d like to say a big thank you to Jamie, who recorded my finishing moment on his mobile and to Rufus for carrying me from the restaurant to the hotel one night so I would not spoil my killer purple suede shoes. What a gentleman! Huge thanks also to Javier, for his incredible kindness in giving me his second place prize, and to Katie who was a wonderful roommate throughout (and especially for waiting for me in the freezing cold at the finish line).

I am having a bit of a rest now but very soon I’ll be back on the road training for Barcelona on the 7th of March. My eldest sister and her family live there so the pressure to put on a good show is on!

With love and best wishes to all the Metros,

Raquel.

 

Marathon de Dunkerque- customer focus en Francais

Dunkirk Marathon 10.10.2010
Steve Paull 3.36.59 113th out of 336

It was all going so well. The journey that is. But once we got to Lille and changed from the Eurostar station to the local Lille Flanders for the last section, things went wrong. The train was to leave at quarter to the hour. At half past it still hadn't moved. There were no announcements at all (not that I would have understood them sufficiently anyway). Only the distant, irritating ding dong chime that preceded all departure announcements, nothing about why we were still sitting there. But people didn't look too bothered. Maybe this was normal. What was going on? Can we call France a third world country? More on that one later.

Finally 50 minutes late the train jerked into action. I say jerked not out of journalistic licence more for the fact that we were on a contraption that had seen better days. 1970s rolling stock at best- all orange seats, lights that flickered off and on and windows that hadn't seen a wash for some while. They did have an internal system for announcements on the train but just hadn't used it.

As for the journey, starting fifty minutes late, we arrived almost two hours late as the train shuffled at my running pace through the suburbs seeming to slow further for every level crossing. The journey from hell is being polite. Irene must have wondered if I was going to explode with rage. I kept my world war thoughts of the Germans marching quicker to Dunkirk to myself (most of the time).

But yes we got there and things got a lot better. We registered before registration opened because I didn't read the times on the small print. I think they just got me processed early because it saved on the language problems of having to say come back later. Then I got interviewed by a local reporter, Eric, who was hanging around, trying to find a story. He claimed to have won the Rome Marathon. I assumed that to be an age-group victory although he looked fit.

With time to kill we decided to rent a car and go to a couple of war cemeteries where Irene has brothers of her grandfather (or is it great-grandfather?). But it didn't happen. The French car hire shops were closed for two hours for lunch making the logistics of there and back impossible. (Avis motto-"we try harder").

So finally the race. I managed to find some of the few English speakers lining up at the start. Dennis was French but had lived in Welwyn Garden City for years. Another man who was doing his first marathon in his fifties had lived in France for years, and finally there was a man who, in his French accent asked me where I came from. London, I said. Whereabouts? Harrow. Ahh, I am from ze Twickenham!!

The first few miles kept close to the seafront before fringing the docks and their historic vessels then heading through the centre of town to go south. I joined in with the 3.30 pace group with the intention of holding on for as long as I could. There were about 30 of us, with only two women. My two years of studying French over 45 years ago was useless, I could not understand a word spoken by anybody. Speed of speech surely!!

The incredibly flat route diverted through some smaller towns before reaching Bergues at halfway; a town enclosed by ancient stone walls, arched gates, moat and cobbles. The church bells were ringing, the townspeople were out in force and, at the far end, a DJ was playing rave music. (Is that what it's called these days?)

I began very slowly to lose contact with the pacemaker as we ran, facing the slower runners, the other side of the road back to Dunkirk. It was like the out and back part of the London marathon, with far fewer people.

As the miles passed, runners I recognized from the group started falling off the pace faster than me and I would gain a couple of places every mile.

3.30 was not going to happen, but my mind was still alert enough to know that 3.40 was a possible and getting more and more likely as time passed.

I finished in a fraction under 3.37. The finish was inside race HQ which was the town's concert hall. The doors were open and the last 20 yards were indoors.

I got a bottle of wine in my goody bag - only it was not wine but a large bottle of local beer, cork sealed and 7.2%!!

But then came the aftermath- the hotel would not allow us a late checkout so I could not get cleaned up, the railway company would not let us get on an earlier train but..... at least the trains we did catch ran on time!!

Steve P

 

top of page