Mount Baldy - proper hill running

So I was browsing the rails of REI (a cross between Blacks and Nevisport) and I got talking to one of the ever attentive assistants. With the energetic notion of doing the LA marathon I was keen to start pencilling in some interim events to help inspire some training discipline so we got gassing about local running events. She tells me about this "run to the top" thing held around Labor day and how she does it every year, usually ends up walking most of it blah blah blah. "Sounds great" thinks me - combines hills with running, but not in that damp, cold, grassy, muddy, KIMM way - this is more like running on the moon. Excellent....

Exactly as expected, I didn't bother doing any training except for the two weeks before the big event when the running shoes got dusted down and put to use, plodding round the streets of sunny Cucamonga in search of some running enthusiasm. (Well - it was dark o'clock by the time I finally went out running most nights so it wasn't "sunny" as such...but still - it was warm and dry and coming from the west of Scotland that's not a combination of words we're used to saying expect perhaps for those two weeks of the year when we go abroad on holiday)

The event itself is called the Run to the Top. It simply involves running to the top of Mount Baldy - easy peasy lemon squeezy...

Except "The Top" is 10,064ft above sea level, and as far as I remember, sea level is pretty much the same here on the west coast of America as it is on the west coast of Scotland. That's going to be a bit of a problem - obviously when I submitted my online registration back in June I didn't see that however. For 95% of the people who took part, the name is a complete misnomer - there's not even the slightest possibility we will "run to the top", not even for one of those "sprint finishes" we keep hearing about from seasoned athletes. (In fact getting to the top on the same day as starting and without the assistance of the air ambulance will be an achievement for many - I like to think I'm not quite in that category yet though...) There is some good news though - the race doesn't actually start at sea level - since the nearest bit of sea level is about 50 miles from Mount Baldy it's a fact which is likely to make the event somewhat harder to plan, so the race actually starts from the car park at the foot of Baldy, somewhere around 6000ft.

I know what you're thinking...10000ft - 6000ft = 4000ft = that's not so bad. And if I tell you its only 8 miles long you start to think that perhaps I've gone a bit girly. And now the pain in my chest has finally gone away I'm starting to think that too, but then my mind drifts back to the burning in my legs and it all starts to creep back up on me again. Unfortunately I couldn't find my heart rate monitor with which to record the pain - but I'm pretty sure the heart rate profile would have been similar to the profile of the mountain.

The race starts nice and early - with registration at 6000ft at 0600 there's a very definite Scottish chill in the air. It's only when I hear the pre-race chatter (or is that actually my teeth rattling from the cold?) that all of a sudden I start to remember what it is about these events that makes me keep coming back for more. It's that "like minded sorts" thing again - who in their right mind would be here (knowing they have no chance of winning) other than people just like me. Except this is Southern California and I'm a Scottish bloke so there's noone else here just like me - and that's the point - it obviously doesn't matter where you go in the world, there will always be folk like you...

From the car park you actually run downhill for a few hundred yards in search of the trailhead - and from that point on, it's uphill all the way. For the first 30mins or so I manage to keep running. The surface is pretty good - just a normal compacted rock/gravel path much like a forestry road so it's not too bad on the ankles, but with the dust getting kicked up it's not long before everything starts to develop a fine coating and you start to spit mud. This path leads up to the chair lift station on the Baldy notch but thats where we leave it behind and set out on the narrow trail that forms the Devils Backbone path to the summit of Baldy. By now I'm approaching 8000ft and still feeling ok - I'm still running and passing many of the people who pelted past me on the downhill section right at the start. If I could catch a breath I would shout some profanities at them but gulping ever thinner amounts of cold air, I decide to save my energy for shouting for help sometime fairly soon.

Onwards past the 8000ft point and I catch onto the tail of a typical older, southern california dude - he's got the tan, the "outdoor complexion", the white hair and the Oakleys and he's just unwillingly become the target for some scottish patter. The logic here is simple - If I befriend this fella, then he'll hopefully feel obliged to ensure that my exhausted carcass gets recovered from the top of the mountain - providing I make it that far which by now is starting to feel like only a distant possibility.

Perhaps it's psychological but I'm pretty sure by 9000ft I'm starting to feel a bit of a headache coming on and I'm convinced I should have brought some of that scuba gear for oxygen support. I'm also thinking that perhaps some acclimatisation might have helped and that next year I'll mebbe camp out the night before the race...and that's when it hits me - I'm struggling to get up this hill, legs are burning, sweat's lashing off me, there's a cold wind ripping across the path threatening to throw me down the scree slopes to oblivion, and I'm already planning for next year...and somehow with a wee bit of conversation going with surfer dude I'm feeling ok again. That only lasts about 10 minutes however until the final climb comes into sight and I suddenly remember about the bit at the top of Baldy. Only good thing is that by this time there's noone left running so when I slow to a walk, I'm not losing any places...just time, which doesn't seem to matter because the view is spectacular and I'm just glad to be here looking at LA in the West to San Gorgonio in the East with the Santa Anas to the South and high desert to the North (and is that the Sierra Nevadas in the far horizon?)

It's a relentless grind for the last 1000ft - (I'm reminded of Ben More but without the grass and then my mind wanders onto other nonsense such as Ben Tumorousvan) Crossing the finish line in 97th place (out of 554) with a time of 1:38:52 becomes my new personal best and a benchmark for future attempts. Of course, now there's just the 4 miles back to the chairlift to go...fortunately for those still climbing, we're not racing back down...well, not officially...

I hear that the LA marathon is quite a show - I'll report on my findings sometime after March 19th. Just 24 weeks to go.

Lee Gilberston

Miss Chatty China and Mohamad Muscles - PJ Half Marathon

Its 6.30am, still dark, 27 degree, and I'm standing at Kelana Jaya Stadium, just out side Kuala Lumpur with 4000 other heed jobs, dressed in shorts and a running vest.

My mind flashes back to the 2002 Glasgow Half Marathon, where the German and I stood shivering in the downpour, as thunder crashed further up the Trongate. I hate to think what the temperature was!

I was just as wet when the Classic looking Raj Sikh official, complete will full turban and curly moustash, fired his pistol in.the air to start the 21st PJ Half Marathon. This time I was soaked in my own sweat, and I hadn't even started running yet!

The thought of running 13miles in the tropics is a daunting one, however like all endurance sports, its all about the training. Slowly adapting the body to handle the conditions. My adaptation included 3 outside runs in 2 years, and several 5K sessions in an air-con gym. I was expecting pain.

Once we started up the high street in Glasgow, the body warmed up and before long we were at pace, chasing down the 1hr 30min target.

Here in Malaysia, warming up is never a problem! I decided my target time was around 1hr 45mins, and I would start near the back of the field. I would pad the first 10K at a very easy pace, drink as much water as possible, and then step up the pace to gain the pyscological advantage of passing the people who had gone off too fast. In my head, it was sound logic and actual a mature and experienced approach to road racing (Not something I've practiced much in the past)

At 5K they were issuing frozen sponges to accompany the cups of tea warm drinking water. A strangle combination, but it worked. The warm water went down without upset to the stomach and the sponges were fantastic, squeezed just behind the neck.

At 10K I was feeling slightly over-temp but still OK, as we headed out on the long straight towards where I work. I was making up position fast, as many people were fading (Mostly made up of football shirts, and adidas kick - They made me reflect on the Great North Run!)

I was starting to fade at 15K when the rain started. It was warm rain of course, but welcomed all the same. My feet were cooking, so the 5mins of tropical downpour followed by some deep puddle jumping helped cool them down and kept my mind off the pain which was creeping into my tired legs.

A Chinese girl asked me where I was from and I told her Taman Seputeh, and then asked her the same question in Bahasa. Her puzzled look was then followed with a laugh. (I decided there and then she had just entered one of my private competitions and I was hell bent on beating her)
She went past me joining a old guy, who looked very strong.

I put in the effort to join them, and decided my best tactic was to hang onto this small group until 20K, and then try to find the strength for a strong finish. Easier said than done!

The older guy was a picture of fitness. Every muscle in his body was well defined, and he looked like he ran races every weekend. Unknown to him, he too he had become competition fodder. Although I'm sure wouldn't of been overly concerned about the heavy breathing scottish race stalker, desperately trying to hang onto his tail.

The road climbed over a bridge, and during the gradual assent, my years of plodding up Scottish hills seemed to present me with an advantage. I drew level with the other two, who had slowed during the climb. Although my legs were nearly finished, my head enjoyed the psycological boost.

The last watering station was at 19 km. I grabbed cup of water, took one sip and poured the rest down my back. The Miss Chatty China and Mohamad Muscles were now behind, and I decided to try push on with as much pace as my weary legs could manage.
I dared not look back as I took the left turn into the Kelana Jaya shopping area, followed by another left into the road which led to the sports stadium. I knew its was only 500yards away but I also knew the Big Sikh organiser with the gun, would probably make us lap the running track before presenting us with a finish line.

I was right, but entering the stadium was a great feeling, with so many people supporting and cheering the runners on.

Then out of nowhere, the chinese girl came bounding past me, saying "not far now, good luck!"
I managed to gain enough pace to stay with her, and then level as we came into the home straight. I then turned to her and said "only 30secs to go until 1hr 50mins"
We both sprinted to the line and finished together.

1 hour 49mins 39 seconds was the official time, which maybe my worst half marathon time, but I was happy. Considering the heat, and my limited training, I went home very satisfied.

By 8.30am, I was back in bed, in the recovery position, cuddling my camelbak!

Alan Kelly

Hill days ....

It is where it all started for me – the Scottish mountains. Long before the running and racing began I realised there was fun and adventure to be had in them thar hills. A good deal of the history is still on the now archived “North of Balloch Rules Apply” website. I suspect that once the body and head start to decay to the point where competition stops making sense, the rambling around in the glens and tops will continue.

A long standing topic of conversation in front of the bothy fire (and bar-room) is whether, as guys, we go to the hill to meet or to escape the lasses. Over the years there has been probably a bit of both but I am sure anyone who has been lucky enough to meet the right girl knows sharing the experience only adds to it.

One of the many things I first liked about Moira was that she wasn’t one of those hard little city types who don’t like getting wet unless it is during a spa treatment. Not only could she roll a kayak (which 10 months later I still can’t do) but she had hill experience – perfect! Unfortunately, she got sick and spent too many months off work. Thankfully the recovery continued and it seemed like a hill day was overdue …long overdue.

For anyone reaching for the sick bag – I make no apology for being all sentimental. I think I do a reasonable job of hiding the fact I am sensitive (for a Glasgow guy anyway) but I am proud of the way Moira has got back to fitness again ….long may it continue.

The Cobbler – 3rd September 2005
The Cobbler is a great hill and makes a grand day out. Within easy reach of Glasgow and not too hard - it was chosen as a good first return day. Over the years Arrochar has been like a big mountain playground – walking, rock climbing, wee tad of ice climbing, hill running, mountain biking etc … so there was plenty stories to make the pain of ascent / descent seem preferable to the constant “I mind the time when …..”

The new path is a dream. No longer the heart bursting climb up the old pipe track! The sad bit is missing out on the traverse which led from the top of the old path along to the dam which used to give an alpine feel to the day. Still it made the first section easier and soon we were up at the Narnain Boulders. Time for a few stories about Jock Nimlin, the original climbers who used it as a doss etc … Slightly higher up and the stories moved onto the “time where Wee Joe and I were oan Recess Route and the wee fella got wedged in a chimney due to his rucky” – Moira feined interest in between choosing what looked like the most awkward route possible and nodding. Once on the North Summit we looked down onto the last pitch of Punsters …she didn’t look that impressed as I continued about the “time where the Big Yin was trying to impress two girls by making the pitch look harder than it was”. We continued onto the Centre Peak and even had a look through the eye of the needle before lunch and a wee snooze. The descent continued (as did the stories) until we were back down the grassy ridge and at the dam. Back down the good path and we were at the car. Moira looked tired but happy.

Ben Dorain – Sunday 11th September 2005
Due to poor communication on my part, the planned sharing of birthday celebrations became a logistical nightmare and basically we both cancelled plans without actually checking what the other was doing. End result it was too late to apologise to the people concerned and turn up …late. Apologies to all concerned. In the end we left Glasgow around 8pm on the Saturday and camped beside the river Orchy – we made last orders which was something at least. I also kinda failed to properly explain that my wee Terra Nova Solar One tent was …well meant for one. It has seen a good few Mountain Marathons but in hindsight … that doesn’t mean it is a good idea. Anyway, I took to opportunity to test sleep the “balloon bed” – FECK it ain’t easy to tie knots but much twisting and swearing later and my new bed was ready. Great it terms of pack size & weight but there is a lot to be said for a thermarest if you are car camping. Next morning and the midges were out – yes it is September and they just shouldn’t. Breakfast by the river was binned in lieu of the large veggie fry up in the hotel (which Moira kindly paid for).

The ascent up the coire seemed drier than previous visits which was good. We practiced measuring distances and calculating times allowing for ascent … all good navigation practice but we did get some looks from passing folks as we sat pouring over the map on a clear day. Sadly the clear day clouded over just above the bealach. So some nav for real was required as we continued up to the first summit where we met a couple who were wandering mapless – short burst over to the real summit and lunch. The descent was ok but it is easy to drift either towards the crags on the left or glen that sits to the east. Back at the bealach we decided on dropping back to the car, Tyndrum and a coffee / cake combination. As we changed into soft shoes etc … Moira seemed less trashed than the week before – a good sign surely ? Maybe the lack of stories has improved her demeanour?

Ben Lomond – Sunday 18th September 2005
Three hill weekends in a row – jist like the old days! Driving through Glasgow and it was pishin doon – jist like the old days. We had been fairly lucky with the weather and thankfully by the time we were at Rowardennan the rain was off (but the midges were still out). Last time I was here was on the hill race back in May i.e. more stories and comments on split times for each section – poor lass. Moira had two previous, unsuccessful attempts at the summit – I was keen not add a third. As usual the hill was busy which seemed to drive her on. The plateau is good as it gives a chance to recover before the last push up onto the summit ridge. Although the mist was down at the trig point – Moira looked happy. We opted for the Ptarmigan Ridge option for the ramble back to the car. This has the advantage of great views across the mountain. Views which with the mist gone, were superb. If it had been the Green Welly the week before it was the Drymen Pottery for coffee / cake this week. In days gone past it used to be the pub on the way home – a sign of the times maybe?

-------------------------------------
All in all, three cracking days out – life in the mountains is good. Wonder if life would be more simple living there … I don’t know. I know one thing – I don’t like the idea of a life without them !