Terms of Endurance

London seemed an almost alien place upon my return on Monday evening. My extended stay at Mrs Mac's gaff caused me to go native and litter my language with expletives and regular renditions of 'by the way.'

But while I may have managed to shake off the oft commented 'by the way,' it remains a fitting segue to carry me into last weekend's endeavour on the West Highland Way. Yep, this year's lunatic 95 mile race from Milngavie to Fort William.

What can I say? Well, there are race tales aplenty on my brother's and sister's blogs, many of which are shown on the list on the right. From these you may gain a real understanding of how ultra athletes engage with, and complete this race. From mine you may gain an understanding of how a half-witted interloper manages to keep going and gain a finisher's goblet. But my story is also that of my pal and comrade-in-arms Martin Hooper the Paratrooper. Now this is a man not given to written communication so you'll not read of his accomplishment unless he uses it in mitigation against some minor military crime or other. So this is our story:

Race preparation was cavalier to say the least. The usual visit by the team (runners and support) to Morrisson's in Fort William resulted in a serious depletion of the store's beer and wine stocks. Mine and Martin's pre-race indulgence in our purchases probably fail to fit in with any published Ultra race plan, but at the time everyone else was doing it so we applied the peer pressure principle so favoured by youth offender apologists.

Pre-race sleep strategy is also something that I'll work on in the future as I didn't do too well in the days running up to the race. And to top it all I spent the evening before the race in a double bed with Martin Hooper the Paratrooper. I urge you to understand that our relationship is a firm and solid one of friendship and brotherhood. There's certainly no need for any oil based lubricants nor tickets to see Kylie. But the bed spaces were few in our accommodation in Corpach so we thought it best to allow the others to have joint 'noisy' rooms while Hooper and I had a quiet darkened one. Of course with Darrel Jacobs on hand any bed-space in Corpach village was subject to the Indian's night time audible interference, so it made little difference.

The race began with the usual foray in the car park and we were off through the town and into Mugdock Park. We were aiming for a four hour arrival in Balmaha, which we hit pretty much on cue, although for a while we were concerned about the sub-20 hour runner that was with us! For a while we had Mark 'Drama Queen' Hamilton and Keith 'Corned Beef' Hughes behind us too but before long they covered us in dirt and gravel like annoying, penniless street urchins as they swept past majestically (gits!).

By now it was morning and we made a slight navigational error as we left Balmaha car park. I knew it was a short hop down the road and then following a track uphill. Unfortunately we headed up a track a little too early that left us looking at the car park we'd just left, so a quick double back in time to allow Karen Donoghue to laugh at us and Big Davie Hall to engage us in pleasant chat. Davie told me how he'd been a village cop in Luss, which was in view across Loch Lomond. Now, that place is about as big as my garden (although much better kept) so Davie must have been able to cover his beat in a stride and a half! I likened him to Hamish MacBeth and he covered Martin and I in dirt and gravel like annoying, penniless street urchins before sweeping past majestically (git!).

Martin and I arrived in Rowardennan and a gap opened up between us. It never became too large but it was enough to find myself alone and falling asleep on my feet at 07:00 in the morning. My poor pre-race sleep plan was coming home to roost and I wondered how on earth I could keep going to the end. I battled on nonetheless, swigging mouthfuls of Coke and hoping the caffeine would waken me up. Unfortunately my tolerance to caffeine is high in the extreme so it never touched that groggy feeling of tiredness.

As we approached Auchtertyre Farm (approximately half way) it became apparent to me that, in my sleepiness, our times had begun to slip to the point where, if we didn't pull ourselves up by the boot-straps, we were in danger of being timed out! My God!! The horror hit me! I could be timed out by my own girlfriend, who runs the Auchtertyre Farm checkpoint! This was enough to push me on although seeing her emerge from the forest a while later and say 'chase me' quickened my pace further.

A confirmed 4kg loss in weight at Auchtertyre indicated my hydration and nutrition were pish (this I knew....everything going into my mouth resulted in a feeling of nausea and an old internal injury which causes rampant acid reflux was having fun with my oesophagus so food and drink were occasional, to say the least).

Regardless of the weight loss, on we pushed making good time to Bridge of Orchy and then we had a good running stint over Rannoch Moor. While at Kingshouse Mrs Mac came to see me and for five minutes I lay my head in her lap and entered the blissful world of deep sleep.

Dragging myself out of that perfect place and onto the slopes leading to the Devil's Staircase was hard. The five minute's kip was glorious but insufficient to eat into the desperate tiredness I felt. I fell asleep on my feet often as we climbed Satan's Steps and staggered about like a drunk (normal form for a Saturday night!!) as we descended into Kinlochleven.

A further 30 minutes kip in the van at Kinlochleven recharged our batteries enough to push hard up the hill to the Lairigmor where Hooper and I made up some ground and some places. Unfortunately these were all lost at Lundavra where essential foot maintenance was vital. Never mind, we knew we would finish at this point even though Hooper's feet were ribboned, his knees were cattle-trucked and his legs were swollen.

As we made our way to Fort William our support crew lad, Chrissy Jenner joined Martin and I which allowed me to skip off with Big Al to try to make a few of our lost places up. We met Lucy Colquhoun coming up the hill from Fort Bill so we stopped for a short blether. It was a shame she wasn't running (she was supporting Richie Cunningham) but she told me of Richie's magnificent performance and of the other four top placed runners, all of whom had covered themselves in glory.

As I approached the Leisure Centre a vision of loveliness appeared (no not the bloody shop-keeper from Mr Benn- it was Mrs Mac) and she accompanied me in to the finish. The reception at the Centre was so unbelievable it (almost!! I'm a man!!) brought a tear to my eye. Ian and Alison Beattie, Tim and Muriel Downie, the Welsh family, Murdo and Jo McEwan, Richie Cunningham, Dario, all of my support crew and lots and lots of West Highland Way Race Family and friends were present to cheer me in. Thank you my friends.

Martin came home a while later and I must take this opportunity to hail that man as a hero. He was well and truly busted on that run but he kept going and kept smiling (my own sense of humour dissolved quite early on). His body ain't built for running-it's more suited to standing by a fast flowing river in Canada and sweeping salmon from beneath the surface of the water with a pair of great big paws.

But he endured nonetheless. I wonder if he used the same mantras as me to keep him going:

Murdo McEwan's 'dig deep';

Winston Churchill's 'never give in';

Ranulph Feinne's 'each step a little closer';

Tim Downie's 'are you gonna be a wanker again?'