Sunday, 6th May. Thirteen miles around the streets of Exeter or a share of ninety miles along the coast from Sidmouth to Poole? Hmm, that's a tricky decision ...
Some say the Grizzly is hard. The beach? Pah! It's a doddle compared with nine miles of Chesil Bank. The hills? Pah! The stretch from Lulworth Cove to Worbarrow Bay has nearly a Grizzly's worth of climb in just five miles! The bog? Well, the rotting seaweed in Studland Bay was well up my legs in places and its revolting smell went straight to the back of my throat! But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Alarm and bread maker set for 4:30, a fresh loaf for breakfast, out of the house at 5:15, Sidmouth Pier by 5:45. Three teams made it, Lean Mean and his Runner Beans including yours truly, Phil (Evergreen) Bayliss, Nick (National Champion - not that I'm jealous of him!) Thorpe, Alan (I let my five-year-old son shave my head and it shows) Atkinson and Paul (How on earth did Alan con me into this mad escapade?) Ryder.
Nick had the privilege of starting us off with a somewhat undulating stretch upon which he only got lost once (like he did when he became a National Champion - why doesn't that ever work for me?!?). Meanwhile, I had the pleasure of driving his nice new car down some windy lanes to Branscombe Mouth - nervous, me?!?
I don't think Paul knew what hit him. He took the minimal-climb route via the Under Hooken but it's still A Long Way Up for someone who's not been running long (less than two years) and most of that flat road! Of course, there's also that nice little climb 'twixt Beer and Seaton Hole! He looked pretty dead as he stumbled across the old bridge at Axmouth.
Alan's First Highlight.
Running through the surreal Tolkienesque dankness of the Undercliff.
Alan and I started on the old bridge at Seaton; it was cold and threatening to rain. Before we could even get into our stride, the ascent of the 70 per cent hill to the top of the golf course began. For the next 15 minutes we barely spoke - our breath was too precious to waste in talking. Then after leaving the golfers behind us and running along paths over the cliff top, we gently descended into the Undercliff. This wildlife haven resulted from a colossal landslip about 150 years ago, leaving a protected microclimate which is inaccessible to all but the most hardy pedestrians. We were soon in the dense woodland running along a tortuous path that curved and dipped like a DIY rollercoaster. The purple and white hazes of bluebells and wild garlic blurred as we hopped down steps, skipped across the webs of tree roots and jumped over fallen logs. Although just a few hundred metres from the coast, we rarely caught a glimpse of the sea through the thick undergrowth. Soon we climbed out of the wood onto Ware Common, made famous in the French Lieutenant's Woman, then confronted the magnificent panorama of Lyme Bay with the Cobb in the foreground.
A spot of rain greeted us as we parked in Lyme but I warmed up after a quick brew (always take a stove on events like this!). Nick thought I was psychic when I suddenly announced that Alan and Phil were approaching but it was merely due to Alan's dulcet tones emanating from the undergrowth as they dropped down towards the Cobb!
I set off along the beach then the prom before climbing up the road out of town. Up some fields and into a wonderful bluebell wood where I found that the footpath had been diverted. So back down to the road and up over the golf course to Charmouth for the long slog up Stonebarrow Lane (remember the Charmouth Challenge?). And down again, back to the coast path. And up. And down. And all the way up to Golden Cap. (There might have been a few other ups 'n' downs in there.) Finally all the way down to Seatown and a handover to Nick.
Over to Nick again (who noted "Garry gets to start at nice places like Lyme Regis while I have 'Seatown Toilets'!") who had another good leg. Then again, who couldn't enjoy Devon and Dorset's prime coastal running? Well ...
Paul seemed to have perked up with the prospect of "only four miles and all flat". But it was shingly. Except where it was sandy. I don't think Dorset will have any happier memories for him than Devon!
Alan's Second Highlight.
Standing at the start of the Chesil Bank, squinting into the distance over a huge expanse of pebbles, being denied
a view of the finish because of the curvature of the earth, and being very thankful I wasn't running that leg!
I had been looking forward to the nine miles of Chesil Bank and after half an hour I started to really enjoy myself, the two of us slowly running down another team's runner just ahead. I was convinced there were ponds on the bank ahead but, of course, they were just mirages (or hallucinations?!?). By the end of the second half hour with the end still way off (our schedule had 67 minutes for this leg!) and no sign of the supposed coarsening of the shingle as we headed east (bigger pebbles means easier running but this stuff was barely coarser than gravel) the novelty was wearing a bit thin! Both Phil and I were slowing by now but, near the end of a third half hour, the guy in front climbed onto the crest of the bank, looked around and purposefully dropped out of sight - it must be the finish! And indeed it was. I left the stones behind (but could still hear the crunch echoing around my head!) and reached the car park after 91 minutes of running; Phil finished about a minute later. It almost put me off beach running for life!
After all teams had regrouped Alan set off from Chesil with a couple of lovely ladies, the lucky man!
But the rest of us had other things on our minds like a much-needed drink in the Sunray at Osmington courtesy of Tom (The Loony) Scriven!
And then it was on to the changeover where a camper van dislodged an ornamental tree trunk (!) from a verge which promptly rolled down the road towards a parked car with Alan in hot pursuit! He reached the log just before the log reached the car.
Nick once more. I think he was enjoying himself as he didn't want to stop at Durdle Door and I had to shout after him! (That's the problem of having changeover points just off the running route.)
Nick nearly overshot the changeover (the car park was at the top of the cliff but the coast path ran part-way down) until I called him back before setting off on a "somewhat undulating" six-miler. Down to Lulworth Cove, quick loo stop amid strange looks from the grockles, scouted around for the official coast path and ended up just taking something which was going the right way (i.e. up!). Right up over the top of the cliff behind the cove and down more-or-less to sea level the other side, flat for a mile of so before climbing again, high around the back of Mupe Bay and dropping down to Airish Mell. Way back up once more to an old hill fort (it seemed pretty unassailable to me!) with quads like tennis balls. The prospect of the steep descent to Worbarrow Bay with legs like that was scary but they magically got better just as I started down! By the time I got to the gentle mile ascent to the next changeover, though, I had completely died and took a l-o-n-g time getting to Phil with Paul, who had come out to meet me, having to slow down for me!
And then there was a half-mile walk to the car park feeling hungry, thirsty, sick, elated and exhausted, all at the same time - signs, perhaps, that my body was being pushed too far.
I stood with Alan at the top of the hill looking out for Garry. He soon came puffing and panting, with Paul as companion. Shortly after I set off I met a runner from another team and we ran the rest of the leg together. The scenery was truly magnificent because the countryside was huge. Fields ahead rolled down to the sea where Kimmeridge village nestled with a mysterious black tower on the headland above. There were deep valleys and enormous hills. In order to avoid a trek way down to the coast and back, we decided to stay up hill - but this was our downfall. We soon paid for our cunning shortcut by confronting cliffs with stairs cut out and climbs where a ladder would have been handy. This giant's assault course had taken us down to the sea anyway, leaving us with a leg-wrenching clamber up to Renstone Farm. Not only did we approach from the wrong direction, we were late (sorry chaps). In many ways a breathtaking journey.
Nothing much to say here except that Alan had a most enjoyable run and that we moved the changeover from an exposed clifftop to an inland car park 'cos it was getting a touch chilly by then!
Alan's Third Highlight.
Luck with the weather: after every dry run finding the support cars covered in raindrops.
The mid-evening atmosphere was infectious and Nick had his most enjoyable leg with a stiff climb up to Ballard Down followed by a long, gentle roll down t'other side. I had wanted to run either this leg with him or the last one with Alan but there just wasn't much more in the tank!
The sun was setting in a magnificent purple haze (not quite the same source of Jimi Hendrix's haze!) as Alan, Nick and I set off for the final 2½ miles. The sand was firm, the wind had dropped and we were nearly at our destination. After a mile or so a sign warned of nudists beyond and soon there was a lean, mean one, au naturelle for a new running experience! And then, with me re-clothed, we reached the Sandbanks ferry just after the sun had set on a wonderful day.
Alan's Fourth Highlight.
The dismay at glancing over my shoulder on the nudist beach to be confronted with a full frontal Lewd Nude Runner Dude!
Real RunningTM!