Jura 2014

Results

Another fabulous Jura weekend made all the more wonderful with a week having elapsed from the pain of all that up and down stuff.

It began at the Tayvallich Inn for some of the Westie contingent, with a pleasant drink in the evening sunshine whilst we waited on the ferry.  Little did we know that Nicol McKinnon’s new £180,000 rib had been experiencing engine trouble all day and we would arrive at Craighouse a little later than expected.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen jump leads used on a boat but that’s what Nicol was forced to resort to after salt water made its way into the electrics.  Parts were on their way from Ireland and would be fitted the next morning.  Fortunately, we got going after a bit of phaffing and both engines ran true for the entirety of the trip; the usual sleigh ride down Loch Sween and across the sound with great views of the Paps, Kintyre, Gigha, Cruachan and the tops of the Arran hills.  The relaxed mood was enhanced on our boat as Nicol dished out Jura whisky as an apology and we buzzed the Skervuile Lighthouse with a close pass.  Craighouse was soon attained; all too soon on a night like this.

The camp in front of the hotel was the usual centre of activity on arrival and after a frenzy of tent pitching and food munching, we re-convened in the pub for a restrained libation.  I am pleased to report the Westies Select was the last team in the pub with everyone else heading to Thermarest very early this year.  Our late arrival had thrown our perception of the hour and we wanted to soak-up the pre-race anticipation with good company and a whisky or beer or two.

To race day and wow another stunner in terms of weather.  Clear skies three years in a row!  Next year is bound to be conducted in Monsoon conditions.  

The entire camp had been awake from about 5.00 am as various small children on tour realised it was light and either screamed incessantly or made clear it was time for everyone to get-up and play.  Consequently, there was plenty of time to breakfast, to mess about with kit and generally urge the clock to spin around to 10.30 am.  The allotted time duly arrived and following a brief briefing, the hooter sounded and we were off once again on the the hardest? fell run in the country.  Seems to be the consensus amongst the participants especially our southern based fell-running colleagues.  Borrowdale?  More of a park run really.

My plan was to go steady and aim to finish as strongly as possible; to make use of all my recent road miles in the final push along the tarmac.  All too soon I was struggling with a dodgy tum and just not feeling tip-top.  I was holding steady on the climbs and gaining places on the descents but there was a lurking feeling this could be the year I ended-up with a DNF.  The focus was just to keep going.  Another hill and then let’s see.

As usual the race course was a thing of beauty with incredible views in all directions and geological and geographical features aplenty.  Northern Islay and Port Askaig and Caol Isla, Rubha Mhail, Colonsay, Mull and the hills of the mainland in the other direction.  All crystal clear and the way ahead daunting and inspiring.  A deep blue sea as a border.

I was having a battle with Johnny Knox of Anster Haddies.  He would close the gap or go ahead on the climbs and I would leave him behind on the descents but overall he was just a little stronger at this game.  My doubts of finishing continued until the summit of the second pap and only Corbett on Jura.  Having attained its summit I had greater confidence of getting to the end but any thoughts of a sub four hour run had disappeared.  I actually attacked the final pap with a degree of relish, looking forward to the scree run on the other side.  The summit was soon in sight and my little group split into many theories as to the best way down.  Onto the scree, I made a reasonable go of finding a route described by Mark Harris and after the clatter and clank of many blocky boulders, was soon onto the boggy path to the final hill.  No broken thumb this year.  Bonus.

The final hill.  I took a straw poll after the race and the general view is that it is the hardest of the lot just because of the degree of fatigue at that stage of the race.  Boy, I wish we just headed to the Three Arch bridge after the final pap.  Colin Russell who had been going strong was slowing and we were soon side by side and chatting about the struggle to the finish.  I pulled ahead of a few as their wheels came off and gratefully handed in my final hill tag at the summit.  The run down to the bridge was a joy apart from the final section which was boggy and spirit sapping.  This is where many succumb to cramp due to dehydration and fatigue. 

Finally, at and under the bridge, with my recently gained friend in the form flat tarmac between me and the finish.  I had measured the distance on my bike the day before.  3.6 miles and not the 3.0 miles stated in most descriptions.  At the outset I felt okay and my pace was good with only one Zombie, previously left for dead, suddenly springing into life and streaking ahead at an amazing lick.  My pace stayed the same and was faster than those behind but it became more of a mental challenge to keep going and my earlier stomach issues were becoming acute.  I just wanted to be finished.  Would it be so bad if I walked a wee bit?  Don’t be crazy, Manny would never do that no matter how bad he felt!  Get a grip man!  Keep going.  I passed the mile marker for Craighouse.  I had measured this distance as well and knew it was 1.6 miles to the finish.  Really not feeling good now.  Why do I do this?  And then suddenly release.  No I hadn’t finished.  I think my brain decided to go for a wander and to leave my body to complain and whine.  I don’t remember the final mile and only vaguely remember my name being mentioned as I was a few yards from the finish.  Stop.  Wobble.  Check watch.  Oh, a PB and only 6 minutes over the 4 hours.  Bugger; wonder if I could have done it had I knackered myself earlier on?

I made my way to the sea and wallowed in its cool embrace.  I then spent the next twenty minutes dealing with cramp and being sick.  Lovely.  

Manny set a new club record; amazing given his exploits on the SIPR the week before.  Steve Halsall got under 4 hours at the first attempt.  Owen nearly did it with a fantastic run at just over the mark and I was a few minutes behind.  Niall, James and Ian were also soon home.

It took a few hours to recover but the post-race relief was soon throughout the camp and the ceilidh was its usual lively self following a few hours of post race analysis in the pub.  Starting at 10.30 pm it was a little late for me.  I sloped off to my tent at 12.30 am knackered but happy.