Wild night run - the results are in

Ten muddy miles in 2:05:20.3

Three minutes slower than last year - which means my pacing is working. A win!

Meanwhile, somewhere on Dartmoor...

I need never visit a hammam again because my orifices are full of mud.

Last night's Wild Night Run was brilliant. The weather was kind and temperature, perfect. Though weeks of rain had left the moor resembling slush puppy. As another runner said, it was a lot like bog snorkelling.

I didn't mind. It was a good excuse to walk (or wade) these bits. Mindful of avoiding incident, I walked when the terrain turned tricky - on the steep downhills, steep uphills and uneven flat bits. I basically went for a walk on Dartmoor.

Which is probably why I enjoyed it so much. There were a couple of times I felt rough (around mile 3 - nausea; around mile 8 - legs like lead). I think the sickness might have been a result of the large fried breakfast I'd had that morning. Possibly not the best option. And lead legs a sign I need to get stronger. Back to the gym.

Not sure of time yet. I was surprised and delighted to cross the finish line and hear: 1 30. A full thirty minutes quicker than last year! But to be fair, I did run the last mile last year with a broken ankle. The surprise and delight lasted until my nephew highlighted I was actually about ten minutes slower than last year (when I had a broken ankle). I then realised my race number was 130. Ah...

So, great race, lovely atmosphere, highly recommended. Time tbc...

Fighting fit feet

Delighted to report that my feet are now back to normal. Lesson learned: don't wear off-road trainers on roads!

All ready for - and very excited about - Saturday's Wild Night Run

Just need to buy a new headtorch, replacement batteries and a space blanket in case I come a cropper on Dartmoor. One doesn't like to be paranoid but history would suggest I best err on the side of caution.

Don't be afraid of the dark

It's not often you get to run 10 miles on Dartmoor. In the dark. In the snow. With 20 mph winds...

Saturday's Wild Night Run was rather amazing. For a small moment between blizzards, I was completely alone. The benefit to being at the back. It was so peaceful. No people. No noise. Just miles of rocks, snow and gorse. The moonlight was pretty bright so I turned off my head torch... And then I turned it back on again because I was scared: I've read the Hound of the Baskervilles.

At this point, a fellow runner joined me. We did the last six miles together. He was an excellent guide and an even more excellent puller-of-persons-out-of-deep-mud. Two days on, it's still in every crevice.

I have to say, it was one of the toughest and best races I've entered. Despite being weather-beaten at mile eight, I flew at mile nine. There's a lot to be said for country air.

There's less to be said for country lanes and my ability to navigate them. One minute I was flying, the next I was lying on the road, having tripped in a pothole. I've spent a lot of time on the floor recently. There's a chance my proprioception is up the creek. But it's more likely I was chatting and not paying attention.

Hey ho, what can you do?! Give up or get up. I staggered to the finish line with an egg for an ankle. If I'm honest, when I crossed the line I was trying not to cry. Partly because it was quite an emotional experience, but mainly because my ankle was bloody agony. Really painful. Like the bone was coming away from the ligament.

So, a character-building weekend. A lovely race with a great crowd of people and very nice mushroom stroganoff. Just make sure you wear lots of layers, preferably carry a hydration backpack and, most importantly, don't take your eyes off the road.


(Stats: 10 miles; 2 hours 2 minutes 22 seconds; position 181/201; 12.14 minute/mile)

A little light night running

6.22pm on Saturday I, and a couple of hundred fellow runners, set off across Dartmoor. Well, we set off from South Brent village hall on the way to the moor. It was dark and we all wore head torches. I had two, along with a small red light on the back of my head ("Careful, Lou; you don't want to blind the tail-runner" said my rude brother before sprinting off.) There then followed five miles of steep uphill, muddy fields of cow poo and a wobbly descent down what was either a stream or a flooded path. Entry to the race was a Christmas present. Actually, I was entered into the 10-mile but I got the fear last week and insisted on a transfer from wild night run to mild night run. It was a decision I did not regret. By lowering the bar, I could thoroughly enjoy the race and get back to the village hall before the longer-distance runners. That meant I could get in first with the brilliant physio for a very painful, yet very beneficial leg massage. Two days on and I only have a few minor twinges. There is nothing finer than running across the silent countryside and rinsing your lungs in clean country air - albeit it rather poo-ey. If you fancy something slightly different, I highly recommend the wild night run. It had a lovely friendly atmosphere - and a very fine post-race lentil stew. Might go for the ten, next year.

Pic: The brighter, the better.

(Stats: 5 miles; 1.02.36; 12.31 minute/mile [I walked up a few of the steeper inclines so can only assume the barely controlled fall down the other side balanced out the overall speed])

It's on

My brother's Christmas present to me was entry into a 10-mile night run across Dartmoor on March 1st. Not sure what I've done to upset him.