A 3 part blog series on running the West Highland Way over the years.

CONTINUED FROM Steps In Time – Part 2

Setting off from Auchtertyre with one of my support runners feels like a reset. Not another race but certainly a new phase. The break at Auchtertyre checkpoint has been a bit longer. Sat down for a while and make a determined effort to eat and drink. Also changed clothes and usually trail shoes. Wearing fresh clothes is as much a boost as good nutrition. My weight gets checked and I am within limits and so not pulled out of race. The support driver that has been following me since  the start now gets relieved by another driver. It is not a good idea to spend 2 nights in a row driving.

After a few km we cross over the main road at Tyndrum. Strangely I have often craved an ice cream at this point and have messaged ahead for crew to get from shop in the village. One of the few times that my appetite and needs coincide. Eating ice cream and ingesting some much needed sugar. All whilst taking my time on the incline up from Tyndrum and chatting to my support runner. It is relatively pleasant. The ebbs and flows, highs and lows of endurance activity merge together to make a single, unforgettable experience. Usually my support runner tries to keep me moving at a reasonable pace. Left to myself I would inevitably slow down to a trudge or shuffle. It’s good to talk or I will start to brood on the need to rest or how I feel. Distraction is important! 

For a while the trail follows the train track and contours the mountainside. The next stop will be Bridge of Orchy (B of O). There is a bit of camaraderie as we overtake other runners and crew or get overtaken. No one seems in a hurry and it certainly doesn’t feel like we are in a race. More like companions than fellow competitors. It’s mid-afternoon and we are now truly in the highlands. It always surprises me just how far two feet can take you. Time passing and steps taken equals distance. 14 hours ago I was in the central lowlands of Scotland on the outskirts of Glasgow. Mentally though it feels like I have lived a day or two since the start. There is a long, flat section before coming into B of O. Once my support runner kindly decided to run ahead of me and get some tea on. Always good to have something to look forward to. However we had just caught up on a lone runner going very slow. She was in a lot of pain and had decided she was going to give up at B of O. My support suggested I accompany her till B of O while he went ahead to brew tea. I am ashamed that I resented my having to ‘slow down’. So much for camaraderie and companionship. In the event ‘slowing down’ was good for me and arrived at B of O more refreshed than I would have been. 

At B of O have a welcome time with support crew including the driver. I am spending time with support runners but the driver I see little of. He is enduring in his own way. Following a pre-arranged rota I now take on a ‘new’ support runner for the next section to Glencoe. It’s all relative as he has probably had little or no sleep since last night. However for me it is a new trail of conversation. For him as we move on there is the art of keeping me motivated. An increasingly demanding job. I am starting to moan and feel sorry for myself. Cramp, nausea and dizziness come and go. My feet are getting tender and becoming sensitive to stones. He has the thankless task of trying to get me to eat and drink. A milestone is reached on a hill rise at the 100km mark. Met by one of the race volunteers the occasion is traditionally marked by being given a single ‘jelly baby’ (soft sweet). All very surreal but it is also a lighthearted check up by the organisers on how a runner is doing mentally/ physically. 

We descend to the beautiful hamlet of Inveroran in the early evening sunshine. Passing campers enjoying BBQs and relaxing causes me to indulge in comparisons. Never a good idea in life or in endurance. Envying their relaxed reverie with my discomfort is not helpful.

The trail leads on to General Wade’s old military road. Built about 3 centuries ago the sharp, jumbled cobblestones further aggravate my feet. I try to avoid by going on the verge as much as possible. We come to Rannoch Moor. A big sky expanse that refreshes and draws one out from what is going on inside. As we gently ascend on the trail I am looking forward to us veering to the left. This would herald our turning towards the valley that lead to iconic Glencoe and next checkpoint. 

After several false hopes we finally exit Rannoch Moor. Making a slow descent towards the ski centre we are afforded great views of the valley. Once again there would be a change of support runner, food etc. A general appraisal of how things were going. About 114 km covered. A whole marathon remaining. It is now early evening and my body is chilling. My ability to find warmth from clothing is diminishing. I now have several layers on and need gloves. Feet are battered but fortunately I have never suffered from blisters. In one race I was treated to a magnificent feet washing by my support runner. Above and beyond the call of duty. It was wonderful. The first time experiencing what I would call happy feet. It was as if parts of my body had a mind of their own! This aberration of sensory input is a foretaste of what is to come in entering a second night out on the trail.

Feeling somewhat refreshed and in fading light we leave the ski centre. We travel along the valley floor. To our left is Buachaille Etive Mòr. Depending on the weather the mountain can be magnificent and glorious or dark and imposing. My first times doing the race I was very slow and it was already dark. The moon then shone like a sentinel over the mountain. 

As the night draws in we turn right and start to ascend the ominously named Devil’s Staircase. Physically I am starting to feel increasingly dizzy and am starting to stagger. Switching on head torches accentuates my visual problems. Hallucinations are fairly common to those of us who spend 2 nights out on the trail. I am no stranger to this and experience it every time. Suddenly the lichen on rocks become beautiful patterns and paintings. Silhouettes of isolated trees look like people. Weirdly stones kicked by my increasingly muddled feet start to behave like mice crossing my path. Now, although I am losing my grip on what my brain is seeing, I do know it is not real. This is when support runners are helpful. However most of the time I keep these visions to myself. 

Yet there is another more serious thing to contend with. It makes having a fresher companion absolutely vital. Extreme fatigue. I start to crave sitting and lying down to rest. Micro sleeps start to occur where I can sleep for some seconds while upright or for a minute or so sitting on a rock. I would be regularly asking my support permission to do this. They would strictly monitor these ‘breaks’. Accompanying the powerful desire for sleep and rest is the cold. However I can confidently say that cold takes second place to rest. Once I believed I could lie down in a swollen stream for a few minutes. It looked flat and inviting! Is it any wonder that race organisers make it mandatory that slower, ‘out for 2 night’ runners such as myself must have a support runner. Someone who can inject sense and reason into a poor soul. 

After what feels like a long time the summit of the staircase is reached and a long, slow descent to sea level at Kinlochleven commences. This is the last official checkpoint and is inside a building. Somewhere to get warm. It is beguiling as the lights of the village are seen for many miles. It is like a mirage as it is ages before you feel closer. 

At last the longer for arrival at the village leisure centre. As anticipated it is warm and also busy. All the support crew are there. I tentatively now entertain the hope that I can actually make it to Fort William. I think we all think so. The checkpoint has the air of a field hospital with people lying on mats in the gym and the volunteer doctor and other medics busily attending to a variety of needs. Another weight check. Am still within limits and am on course to lose about 2.5kg over the course of the race. As I usually complain of hallucinations they also check my eyes. I try to down something hot. Due to nausea I have stopped eating solids for a long time. However I must take in liquids and something sugary to keep going. 

As I get ready for the last push this time both my support runners join me. They are also experiencing weariness now but three is certainly better than two. I have always been so grateful for this double help. We have about 24km and a lot of climbing to do yet. I need them. 

Off we set out into a dark and cold night. There is an imaginary spring in our step knowing that there is not much more of this left! My two companions start to chat to each other. I have no energy for conversation but am up for listening. Anything to keep me conscious. And I mean anything! Once it was the relative merits of various English literature classics. 

It is a sharp climb from the village. Near the top of our climb a ‘wilderness response team’ cheerfully greets us in the dark with juice. Their presence means more than the juice. It is strangely reassuring that they have a ‘man finding’ dog. Soon we are meandering along a long valley between imposing mountains. First light starts to appear in the sky. For most it will feel like the start of a new day. For me it is experienced as the beginning of the end. Lundavra is the midpoint between Kinlochleven and Fort W. Tradition means there is a bonfire. The heat is wonderfully welcome. I have maybe 6 or 7 layers on but still can easily shiver. It is disconcerting. There is only about 11km left yet I want to sleep. 

Moving on we are presented with a view of the UK’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis. Once, while still dark, it was amazing to see the Ben seemingly glistening with points of light descending the face of the mountain. I thought I was having a rerun of hallucinations and not mountain bikes racing down the mountainside. 

Following what has become a forest road we crest a hill and look north along Glen Nevis. The outskirts of Fort William can now be seen! This seemingly endless pushing will soon be over. As we descend the forestry road my support encourage me to up the pace. It seems I am expected to finish with a flourish! I gently try to increase speed and sometimes have even passed fellow ‘runners’ hobbling along. Most of us are in pain of some sort. If passing it is to encourage one another that there is only 1 or 2 km left. They will make it! Soon it will be over. There is joy and celebration. The pain long forgotten.

Some reading this may wonder what the point is of voluntarily experiencing pain and suffering. The truth is running and completing the WHW is not the be all and end all. At its heart it is only a race and a chance to play. Yet for me adventures such as these reflect aspects of a wider reality. Engaging in them has been life affirming. 

“Struggling and suffering are the essence of a life worth living. If you’re not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone, if you’re not demanding more from yourself – expanding and learning as you go – you’re choosing a numb existence. You’re denying yourself an extraordinary trip. It is easy to remain comfortable. Somewhere along the line we seem to have confused comfort with happiness”

Dean Karnazes, American ultra runner

Thank you to all those who have served me as support crew and especially my wife who has been there for every race. Also am deeply grateful to the army of selfless volunteers and organisers of this wonderful race. They enable runners to indulge in something very special – thanks again.

If interested in reading my detailed accounts of particular races these can be found at West Highland Way Race Reports

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