The Trog has a reputation to be one of the hardest and most gruelling races in the fellrunning calendar and I'm glad to say that it didn't disappoint!
Due to ice on the roads, the start route was changed and runners went up onto the moors via a narrow track with a few styles. This slowed everyone down and it was a nice social start to the day for those of us aiming to just get round in one piece although I'm sure it was frustrating for those chasing a competitor and seeing them run off into the distance whilst you're in a queue!
Once on the moors the race took off and I relaxed into a comfortable rhythm, down to checkpoint 2 in the reservoir and up the huge steep ascent back onto the moor certainly took it out of me, killed my calves, but I, as everyone else, soldiered on.
Everything was very well marked and I had little trouble finding my way round. All was going well until about mile 13, where something just did not agree with my stomach. I proceeded to spew my guts up on the road between the waterfall and cock hill several times, leaving me feeling drained and down to a stumble.
The moorland from cock hill was horrible, every bouncing step over the tussocks made me gip some more. In my delirium, I lost the path and stumbled my way in the general direction of high brown knoll in open moorland. Luckily, some people arrived at the knoll at the same time as me. My navigation skills has gone out the window by then. I was on autopilot just focussing on putting one leg in front of the other.
The pace in this group was slightly too high for me in my state, but I knew I had to keep with them, or else I'd be lost, and out for more hours.
The last 3 miles, I admit, were agony. The sickness had passed, but left me feeling weak. I would even say bonked. But I stumbled my way up the final hill and came in at 4:47. I would have liked closer to 4:30, but there is always next year.
After stumbling to the cake and tea inside the crickey club, grabbing randomly and stumbling back to my car, it concerned me that at least 5 people asked me if I was okay... I must have looked like shit!
I made it home anyway, collapsed on the sofa and it was a good 4-5 hours until I could eat again, after throwing up £1.50s worth of Rego. Gutted!
I had a big greasy curry. Best thing ever.
Today is Monday, and I went for a steady 3 miler, felt reasonably good.
Calves are sore, but everything else is okay.
Just signed up for a 33 mile recce of the Haworth Hobble on friday. I'm not doing the actual race, but I want to get in some big milage!
Ultras are my calling!
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