Digging Deep (and coming last)
It would be fair to say that trail running is not my forte. Even after eight years of road running, I’m not sure I could say that’s my forte either. But in the hope of building some trail confidence, getting back into races after lockdown quietness and overall just having a good day out in a beautiful place, I entered the Dig Deep 12.12.
The race website suggested good knowledge of the area may be necessary in poor weather. This had filled me with a little bit of dread, given my ability to get lost less than a mile away from my house and non-existent map reading skills. So I was relieved to find on race day that the weather was looking fairly clear and dry.
Armed with a printed map of the route, the mandatory kit, an energy gel and a bucket of optimism, I got to race HQ and picked up my number and timing wristband. All easy so far. But as the race got going down a steep grassy hill and the majority of the runners started to disappear into the distance, I quickly realised that I was going to spend the majority of the race on my own and out of my comfort zone.
The route wasted no time in getting out into the heather and the top of the two mile incline did not disappoint. I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed with myself that I’d lived in Sheffield for nearly 3 years and not taken the time to properly explore here area before.
As I kept running, I was realising more with each mile just how much I had no idea where I was. My printed map didn’t have the detail I needed and my Google maps on my phone was pretty light on the detail too. I was so grateful to two runners half a mile ahead of me for leading the way with the route. But it was fairly typical for me to have very little idea where I was anyway, so I just kept on plodding.
At about the 5km mark I passed the speedy top three men coming back the other way as they headed into their final 5–6km of the race. As a slower runner, I always find myself in awe of people who can run fast, but people who can run that fast up trail and over rocks are a different kind of impressive.
The route took me over a couple of miles of fairly gentle incline towards Upper Burbage. As if the views weren’t enough to remind me this was not my usual running environment, I could really start to feel the effort build in my legs and was ridiculously grateful for a jelly baby supplied by a race marshal. It’d been four hours since I’d had a bowl of porridge for breakfast and my tummy had been rumbling for a while. The distance was taking me longer to cover than I’d anticipated — I’d hoped to have been two or three miles ahead of halfway by now and would have had my gel already. A learning experience.
After halfway, I headed up Higger Tor and started to lose sight of the two runners I had been following along the race route. I caught a glimpse of them in the distance for a rough idea of where to go as I started to descend down the other side the tor, but soon after I ended up surrounded by foliage as tall as me and my trainer stuck in a bog. I realised I was probably not on the race route any longer, and was getting myself a bit lost.
My energy gel came to the rescue for a bit of a boost and I think I vaguely corrected myself as I started to recognise the bit of the route that I’d come down earlier as the speedy men had come up. Unfortunately this recognition didn’t last long as I soon ended up heading off in entirely the wrong way for nearly a mile. Thankfully I bumped into another runner who had the gpx route on her watch (top tip!) and we managed to point ourselves in the right direction. By this time I think she’d had enough of the race and wasn’t feeling great, so she called it a day on the race. This meant that I was now the last runner.
Me from a year or two ago would have panicked about being lost or knowing I was last, but this race showed me that I’ve grown as a runner. I strangely felt pretty good and ran through Lady Canning’s car park whilst singing some ridiculous song I’d made up that involved the distance I had left to run (which I realised post-race had been massively inaccurate because I hadn’t accounted for the distance I’d covered whilst lost).
Thankfully the route from the car park to the finish was simple enough even for my tired mind to get right, and I had a bit of time to think as I was running the last few miles. So here are a few things I mulled over:
- Being out of your comfort zone is the best thing you can do to get better at anything
- It’s okay to not know where you’re going, things have a way of sorting themselves out one way or another in the end
- Sometimes you can’t change the things that happen to you (like getting lost), but you can change how you respond to those things (like keeping calm and carrying on).
And so, 13.5 miles later, I reached the finish line of the race to cheers from the race organisers and my lovely girlfriend. I came last but I felt great about it — I’d done what I set out to do and finished the race. Sure it didn’t go to plan, but what ever does, right?
