Completing the Kielder Marathon without taking the bus

On Sunday 9th October, I lined up with two friends and another 1,200 or so people for the second running of the Kielder Marathon, billed as Britain's most beautiful marathon. I'm not convinced that beauty is an appropriate characteristic to focus on when describing such an event, certainly it wasn't top of my list during the last 8 miles, which were gruelling, seriously painful, pretty lonely and seemingly unending. Undoubtably, the trail's quality and setting is pretty spectacular and, despite its arduous nature, neither I, nor my friends, gave up and caught the bus, unlike the chap who came in third, only to be found out and then have his story plastered over the national news.

Kielder and specifically Kielder Water, around which we ran, is in Northumberland, a few miles from the Scottish border and miles from anywhere. The area is so remote, it boasts absolutely no mobile reception and some of the darkest skies in the country with even a possibility of catching the Northern Lights, so long as the conditions are right. There was certainly no chance of any Northern Lights action on marathon day, as we lined up in a penguin-like huddle, shielding one another from the ripping wind and constant drizzle.

The photos within the review of a previous edition of Runners World, showed no sign of rain, having enjoyed autumnal sunshine throughout, neither did they give much away about the sort of terrain that required "steep incline" signposts dotted along at000 all too regular intervals. It's fair to say that the three of us hadn't really done our research and had seen the pictures, read that it was around a lake and come to the conclusion that it would be flat and relaxing, in an amazing setting. Oh how wrong we were, about the first two bits at least.

I picked a position a hundred or so yards from the start, having decided my initial target time, of as close to 3:30 as possible, might have been a little ambitious after hearing that the 2010's women's event was won in just under 3 hours by Lizzy Hawker, the recently crowned ultra running world champion having outperformed all men and women in a 24 hour endurance event.

Despite my newly tempered target time, of anything under 3:40, and the immediate 200+ metre climb out from the start, I went off with a spring in my step and completed the first mile in a little over 8 minutes. The next couple of miles were a little quicker still, due to being largely downhill. By mile 3, the field had spread out and we were off the roads and onto the trail.

Coming round about mile 4 or 5, the route ahead was being traced out by a string of quicker runners snaking their way round an inlet, across a bridge, before winding up into the forest ahead. This happened to be a relatively small inlet, unlike some further round the course which could place you tantalisingly close to a point 3 miles, or so, further round, before doubling you back on a long trawl inland. It's fair to say that the trail is seldom flat or uninteresting.

The miles ticked by and the mood was buoyant. I found my pace within the field although discovered the tactics of those around me weren't all like mine. I'd decided to walk the steeper of the inclines and make up time by letting my legs cartwheel down the other side. The tactic seemed to be working. I'd keep sight of runners (well, joggers at this point) making their way up the hill ahead of me and then thunder past them on the downhills and try to keep the momentum going on the flats. I was using gravity and not fighting it, but I could tell the thighs were beginning to suffer as a result.

Around mile 12, just before half way, my legs felt about as punished as they tend to around 17/18 miles on a training run. This did not bode well for the last 7 or 8 miles of the race but there was no point worrying about it, I'd made my bed and there was no way I was going to pull up now.

Crossing the half way point gave the whole pack a bit of a lift and, consequently, the general pace notched up a little. I also realised we'd maintained the spritely start pace and were actually on target for a sub-3:30 finish, but with 13 miles to go, it wasn't time to start counting chickens. Soon after half way, we could see the dam at the end of the reservoir agonisingly close but for a huge inlet ahead of us. Nothing to do but to get your head down and get on with it.

Rounding the inlet and undulating through the forest for a while further, we came thundering down a hill towards a road and could see the dam ahead of us. There was a decent crowd of spectators at this point and a chap on a megaphone reading out some of the runner's names as they came past. My name was read out and this, the crowd, the aforementioned stretch of downhill and the prospect of a long flat stretch of road ahead, the only flat stretch on the course, all led to my pace being ratcheted up yet further. In fact, as I hit the dam and glanced at my watch I was clocking not much above 7 minute miles.

I ran close to the dam wall to shelter from the cross wind and kept my head down, determined to maintain the pace. I reached the other end of the dam having clocked what would be my fastest mile of the race, overtaking a number of people along the way. Another crowd was waiting for us at the other side of the dam and that helped me maintain the momentum to take me into the final 5 or so miles.

A half mile further, the crowd was out of sight, my legs were pounding and my energy levels slumped. I felt as if I'd used all my reserves to speed through the last couple of miles, when I'd felt the finish was within touching distance. 5 miles is still a long way and with what feels like no energy, it can seem like an eternity.

I'm loathe to write much about the last 4 or so miles, for fear of digging up terrible memories and making me never want to run one of these things ever again. To pass time, I started to count my steps, 1, 2, 3, 4...300, quarter mile marker passed. Ok, I was running about 1200 paces to a mile, that's a lot of counting, but it did keep my mind off of the pain, sort of.

3:30 was still in sight, but it would take some doing. I managed, somehow, to ignore the pain of my now leaden quads but was starting to be overtaken by one or two folk, who'd clearly judged their race a little better. About a mile out, I knew I had to put in a sub-8 mile to get in in under 3:30. The past few miles had been nearer 8:15, so this was still touch and go.

I raised the tempo and then decided to try one of my flat out finishes from around the 300 metre mark, it seemed to take forever, then I emerged from the forest and could see the finish gantry...up a hill. Thanks race organisers, just what we needed for the final 50 metre push.

I finished the race in 3:29:34, after pulling a 7:30 minute last mile. I was over the moon with that result. Not sure whether I'll be back next year, it took several days before I was able to walk properly again, my legs had taken such a pounding. I'm very happy to have taken part in such a great event around such a unique course and let's just leave it at that!

Course as mapped by my Garmin 310XT