Waiting to board the Ryanair flight from Dublin to Newquay, the sight of fellow passengers wearing running trainers and inspecting their phones with the LiveTrail running app, confirmed that I was among a pack travelling to participate in the UTMB Arc of Attrition race.
Before leaving the tiny airport at Newquay, I met fellow runner Gerard, who was concerned about how muddy the course would be after several days of heavy rain. I gave him a quick education about the benefits of Inov8’s Mudtalons, with their 8mm lugs. I’ll have to get by with the 6mm lugs of my Trailtalons. I wished Ger luck with his Hoka Speedgoats.
Over dinner at the bistro cafe at St Ives Bay Beach Resort, I met another runner, who was participating in the 50-mile race. He told me that his friend already pulled out of the 100-mile race, due to fracturing his ankle. I later learned that the attrition rate for that race was near 60%, with 370 DNFs.
The registration and finish area at the Eco Park in Porthtowan was a complete mud bath. I was thankful for the rental car upgrade, giving me more confidence in getting in and out.
Walking gingerly, even with wearing my Trailtalons, a staffer wearing Wellington boots squished right through some thick mud.
“You’re wearing the right shoes,” I said.
“We got the memo,” he replied.
In queue, one of the volunteers (“Arc Angels”) summoned four of us together. He proceeded to explain to us that if we verbally confirmed to him that we had the mandatory emergency kit with us, he would waive our kit bags being inspected. This was a surprise. I proceeded straight to the desk to collect my bib, after showing my photo ID.
I then went into the next section on the tent, which was UTMB and partner merchandise. Most of it was rather overpriced. I did purchase an Arc of Attrition race cotton t-shirt that listed every runner across the four events on the back. Sure enough, I found my name among the Arc 12 list. So, of course, I had to buy it.
The next section was for exhibitors. I had a lovely conversation with a staffer from Firebrand Brewing, who generously gave me a complimentary tin of their absolutely delicious non-alcoholic pale ale. I added this to the “Arc of Attrition” branded pale ale given to us as part of the registration.
Further on in the tent was an area with long tables and chair, with a buffet at the end. This is obviously meant for the finishers. There was a stage set up for the awards ceremonies tonight and tomorrow afternoon. I considered attending tonight’s ceremony for the 100- and 50-mile races. But with the parking pitches so dodgy, the last thing I needed was to get stuck in the dark the night before my race.
I got back to my accommodation before sunset. I tried on all of my kit, then ate and went to bed early.
Did my best to calm my nerves during the fitful night’s sleep. Woke up a few times. The phone alarm worked and I got out of bed at 4.00am. Glad I set everything out last night. Morning routine was clockwork.
Arriving at the race finish site, it was a near inauspicious start as my car tyres began spinning in the mud where I tried to park in the same spot as yesterday. I stayed calm and thankfully managed to reverse my car out.
I was over-prepared for the weather. The squall of rain during my morning drive was the last of the rain, after three days of it. Also, the transfer bus was warm and there was thankfully a large cafe at the start. I packed both my puff jacket and waterproof trousers into by running pack.
On the transfer bus, I chatted with a local runner, Gary, who I would see a couple of times during the course. He ended up finishing not much in front of me. He told me that he has only taken up trail racing recently, yet plans to run The Dragon’s Back Race (308K over six days) at the end of the year. Makes my plan to work up to an ultimate 100-miler in two or three years’ time look tepid, but I’m sticking to my plan.
Somehow, I had it in my head that the Arc 12 was a 12-miler or 20K, which is what my race wristband displayed. My running plan was to keep an even pace for the first 10K, which was relatively flat. Then take out my poles just after the midway aid station for the series of climbs in the second 10K.
My first 10K were comfortable enough. The terrain varied between hard earth, stoney ground, and trails of mud and puddles. But all with paths and no scrambling. I noticed my heart rate was relatively high, so I eased up on the flatter sections.
My 10K split was very good. Didn’t stop at the aid station in Portreath. Took my poles out for the first big climb right after the station. The poles helped me, particularly on the steep climbs. They were like instant handrails for the steps.
I started to get excited at about mile 12, just after tackling what I thought was the last or penultimate climb. I asked a marshal, “How much further?”
“About three miles,” was the reply.
By now, my legs were started to get fatigued. It was getting more difficult to lift my feet up and down. I nearly stumbled a few times. I even muttered to myself out loud, “Pick up your feet.”
There were two more big climbs, and my pace was really slowing. But I had a peek at my watch and for a moment considered going for a sub 3:00 finish.
I saw an older runner (not much older than me), who had stopped and was slightly hunched over. I asked him if he was alright, and he replied, “Bad hip.” My hip was sore, too, as well as my left calf and right knee, and upon seeing how steep the final descent and ascent was, I thought to myself, “Don’t risk your hip or your neck for it.”
The last mile was a stiff 100-metre climb. I made way for some quicker runners on the very narrow path, but managed to stay ahead of a few. I just kept at it, one foot in front of the other. At least at the top I had enough energy to make a sprint for the finish. Final time: 3:03:39 for 24K with 980 metres of elevation gain.
After crossing the finish line, an emcee had a quick conversation with me, which was broadcast on the loudspeaker system.
Seeing my bib with the Ireland flag (every runner’s national flag was printed on the bib), he asked, “Allan, are you part of the Irish contingent?”
“Yes I am.”
“How did you find the course?”
“About three miles longer than expected.”
“Ah, because it says ‘Arc 12’…”
“Yes, I nailed my 12-mile pace perfectly,” I completed, with a smile and laugh.
I asked one of the Arc Angels at the finish to take my photo. I opened up my jacket to reveal my BARF top. I posted that photo to the BARF WhatsApp group, “Flying the flag for BARF at the Arc of Attrition. That last mile climb was brutal. Total mud bath here.”
I went inside the tent for some hot soup and refreshments. Posted my activity on Strava and took some time to cool down. I felt myself getting too cool and unpacked my puff jacket; glad I had that with me for this moment. But I was still cooling down. So, I went to my car and put on another coat, scarf, and hat. That was better.
The thought of a hot shower and dry clothes compelled me to leave. I had planned to return for the awards ceremony in the afternoon, but honestly because of the horrible, muddy state of the whole park — it was impossible to get into the tent without destroying your shoes in the mud — I changed my mind.
After my shower and change, I drove back to Portreath, where now the 50K runners were making their way through the town (us 25K runners having been here a few hours earlier). I sat in a cafe where I could watch the runners go by. After a pleasant walk on the beach (very busy with visitors), I returned home and took a deserved nap.
I laid out my damp clothes on the beds of the extra room and toothbrush scrubbed cleaned my shoes caked in mud.
My Arc of Attrition journey was coming to an end. What a memorable day.
At Newquay airport, I began processing my photographs of the weekend. Ger tapped my shoulder to say hello. That began a fast and busy conversation, comparing our experiences of the day.
I told him about my fourth then demoted to fifth place in my age category, 55-59M.
“Were there time waves at the start?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That means someone who started in the wave behind you finished with a faster time then you.”
“Ah, that explains that. Good thing I got a screenshot of my higher placing, which I shared with my friends, ha.”
Discussing my age, I told Ger that I was 58. “So am I,” he replied. I said that it was a pleasure to talk running with someone my age. But Ger is rather quicker than I am on the trails, and has gone longer. Still, I enjoyed the relative similar perspective.
When we said goodbye at Dublin Airport, we agreed to follow each other on Strava and looked forward to bumping into each other in the future. Ger finished by telling me, “It’s great to meet someone else my age who is aiming for more.”
As ever, in the pursuit of adventure, it’s the people that you meet that form the enduring memories.