Rat Race: Scotland Coast to Coast

Kerry's MEGA challenge

From the girl who hated PE and would get a stitch running to the end of the road, to someone who’s now attempting to run, cycle and kayak 105 miles across Scotland this September! Those of you who know me, will know that I enjoy a challenge. I love to push my body to see how far I can go, I love the journey, constantly trying to see what is around the next corner. But I am certainly no elite athlete and the thought of taking part in RatRace’s Scotland Coast to Coast event, though excites me… Also terrifies me!

I normally cycle a lot back and forth from the co-op, to the pub and a few jolly’s around the island. I run when I can (be bothered) and hope that my mediocre exercising keeps me fit enough to enter the occasional 10k or at a push, half marathon. But this event is a whole new kettle of fish and I am actually going to have to properly pull my finger out and do some MEGA training!

So I have accepted the challenge and on September 9^th I will be at the start line in Nairn, on the East coast of Scotland, waiting to begin the journey. When the horn sounds, I will run 7 miles before hopping on my bike to cover 48 miles of roads by Loch Ness. The day ends with a 1 mile kayak/run where I can then pitch my tent at Fort Augustus and collapse in a heap! But it is not over yet… The following day I will pull my aching muscles out of bed to cycle 21 miles off road and 13.5 miles on the road through the Great Glen. Just when saddle sore begins to rear its ugly head, I will arrive at Fort William where I’ll then run/trek for 14 miles. It all ends with one final 1 mile kayak, reaching the finish line at Loch Leven. (I hope it will all be over then, but I may still be faced with the cycle ride all the way back to Mull!)

To keep me motivated to train hard and finish the race, I have decided to raise money for the fantastic charity ‘Children with Cancer.’ Every week in the UK, more than 70 children and young people are diagnosed with cancer, including my wonderful cousin Sarah who sadly didn’t survive her battle with cancer at the age of just 21. Every year ‘Children with Cancer’ invest more than £4 million in new research across the full range of childhood cancers which includes research that aims to drive up survival rates in even the hardest-to-treat cancers and to reduce the burden of toxicity for young cancer patients.

This is hands-down, the most challenging physical test I will have ever attempted. 

I would love it if you could help me to support the work of ‘Children with Cancer’ by donating in any way you can.

Over the next few months I hope to keep you updated with my training and of course let you know how the event itself goes!

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=KerryFroud

Training run

Friday 6th September. The night the sky caught fire.

It had been a beautiful sunny day in Tobermory. The kind of day that summers are made of, with a piercingly brilliant-blue sky.

I savoured a lunch time coffee at the pier cafe with my arms bare, revealed before the sun. Sunglasses donned and book poised, I could actually feel the heat coursing through my skin. What a wonderful feeling after a week of rain and imminent winter!

As I shut up shop at five in the afternoon, the clouds began to roll in, sucking away all traces of warmth and with it any notion that it might still be summer.

8pm and resigned to the fact that the weather was not to last, I looked out of my bedroom window to see that the sky had caught fire!

The most incredible shades of orange and yellow melted into a heavy storm cloud as the sun began her journey westwards. As the minutes passed, the colour intensified, bringing spectators to their balconies to watch nature's display.

Wind carried the dancing light rapidly across the sky and all to soon the sky returned to a dull and somber monotone hue.

The night the sky caught fire.

Noise! Traffic! Rain! But a great cup of tea. Ellesmere to Chester. Day 7

Just a wee 33 miler today. Had the energy to keep going, but I was faced with a navigational minefield. Throngs of A roads, dual carriage ways and motorways were surrounding me. I needed  time to plot my route for the next day where I would be Liverpool bound, the part of the journey I was absolutely dreading.

Rainy, feeling sorry for myself and oddly panicky in Chester, I sat in a christian cafe and nursed a steaming sugary cup of tea and gobbled an egg sandwich. Pondered over my maps but could make neither head nor tail of it all. It seemed that it was going to be impossible to find a scenic way to bypass the traffic. But then... As though sent from the holy man himself... I saw a tourist brochure for the Wirral Pensinsula. I'd never even heard of this area before, but if I followed  the Wirral Way (despite the fact that I'd  be adding about 20 miles more to my journey) I would bypass the majority of ugliness en route to Birkenhead!

With a hop skip and a jump I headed back into the rain to find a campsite near Chester. Hot and flustered again and having a mini meltdown as traffic roared past me, I desperately tried to find myself  a nice-ish campsite. An elderly chap noticing that I'd been stood in the rain looking at my map for about 10 minutes kindly offered me a cuppa that in my stressed state I turned down. Perhaps I should have had that tea.

Laundry day... Once I finally found a campsite!

Thought I'd be indulgent and treat myself

Making friends wherever I go

The Loooooooong Mynd to Ellesmere. Day 6.

The headwind was back and blowing stronger than ever, but it couldn't detract from the surrounding beauty. Today took me out of the small rolling hills of Shropshire up the long Mynd.... Which was as the name suggests...Long.

The previous night after salvaging my pasta and oats I was too exhausted to bother cooking and stupidly just had a peanut butter sarnie for dinner. Heading up the never ending incline of the long mynd I noticed how lacking in energy I was and swore to never skip my carb loading ever again!

Stopped off in Shrewsbury briefly and admired the grand old buildings, but quickly found the noise of the city overwhelming, so shot off sharpish into the rain towards Ellesmere.

Campsite lady gave me fresh towels and shower gel. One very happy Kerry.

Daily total: 59.4 miles

Tackling mountains and pesky dogs. Llanthony to Bucknell. Day 5

"Pitter patter" went the raindrops. "Pitter-patter pitter-patter."

 “Oh no” said Kerry Froud, “ I can’t stand this” but she got up and packed up anyway.

The weather was frightful. True mountain drizzly miserable weather. Time to dig out my serious cycle leggings. Think 70’s purple spandex. Unfortunately I never got to get a photo of these beauties before they found themselves in the Oxfam charity bin. To top of the look I wore Tesco’s medium size ziplock bags inside my shoes. No gear, all the idea.

As I drew ever closer to the challenging mountain-ness of the mountain pass, a Welsh white van man grabbed my attention.

 “you been yer before?” he questioned

“nope, first time”

“ you know it goes up like this?” gestures with his hands, indicating a very very very steep hill. Maybe slightly exaggerated. 

“I can see from my map, but it’s ok…It’s downhill all the way after that!” 

They look at me like I've lost the plot (But then a 26 year old wearing purple spandex and plastic bag footwear in 2013 is hardly sane). I jest, but inside quiver with dread. I’m about to cycle up a mountain pass with what feels like a small herd of elephants on my pannier rack.

As I began the descent I realised that I must have made it past Gospel Pass. With all the rain and mist I didn't have the opportunity to appreciate it in all its glory. Despite the weather I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and was elated at the fact that I had managed to cycle up a mountain pass!

Descending into Hay on Wye (second-hand book shop capital of the world) the skies brightened and I began to get a little warm in my purple leggings and fluorescent yellow jersey.

Here I met Andrew, a keen biker who was hoping to someday carry out his own long distance  bike adventure. He stopped me to pick at my brains as I was obviously now and expert in the art of cycle touring. I offered my expertise and to give him an idea of how much weight I was carrying with me, I suggested he lift the rear of my bike. He tried, then exclaimed “I had my arm in the wrong gear...Let me try again…My God that’s heavy!” or something along those lines. Of course if I really was an expert  in cycle touring, I probably wouldn't be carrying quite so much crap. He later found my justgiving website and kindly left a donation. What a lovely chap.

‘Food for free’, a mini copy of H.G Wells ‘The time machine,' yoghurt coated raisins (my new addiction) nuts, oats, chocolate, peanut butter and bread purchased, and it was time for me and  my spandex to bust a groove.

I had a lovely ‘antique’ map for the next stage of the journey. It was a bit of a risk taking such and outdated map with me, but at just  99p  from Oxfam, I was willing to take the risk. Perplexed expressions greeted me whenever I asked folk to clarify directions for me. Looking at the map they must have wondered how I ever got as far as Wales.

Showery weather provided some dramatic skies looming over golden fields and quaint black and white cottages. 

Hopped into a bush to change cycle shorts. Saddle sore inducing purple leggings have no place in my life. Good riddance to bad spandex. 

Utterly exhausted from the unrelenting undulating terrain of Shropshire, I reached my campsite in Bucknell where I had barely dumped my gear before heading sharpish to the shower. Re-emerging from the dripping excuse for a shower, transformed into a clean and squeaky muscular goddess…Ahem… I was presented with a scene of utter carnage next to my panniers. A pile of pasta and a scattering of oats trailing away towards a scarpering dog with it’s owner in hot pursuit exclaiming “bad boy! Bad boy!”

But who could be mad at lovely Welsh Roy from Shrewsbury and his wee dog? Not me. Roy has been visiting this campsite for years. He used to holiday here with his wife and had such happy memories. But sadly she lost the battle to cancer two years previously. He still visits the place to come to her grave and to remember happy times. A wonderful man to chat to, and as we said our goodbyes he placed £3 in my hand to go towards my sponsorship. 

Daily total: 45 miles

Bristol to Llanthony... Wales! Day 4

Just a wee jaunt until I reach the Severn bridge I thought. Hmm. No matter how many miles I covered, through dusty, polluted  industrial parks and makeshift nature reserves dotted between the man made ugliness, the Severn bridge seemed to get further and further from me.

At 10 am it was time for my second breakfast and so I stopped off at a truckers cafe. Met the loveliest woman who was so keen to hear about my adventures. She seemed even more excited than me! She told me of a hiker who had passed by the café a couple of weeks previously, hiking to John O groats. Biking is tough enough, I can’t even contemplate how hard hiking that distance would be! Demolished my sarnie and hopped back on old study to catch up with the Severn bridge before it decided to move away from me again.

With motorways and busy A roads apparently surrounding me, I managed to weave my way through small lanes and finally reached the Severn bridge. Bit ugly really isn’t it? Left behind the blue sunny skies of England and entered an overcast Wales.

In a Chepstow park  I re-oiled my bike (thinking I was  being a dab hand at bike maintenance) and got chatting to Mr ‘I can’t walk too far as I’ve just had heart surgery’. Leaving Chepstow I found myself having to peddle downhill…Yes you read that right. Peddle DOWNhill. It seems I should have cleaned my bike before  oiling. Dirt and grease combined in the chain to not make for easy cycling.

Approaching the mountains and getting strangely anxious AND excited

My love for SUSTRANS began on this day. National cycle network route number 42 became a firm friend of mine up to Abergavenny. Back home in New Milton, I had dissected maps and tried to plan which route I wanted to take to Hay on Wye. It was a case of either taking the easier ride by the Wye valley, with some larger roads, or heading on the cycle route through the Black mountains... the wrong way. Meaning many miles of uphill. I opted for the strenuous up hill  route as I am completely bonkers. 

A second wind in Abergavenny propelled me upwards to Llanthony past grassy mountain sides, rugged peaks and meandering rivers where I then spent the night in a basic campsite, watching the sun set set against the ruins of an old priory. 

Heading into mountain country

Campsite for the night

Daily total: 67.19miles

Wrinkly cyclists and threadbare shorts. Frome to Bristol. Day 3

Hazily awoke to another sunny day. Distinct lack of sleep due to chatty, nocturnal teenage DOE girls camping nearby, but by 8am with a belly full of porridge, I was back on old sturdy peddling furiously to conquer the first hill. 

I spent the first part of the morning undertaking some sort of unspoken race with a jogger. He managed to reach the top of the hill ahead of me however, once I summited,  quick as a flash I steamed past him on the descent. Thinking I had thoroughly left him in my wake, I sluggishly rolled up the next hill only to feel the rush of air beside me as he flew past again! 

Overtaken by a runner! Oh the shame of it all.

After a few more episodes of this I finally put some distance between us and took a break to refuel at the top of yet another hill. As I munched on the                                                                                                 cereal bar given to me by Aunty Cathy, whom                                                                                               should I spot bounding towards me?

                                                                                         The bugger overtook me AGAIN!

Rolling fields, burnt orange Somerset soil, scorching sun, and curious cows.

So far on the journey, myself and old sturdy had conquered every hill. No matter how slowly we crawled I was determined not to put my feet down  and walk.

On the approach to Bath after posing by a  'Cotswolds’ sign (I’m pretty sure I was nowhere near the Cotswolds and it was a sign-maker's idea of a joke?), the steepest hill you ever did see loomed ahead of me.  Four turns of the pedals was enough for me to realise that there was no way I was going to bike up that beast.

 Bath to Bristol canal path provided me with some relief from the somerset hills. 

The canal path was heaving with throngs of fellow cyclists, though none with quite as much baggage as I had. I attracted rather a lot of attention and one curious ageing cyclist came alongside (and unfortunately slightly ahead of) me. 

He asked me where I was headed and the all the other sorts of questions I would soon get used to being asked. It would have been most pleasurable chatting to him had it not been for the fact that he'd obviously owned his lycra cycling shorts for the majority of his very long biking life. As a result, the seat of his shorts were more than a little threadbare. It was hard to answer his firing questions with his revealed wrinkly crevasse in my field of view.

Reaching Bristol in a sweaty sticky mess all I needed now was to locate Sam and Steve's house in Clifton. How hard could it be?  Very.

I've come to realise that I can make my way across a whole county, but faced with a city I lose all sense of direction,  Panic and get lost. When I finally reached a clean and gleaming Sam and Steve they asked

 “Which way did you come through Bristol?”

“Erm… I’m not sure…but I went up constitution hill”

“Constitution hill?” they replied dumbstruck, “that’s probably the steepest hill in Bristol!”

Note to self: Work on city navigation skills.

Cider and sun on the Clifton downs, hearty food and wonderful company.

Daily total: 37.5 miles