The Grizzly, 2019

There had been plenty of rain throughout the week, and the wind was blowing hard as we drove down to East Devon. This was my first Grizzly since 2016, and what's more, the lovely Mrs S was running the Cub.  It was bright and gusty as we arrived in Seaton, and did the traditional cafe rendezvous with friends.  All the shop windows were decked out in home-made Grizzly themed decor, which gave a lovely sense of local pride.

Arrival at race HQ

All the shops are like this

The pre-race gathering

We stripped down, warmed up the legs and trotted down to the beach, where the whole world seemed to be converging.  One of the features of the Grizzly is that you're directed to the start area from the front of the line and it's a narrow space bounded by walls, which meant that after I'd found a reasonable spot, the human river mixed up the order and I was way back from the line.  I should know better by now.

Just before approaching the madness of the start ine

The race director did his usual dry-humour briefing. The course was to be reduced by 1km to reduce the risk of getting blown off the cliff... but never mind as the bogs are really special this year.  Then the town crier came and did his bit with great gusto and panache, finishing by telling us that this was his last Grizzly, which is really is the end of an era.

And then we were off, first of all to a very shuffly trudge on the road, and then on to the shingle, where I moved past many of the slower late runners. There was a strong tailwind. Off the beach, through the marina and back on the road, and boof - right into the wind.

Out of Seaton, through Beer (loads of spectator noise) and up the hill heading west to Branscombe.  The wind was really blasting at the top of the hill. I felt a bit of a pussycat as I ran down the rocky path to Branscombe beach as quickly as I dared, while hard fell-running types breezed past. Then a tough little patch on the shingle into the wind, through the stream and past the drummers.

The middle half of the Grizzly feels quite different to the Branscombe-and-back Cub section, not least because it's different every year. I soon lost sight of the sea and became enveloped in the other-worldliness of the hills and tracks that surround Branscombe.  The constant ebb and flow of hills, the adjustment from roads to squelchy fields and forest tracks becomes a bit of a blur. The skies were clear and it was glorious to be back.

Into the second half, and I was catching a few runners. From the changing wind and light we were clearly starting to head back towards the coast, but not before the bogs.  This was where the real adventure began.

Heading downhill, past the familiar 'Follow me follow' sign, I passed an Axe Valley Runner and was then running up a stream.  Ahead of me was a horizontal log, about a foot above the water. I grabbed the branches growing on each side and hoisted myself up and over, but in doing so managed to bash the AVR guy behind me (Rob Collier, as it turned out) on the head with one of the branches. I was mortified. I staggered up the stream, stumbling inadvertently into deep pools and almost falling in completely.  From the water to the mud... the bog really was extra deep and gloopy this year, and much as I adore this section, I was feeling a bit frazzled as I emerged from it. The bump on the head seemed to have done Rob the power of good and he ploughed on ahead of me.

The hill after the bog was quite something; a sodden steep hill, complete with climbing rope.  I was heaving by this point. To add to the surreal scene, there was the Queen, perfectly dressed in a nice little blue number and a handbag, and a little further up the hill was Elizabeth I, declaiming something about our blessed isle. I took heart from the sovereigns and kept going, half of me wondering if I was in a dream and the other half thinking 'this is why I love the Grizzly'.

From here on I was feeling heavy and weary.  As ever, the gauntlet run through the throng at the Fountainhead was raucous and thrilling, and then it was the familiar run up on to the ridge looking down over Branscombe village, the mad run down the grassy hill and back on to the beach.

There was no sneaking on to foreshore sand today - the tide was too high, and it was a long slow trudge out to the undercliff.  A rel if to be off the shingle, but the undercliff is really technical, with rocks, steps, roots and overhanging branches everywhere.  Up the Stairway to Heaven, there were serious-looking folk in mountain climbing kit and hard hats ready to assist falling runners.

Looking back towards the undercliff

At the clifftop, there was a rapid stretch with the wind in pursuit before a heading back down into Beer and up the other side. I was ready for a really tough climb here and it really was. There was a final stinger of a climb through a wood just when you think it's all over, and then a cracking push into Seaton, through a park and downhill to the finish.

The inevitable awful finish expression

I was really done for at the finish and had to hang onto a table for a couple of minutes.  I finished in 2:39:57 (chip time) in 31st place - I'd said beforehand I was hoping for top 30 but I'll gladly take that, particularly on less long-run training than usual this year.  Here are my stats.  Mrs S had had a terrific Cub too. An exhilarating, wonderful day out.