LAMM
LAMM
Mark Alexander / 25.06.2010
Mark
Despite being ¾ stone heavier than the last time I competed in a Mountain Marathon I find myself standing in my garage attempting to determine whether the ‘M&S’ plastic spoon is lighter than the ‘Spud u Like’ one!
I’m quite proud of my plastic spoon collection but I’m some time disappointed with the build quality. I make a mental note to write to Stuart Rose to inform him that M&S plastic cutlery is not the same standard as it was a few years ago and have taken my thieving to other stores.
I continue through my ‘Checklist’ that I’ve developed with my MM Partner over the years and carefully pack everything from midge spray to my balloon bed in preparation for my third LAMM. One thing still troubles me though… what surprise will I pack this year?
Jim
In order for any mountain marathon partnership to work there are a few fundamentals that both parties normally agree to, a sort of division of labour – for example taking ownership for logistics, the kit list, the training plans, on the move food etc – these I normally allocate to Mark – he, in turn, allocates me the heavier rucksack - a brains V brawn relationship.
To my horror, this year I find myself checking my kit list with my 8 year old daughter, recruiting my 4 year old son to mix my porridge/powdered milk and asking my wife to treble check the ferry timetable. If anything goes wrong apportioning blame to this group could be somewhat difficult.
Getting There
Mark
Having set my alarm for 5 am I wake at 6 am – feck! I phone Jim “I’ve slept in; we will have to get the later Ferry�. He wasn’t convinced and talked me into to driving like Steve McQueen in a bid to make our original booking. We made it – just! I’m now unsettled – is this a sign of things to come?
The ferry journey passes without incident although Jim starts his ‘once a year’ junk food fest – I field questions on “what’s a fryâ€?, “do you get chips with a McDonald’s Meal Dealâ€? and so on… it continues in Glasgow “I’ve never been in Starbucksâ€? – I treat him. He sits like Forest Gump and stares in amazement at his skinny latte. As Jim’s digestive system for 51 ½ weeks of the year is only used to broccoli purees his arse reacts violently to junk food – the result – bloke in flip flops and a 1992 running t shirt trawling fumes in and out of Glasgow’s finest boutiques – well, that is if you can call Tiso and Anne Summers boutiques.
I make a mental note that before I leave Glasgow I must buy the surprise!
On leaving the city centre we call at LOMO watersports in Glasgow – a fine shop. As usual we buy ‘things we don’t need’ for our other sport of sea kayaking and discuss tactics for sneaking the kit into the house. On leaving the shop we decide whilst the weather is kind to do our final kit check whilst near civilisation.
I’m a fastidious sort of a chap and like things done proper! McCormick on the other hand is a bit more ‘fly by night’ – so the check goes something like this – Jim reads out the list and I do a visual on both sets of kit. “Did you cover everything on the list Jim� – “Yip� says he – “Give me the list� says I – I read the list and find a number of items that he decided not to read out – I swear – he ignores – works well this partnership. I continue to mutter under my breadth when for a few seconds I think I’ve forgotten the base camp tent. Thankfully I find it in the car - the thought of spooning smelly arse in the Terra Nova for two nights was unbearable.
Jim
“One up all up� is my theory – I charge round the house at 5am asking my kids did they see my compass, my socks, my balloon bed. The phone then goes, and Mark, sounding like a distraught Homer Simpson, informs me he has slept in. Even my 2 year old, who is currently munching her way through a bowl of Cheerio’s – wearing my head torch, shakes her head with disgust. This does not bode well; the logistics expert of the team has lost it!! After some strong language and a white knuckle taxi ride - we make the ferry – just!
Friday Night Camp
Mark
Nirvana – Friday night camp is my Woodstock! I pace around like a kid in a toy shop trying to disguise that ‘extra tent pole’. Jim fails to resist the lure of the stalls and ends up leaving the tent like a winner from Cracker Jack. Tradition dictates that we avoid the LAMM t-shirt stall and refuse car stickers until the event is complete – no bad karma for us.
When Jim was not looking I purchased the surprise - once again I go beyond the call.
Jim
If I was to pen “The Bluffers Guide to Mountain Marathons� I would have to allocate a chapter to the Friday night camp. This is a place where you can kick back and watch real mountain runners in action. Everyone is packing and unpacking their race kit for Saturday. Unlike other events, where rucksacks size can vary from minute to obese, everyone here seems has adopted a strict minimalist, super model, approach. There are no fun runners at the LAMM.
Then there is the registration tent - come canteen, come sports shop, come bar. Before you enter this tent, make sure you leave your wallet, or anything that is tradable, safely locked in you car!
Personally I was disgusted with myself - 5 minutes after entering the tent I find myself with a new running top, shorts, sun glass holders, socks, mug of coffee and a slab of ginger cake – Mark has also been caught – his purchases include a miniature kite (furry dice for mountain runners) , tub of Vaseline, batteries, toffee cake, shortbread and tea.
We then get our start time, 7am – after some pleading that we’re Irish and that we’ve been travelling on all day to get here - we get this moved to 7.40
SleepMonsters
