Pyllon Endeavour - One Year Later

17th November 2018. 121 miles. Standing at the bottom of the road to Glencoe Ski Centre, we all gazed at the sunrise; clear skies, and colours I can't describe without doing them an injustice. There was dense cloud circling the very top of the Buchaille, and the cold air caught on frosty breath as we surveyed the beauty around us. I can't really explain how stunning it all was, how privileged I was to see it, and how much it's stayed in my memory ever since. It was a peaceful, special momen-- "F*CK! Ah'm freezin' my considerably large baws aff, here!" shouts the next relay runner, waiting for his handover.

Today marks the one year anniversary of the 'Pyllon Endeavour' West Highland Way Challenge - an 8-man relay from Milngavie to Fort William and back (192 hilly miles) in just 24 hours, with their aim "to raise awareness of the benefits of running and community to mental health and well-being." I tagged along as a 'cheer and fairylights' support - they had their own fabulous support drivers and logistics sorted, so I was there unofficially at the sidelines, just to show up and support amazing people doing amazing things.

I tried to write my blog post shortly after the weekend, but somewhat ironically for a mental health fundraiser, personal events during and following took a turn and I struggled with the fallout. It felt wrong to write such a positive report when I was feeling hurt, isolated and confused by parallel events that really had nothing to do with the guys themselves. Since then, I've been able to walk away from what took place, but as someone who suffers with social anxieties the longer-lasting effects about how I see myself continue on. I have been able to separate all that from the weekend itself, so let's get back to the story...

Marco dealing with a wee hitch

Pyllon coaching, headed up by Paul Giblin, provides ultrarunning coaching and support, and includes a group of athletes who race at the top of their game. Last year, they created and took on this massive relay challenge in order to raise the impressive sum of £1,000 for the Scottish Association for Mental Health (SAMH). Aye, John, nice one with that lofty goal. (Spoiler alert: they raised £21,760.) More importantly, they aimed to get the conversations around mental health going. They chose their local playground, the beautiful West Highland Way - though despite knowing it well, the darkness, conditions underfoot and Forestry Commission works would make it a little tougher to navigate. All part of the fun, right?

I volunteer at races for my own mental health, and regular readers of the blog (back when I regularly posted....) will know a little of my personal challenges. So it seemed obvious I would be there to support the guys. I arrived in Milngavie just in time for the start, having picked up Patricia and got stuck in Edinburgh traffic - there was quite a crowd to see them off, and it all felt... optimistic? A year on, and with an old half-written draft blog post and bunch of poor photos to rely on, I'm not going to be giving a detailed blow-by-blow of the event, nor do I need to. But I have some memories, and some thoughts, to share - hopefully with the aim of kickstarting my blog again to become a record of where I am now, physically and mentally, and where I'm going.

Fairylit steps

For "reasons", I didn't get to spend much time with the support crew and runners during the event, or at the usual checkpoint handovers. I'd gone up there to be part of the support, but when things changed I had to get a little inventive. (I appreciate that sounds a bit vague, but believe me, the full version just sounds stupid. And I prefer vague to stupid, haha.) Patricia and I popped up along the route at different spots. Instead of Balmaha on the way up, I suggested we walk to the bit where the steps come off the road, and break out the fairylights. Incidentally, this is a meaningful point of the Way for me; it's pretty much where my love affair with ultravolunteering began. Likewise at Rowardennan, we left the carpark and walked back down the road to the Hotel, to wait at the point where the trail splits along to the carpark - throwing up fairylights, snapping glowsticks, and having a bit of a dance. Fun times! Balmaha steps, Rowardennan, Alltnafeadh, Glencoe, Lundavra... these places in the dark are very different when it's not a formal race day!

The runners and their crew had a pretty good logistics system going, to ensure runners got sleep between their relay legs. They were running at least 3 times each, and needing to average a pace of 7:30 per mile, or faster - so it was crucial when they finished they got whipped away into a van, or a bed and breakfast, for rest. For me, though, logistics would need me to take my passenger home afterwards, so I couldn't book a hotel and yet needed to find places I could get some rest so the driving would be safe! I looked at schedules and tried to figure out where I could sleep; but realistically I knew I would want to be at as many handovers as possible. An obvious answer was staying at Lundavra: the runner would leave that handover, with about 10k left to get to Fort William, then handover and the next runner would be back. That would give me 90 mins or so, a little after 3am, to get a brief sleep. Plan made.

I've crewed a few people on races on the West Highland Way, and I know checkpoint locations and so on - but I've never crewed anyone racing up the course at the pace these guys were setting! It was a very different beast: gone are the hours of spare time, to get food or sleep. It's turn up, hang around for 20-30 mins, see the runner through, move quickly on to the next point. In the end, there were 30 legs to run I think. The 8 runners were absolutely exceptional, and all have their own stories and memories of the challenge. For me, the honour of being there to support them throughout, and the memories made over the weekend, will last me a lifetime.

Lundavra, particularly, was special. It was freezing cold, and windy, and I couldn't really sleep due to the car shaking a bit, and the icy air. But outside the car, wrapped up in a warm jacket, I stared at the sky, and felt... tiny. I've seen night skies without light pollution before, but this was a perfectly clear winter sky, not a single light anywhere (we even turned our headtorches off) - the sheer number of stars visible above my head, it's impossible to really explain. Breathtaking.

A speedy handover, James to Chris

The event came down to the wire. Unfortunately they missed the 24 hour target by mere minutes - despite some absolutely incredible performances. I mean, breaking down the last sections into shorter runs to give themselves the best chance of putting the gas pedal down - pure daft things like 5km PBs in the last hours of the event, running on tired legs, exhausted brains, and sheer determination. Guys who thought they were done shouting 'f*ck it!' and lacing up their shoes again. Nerves, exhaustion, inspiration, support, and just throwing every last thing they had at a chance for success.

Teamwork.

It makes me well up again even now, thinking of those last 6 hours or so. Eight exceptional runners were not thinking of themselves. They were no longer Paul, John, James, Robert, Marco, Graham, Eoin, and Chris - they were Pyllon. At Milngavie, crowds nervously waited, and watched the clock tick past the hour. Minutes later, Paul flew up the high street and into the underpass, hit by emotions, and then hit by his team. They didn't quite achieve that 24 hour goal, but they achieved so much more.

Being able to start conversations on mental health, understanding who is there for you, and valuing the support of others to help reach goals - and more. The CEO of SAMH posted his thoughts after the event, which say it a LOT better than I could. But this is a year on, and looking back, I can't help but feel I missed the point myself.

During 2019, I handed my notice in at work and left Edinburgh - I moved for a new job in Yorkshire, moving to a city where I know nobody, for a fresh start; yep. I tried to deal with isolation and anxieties by moving somewhere I don’t know a soul. But I brought all my baggage with me, and 5 months on that fresh start hasn't materialised. It's not something that will "happen": I have to toe the line, make it happen, and - more importantly - find the self-compassion and support network to have those conversations the Pyllon guys were trying to start. I've watched life from the sidelines for so many years - cheering others, waving fairylights, and being concerned about everyone else before myself. I need to step up and crush my own metaphorical Endeavour.