Hill training

On the northern tip of the Chilterns are the Dunstable Downs. There is a particularly steep hill called the Pillow Mound. It has a 25% incline - and while it only climbs up about 35 metres, it's pretty ferocious by Southern English standards. The ground is uneven grass and stony chalk.

I went there recently to do some hill reps to improve leg strength. I decided to start my session by hitting the downhill hard. "Have no fear," I willed myself. I started descending slowly enough, placing each foot carefully on the little foot holes that had formed. This method quickly gave way to a less careful approach, as my legs started to turn over faster. "Let gravity do the work," I thought. Gravity started to do its work. At 25%, gravity works very well.

A photo of the hill. It's scarier in real life.

In no time at all, I found myself approaching terminal velocity. I was moving so fast down the hill that I knew there was no way I could slow down. I was sprinting just to stay upright. An awful feeling of doom whooshed over me as I instantly realised I had gotten myself in a dangerous situation. I had visions of myself in hospital with both legs and my head in a cast - with bramble stuck in my hair.

I was so scared of the speed with which I was descending the hill that I even forgot to breathe. I looked up my heart rate afterwards on Strava, and my heart rate shot up to 212 beats per minute - a good 30 beats faster than any I had ever recorded before.

I realised that I couldn't hold out sprinting until the bottom of the hill - there was just too much downhill left. I couldn't stop running, but if I didn't stop, I'd fall over on my face and break my head. So I had just one option - fall over intentionally and try for a semi-controlled stoppage. I spotted a tough looking patch of grass ten yards ahead of me to my left. It was a softer landing strip than the chalky stone that I was on. I aimed for the grass, feeling like a rudderless dingy approaching a waterfall.

I reached the grass, fell backwards, and tried to land on my bum in a bid to slow my movement down the hill. My landing wasn't perfect, and I rotated around so that I was sliding down the hill backwards on my knees. Thankfully the friction of my legs on the ground was enough to slow me down.

I slowed down enough to regain control of my movement, but not enough to stop completely. My foot hit a divot in the grass, which, combined with my momentum, flipped me back onto my feet. I turned round and tried to carry on running down the remaining 10 metres of descent without falling over or gathering too much momentum again.

I managed the final part of the descent, and thanked my luck that I was still running - and that I hadn't at least sprained an ankle, let alone need an air lift to the face hospital.

When I stopped to reflect, I realised that the entire descent had been observed by two chaps at the bottom of the hill who were snacking on tea and sandwiches. They just watched me as I jogged slowly past them. I tried to give off the aura of a seasoned fellrunner, but I don't think they were convinced. It could have been the fact that I looked like I'd just had an encounter with the grim reaper - or maybe it was the cheese grater effect that was present on my legs:

I finished off the run with the flattest way I could find to get back to my car.