This year, my time at the White Rose ultra was spent driving between checkpoints, sitting in the dark waiting for runners and helping anyone who needed it.
The White Rose 100 mile ultra last year was one of my favourite running experiences – my first (and only 100 miler) and a race local to me so having done the 30 mile race twice and the 100 it was time to give back and be part of the marshal team so this is a race report from the other side of the checkpoint snack table!
My wife Ally was in charge of organising what was ultimately a fairly small team of marshals – turns out not everybody wants to sit outside in the middle of the night in November – but luckily with of the 3 races (the course is a 30 mile loop so there’s a 30, 60 and 100 miler which has an extra 10 at the end) the 60 and 100 milers had trackers fitted as part of their mandatory kit so it was a little easier to manage who would go where on the course and when.
The start of a long weekend
The 100 mile race set off at 12:00 noon on Saturday with the 60 and 30 mile races not due to start until 08:00 on the Sunday it was going to be a long shift which Ally and I planned on splitting between us.
Reporting to race HQ at about 11:00 we wanted to see off the 100 milers and it was a reasonably slow start in terms of support, with 3 manned CP’s on the 30 mile lap (5, 15 & 25 miles) we could track the runners before heading out onto the course to see the marshals in place.
Our first stop was to see the runners come through 15 miles and as is always the case, there’s a few who go out fast – often too fast – and although the leaders looked good, the first two who built commanding leads on the first lap were both DNF in the end.
Brutal weather
Last year, the weather at the start of November was unusually warm – I ran pretty much the whole race in shorts and t-shirt. No such luck for the competitors this year with temperatures down around freezing and wind chill making it feel colder when the daylight went.
It ultimately accounted for a very high DNF rate in the 100 mile race (I think well over 50% didn’t make it past the 60 mile/2 lap mark) and it certainly made for some unpleasant standing around outside during the night even though I was well wrapped up in trousers + waterproofs, base layer, fleece, thick ski jacket and buff + hat & gloves!
It’s an exposed course in many places with a couple of moorland sections and a particularly tough 1000ft climb in the 4 miles to the 25 mile CP and many runners in each race reached that checkpoint looking a bit shellshocked for sure. It’s a good reminder to carry quality kit and layer up when it’s cold as you’re moving pretty slow in most ultras.
Night 1 – The retirements begin
As we followed the 100 milers around the course on the trackers, it was reasonably chilled because they were the only ones out on the course over the Saturday night and with many of them having done their first laps in the daylight they had the challenge of getting back to race HQ and then forcing themselves back out into the darkness (it’s fully dark by about 4.30pm at this time of year).
Not easy but after just the one lap, most people were still pretty fresh and we headed to the CP at halfway on the loop to check on the marshals there who were having a good time seeing runners through but at c45 miles and 8-10 hours into the race we were now starting to get a few retirements.
Luckily thanks to the location of the race HQ it was actually only a 10 minute drive back so chatting with one runner who I ran back (Julian?) he recognised me from this blog and previous WRU race reports. Always nice to meet someone who’s visited the site.
Most runners seemed to be making good progress but the cold and brutal course were obviously going to take a toll over the night.
The coldest spell
Marshaling for the most part involves a lot of hanging around – it’s great getting runners through but in a long distance race the field literally spreads out over miles and miles. It’s not unusual to run one and not see another competitor for long stretches so as Ally headed home around 11pm to get a few hours sleep I was buzzing so headed to the 25 mile CP where my Meltham AC club mates were marshaling and setting up their own party.
The CP is also 2 miles up the road I live on so it made sense to spend some time here after dropping Ally off and with it only being 15 mins back to HQ – looped courses make logistics a lot easier – I settled down for a couple of hours with Sam, Nick and Helen who put in a great amount of work while her boyfriend ran the 100.
In the middle of the night we were pretty toasty in Sam’s car with the heating on but getting out to see each runner through and help top up bottles, the temperature and conditions were without doubt going to take a toll on runners.
The CP on the second lap is at pretty much the highest point on the course (after that 1000ft climb for the second time) and on some exposed moorland where the wind and pitch black night drove temperatures down past freezing. With 5 miles back to HQ a lot of runners faces suggested they’d had enough already and there were a lot of retirements at 60 miles.
Who would want to go back out and do it again right?!
The 30 and 60 milers
The trackers for the 100 made monitoring the course very easy from our perspective. As the field spread out it provided some fascinating viewing. The 60 milers would also be tracked but those running the 30 were not (there is a cost per tracker) everyone was off at 8:00am on Sunday in those two races in dry but cold conditions.
We had a few friends in each race and it was nice to see them coming round the course at various points but having now been on the go for the most part of 24 hours (had a couple of hours sleep at home after seeing the 100 mile winner come in just over 19h) ourselves it was back out on the course for us.
With a lot more runners out course – most of the 100’s would take over 24 hours, the 30 and 60 milers were “enjoying” their own races in the bitter cold and at some points the rain swept in and even turned to sleet/snow on high parts of the course.
Checkpoint stocks
The checkpoints this year were stocked a little differently to last – there were still the normal snacks like crisps, chocolate, flapjack etc but the race was cupless this year to save on waste (a move I wholeheartedly agree with) so competitors topped up their bottles or had small plastic cups for water. That made it a lot easier from our side for sure.
As runners came through, it was often our goal to get them back out on course as quick as possible so taking bottles and topping them up as they get to the CP. The cold weather meant stopping would for most people be very unhelpful as they’d cool off very quickly.
The checkpoints aren’t as well stocked as some other races – it doesn’t bother me as a runner – but I know some people turn up and expect to be fed soup, tea and coffee, gels and all manner of treats!
As we spent the bulk of our time at the 25 mile CP our priority was topping up bottles and getting people out on the road to the finish/HQ because it was only 5 miles from there and having just climbed 1000ft up Wessenden Trail in the last 4 miles people needed to keep going.
To their credit, I don’t think a single runner DNF’d at this CP – certainly I didn’t take anyone back.
Another long day
As the day went past and darkness once again came around at 16:30ish, runners in the 30 and 60 mile race were still coming through 25 miles in varying states but pushing on to the finish. The cold weather continued and as my day 2 stretched into the night I headed back up at about 8pm to take over from Ally’s mum and dad who’d been manning the station.
The last of the 30 milers had gone through but there were a number of 60 milers still to come through but we were able to track their progress and so at least I could sit in the car and just hop out when their headtorches appeared on the trail.
It’s a lonely spot at the top of Wessenden Trail at night and a lot of the runners had been alone for a couple of hours at this point so I tried to be a friendly face and keep them moving here. The end was almost in sight for them.
The weather again really hit hard, it’s a race that has a lot of running in the darkness and this year was bitterly cold – last year I was so lucky running the 100 as the weather was unseasonably warm and I got sunburn! The Yorkshire Moors in November are a mixed bag.
As 10pm rolled around, the last runner came up the trail and while hiking at this point was actually in good shape and met by her other half who was crewing her so I was happy to see her moving on to the finish knowing she was going to be fine.
Wrapping up
I know from reading some of the feedback about the race there were some issues with organisation and logistics but overall it looks like the big majority of runners had a very positive race whether they finished or not.
I’ve taken a lot from this race over the years (running the 30 twice and the 100) and TeamOA are good personal friends so it was definitely time to give back and even though it was a two day stretch with only a couple of hours sleep I very much enjoyed my experience marshaling this one.
The amount of time and effort people put into training and running is seldom questioned and often praised but once again the amount of effort and time those people staffing the aid stations and monitoring the course/HQ was amazing so thank you from me to my fellow marshals. I know TeamOA and the competitors also had many positive things to say too.
Want to be a marshal?
Marshaling a long race is a tough challenge due to the hours involved sometimes but it’s great helping keep the runners moving. Some are taking a step up in distance or doing their first ultras while other have trained for months to beat a PB so everyone needs that bit of encouragement.
Here are some things I learnt that might help if you want to help out at an event:
Commit to being a marshal early – it helps the organisers schedule and plan.
Stick to that commitment – Obviously plans can change but many people are relying on you so try to stick to it as much as possible.
Take clothes for all conditions – you’ll be stood around for hours and the weather can change so have a rucksack with a variety of clothes and waterproof gear. If it’s cold like this year, you’ll just wear it all!
Have some good food with you – we were given packed lunches but it’s always good to have something you have prepared too which helps avoid nibbling at checkpoint for hours on end.
Entertainment is always good – whether it’s your car radio, an mp3 player, book or whatever – you’ll find in many races there are big gaps between runners so you can get bored.
Know the race – for those at the front racing, it can be very helpful to know how far ahead (if you’ve got trackers) they are from the next runner or how far behind they are from the one in front. For those further back, telling them it’s not too far to the next CP and encouraging them is usually appreciated.
Be the friendly face – Some runners are well and truly in the pain cave when they hit your CP, some can be miserable as sin (been there myself!) but try to keep them going by being nice.
Next year
I might just run the 30 next year, it’ll be a lot quicker :D
My knuckles turned white, I was scared. No, this wasn’t the effect of a 153 mile battle of attrition through hot, Greek air. This was the plane taking off from Heathrow just after 7am Wednesday 28th September. Even the friendly voice of fellow British runner Marcel McKinley checking on me didn’t allay the fear of impending doom!
This was the start of my ‘Spartathlon’ story.
Spartathlon, for those that don’t know, is the renowned 153 mile footrace from the foot of the Acropolis in Athens to the foot of King Leonidas in Sparta. It recreates the journey of Pheidippides, an Athenian messenger sent to Sparta in 490 BC to seek help against the Persians in the Battle of Marathon. Of course Pheidippides didn’t have the advantage of wide open dual carriageways radiating the lovely Greek sun, head torches, technical fabrics, Hokas or aid stations offering water, ice and salty snacks every couple of miles!!
I’d first heard of Spartathlon through Paul ‘the King’ Ali. He’s completed the race twice and loved it both times. I tend to be somewhat of a lemming when it comes to races that Paul has done and so, early in 2016 my entry into the ballot was confirmed. Truth be told, I never expected to get in. I’d also entered the ballot for UTMB which falls in more favourable ‘non-term’time which of course means I can sell the race to ‘she who controls the purse strings’ as a family holiday. Fate, it would seem, did not agree and I was not pulled from the hat.
And so it came to pass on March 10th, with bleary 6am eyes, my normally dormant facebook feed was lit up with praise and congratulations on my place on the start list! Start list, of spartathon, eek! Cue that icy cold feeling you get when you’ve committed to something without fully thinking through the consequences. A bit like that feeling when you buy a new pair of trainers after a couple of beers on a Sunday afternoon, knowing full well you’d promised ‘no more spending’ until payday!!
Travel Nerves and Pre-Race Logistics
Fast, forward……It’s just after 1pm Greek time, my knuckles are still white, my arms are almost dropping off, yup, we are coming into land. I hate to fly. Only the tension of Harlan Coben’s latest book could reduce the feelings of impending doom. I hate flying, I’ve never enjoyed it. I rationalise it in my own mind by assuming that so long as I survive the flight, the hard part is done! The rest is just running (and drinking beer) which I enjoy!
A shared taxi ride with the crew of the legend that is Sophie Power to the London hotel, painless check-in and it was off the registration at the phoenix! It was 2:15, it was lunch time! I sorted myself out with a frosty one at the bar and finished off the book, now it was time to register. The hall that was empty not 25 minutes before was now full with a queue stretching round the hall! An hour of shuffling later and registration was done, no going back now!!
Back at the hotel I began sorting my stuff out. My room mate for the week turned out to be a top bloke called Duncan Cornish. It was his first go at Sparta too so we shared some of the same anxieties! We both had a similar strategy for drop bags, 1 every 4/5 checkpoints and were both to be fuelled by Tailwind cue lots of chatter about premixing or bagging! We both opted to premix and soon the table on the veranda looked like it would be more at home in a scene from the handover, covered in small bags of dodgy looking white powder! In addition to tailwind I added a couple of jackmans throat sweets, harribo and a sis go gel to random ones. These would act as nice ‘surprises’ out on the field of battle. I added 2 changes of socks and t-shirt to bags around 80 and 120 miles, a warm top for just before the mountain and spare batteries for about 110 miles in. The best drop bag I reserved for checkpoint 74, the one before the foot. To this I added a change of clothes and 40 ‘beer notes’.
Drop bags completed, it was time for a tea, chicken and potatoes i’ll have you know and a few beers!
Thursday was drop bag and briefing day. There is a large hall at the phoenix which contains 74 numbered boxes into which you put your drop bags. I would later come to learn that one of the British runners, the complete legend ‘Nick Turner’ had overlooked this step of the prep stage but true to the camaraderie of the team all was not lost before it had started!!
The briefing at half 5 was standard and then it was team photo time (below) and then off for a team meal.
The team meal was a good opportunity to meet the other runners and crew. I was chating with Dave for a lot of it who was full of stories of old when he helped John Fodden through the first ‘recce’ of the course back in 82 the year before the first official race. Dave and his wife popped up loads of course through the race which helped me more than I was probably able to articulate at the time. It was at the meal that I also got to speak with one of the other (many) legends of Sparta, the one, the only Rob Pinnington! Rob had successfully kissed the foot the year before and the stories of that race are still some the most emotional race reports I have ever read!
No Beer until Sparta!
Pre-race I usually have a couple of beers to steady the nerves and ensure a good nights sleep. Testament to how much I was shitting it at this point was the fact I elected not to have a beer. Yup, not one!! There are probably people reading this that know me well (im looking at you Alex W + M) that are now assuming this blog is all untrue but alas its true, I had no pre-race beer! Instead, I had a cup of coffee back at the hotel before bed. Duncan all week has been indicating that he ‘never sleeps’ the night before a race and so it came to pass that about 10 minutes after hitting the sack he was sound asleep whilst that one last coffee would not lie down and let me succumb to sleep. The last time I looked at the phone it was 1am something, with the alarm due to go at 4, Great!!!
To The Start!
Friday is race day. A hearty breakfast followed by a quick checkout of the rooms. Suitcases are left in reception and a van is outside waiting to take our overnight bags to Sparta! a 50 minute bus ride to the acropolis in the dark doesn’t do Athens justice when trying to imagine how bloody big it is! The acropolis itself im sure was amazing, the fear hormone was getting me and I don’t recall much from the start! I bumped into fellow Reading Jogger Barry Miller’s super crew, Ian Thomas’s super crew and fellow runner Rusty who was looking for a private bush. Myself and Duncan hung back from the front and next thing we were off! This is it, this is Spartathlon, the first few steps a stumble as the 390 runners squeeze onto the course, across the cobbles and into Athens. I didn’t know much about what was happening, just that I was here, running towards Sparta!
The Race – To Corinth
I wish I could remember more about the race but as with most of my running I enter a space in my own mind and tend to stay there for the duration!
The first 10/15 miles are in Athens. Its a big place and you are running from somewhere in the centre to the edge before you emerge onto the coast. During this time I ran with Duncan, Darren S, Rob, James and probably a few more. Running up a neve rending incline we came across Rusty who was run walking from the start and would later ‘flirt’ with some early cut off’s before absolutely beasting it to come home comfortably.
Out onto the coast and I ran with legend ‘Stu Wilkie’ for a bit before hitting my stride for a few miles and catching up with David ‘the relentless’ Barker who I had ran with for a bit previously at the Autumn 100. I pushed on, ignoring all the advice in race reports about banking miles is a bad thing to do. In my mind if I could get to the Canal at Corinth (50 miles) in about 8 hours and in good shape then I would be able to slow up a little towards the mountain at 100 miles to save something for the next day, ahhhh the benefit of hindsight.
Not long after I left David I was running behind an American and an Australian. They turned out to be Bob Hearn and Matt Fryer. 2 true legends of endurance running. Bob would go on to finish 6 hours, yup 6 hours ahead of me!! Bob, I had discovered previously also has a unique training aid, a set of blow-up trousers, full leg compression and massage if you like. There is a picture somewhere of our very own Rob Pinnington having a go in them. The verdict – they are good but probably not $1600 good!!
Corinth was reached, I even tried to take a picture but given my fear of heights my thumb got in the way and I wasn’t hanging around to retake it!
The Race – To the Mountain
After Corinth there is a major checkpoint, there may have been others before, I just don’t know. Here I met James Poole, yup the legend of Endure 12 where he covered 80 miles in 12 hours including a 90 minute last lap with a beer! I expected James to be ‘up top’ with Barry and Liverpool Leeds winner and all round running legend ‘Ian Thomas’. Id learn later than James had a stomach issue which took a while to sort out but also that he is keen on having a number of sleeps, yup he that awesome he can have a few sleeps and still stick an hour into me!! ( I have no doubt that if he came back he is more than capable of mixing it with the big boys at the sharp end).
After here the route winds into the country for a bit. I had a change of socks waiting for me around 70 miles and a t-shirt. It was hear that the emotion of the race got to me and I made my first major error! Sat down having a sock change there was a yound greek kid, his younger brother and I assume their dad! They must have been clapping every running solidly for 10 minutes. I decided that I would reward them with one of my prized GB team running shirts which I had not needed and I had another t-shirt at that aid station anyway! I called the older brother over, held the shirt up for him to judge the ‘fit’, decided he would grow into it and presented it to him! I left the checkpoint a bit sharpish as there was a lot of pollen about, making my eyes red! I got about 4 miles down the road and realised I hadn’t picked up my other t-shirt in my haste to leave and so was now faced with making it to the mountain in a tri top and not much else!
Climbing up from this valley, the sun was dipping and I started to get cold. Being asthmatic since a kid I know that the cold is one trigger I have to be mindful of. Thankfully another British crew literally saved my race and provided me with a British team crew t-shirt which I could wear inside out (due to advertising which is not allowed). This provided enough warmth for me to carry on without fear of my chest exploding, well exploding due to asthma anyway.
It was somewhere between 70/80 miles that I had been leap frogging with a guy wearing a canaries ultra marathon vest. I had wrongly assumed he was Spanish but it turned out he was one of the British runners – Martin Bacon. Our plod at this point was well matched and so we (I think) unconsciously decided to team up a bit.
The Mountain Conquered and Friendship Forged
We plodded on towards the mountain and after numerous switch backs on tarmac that always head up, we arrived together at the mountain base. Martin took a moment to have a warm under a blanket, poor man, while I jiggled nervously on the spot eating beautiful fat covered potatoes!!
The ascent up the mountain was harmless! I was, from reading race reports, expecting to be issued with rope, carabiners and a safety harness. Its not that bad, yes its a bit steep and loose under foot but its over before you know it. We were climbing behind an Italian that was having a tougher time. I pulled out a couple of saves Gordon Banks would have been proud of to keep him on track but it was all good!!
The top was breached and Martin took a blanket break before we tackled the descent. Im awful at descending, whether its on a bike or foot. Even Bradley Wiggins in the raid would descend faster than me! Going down the other side, the path is loose, but wider and its more sweeping so no 180 degree hairpins. At this point James Poole approached, refreshed after a kip and descended as casually as a kid skipping across the playground! I was awestruck! no sign of a fatigue or lethargy he was gone, out of sight!! Amazing!
Once down the other side we continued to plod onwards, inching closer to the foot, together!
Sleep Demons, Never had em!!
My wife will agree (I hope) that i’ve never really had an issue with running through the night and into the next morning. With the exception of this years Cotswold 24 where I had a mental wobble at least. Of course, racing beyond 24 hours is something different. I can only liken it being comfortable running 10k then being asked to run a marathon the next day.
We had been making steady progress in the valley after the mountain. This section is probably about 20 miles long. As the sky slowly turned to grey it got cold! not Greece cold (15c) but proper cold, I was freezing! 3 layers, big gloves and lots of shivering. Slowly the sun came up and the temperature started to come up a bit. Martin had been unphased by this because he’s a tough old sod.
All of a sudden, it hit me. Tiredness. Tiredness like you have never known it. Even when I stayed up on the lash the until 4am the night before Paul Ali’s summer Saturday night marathon to be awoken by my Daughter at 6, then surviving the school fete, running to meet the beast Alex W, running to the race, running the race and wining it and then staying up to watch a film with another couple of Bulmers I was not as tired as I was now. Its horrid. The vision closes into a tunnel, your plodding along and the whole earth is moving against you, which you come to realise is your head lolling and body weaving across the road! I wanted to quit. Yup I had came 120 miles, my legs were ok, left foot blister pain was bearable but I wanted to quit! Im sure when I aired this with martin he said something polite, along the lines of “don’t be a twat!!. Ok, ok point taken mate!!
Martin, a veteran of longer races said it would be ok! Easy to say!! He reached into his pack and pulled out a srip of pills. “Have half of one of these mate, give it 20 it’ll be ok!”. “Ok, I said, but I better have a whole one!”. Sure enough 15 mins later the ecstasy of pro-plus washed throughout my body! I was awake, it was like a switch had been flicked.
Feeling Raw
I love Rocky, I love warrior. I love the build up to that last round. When the combatants approach each other for the last 3 minute of pain, all barriers are gone, its raw and emotional. Warrior vs warrior. Its sentimental codswallop, I know it, you know it but i’m telling you now, that’s what Sparta does to you, it breaks you down and leaves you raw with more than a marathon to do.
20 to the last 13!
The last 33 consists of what seems like an age of dual carriage ways and long hot sweeping climbs that never end, full of false summits. The heat on that Saturday morning increased and never stopped! We were being baked from all side and underneath. It must have been bad because even martin was needing a drink of fluid between checkpoints. I stopped and walked over to some old ruins to relieve myself of some weight which left a short-lived spring in my step.
We plodded on, jogging where we could. Martin was able run father than I was but I was able to walk faster up the inclines we were to and fro’ing for a lot of this.
Looking back if I was to offer someone a bit of advice on this race is that you have to expect this section to a)hurt and b)really hurt BUT if you can c)save something for it, you can save what I think would be hours! Of course being disciplined enough to not bank miles early is another thing altogether!
Eventually we rounded the last sweeping bend where you branch off the dual carriageway and we knew what somewhere down below is Sparta!
Down into Sparta
The last 13 are all downhill, not easy downhill but hard downhill! We were moving quite well at this point and managed to catch up and pass another couple of British runners that were working well together as a team, Carl and Jim. We ultr-slomo’ed overtook them and Martin elected to put in a massive shift dragging up from no-where a 9 minute or something mile which feels like your flying after 31 hours racing!
By this point we know hat we are going to make the foot barring serious injury or heart attacks! Somewhere down here Jim elected to put his foot down and motor on past us but we were content to let him go. Jim was running really strong still, I don’t know how he did it!
Entering Sparta itself is along a dual carriage way, onwards for about a mile until you get to check point 74, the last one. We took a few minutes here. I changed into a new t-shirt. Martin changed too and grabbed a large union jack flag which would accompany us to the finish!
The Final Stretch
From checkpoint 74 its about 2 miles to the end. Local kids accompany you on bikes its great. Rounding the last corner the foot is about 500m away.
Another bit of advice to anyone that does this race. “Enjoy these last metres, don’t rush, soak it up!”.
We unfurled the flag and held it between us as we ran up the last 200m. Kids passed under it, people took pictures of it (see the top of the page). We saw the British team/family congregated about 50m before the finish. Ian, Barry, James and Jim already done, the crew, the unlucky that this year didn’t get to kiss the foot (but will be back) and then the statue itself. Standing tall!
We had done it!! We had arrived, shattered, fooked, broken battered but intact and smiling, a friendship formed in the heat of battle!
I pushed martin to the statue to have his moment first, he had earnt that moment as he carried me so much during the last 53 however unbeknownst to me the final timing mat was under the statue so he stayed there for a good 19 seconds (according to the results)! If id have known that I may have pushed in front
Martin left to get his feet attended to and I had my moment! A kiss for the foot, handshake with the RD, a drink of water from the river and that was it!
What happens in the Med tent Stays in the Med Tent!
When you finish your escorted to the medical area. Your trainers and socks are removed. Your feet and legs are cleansed and blisters sorted. I asked if I wanted a drink! “we have coffee, tea, squash…” she started. “Do you have beer please?” came my response, swifly followed by a can of the good stuff!
I was in pieces, the emotional outpouring is crazy!! I looked around me and across the medical area. There were people on beds covered in blankets, hooked up to drips and all sorts. If there had been a smoke machine wafting wisps of smoke through there it would have been a real scene from Platoon or something.
I spotted Martin having a lie down on one of the beds the lazy sod, yup, another blanket adorned him! I teased him with my beer! It was touching, there were more tears.
I waited a few minutes and after explaining that I didn’t want a taxi, I just wanted to get to the British team we were allowed out.
The Finishing Straight Bar
The next few hours were just ridiculous! I have never seen a group of strangers so closely united and together ever in my life. I put the call into my wife Hannah to let her know it was done and that whatever else happens she is coming with the kids next year.
We clapped and cheered every runner I think that came through but especially hard for the British. Seeing people finish in varying degree’s of broken’ness is humbling.
Beers were consumed, a good time was had! The words to describe these hours are beyond me and in a way I hope they always are!
The Aftermath
The next few days continued where the finishing line left off. Celebratory dinner in Sparta on the Sunday followed by a long coach ride back to Athens with a stop near Corinth and a couple more beers, lots of banter and a smiling martin Bacon, followed by a couple of nights of 4am finishes with a few more beers! its all a bit of a blur.
Before I knew it we were all going our separate ways, except the legend that is Stu who left us in a cab at 4am on the Wednesday only to reappear in the morning after having lost his passport! I hope he wont mind me mentioning it but I think he secretly fancied another night on the piss
The flight home was another white knuckle affair but thankfully I was sandwiched between 2 Greek Grandma’s that basically looked after me the whole flight back!
Thanks
So much happened in this race both before and after its hard to mentioned people individually.
Id just like to say thanks to everyone of the British team for everything, every word of encouragement, every clap, every smile, every tear, a t-shirt, a caffeine pill!
My wife and family for allowing me to come away and all the people that offered facebook words of encouragements and texts during the ‘dark times’!!
I hope we are all there in some way shape of form next year!!
2017
2017 I will be back and running with, bullying, carrying, whatever is needed to get my new mate Rob Pinnington all the way to the foot for that elusive 2nd finish ably supported we hope by our very own Duncan Cornish! All we need to do now is rope in Martin Bacon!!!
A note to the reader: I write these reports mostly for myself, to get down everything I can remember that might be relevant to me in the future. Hopefully the detail is also useful to others preparing for the same race. But as an entertaining read, they tend to come up short. Or, rather, long. If you want to skip ahead to the good stuff, start reading at It Seems Like a Hundred Years. And if you want to know more about the history of Spartathlon, and what it's like to run it, see my Tolstoy-length race report from last year (twice as long as this one). The essentials are that it's a 153.4-mile race from Athens to Sparta, following the route that Pheidippides ran in 490 BC, as he recruited the Spartans to help defend Greece from the Persians at the battle of Marathon – a turning point in the history of democracy. The race respects the day and a half that he ran it in with a 36-hour time limit, which in most years the majority of the highly qualified field is not able to meet.
This report is more about my goals and mental states, and less about the scenery and experience, which I think I covered pretty well last year. Also pardon the Highlander puns. I couldn't resist.
There Can Be Only One
There is nothing else like Spartathlon. Last year, I ran it for the first time. It was an incredible experience, and I knew almost before it even started that I would have to come back. It is, indeed, The Greatest Footrace on Earth. Last year, I set an aggressive best-case goal of under 30 hours. I had some rough patches, but managed to pull it together and run 29:35, which I was absolutely thrilled with. Only a small handful of Americans have ever run under 30 hours. Problem: now what? How do I improve on what went better than I could possibly have imagined? Well, a lot has happened in the past year. I think I've improved as a runner. I've set two age-group American records (24-hour and 200K, for over 50), and my Spartathlon training peaked at 110 miles per week this year, vs. 90 last year. I wrapped up my training without even the slightest niggle or iffy muscle anywhere, for perhaps the first time ever, thanks to more diligent core and strength work (and a fair amount of luck, no doubt). Also there were things I did wrong last year I could try to fix. My dream race, this year, would be sub-27, and/or a top-10 finish. However, on the down side, I had Achilles' surgery in December, and a long slow recovery. I felt completely healthy, but my running had been limited to mostly flats, per doctor's orders. I didn't have the hill training I did last year, and success at Spartathlon relies on downhill speed and especially endurance. Added to that, I developed a blood clot in my calf after the surgery, which was still there. I'd been symptom-free all year, after starting on blood thinners, but still, it was in my mind. On balance, I decided 27:00 was really too optimistic. I worked up pace charts for 27:00, 28:00, and 29:35, based on the splits I ran last year, and what I thought I might tweak. My plan was to start by following the splits for 28:00, re-evaluate around halfway (Ancient Nemea), and speed up or (more likely) slow down. Of course, finishing at all is the main goal at Spartathlon, but my training motivation all year long had been to go back and run faster.
So – what did I do differently? Last year, I had a big low spot halfway through. Then when I was tired, I got blisters and had to stop and treat them. I lost a lot of time. But then I recovered and ran strongly for the rest of the race, with lots of positive energy to carry me through. This year I wanted to avoid or mitigate that early bonk if possible. I thought maybe it was a combination of dehydration and getting a little behind on calories. So I made more of an effort to drink, stay cool, and get enough calories (though still much less than typical for ultrarunners – my training to fuel primarily with body fat is a big advantage for me here). Also last year I chafed badly; this year I wore compression shorts. For shoes, I went with the Hoka Clayton, vs. Clifton 2 last year. The Claytons are lighter, but more importantly, wider in the forefoot; hopefully I could avoid last year's toe blisters. Also lots of little things, aimed at minimizing time messing with gear and running as unencumbered as possible. One big change was that last year I had a crew; this year, I would be without. I would miss the moral support, and the sense of shared experience, and the help they could provide if something went wrong. But looking at last year's split data, I saw I could also perhaps shave some time in checkpoints chatting with crew. Finally, last year I went off course and lost about 15 minutes; I'd be more attentive this time.
We Will Feel an Irresistible Pull Towards a Far Away Land, to Fight for The Prize
As before, I arrived in Athens on the Tuesday before the race, which starts on Friday; most people arrive Wednesday. This is a bit of a catch-22. Coming from the U.S., I wanted an extra day to get over the 10-hour jet lag. But arriving earlier also allows more time for a cold caught on the plane or in a new location to incubate. As it turns out, I probably was fighting off a cold during the race, though I didn't realize it until afterwards. Lacking a crew, I was put in a shared room this time in our hotel, the London, in Glyfada. As chance would have it, one of my two roommates was Rob Pinnington, a British runner, who had graciously offered to share his crew with me last year. This year he too would be going without crew; we would both miss Nick and Yiannis, and I'd miss Liz as well. My other roommate, also British, was Paul Rowlinson. I think I caused a bit of amusement with my pre-race prep of using my NormaTec compression pants (aka "The Wrong Trousers"). Eventually Rob had to try as well.
Pic by Paul Rowlinson
I met the rest of the US team over the next few days, those I didn't already know. One addition to the team this year was Pam Smith, whom I'd helped interest in coming. I expected her to certainly podium, and perhaps win. It depended on Katy Nagy, who had shattered the course record last year. She was back, but returning from injury, so a bit of a question mark. The previous women's record holder, Szilvia Lubics, was not running this year. That meant a likely 1-2 placing for the U.S. women again (last year it was Katy and Aly Venti). On the men's side, the pre-race U.S. favorites were Phil McCarthy and myself! Phil holds the U.S. record for 48-hour, and has been on the national 24-hour team five times. He's someone I very much looked forward to meeting. I don't have anywhere near those bona fides, but I was the top American male last year, and I had the course experience. Also returning from last year were Andrei Nana, going for his fourth consecutive finish (and an attempt at sub-30), and Chris Benjamin and Amy Costa, who had run but not finished last year. New were Regina Sooey, David Niblack, Mosi Smith, Paul Schoenlaub, Scott McCreight, Wyatt Hockmeyer, and Bradford Lombardi. Finally Brenda Guajardo was returning after finishing in 2014, and skipping last year. Somehow I never wound up meeting her.
With Mac and Pam at the Temple of Poseidon
At Last. The Gathering...
Race morning finally arrived, and we bused up to the Acropolis for what is far and away the most impressive and inspiring start in ultrarunning, in the shadow of the Parthenon. This is no ordinary race. Here we celebrate the birth of democracy 2,500 years ago, by recreating Pheidippides' incredible run before the fateful Battle of Marathon. You can't help but feel a part of the history yourself.
Pic by Mac Smith
Pic by Shannon MacGregor
Pic by Sparta Photography Club
A year had been a long time to wait since last time. Yet it also seemed like I'd just been here. 7:00 am, and we were off through the streets of Athens. As planned, I started by following my 28:00 splits. That would be an hour and a half improvement if I could hold it, really quite a lot to aim for. But I found it hard to run that slowly. Pam was nominally following splits for 26:00, and I caught up to her after a few checkpoints. She was running a bit slow, because her Garmin was off, and she was going by its indicated pace – something that, I admit, shocked me; she's a world-class runner, whose top strength is running smart. I have to sometimes remind myself that not everyone is as anal about pacing as I am. Running by pace and feel, and checking splits say at only major checkpoints, as I think Pam was doing, seems a lot more reasonable than trying to stick to a pace chart for 75 individual checkpoints. But I take comfort in the mechanical details here. I know the precision that I feel is illusory, but it still gives me a system that works, and also helps keep my mind occupied and engaged.
I was a bit fast here. But it was much cooler than last year, or so it seemed anyway, so I wasn't enormously worried. (Later I was told this year was typical, maybe slightly on the warm side, and that last year had been "very slightly" warmer the first day. Seemed like night and day to me. I thought it hit mid-80s this year, mid-90s last year.) Pam soon pulled away. I found myself close to the 27:00 splits, feeling great, having to take every opportunity to walk even to go that slowly. I know how easy it is to get sucked into starting too fast. But the cool day made me eventually decide that sticking with the 27:00 splits was reasonable. I tried to be diligent about keeping cool, even though it was cooler than last year. Unlike last year I didn't put ice down the front of my shirt. Last year it melted and ran into my shorts, aggravating the chafing. So I kept my checkpoint routine to squeezing a sponge down the back of the neck, eventually down the chest as well, on my arm sleeves, ice in hat, sometimes ice in sleeves. It was enough to stay cool.
One of us is not where we're supposed to be!
The first 50 miles it's mostly a game of not running too fast, where too fast means you will pay for it the rest of the race. Of course you won't know until you get there, so it's a little nerve-wracking. Most people run the first 50 too fast, in an unwise attempt to build a buffer on the tight early cutoffs. But I was cautiously optimistic of my pacing. Early I met Eoin Keith, Irish 24-hour runner, and ran with him a bit, chatting about 24-hour races and the upcoming World Championships in Belfast, where I hope to represent the U.S. Then I pulled away. Later he caught up and passed me, never to be seen again (he ran an impressive 26:37, finishing 8th).
At Megara, the marathon point, Pam's husband Mac was there; Pam was 5-6 minutes ahead of me. He said maybe he'd see me again at Corinth. I was pleased here to note that I had not a hint of chafing. Last year, it had been beginning to get bad already.
Pic by Kati Bell
A bit later, I met Australian Martin Fryer, and ran with him for an enjoyable few miles, also talking about 24-hour (and longer) races. Martin was also someone I'd been really looking forward to meeting. He holds the over-50 world record for track 24-hour, and is a prolific multi-day runner as well. I was pleased to discover some consonance in our approaches to pacing. Paul Beechey from the UK was running with us for a while here. I think he said he was following Paul Ali's splits for 32-33 hours. Then he pulled away! (He finished in 33:37.) Well, my pacing plan does have me starting much slower than most runners, relative to my planned finish. This is one of the best things about Spartathlon – it brings together talented runners from all over the world, and offers the perfect format to get to know them. Andrei and I then played leapfrog for a while, running together a bit before coming into Corinth. I walked the big hill approaching it; he ran it. Funny, last year I commented that the grade was so shallow it was hard to walk. This year it definitely felt like a walker, apart from the fact that my pacing chart had me walk it.
This will help the report make a bit more sense.
Ditto
I hit Corinth (mile 49.7) a couple minutes ahead of pace, about 7:53. Much faster than last year. Would I pay for it? I was still feeling good. Time to evaluate. Andrei was ahead, but not much. Pam and Katy were ahead. Also Brenda, whom I'd still never met, was supposedly ahead, though I might have passed her. Phil McCarthy I had not seen since the start. He'd been secretive about his goals and pacing. ("Can I ask what you're thinking for 50 miles?" "I'm thinking about Corinth for 50 miles.") And David Niblack had pulled ahead of me a while back. I had no idea how he would do, but my expectation was that most people ahead of me at this point I would eventually reel in. So maybe five Americans ahead of me, wow. I'd had hopes of repeating as first American male again, at least, with Phil the big unknown there. He certainly had the background and skills to be able to run a fast Spartathlon. But I had the Spartathlon experience, and recent results. So that would be interesting. I was also kind of racing Pam – it was a rematch from a 24-hour race in May, where she beat me – though if we each ran what we planned, she'd be way ahead. Katy was an unknown this year. So there was an outside chance I'd be first American overall. But at this point all that was outside my control; I just had to hold steady with my pacing.
In Corinth David's crew were there. Somewhere before Corinth it had occurred to me that there was an interesting goal under 27, if I was having a great race: Aly Venti's time from last year, which I think put her third behind Jurek and Nagy as the fastest Americans ever at Spartathlon. But I didn't remember the time. 26 high. I was going to ask Mac at Corinth if he could find out before I saw him again, but he was already gone – Pam had pulled too far ahead. Later, I realized I could have asked David's crew. I saw them again in Ancient Corinth. They were so positive and supportive all day. But I didn't see them again after that until much later. So, David was doing well! Coming out of Corinth I soon passed Andrei, stopped with Claire working on some gear or something. This was the part of the course last year that was the hottest, where people started really suffering. It was definitely still cooler, but I was trying to be diligent about keeping cool anyway. Any heat at all means an increase in effort. Andrei caught up, and we ran together again for a while, into the Peloponnese countryside, through olive groves.
Eventually we hit 100K, Assos, and began the long, gradual climb, over the next 15 miles. This is where I started slowing last year. How would it go this year? Here I left Andrei behind again. In Zevgolation, where I'd left my headlamp last year, I signed a few autographs for children. Kept moving well. I was getting tired, but not as tired as last year, still holding closely to my splits. But I did have one problem. For a while now, my right calf had been getting increasingly tight and sore. I didn't worry much at first, but eventually, on the long climb, it reached the point where I thought it would cramp. Logic said to slow down, I guess, but I didn't at first. Then I began to imagine that the right calf was swollen, or that the blood vessels were protruding more than on the left. That's where I got my blood clot in January, and it was still there, as per ultrasound a week before. Was this a sign of a problem? I was getting worried that if there was really something going on related to the blood clot, I would have to stop to be safe. A pulmonary embolism can kill you, and at the least would be supremely painful. I had taken a single salt pill earlier, hoping it might somehow help the calf; it hadn't. It might have helped prevent dehydration a bit?
It's a Kind of Magic
Finally I hit my first drop bag, in Soulinari, two stops later than last year. By now I was beginning to fall behind my 27-hour splits by a few minutes. Here I had my headlamp, but also the first of four staged HotShots, a new supposed cramp preventer. I don't generally cramp, but I like to be prepared. I downed it, and within a minute, the calf pain and tightness were gone. Wow! Maybe it was the result of sitting for a minute to deal with my drop bag? But no. It stayed fine. In fact it was fine the rest of the race. I did drink the other three as well. Thank you, HotShot. Your marketing sucks, but your product may have saved my race.
Andrei caught up again somewhere in here, and we had a conversation about neurons and cramping. Finally, somewhere between there and Ancient Nemea, I left him behind for good. I saw Kostis Papadimitriou, president of the International Spartathlon Association, at one of these checkpoints, and high-fived him. Saw him again at Ancient Nemea (mile 76.6), a major checkpoint. Here I was feeling good and was in and out quickly. I finally turned on my headlamp (so again, staged too early). Last year I'd turned it on in Halkion, three checkpoints earlier. So far, so good! This is where I was really hurting last year, chafing, tired, and about to blister, losing lots of time. I think I began to catch back up to 27:00 splits here this year. This is when the mental game starts to get pretty important. Last year after I recovered, I was energized, flying down the hills. How would that work this year? I got through the next downhill stretch OK, started the long uphill on dirt road. Definitely tired. Was I ready to start cranking? Finally the big downhill into and past Malandreni started. I was running OK, pretty fast, but I didn't have the same energy as last year. This worried me. I would need that energy if I wanted to hold to the 27:00 or even the 28:00 splits. Looking back now at the data, I was actually running faster here this year. Huh! By this point I had another problem as well. I was fueling just with Coke, as I did last year. But starting even before Ancient Nemea, I was having to pee every mile or two. This didn't start until the last 20 miles or so last year, and had never been an issue in 24-hour races. What was going on??? I was wasting a lot of time. I figured it was the caffeine, though I didn't know why the effect was different this time. But I started taking some crackers for my calories every 2-3 checkpoints instead of Coke. It might have helped a little. In the end I think I spent 20-30 minutes just heeding nature's call. Also somewhere in here I caught up to Ian Thomas, 57, running strong. Again, he said, he had started too fast, after swearing he wouldn't. But he would go on to run a sterling 29:14, the first British finisher. Coming into Lyrkia (mile 92), and especially from there to the mountain, I definitely felt slower than last year. But the splits were actually pretty close. However, I was supposed to be running faster this year, so I did begin losing time on my 27-hour splits; I was 7 minutes behind by the mountain base. There, I had staged trail shoes, with more Hokas on the other side, because the descent last year had been brutal in the Hokas. But the Claytons were working well for me; I had no real issues, and kind of didn't want to spend the 4-5 minutes it would probably take to swap shoes, and timing chip, twice. So I just kept on the Hokas. I regretted that pretty quickly going up; parts were slippery in the Hokas. I had grabbed a longsleeve and tied it around my waist, but didn't feel the need to wear it. Also I switched headlamps at the mountain base – faster than swapping batteries, which I'd done last year. I hit the mountain top, 100.5 miles, at 18:05, vs 19:44 last year. Coming down the mountain on loose scree, it was not fun, but somehow not nearly as bad as I'd remembered. Last year I had toe blisters, which hurt like hell. I felt like I ran faster this time, but again, the data doesn't back me up; I was a minute and a half slower from the mountain top to Sangas! Odd. On balance I probably would not have saved enough time in the trail shoes to make up for switching twice. At Sangas, I made a mistake, ditching the longsleeve. Why not? The mountain was warmer than last year, and the second day was supposed to be warmer, and I had been comfortable last year even in the rain in just my singlet. Oops.
It Seems Like a Hundred Years
Now the tough part of the race, for me, begins. You've had an exciting, and social, first day, all leading up to the big challenge of the mountain. Now, that's past, and it's a long, flat, dark, boring, isolated 20 miles from Sangas to Alea-Tegea, and you already have more than 100 miles on your legs. It is hard to hold focus, with no stimulation and no imminent goal beyond the next nondescript checkpoint. I did not run this stretch as well as last year; I walked more. I was tired. I fell farther and farther behind the 27:00 splits. Well, those were supposed to be unrealistic anyway. I was just hoping I could keep ahead of the 28:00 splits. Even those would require me to run the last 13 miles pretty fast. The stars kept me company here, as I watched Orion rise. I became a little philosophical about how the race was going. I was ahead of last year, but I might finish "only" an hour ahead. I figured the weather alone was good for that. I had trained so hard to improve, and be in better shape, this year. Yet I did not have the energy in the second half that I had last year, especially past the mountain. This race is a hell of a lot of work and pain and suffering to go through; there needs to be a reward. Maintaining the status quo was not enough. Also, I was lacking something of the excitement of last year. It was all new then. This year, I felt like, wait, I already ran this stretch. I already did all this hard stuff; I remember it like it was yesterday. I already earned it. I have to do it again? Why on Earth would I choose to do that? And this is something I'd been thinking I'd have to do every year?! These were negative thoughts creeping in that had not crept in last year. Well, different negative thoughts, in different places, I guess. No race of 100 or more miles is without them. You just have to not let them hurt you. I decided that my pacing plan was crap. I'd taken the splits I ran last year, tweaked them to make them a bit more sensible, and then just scaled them down from 29:35 to 27:00 and 28:00. But you can't really do that. Not all paces or terrains scale equally. In particular, one big change is how many hills you run vs. walk. Easy flat running was not that much faster this year than last year, so I was falling behind. Pam was following my 26:00 splits, scaled the same way, which would be even worse. She was going to kill me. The Garmin got low battery at 20:00 this year, vs. 22:00 last year. 40 hours in ultra-trac mode, yeah right. I turned off the GPS. Still slipping. There was one checkpoint where I somehow lost 5 minutes on my target splits! Damn. That would be a problem if it became a pattern. At this point, with the checkpoint numbers up in the 50s, I could afford to give up a minute or two per checkpoint and still do well. At about 115 miles, I finally caught Phil, sitting in a chair. I had thought he was out, actually, because the guy at the mountain top was asking everyone's nationality. He told me I was the second American man, and the first one had a white shirt (must be David). Phil had a green shirt. Well, here he was, not out! But he was having his calves worked on, and didn't look like he would be catching me. I wished him luck and moved on. OK. Now where was David? Pam? Katy? I was assuming here I'd passed Brenda somewhere, but still wasn't sure. Finally, coming into the major checkpoint of Alea-Tegea, I made sure to pay careful attention to the course markings, as this is where I'd gone off course last year. I stayed on the course this year, though oddly, I couldn't identify the intersection where I'd gone wrong, even though it was burned into my brain. I had strong, but not completely accurate, memories. (This would become a pattern after the race; just ask Pam and Mac.) Last year it was almost dawn here, and I'd dumped my headlamp. Not this year! I had ditched my water bottle when it got dark, also my belt and hat, running unencumbered. It was time to start re-encumbering. I picked up a new bottle in preparation for heat the second day. During the night I'd attached my clip-on shades to the back of my headlamp band. I think this un-encumbering strategy worked well. The problem is there was uncertainty about where I'd be when it got light. So I had one drop bag here with a bottle and a hat, and another later with a visor. I was running towards the fast end of projected, so I wouldn't need a hat for a while, and left it there. Now, about mile 121, I was in a sense already smelling the finish. I know the course very well. I had to just walk up a big, long hill, then start picking people off on the long rollers, then downhill into Monument, one more big uphill, then fast finish all the way to Sparta. If I could hold it. It was a lot thinner here than last year; I was seeing very few people. I thought maybe that meant I was in the top 15ish? (No.) Again, I walked the entire long uphill, though I was afraid I would lose more time. Indeed, 27:00 was now far out of reach, and I was rapidly losing my cushion on 28:00.
Don't Lose Your Head
As I walked up the long hill, about 800 feet of gain over five miles, it was still dark. And now very, very cold. With just my singlet, I was freezing, wishing for dawn to come. I had no warm clothes staged past the mountain. My breath was visible, hands were numb. The problem was the long stretch of walking, which last year had been in daylight. I began to lose mental focus, and to hallucinate. Again, the same road signs looked like runners, and even knowing this, it was very hard to shut down the perception. I was definitely mentally not as together here as last year. Why not? Pushed myself harder? Effects of low blood sugar, that I was supposed to be immune to? I didn't know. The most interesting hallucination was the white line on the road. If I looked straight down, it was clearly a hugely intricate artistic creation, with overflowing filigree and detail. It was marvelous, with exuberant colors. How amazing, that Greek public works would go to all that effort. Looking ahead, it was a painted white line, chipped, with dirt and stuff on it. It took a lot of concentration not to get lost in that beauty, and keep my grip on reality. This was kind of scary. I needed to hold it together for quite a while longer yet. Finally, the top of the hill! A guy in a car made sure I knew it was the top. "Downhill now! Run!" "I'm working up to it!" This was I guess my low point this year, though not nearly as low as last year. Because this was where I was supposed to unleash it, start flying on the flats and downhills and pick people off left and right. Well, first of all there were no people to pick off. But the real problem was, the instant I started to run, the right TFL screamed in agony. It said, no way. You cannot do that. I limped along for a bit, trying to ignore the pain, but to not much avail. It looked like my race might be over. Oh, I would finish, which is after all what counts, but if I had to walk it in I could forget about even beating last year's time, or sub-30, let alone 27 or 28.
Why Does the Sun Come Up, or are the Stars Just Pinholes in the Curtain of Night?
So yeah, I can't run. A little later, and the right tib. anterior also begins to hurt quite a bit when I try to run. What can I do? Finally a lightbulb goes off. I have Advil in the pocket of my handheld! I'd never used it in a race before, but now would be the time. Unfortunately I came to this realization just after leaving a checkpoint. My bottle was empty, because it was still dark, and I was getting enough fluid at the checkpoints. So I had to wait another couple miles for water to get the pills down. Maybe I should have tried to choke them down dry. Now, maybe I was already feeling a bit better, but somewhere in here, before or after the Advil, I began to be able to run again. So run I did. Gradually, I ran faster and faster. The sun finally rose. Almost immediately, it was blasting heat. This was going to be a hot day. On the rollers here, when I started running, I kept expecting to see David, as I'd caught Ken Zemach last year. Nope. I did pass one or two people, but not the hordes I was passing last year.
Eventually, I reach the downhill into Monument checkpoint, 68. I am excited now, but mentally starting to lose it. Thoughts are becoming uncoordinated. This is way beyond the simple visual hallucinations I had last year. I was TIRED. This does not happen to me in races. I was going places, mentally, I'd never been before. Well, that's what ultrarunning is all about, right?
At Monument, the volunteer told me I was #22. Huh. I'd thought I was higher up than that. Definitely faster performances this year, all around. Time to hike up the last big hill. Now I was feeling good, physically and emotionally, if not mentally, but still not sure about times. Tracking the 28:00 splits, I'd been steadily losing time. 12 minutes ahead, 10 minutes ahead... as I'd started running again, the leak had slowed and turned around. Yes!!!! But I still had to earn it by running the last 13 miles fast. Here, my Garmin appeared to die for good. But evidently it just restarted. So I could still track my splits. But it began giving me low battery alerts increasingly frequently. On the uphill, I passed at least one guy. Finally, the top of the hill. About half a mile before checkpoint 69, I think. 13 miles to go, almost all downhill! But as I reached the top of the hill, I was terrified, because my mind could not hold onto the logic of the simple mechanism of checking my splits. Lap in, lap out, compare lap in time to 28:00 split on my pace chart for that checkpoint, note how far ahead or behind. I was falling asleep, and my mind was wandering into dreamland. This simple task became enormously complicated, and I couldn't figure out what to do. Fortunately, when I started running again, it was better, for a while.
You Have Power Beyond Imagination
It appeared that I could hold my 28:00 splits if I could run 9-minute miles to the finish. Last year I'd needed to hold 10-minute miles. Downhill, yes, but with 140 miles on their legs, most runners are not running anything like 9- or 10-minute miles at this point. If I could actually run faster, as I did last year, I had a shot at beating last year's time by two hours, 27:35. I would be pretty happy with that. But after another couple of checkpoints, the Garmin died for good. I was flying blind now. I'd put so much work into this, I couldn't risk not accomplishing my main goal, sub-28. I figured that meant I just had to run as hard as I could for the finish. So I did. Like last year, I was skipping checkpoints here, in and out, no time to stop.
Pic by Τούμπουρα Βάσω
Once the Garmin died I started losing it again. I thought I was at least keeping track of which checkpoint was which. But I was wrong. I flew down the hill, passing a couple more people. Finally I came into a checkpoint and saw David's crew. I asked how he'd done. "He's just a few minutes ahead of you!" "Oh, wow! I'd better go then!" I grabbed a Coke and was off, feeling like a jerk, as his crew had just aided the competition. Well, it didn't really matter, I was going to be pushing hard as long as I could anyway. I was still flying. It felt like even faster than last year. Now, I noted that this was checkpoint 73. That meant just one more, in Sparta, then the finish. That's what my brain perceived, and that's what it told my body. That's how it measured out remaining resources. A few minutes later, sure enough, there's David, running with someone else. I fly by both of them, giving him a hearty congratulations on an excellent race. Really, I don't think he was on anyone's radar, and here he is running a sub-28! Fantastic. But, will he try to catch me? No. No one here can move anywhere near as fast as I am running, it seems. And 20 miles earlier I'd thought my race was over, unable to run at all.
This is the most mysterious thing to me about this year's race. Where did that come from? I was pretty much toast, physically and mentally. Muscles had been pushed too far; no amount of willpower could overcome that. Well, I guess the Advil probably helped. Still, boom, I was ON. I was 100%. I was FLYING. After feeling more drained, more damaged, than last year, I was outrunning even those very fast splits. Looking at the splits now, I averaged 7:06 pace down the hill. There is nothing like the glory and sense of accomplishment of finishing Spartathlon. And I was feeling it, reveling in it. But. After I passed David, the road kept going... and going... and going. Sparta didn't look any closer. I knew the last checkpoint was in Sparta, in the flat. Something wasn't right here. Finally, after a very long way, I came into the next checkpoint. But it was still not in Sparta. "How far to the finish?" "5.5k." "WHAT??? This is checkpoint 74, right?" "Yes." And the sign said 74. I swear it did. Leaving, I was incredibly confused and frustrated. I know how this race ends; I've run it before. This was not right. I know the checkpoints didn't move this year; I'd checked every single one in my spreadsheet vs. the official checkpoint plan. Was I hallucinating so badly that I couldn't read 74, that I heard them say 74, when it wasn't true? My perceived reality was inconsistent. Was I even awake at all, running Spartathlon? Was I lying in a ditch somewhere, dreaming? All I knew was here I was expecting to crank it in and FINISH, and I had to run another three miles. Well so much for my goals. I began to lose motivation, and slow down and walk here and there. I'd given it all I had, and expected to be done. Eventually I came into Sparta, and there was ANOTHER checkpoint 74. They swore that no, the previous one was 73. Well. Obviously something was really wrong, but here at least I recognized where I was. There was just one thing. How much time had I lost running through the Twilight Zone? I asked the time: 10:18 am. OK. 2.5k to go before 11:00. I have my sub-28. I couldn't even do the simple math beyond that to think about 27:35, though I was thinking that was gone.
So Now it Ends...
I ran what I could the rest of the way, but there are some hills here that I walked, flanked by kids on bikes who couldn't comprehend why I'd be walking there. Finally, at long last, the final turn. 400m to Leonidas!!! Now I had it, I was thrilled beyond words. Everything had started to come together as I flew down the hill; I'd been thinking now, if I could only catch David, that would be icing on the cake. Oh well. Yet there he was; I'd caught him. Catching Pam would be too much to hope... plus I was thinking she had a very good shot at winning, depending on how Katy fared coming back from injury, and I really was pulling for her to do well. There is nothing like that final 400 meters. Finishing the Boston Marathon doesn't even come close. Like last year, I finished strong. I kissed Leonidas' foot and I was DONE. Mac was there, taking photographs. I received my olive wreath; I drank my water from the river Evrotas. The finisher award this year turned out to be golden olive leaves on an acrylic base. I guess they are changing it every year now, after doing medals for so long. I hadn't heard my finish time or place, and asked. After I got to the medical tent, I was told 27:33, 16th place. I had thought 16th, if 22nd had been right, and I'd counted correctly as I passed people. 27:33!!! After all that, I JUST beat last year's time by two hours. In the end, a nearly perfect result. It sure didn't feel that way when it was happening.
Pic by Sparta Photography Club
Pic by Sparta Photography Club
Pic by Mac Smith
Pic by Ina van Delden
Pam was there in the medical tent too. How did she do? Turns out she'd come in just 20 minutes ahead of me, 27:13. So, no 26:00. Katy had won again resoundingly, though not quite as fast as last year. Pam was second. Podium!!! Also the sixth-fastest female finish ever. I tried to express to Pam and Mac what I had just gone through, but failed. My mind was well and truly gone here. The race officials put me in a taxi all the way to Githio, even though Mac was also driving Pam – I was not allowed to go with them. I was fading in and out of consciousness the entire way. About those checkpoints. I think what must have happened, suggested by Pam or Mac, is this. Every checkpoint has lots of info on the board. The checkpoint number in large digits, distance to the next checkpoint, and the next checkpoint number, smaller. So somewhere around 72-73 I must have latched onto the next checkpoint number on the signs, instead of the current one. That's the kind of lapse in focus I can plausibly see happening. I still don't think I can have completely hallucinated the wrong numbers -- or being told I was in checkpoint 74 when it was really 73. Maybe a language issue there.
Patience, Highlander. You Have Done Well.
I told Mac and Pam that this was my biggest race effort ever. It felt like 3-4 races, or 3-4 lifetimes. "Hardest" race ever? In a sense I guess. But overall the thing is that it was just a huge effort. I've had lower lows, I think. I just didn't give up. I put a massive amount of energy and suffering into it, and I survived, and got the payoff. Pam said it was the hardest thing she'd ever done. And yeah, was not happy with those splits I'd given her for after the mountain either. But then, it turns out she'd actually picked up to 25:00 pace at some point – she hadn't told me she'd even generated those splits. I made up a lot of time on her after the mountain. A little longer and I'd have caught her. You're up 2-0 now, Pam. Bring your A game to Belfast (if I can get there!). Martin and Phil finished 41st and 44th, with solid times, under 31. I'm still not sure where I passed Martin. The whole way, I was thinking first finisher over 50 was out, as he was ahead. But no – I was the first finisher over 50. This is a race I have to be really happy with. Still, there's not much glory for 16th place. I'm a different runner than I was a year ago. I see myself in a higher tier at this kind of race, when I make it my training focus for the year. But I'm still 50. Well, 51, now. I'm probably kidding myself if I think I could ever, e.g., podium here. Yet I still have to ask myself, how did 27 slip away? Did I run the best race I could? The race has three roughly 50-mile stages: start to Corinth, Corinth to the mountain, mountain to finish. In comparison to last year, this year I ran those stretches 40 minutes, one hour, and 20 minutes faster than last year, respectively. The middle segment is where my down patch was last year, so that's no surprise. But the most important number is that 20-minute improvement over the last 53. Last year I went off course here 15 minutes, so it's really only 5 minutes faster. Also, as fast as I flew down the hill last year, faster than all but one other runner, this year I ran it 11 minutes faster: 1:44 vs. 1:33, from checkpoint 69 to the finish. I really cannot comprehend where that came from. But what that means is that apart from going off course last year, I was actually 6 minutes slower this year from the mountain to the top of the final hill. That's not good. What can I do about that? I think it comes down to focus, attitude, and mental toughness. I just wasn't as positive here this year as I was last year, and it showed. Finally when I could run it in, and I had the solid result in my grasp, that made enough of a difference. But there's a simpler, more mundane, answer as well. Why did I have to pee so much? Why was I so tired and unfocused, more than I have been in any other race? Why did I lack the energy I had last year, until I could smell the finish? All of this is explained by the fact that I was evidently fighting off a cold, which hit me hard after the race. It's not always all about grit and deep soul-searching. Sometimes it's just something stupid. Other than that... if I want to do significantly better here, say an hour faster, I think there's nothing for it but to train harder. A better mental game, or not being sick, might have gotten me 27:00, but I think not much more. Fortunately, I don't think I've yet hit my limit in training volume. It's all about not getting injured, and stringing together enough high-mileage weeks. Well, it's not all about that, but that's a direction I can move in and aspire to further progress, anyway. I can't wait 'til next time.
With Martin Fryer and Phil McCarthy
With ISA president Kostis Papadimitriou and Pam Smith. One of my favorite pics.
After the success of the Ladybower Trail Marathon, the R.O. David Riley asked me if I would like to run the inaugural Dark Peak 30. One look at the route, and I was sold!
The route starts and finished in Edale, and takes in Lords Seat, Mam Tor, Lose Hill, Win Hill, Stanage Edge, Ladybower Reservoir, Win Hill (again!), and the Kinder Plateau. An epic day out.
As race day approached, some interesting names started appearing on the start list - Paul Grundy (3rd in Lakeland 50 2014), Dan Milton and Richard Bardon from The Endurance Store Trail Team (winners of Grand Tour of Skiddaw Team category), Stuart Walker (Just back from the Alps, and rapid enough anyway!), and Ste Lord (current record holder of the Hardmoors 60). I figured at worst, there should be at least one of us from Team Mountain Fuel on the podium at the end!
After an incident-free drive up, I arrived with plenty of time to drink my pre-race Mountain Fuel Xtreme, pay for parking (ouch!), have a coffee, catch up with everyone and lay out my best pre-race excuses. I had everythin packed and ready to go, 1 bottle of Mountain Fuel Xtreme made up ready, 2x sachets ready to make up at the checkpoints and a small stash of jelly babies to get me between feed points.
Ste asked me if I was going to be taking pics on the way round. Not this time, as I was confident my sports hernia and rib would hold out. I was racin'!
After the briefing, where we were promised over 7000ft of ascent, we were off. Stu Walker, myself, Ste Lord, Matthew (Breakall?) and Paul Grundy trotted off out the front. A steady trot along the road to the start of the Pennine Way, then it's a steady climb up towards Broadlee-Bank Tor before descending down to Upper Booth. Stu and Ste both made a small gap on the climb, which Paul and myself closed up a bit on the descent. From there, it's about a mile on the road to the Chapel Gate track up towards Lords Seat.
Chapel Gate track. Photo courtesy of Rob Graveley.
It's the first proper climb, about 1000ft over 2.5 miles. Paul and I kept a steady pace up here, not forcing a run, keeping a good power hike going on the steeper bits, running the gentler inclines. Both Ste and Stu pushed hard up here, with Stu opening up a good gap. I guess training in the Alps makes a small difference here...
Just before the high point of Lords Seat (second highest point on the course, and only by 20ft or so), I had to stop for a quick wee, and Paul got a bit of a gap on me. Not much visibility up here, but didn't see anyone sneaking up behind, so pace appeared good. I wasn't too bothered about thrashing myself to catch up to him, as I thought I'd be back with him before we got to Lose Hill...
View along Lords Seat, with Mam Tor, Back Tor then Lose Hill in the distance. Photo courtesy of Rob Graveley.
There is some great running along the ridge, so I just enjoyed myself along here, slowly closing the distance between myself and Paul, gaining occasional glimpses of Ste in the distance. I think I was about 15m behind Paul when we summited Lose Hill, before he got a rush of blood to the head and charged off the side like it was the end of a fell race. I was a bit more sensible, trying to make my descent as smooth as possible to save my quads for the descents that I knew were coming.
Down into Hope, there is a short road run before the left turn to the road up to Twitchill Farm. It was at this point that some low-life had removed some race signage, which had temporarily confused Paul - he was a lot closer to me going up the road than I had expected, and when I caught him just above Twitchill Farm (he waited for me at a gate) he filled me in about his minor misadventure. Onwards, and upwards then. Literally.
From Hope to the top of Win Hill (our next high point) it's just under 900ft, in just over a mile. It was mostly a power hike, with little bits of running until nearly the top. Some amazing views back towards Lose Hill, and over to Ladybower Reservoir, then straight back down Parkin Clough to checkpoint 1.
This bit is steep. 900ft of descent, in half a mile. Both myself and Paul were restrained down here, to save both quads and faceplants. Then it was the checkpoint, and feed station! Sachet of Mountain Fuel into bottle, filled, face stuffed with choc-chip muffin and a few other bits and pieces that I can't remember (careful to avoid the Flapjack of Doom), a small handful of Haribo, then I was on my way again, with Paul following just after, trying to decipher a confusing conversation about the leaders - on his own about 10 minutes ahead?
No rest for the legs as from here it's another 1000ft climb up to Stanage Edge. The first part on road was great, found some rhythm, then I found a cyclist on a ~£4k Cervelo to trot past on my way up. It's the little things that keep me happy! I think I surprised Amanda Riley and another marshal at the car park beside Dennis Knoll, then carried on up on the bridle path towards Stanage Edge.
Just over 3 miles of climbing, and about 900ft of climb later, I made it to the edge. Here, you sort of turn back on yourself and run along the edge, still ascending to the high point of High Neb.
The path up to Stanage Edge (left) and the path along the edge towards High Neb (right). Photo courtesy of Rob Graveley.
As I turned the corner, I looked back and saw Paul about half a minute back, along with Ste Lord. The previous conversation made sense now, as clearly Ste had also taken a wrong turn on the lead up to Twitchill Farm (which he confirmed later). Now Ste is a much better climber than me, so I put the hammer down a bit and hit threshold effort all the way to High Neb, then maintained it on the descent down to Moscar road crossing. I was pleased to see I still had a bit of a gap on him.
From the road, there is a 100ft climb, then another short descent down to another road crossing, and it looked like I was holding my distance. From there, it's a short descent past Moscar House, then a long climb up to Derwent Moor past the grouse butts. It's about 400ft of up, but I kept running as much of it as I could, not looking back as I didn't want to see how close Ste was!
Descent from Derwent Moor to Ladybower Reservoir. Photo courtesy of Rob Graveley.
A lovely descent followed, but I was still careful not to go too hard as there was still a good amount of climbing, descending and running to be done, and I needed my legs to be in as good a state as possible. I still wasn't hanging around, mind, and got on with the job, sneaking a look back at an opportune moment.
Ste was a lot further back than I expected him to be - bonus, looks like I've got the edge (ha!) on the descents. At the bottom, Ste was nowhere in sight, so I made myself scarce, getting out of sight to try and get some sort of psychological boost on him. The flattest part of the course it this part, along the side of the Reservoir then back to the checkpoint at the bottom of Parking Clough. I pushed hard along here, knowing I could refuel soon and have a "rest" whilst clawing myself back up to the top of Win Hill.
Got to the checkpoint, had my powder in my empty bottle ready to go, snaffles a choc-chip muffin, rinsed some salty nuts around my mouth, drank some cola, grabbed a Reeses Peanut Butter thingy for later and a double choc-chip muffin for the climb. Straight back up Parking Clough. 900ft in just over half a mile.
I was at the top of the first set of steps when I saw Ste heading towards the Cp, so I figured I had about 1-2 minutes on him, depending on how on point his Cp game was - he'd clearly made some ground on me on the flat run in! Not much that I could do at this point apart from get myself up the hill!
Parkin Clough. Steeper than the photo looks! Photo courtesy of Rob Graveley.
I kept sneaking looks back, and couldn't see anyone, so I stopped looking until the top. I looked back, then there was Ste, about 30 seconds or so back. From Win Hill, there is a 2 mile descent, with about 500ft of elevation loss, so I figured about here was as good a place as any to try and get a good gap, as I knew there was another good climb from Hope Cross up to the Kinder Plateau.
It was a good idea at the time, but by the time I got to Hope Cross, my legs were feeling a little worse for wear! There's a steady climb on a bridle path to the path up to Crookstone Hill, which I managed to run, then run/walk up to the edge of the Plateau. Ste was a way back now, so I let myself start to get a little excited about 2nd place.
Kinder Plateau is not flat on top, however, with another 300ft of climb still to over the next mile, I couldn't afford to let up. I love running along there though, so it was a really good mental boost and I fell into a great rhythm along the edge, until I hit the descent to The Nab. I ate the Reeses peanut thingy to celebrate, and then headed down the switchbacks, enjoying the last descent into Edale village.
Across Grindsbrook, then down the road, back to Edale Village Hall, and the finish (5:14). Stu had almost finished his Pie and Peas, having already been there for just over half an hour (4:41), then Ste arrived 5 minutes after I did (5:19). It's a massive shame some twazzock moved the sign as it might have made for a great battle at the the end! Paul Grundy finished an excellent 4th (5:26) with Pete Watson (who looks like he's going to be very good at these, and is from my running club Erewash Valley) number 5 in 5:43. Dan Stowers achieved his goal of beating everyone from The Endurance Store, coming 6th in 5:46.
And there was a toasty hot Cornish Pastie and Peas waiting for me when I finished....mmmmmmmmmmm!
First lady back was Miranda Singleton in 6:41.
Thoroughly enjoyed my day out, easily the best, and toughest 30 mile route in the Peak District, and one of the best 30 mile races I have done. Massive kudos to David Riley for yet another event which is destined to become a classic! Have a look on Facebook for the Peakrunner Trail Series.
As ever, I'd like to thank Mountain Fuel (Link: www.mountainfuel.co.uk ) for fuelling my race, and to TrainAsONE for the dynamic, adaptive online training (Link: www.trainasone.com
In April 2016, I was fortunate enough to win entry into the 2016 Ultra Trail Atlas Toubkal (UTAT) event in Morocco. Thanks to Running Heroes, the race package included return flights to Marrakech, 1 night stay in Marrakech or is it Marrakesh? and then 4 nights at the race camp in Oukaimeden and of course entry into my choice of race.
The UTAT - Ultra Trail Atlas Toubkal - were into their 8th annual staging of the event.
Taking place on the Oukaimeden plateau of the High Atlas Mountains in Morocco and at 2700m above sea level, it experiences temperatures ranging from upwards of 35C during the day to minus 10C at night, the event would be like nothing else I had experienced before. How would I prepare and train for such an event?
Just a little about Running Heroes before I continue. Free to join and use, Running Heroes rewards runners, literally for running. It is such as simple but effective concept. After you sign up, you go to the 'Connect my Applications' area of your profile on the site, choose your sport (Running, Walking, Cycling and Skiing), then choose which fitness tracker you use to record your run, as of writing Strava, Garmin, Runtastic, Polar, TomTom, Mapmyride(run) and Suunto are currently compatible.
Once your application is connected, everytime you do a workout, all you need to do is login to Running Heroes and your workout is automatically synced. You are awarded points for each run. You get points based on Distance, Speed and ascent. The harder the run, the more points.
Each week there are a series of challenges, again free to participate, once enrolled in the challenge, you need to hit the challenge goal and have you workout synced by the deadline - For example a challenge could be to run 3 times in a week on different day and a minimum of 3 miles each time! and you could win sports gear, nutrition and energy products or even, as in my case, entry in to races. I have also won a winter running jacket, socks, entry into a triathlon and more.
The points you accumulate can then be used to redeem against discount codes for some of the promoted partners and occasionally you can redeem points for free items along the lines of the prizes that are available. It takes zero effort to be part of the site. The actual effort is how much you put into your training.
A couple of weeks had passed following the announcement that I had won the prize before Marion from Atlas Trail contacted me with specifics of prize. I could choose from any of the events - 105km Ultra, The 42Km Marathon De L'Atlas, The 26km Viree D'Ikkiss, The 10km L'Amazigh Trail or The Challenge Du Haut Atlas which included the 42km on day 1 then the 26km on day 2.
Each event involved running up a few hills, ranging from 400m (1312 feet) of ascent for the 10km unto 6000m (19685 feet) for the 105km. I changed my mind several times, as I was unsure of my ability. I could run, but to run at altitude, in the heat and up a mountain or three was something totally new. Any one of those conditions is tough on a runner, but all three takes on a new level of ability. Eventually I settled on entering the 2 Day Challenge Du Haut Atlas - I hadn't actually ran an official marathon since London in 2008 and where I live hills are quite tiny and rare.
Before I could complete the online registration for the event, I had to get a medical certificate from my GP to certify that I was OK to take part in the event. This was a simple formality and was only charged £18.
Marion informed me that I could choose to stay in Marrakech before or after the event, I opted before and she asked me to look at my option for flights. I had settled on flights from London Stansted to Marrakech, there were few alternatives. So it would be a 6:10 am flight from Stansted with Ryan Air to Marrakech Menera Airport on Wednesday 28th September 2016.
All I needed to do now, was book car parking at Stansted, opt to buy checked luggage and a small matter of training. How do you train to run a marathon? that part was simple enough, I had already started training hard for the Great North Run, I was actually training as if for a Marathon already and was covering between 30-75 miles a week in training. I was the fittest I had been since I was 19. Next - how to train for altitude? I live in Britain - I can't do altitude training, our largest mountain is hobbit sized. Ben Nevis stands at 1345m (4414 feet), it is half the height of the altitude of the Oukaimeden plateau at 2700m (8858 feet) where I would be staying for 4 days. Finally hill training? The simplest option and something that I had been intending to do for a long time, was to rejoin South Shields Harriers and Athletics club. Maybe I could increase my fitness levels further and gain a bit more speed and endurance while doing some hill repeats.
Expect the unexpected, actually, expect the expected! Travel can be mean!
Day 1 actually begins on Thursday 22nd September! Why? I received an email from Ryan Air reminding me of the T & Cs of my booking, I never booked, the lovely organisers at UTAT did. But anyway, the email reminded me that I needed a minimum of 3 months remaining on my passport on my return journey. I did check this out previously, Gov.uk states no additional validity was required beyond the return journey date, I did think about renewing my passport but decided not too, we rarely go abroad and I may not need another passport for a few years. But Ryan Air are 'unique' and my passport would have had 2 months remaining on my return. Emergency appointment booked at Durham Passport Office and the new passport collected on Tuesday 27th September.
Passport securely packed and case ready, I say my farewells to Debbie and Jack and leave at just after 21:30 on Tuesday 27th. I was planning on leaving at 23:00, but I was expecting the expected! So left sooner.
I get in the car and start the engine, switch the lights on! Ah! Debbie points out that one of the headlight bulbs had just blown! Engine off, bonnet open, bulb out, spare bulb in, engine on, lights on. Hooray! working lights. I say goodbye again and head to ASDA for some petrol, the car however was blowing quite loudly from the exhaust. Quick inspection but couldn't see what the issue was (later on discovered that the exhaust had split at one of the mounting points and was hanging down) the car was drivable, just a bit noisy.
Quick stop at ASDA for petrol and check tyre pressures, then off to join the A19 South. I drove as far as the junction with the A689 at Wolviston where I left the A19 to join the A1, diversion 1. Those lovely LED matrix signs were informing me the A19 Middlesborough flyover southbound was shut. Diversion 2 took place at Scotch Corner, where another sign indicated the A1 would be shut. A bit of a diversion via Richmond and Im back on the A1. After the A1, I join the M1, my intention was to stop at a services on the M1 for a coffee, however, another sign indicated the M1 was closed ahead. Another diversion and I am back on the A1. I reach Doncaster by 00:30. Progress is slow.
Skip forward a few hours and eventually I reach Stansted Jet Parks by about 02:45. I'm actually on time! Glad I left earlier now.
Three and a bit hours on the plane later and I land at Menara Airport in Marrakech. At this point I wish I had read more reviews on Trip Advisor, a condition of entering the country is you must complete an official form documenting some basic traveller information; Flight No, Passport No, Departure City and Destination, Accommodation while in the country, nationality, date due to leave country, shoe size, circumfrence of big toe etc This shouldn't prove to be an issue for most travellers except pens weren't provided. I had to loiter around some other British until one couple were happy enough to give me their pen. (Note to self - Always carry a pen when travelling!)
Baggage collected and many minutes waiting at border patrol and Im finally in the Moroccan side of the airport. There were two useful tips that I picked up from Trip Adviser; firstly, get the local currency after baggage collection and in the main foyer of the airport as the rates are significantly better. And secondly, locate a mobile phone shop inside the airport and purchase a Moroccan SIM. Water and Electricity are a limited resource in Morocco, however, 3G is almost everywhere. For about £15, you can get a preloaded sim with about 20 min of international minutes, some texts and apparently 6GB of data. Sim purchased and installed into my spare phone by the lovely chap in the phone shop, it was time to head to the hotel.
My original plan was to walk, the hotel was only 3 mile from the Airport, however, I had read that Taxis were safe enough, you just had to make sure that the driver gives you the price before the journey. I head out of the airport and am instantly hounded by several blokes all asking if I want a taxi! bemused as to which one to go with or even who asked first, I say yes to the closest and he directs me to follow him. A few arguments erupt and I am passed between several different drivers before eventually things settle and I am directed to follow someone different. I follow him across the car park in the direction of a line of beige Dacia cars. He however, is not the driver, he hands me over to someone else. They have a conversation in Arabic then eventually a different bloke arrives who is the driver. At this point Im thinking that walking really would not have been such a bad idea.
The driver asks me where I want to go, or at least thats what I guess he was asking as his English was very broken. I tell him the name of the hotel and show him a map on my phone of the hotel. He looks rather confused and appears to not know this area! After a discussion with his two colleagues, they eventually settle on where the hotel is. Before I get into the taxi, I ask the driver how much, he just says '23', I ask again, he says '23', to clarify I ask, '23 Dirhams?' he mutters something and I ask again if it was '23 Dirhams', he kind of nods.
After what appeared to be a long and erratic route, which I later understood was due to the manic or rather, apparent unregulated driving style by everyone and the fact that most roads are dual carriageway and left turns aren't always possible, we arrive at the hotel. I did track where I was on Google Maps, just for my own safety. I pull out 30 Dirhams which is about £2.50 and hand it to the driver, he laughs and says that he wants 300 dirhams, thats about £25, a quarter of the spending money that I had. As if by magic, he now speaks great English! and he explains that he doesn't accept Dirhams but wants Euros. I try to argue, spending 10 minutes frustrated while my suitcase remained locked in his boot. In the end I had to give him a £20 note and I finally got my case and he left! I don't get in another Taxi while in Morocco and later learn from the others at the race that they were also conned in a similar approach by their taxi drivers.
I eventually check in to the 'Hotel Palais al Bahja' shortly after 12pm. The hotel reception staff were very welcoming and spoke some English. The hotel was clean if not a little dated. My room was small but perfectly adequate for the single night I would be staying there. The room was dark on entering as the curtains had been drawn, the reasons became apparent when I opened them. Sunlight flooded into the room bringing with it the Moroccan heat. Up until that point, I hadn't been too aware of how hot it was. A quick check of the weather app on my phone suggested that it was about 35c. A quick check of the rooms facilities uncovered a mini fridge stocked with water and a variety of fizzy drinks. A label on the front of the fridge itemised the price of each item, a bottle of water was 12 dirham and a can of Coke Zero was 25 dirham, approx £1 and £2 respectively.
After a quick freshen up and change of clothes I headed out of the hotel. I was initially planning on walking the three miles to the walled city and the market at Jamaa el Fna, but changed my plans, instead I headed to the newer part of Marrakech, an area called Gueliz, which was about a mile walk. Google maps suggested that there was a Starbucks next door to the Adidas store. The walk was rather entertaining. If there were any rules around driving etiquette or a highway code, it wasn't obvious, as an example, moped and motorbikes would ride along pedestrian crossings (which cars never stop for and its a mad dash to cross) zig zagging in front of cars travelling in both directions, mount the pavement, play skittles with pedestrians and then dismount the pavement back onto the road, a quite effective way of avoiding the hazards of a junction and almost a certain accident. There are two notable points that are apparent with Morocco, firstly, like a lot of Spanish holiday resorts, it is constantly under construction. Not only are new buildings being erected, it would appear that existing buildings are amended to include additional floors, but nothing seems to be getting finished.
The other notable point about Marrakech is the traffic, there are so many cars, lorries, motorbikes, scooters and push bikes. The city is heaving with traffic, unlike anywhere I have ever been before.
A quick coffee from Starbucks; a Grande size latte cost 28 dirhams or about £2.33, use of the wifi and a call back home, then it was onto the Adidas store; no different to home, similar discounted lines of out of season clothes and footwear with prices comparative to back home.
It was time for some food. I decided to be cautious, the last thing I wanted was to get a stomach bug and I had read that some of the cafes had suspect hygiene standards, you couldn't tell which eatery was safe, so Im slightly embarrassed to say I went to McDonalds and had a Chicken Burger! Sorry MO if you are reading this! I do make up for it later in the trip, but it wasn't that evenings dinner, I had a BBQ Chicken pizza then, which was very good, I played safe once again and dined in the hotel restaurant.
After my burger I headed back to the hotel, I had been up since about 6 am the previous day, 29 hours without sleep and I was starting to get tired and couldn't face more exploring. It was my intention to get my head down for an hour, it was about 2.30pm, I drew the curtains, put the aircon on low and lay silently with my eyes closed, but alas, the land of nod was not welcoming me. A quick change of clothes into my running gear, I decided to take a run out to the decathlon store located about 3 mile away near the Malizia part of the city. I wanted to buy more energy gels or bars and figured they may have them, a visit to the website earlier suggested they didn't sell them online, but it was worth the trip to find out. I had earlier in the day purchased a few bottles of water and had chilled then in the fridge. Water bottle in hand I set out for a slow easy jog.
The outbound run wasn't too bad, I managed to cross the roads without being hit. It was really hot and the sweat was pouring out of me as if I was standing in a slow running shower, but the run didn't feel too bad. I was at around 1500 metres altitude and at that height oxygen levels are just under 20% (Sea level is 20.9%) so no real change from home. One thing that did hit me quite strongly as I ran towards the decathlon store was the odour, the sewers very very obvious. I also noticed quite a few stray dogs playing in the dirt and away from the main roads. Lots of people were going about their business and there were lots of men, just randomly sitting in plastic patio chairs, some outside of the buildings where they must live or work, others by the side of the road, but most bizarrely some were situated in the central reservation of the dual carriageway! Just sitting there, not doing anything particular. On arriving at the store, I spent a couple of minutes briefly looking around before eventually asking someone if they sold any energy products, as expected, they didn't. I promptly turned around and ran back to the hotel.
The run back was significantly harder work than the run out. My 500ml of water was gone within minutes of starting the return trip. A new chilled bottle of water purchased from a small shop and I took stock of why it was so hard. Not obvious at the time, but the run out was downhill, the return a very gradual climb of only 125 feet or so, but it was very noticeable in the heat of the day. By time I had arrived back at the hotel, the second 500ml of water had been finished and the sweat was unabated.
No iframes
After my shower, I head out for another walk, in total I walked and ran 14 miles on my first day in Morocco. Pizza for evening dinner was the ideal way to replenish some energy and do a bit of Carb loading. Alarm set for 7am, I managed to sleep soundly and woke refreshed. For breakfast I was served a basket of crusty bread with a selection of Jams, some pastries, 2 glasses of fresh orange juice and as much coffee as I wanted from a self service machine.
I checked out of the hotel at 8am and began the 3 mile walk to the Airport. As I neared the Airport, that is within 1 mile, I was stopped twice by taxis wanting me to accept a lift, the second driver was very persistent and in the end I had to be rude and ignore him.
Day 2 My Journey to Oukaimeden and the Atlas Mountains
I arrived at the airport by about 8:45am and was greeted by two representatives from the UTAT. I was booked on the 12pm coach to Oukaimeden but asked if it was possible to leave sooner, the first coach was due to leave at sometime between 9am and 10am. As it happens there was room and I didn't have to wait long at Menara Airport before I was on my way to the Atlas Mountains which lay about 45 miles to the North and would take about 1 hour and 45 minutes.
The journey to the mountains was thankfully uneventful. Passing through several small towns and villages, life appeared to be slower and less hectic than Marrakech. By the roadside was littered sellers of red clay terrine pots, fruit and ver and all manner of other items. As we started the climb into the foothills the scenery change from almost totally flat and desert like to lush fertile green. Trees grew in number and then wooded areas dotted by farms. The number of visable dwellings reduced in number and those that did occasionally appear were quite simple in construction, many were built by the side of the road overlooking the valleys beneath.
Its didn't take to long before we started climbing the switch back roads up the mountains, the coach remaining in a low gear as it crawled upwards. Barriers protecting road users from a quite scary drop reduced in number and for a worryingly long period of time, it appeared as if there was no barrier. But the views out of the window were spectacular and any thoughts of going out in a ball of flames were quickly forgotten, that and the fact our driver was actually a decent driver. We eventually arrived at Oukaimeden at 12:12pm.
The sun was shining and the mountains shielding the plateau were stunning. One of the UTAT representatives came onto the coach and explained something in french, I didn't understand a word of it, but like many of the others on the coach I disembarked. I very quickly found out that what was being explained, was that those people who had opted to stay in the CAF (Alpine Lodge) to get off, those staying in the tents, stay on. No matter, one of the UTAT chaps walked me the short distance across the field to the tents. There I was given an official wristband which allowed me into the dinning tent and was informed which tent was mine.
As I started the walk to my tent and started chatting to a fellow runner, from Australia and called Ian, I quickly learnt that he was to be sharing my tent. The label on the front of the tent identified that there would be three of us sharing, most of the other tents had occupancy of four. So we joked that we would be in luxury compared to other, ha! how can a tent be considered luxury. As it happens the third chap, Mr Martinez didn't show, so we had two mats each for the four days. I later learn that in some of the other tents, no shows meant that occupancy was one.
As we unpacked and setup home for the few days, I got chatting to Ian. An ultra runner he lives in France but works in Switzerland. Last year he completed the CCC™ (Courmayeur Champed Chamonix) race of the UTMB™ (Ultra Trail Mont Blanc), 101km run with over 6100m of ascent. He completed it in a respectable time of 23 hours. He was entered into the 105km UTAT ultra which has 6000m of ascent. He explained that there was very little comparison between the two events. While the UTMB™ CCC™ is a high profile event and has a much larger number of competitors (1900 allowed) and like the UTAT there are 5 races to choose from, the UTAT is potentially harder. The CCC highest point is below the starting altitude of the UTAT, while the ascent is very similar, the CCC is routed over well used tracks but the UTAT is definitely not over well used tracks and in places you are in total isolation, finally the climate is warm in the Alps during the UTMB but not as hot as the UTAT could get. Totally different events with different approaches to completing. With that news I reminded myself that I was ONLY doing a marathon then 26km the following day and should be grateful.
With that we headed out to explore our surroundings. The plateau of Oukaimeden is a ski resort during winter, who knew that Morocco gets cold enough for snow. Oukaimeden is Africas highest ski resort and while it doesn't get at busy as those in Europe, it was in 2008 about to receive a multi billion dollar investment from a Dubai firm to enhance the resort, sadly the deal collapsed following the financial crisis of recent years.
The plateau was surrounded by mountains in all directions, there were valleys at each of the compass points. To the south of the plateau were the ski lifts and next to those a traditional berber village, at the time of visiting, only a few houses were occupied. During warmer weather, the occupants would move for several months of the year into the heart of the Atlas mountains where they would raise crops and heard goats. Then as the weather turned would head back to their homes in Oukaimeden where a welcome home festival would be held by all the villagers.
On the western edge of the plateau lies the modern village of Oukaimeden, sat at the foot of a mountain it has a few restaurants and hotels, a few small shops, the CAF which is the alpine lodge and snaking thee way up the mountain dozens of houses. At the very top of the mountain was an observetory, some mobile phone masts and a radio station, listed on Google Maps as Radio Fusion. Unsurprisingly Oukaimeden had a mobile signal with 3G.
We spent a short while in the CAF, this would be our hangout for the few days we were in Oukaimeden. With WiFi, electric points for charging phones and a bar serving snacks, coffee and beer, it was the social hub. It wasn't long before I met David. From Aberdeen, David was the second winner of the UTAT entry awarded by Running Heroes. David is a better runner than me, better by far. Capable of running a sub 3 hour marathon and quick as you like over 5km, he had entered the 26km Viree D'Ikkiss, recently back from injury, he wanted to have an experience and wasn't setting any times on his run. I introduced David to Ian. We would be later joined by Nicki and Neil from Bournemouth. The five of us would hang out for the duration of our stay.
Hungry, Ian and I head to Chez JuJu, a small restaurant and hotel a few hundred metres up the road. Enjoying the warm sun, we sat outside and chose our meals from the specials menu. I had Egg Salad to start, Chicken Terrine for main, finished with an Apple Tart and washed down with a beer. All for 150 dirhams including a tip.
The meal was fantastic, very filling and authentic Moroccan, see Mo, I did say ;-)
We hung out in the CAF for a while as we had time to kill before we were able to collect our race bibs at 4pm. We discussed our running experiences, our expections for the races and how crazy we must all be. Time flew by and it was soon time to collect our bibs. Fortunate for me, Ian was pretty fluent in French and discovered that we needed to present our full race kit at checking before we could get our bibs; for my non running friends, a race bib is basically the race number which is pinnned to our top. I should mention, on the windows and doors at the front of the CAF were pinned itineraries for the coming days; breakfast the next day would be at 7am, evening dinner from 7pm, there were a variety of walks, excursions and presentations which were optional to attend.
Ian and I headed back to our tent to pack our race bag. It was easier for me, as Ian was doing the 105km race he had more gear to pack and carry; we were starting in the dark, I was finishing in the light of day, but Ian would continue to run through the day and into the next night and well into Sunday, he also needed to pack a drop bag with food and change of clothes which would be available at 88km into his race.
The kit I was expected to carry was as follows; in my backpack there was
2 litre bladder with fluids 500ml running bottle 2 working headlamps / torches with sufficient battery reserves Survival Blanket 140cm by 200cm Torch / lamp with integrated whistle First Aid Kit with Anti-diarrheal, pain killers, antiseptic, plasters etc Minimum of 1500Kcal of food - 8 Energy Gels, 5 Peanut Tracker Bars and a large bag of Haribo Jelly Babies. (I also carried SIS GoHydro Berry Tabs for adding to water) Waterproof Winter Jacket and Running Tights Lightweight Running Jacket. The road book of the Race Hat / Cap or Bandana
And highly recommended were;
Mobile phone with use in Morocco Gloves 300 Dirhams for contingencies
There were other items that were optional, but my backpack only had 10 litre of storage and was quite full. I carried some of my gels and the peanut trackers in a Karrimor runners belt for easy access. The belt was a last minute purchase, as was a Karrimor race cap. My running bottle was shaped to fit comfortably in my hand when needed, but remained in my bag until such time that my bladder was empty.
Kit packed we headed to the race tent, after a short wait, it was our turn to check in. The kit check was random and they asked to see 3 specific items; the whistle, head torch and winter jacket. Passports inspected for ID, I was presented with my race bib, number 225. We were each given an official UTAT shoe bag. The road book of the race weren't available and we needed to return the next day to collect them. Things were now very real, this was actually happening!
Back to the tent to drop off my kit. Quick change of clothes into my running gear as I planned to go for a run, nothing too strenuous to start. The hill behind the CAF that led upto the radio towers had peaked my interest, so I had decided to head up for my first altitude run. At 2700m altitude, O2 levels are about 13.9%, sea level they are 20.9%. Breathing a third less oxygen while jogging uphill, where i may add, the O2 levels get thinner, would be interesting. Fortunately it was much cooler, which I was grateful for, it would make the jog a little more tolerable. I recorded a couple of videos during my run, in total it was 4.5 mile to the top and back, with 632 feet of ascent (193m)
A quick shower on my return, its worth pointing out, next to the tent I would be sleeping in, is located a cafe, it was closed, except there were male and female toilets. To have a shower, I would have to use the shower block attached to the side of the CAF, not the ideal situation, however, it was acceptable and I didn't experience any waiting around for a shower to be free.
Once again I met up with Ian, David, Nicki and Neil as we headed into the dining tent for our first evening meal. It was now 7pm and the sun was setting. The warmth of the day was disappearing fast, almost as fast as the light. The Dining tent, greeted by a security guard, didn't offer any warmth, we flashed our bracelets to gain entry. In the left hand corner was a single electric heater to warm the whole tent, in each corner, a couple of meters up, were halogen lights, however only one was working. We grabbed at Table as close to the heater as we could and sat down briefly before the first course was ready. Initially there was a mad dash to form queues at each end of the service table. Greeted by the servers, Chicken Noodle Soup with crusty bread was up first.
Not long into my second bowl of soup, the power went off and we were plunged into darkness. I clicked on my head torch and lay it facing up on the table to give us some light. Others on surrounding tables had a better idea however, switching on my mobiles flash into torch mode, I lay it beneath a bottle of water. The light was instantly diffused through the bottle proving us with a more atmospheric but effective solution. It wasn't too long before the lights were back on. We tucked into the second course of Chicken pieces with boiled rice. It was accompanied by a tiny portion of vegetable sauce, but not enough to disguise the distinct taste that rice had. Hard to describe, it was like the rice had been cooked in re-used cooking water. It wasn't terrible but didn't do anything to make the rice more palatable. Several black and strongly sugared coffees later and the cold is getting unbearable. We call it a night and head to bed. Stepping out into the crisp and freezing night, the cold is even more apparent, so much show, I am shivering uncontrollably. The night was pitch black, no cloud cover made the night colder, but made up for it by displaying the most amazing view of the night sky. The stars and planets were on show. Briefly standing and staring at the heavens, I could make out several constellations, it truly was an amazing sight to behold. But not amazing enough to stop my switching on my head torch as the pair of us briskly headed to our tent.
Sleep that night would be very disturbed. The ground wasn't the most comfy. While a lot of coving stones and rocks had been moved, there were still enough to make for a night of tossing and turning to get comfortable.
I would say I woke refreshed, but to wake you had really needed to have slept. I did doze on and off throughout the night, but I was more awake than asleep. It was freezing all night. So cold that from 2am I needed the loo. Lying on the cold and hard ground, with freezing air circulating around you, makes you want the loo even more. I did briefly unzip my sleeping bag to go to the loo, but the warmth of the bag compared to the freezing temperatures outside was too enticing. The other experience of sleeping in a tent, surrounded by others in tents, is the noise. Not only from other sleeping individuals and the cacophony of snores, but from the rustling and shifting of bodies, all cocooned into sleeping bags, striving to find that sweet comfortable spot before the arm you are lying on goes numb and you need to switch once more. But more disturbing than my neighbours, were the other sounds. Packs of dogs barking almost constantly. A donkey which I can only imagine must have had a megaphone strapped to its face while it brayed. It was loud, very very loud, not helped that its sounds echoed of each mountain in the plateau, amplifying its intensity and sleep depriving quality.
At 6am, the adhan or call to prayer, is played out from the Mosque via a series of loud speakers. The muezzin sounded most cheerful during his announcements, obviously enjoying having such an expanded audience than normal. He would make 4 further announcements each day, everyone, passion but determination in every call.
Breakfast was not particularly welcome. That meant I had to get up, change from my warm nightwear into some freezing clothes. Sluggishly dawdle to the toilet and try to freshen up best I could. Then trundle across the field to the dining tent. Breakfast was not at all welcome, it consisted of crusty bread with a selection of jams and laughing cow cheese triangles. Also on offer was plenty of strong black coffee which was well sugared. The reason it was well sugared was due to the fact that sugar cubes weren't really cubes, they were elongated blocks of cement hardened sugar. Almost impossible to break, they would go into the coffee as a whole. Mint Tea was also available, but I didn't feel the need to experience tea. The coffee was OK and I was happy to stick with that. Why did I get up, get dressed, in the cold for this breakfast?
After the usual meet up in the CAF, more chat about our experiences, apprehensions and wishes for the coming days. Our thoughts came back to our stomachs. But before lunch, David and I went for a run. The previous day, David had taken a run out following the first couple of mile of the Marathon route to the valley and village along the trail. He sold it to me as an easy enough run with some climbs. The weather was much hotter, it was shortly after 10am and the sun was starting to heat the day. Running gear on we set out to do the 4 mile out and back. It was only 293ft of ascent, but I found the going extremely difficult. The altitude or heat, maybe the lack of sleep or a decent breakfast, maybe a combination of all these things, contributed to the run being so hard.
After our run, David and I went to Chez JuJu, where we had Ham and Cheese Omelette, plenty of bread and butter and I had some of the olives on offer, which I washed down with a beer. All very nice and reasonable at 100 dirhams each including a tip. The only disappointing aspect of the experience was the quantity of flies around. The service was friendly and very quick. And the omelette was fantastic.
David was planning on going for a second run later, so biding him farewell, it was back to the CAF. More and more coaches of runners arriving, kept the population of Oukaimeden on a steady increase, this became more apparent on entering the CAF, it was heaving. I was fortunate to have met and had conversations with people from all over the world, but mainly Europe. The majority, by a long way, numbered the French. There were also folk from Germany, Spain, Italy, Belgium, Switzerland, Japan, Morocco and of cause Australia and ourselves from Britain. Everyone was so welcoming. But there was an unmistakable buzz around the space. Everyone was starting to get nervous, anxious, excited... So many different emotions to encapsulate how they were feeling about the next day. The following day would be the 1st October, Saturday, the start of the 105km Ultra, the 42km race and the two race challenge. I knew there was nothing more I could do. I was hoping for a decent evening diner, an early night and some restful sleep.
Diner was almost the same again. A soup, tasting almost identical to the previous night, except there were no noodles this time. Accompanied by more crusty bread and strong black sugared coffee. The main was a large piece of chicken, with a tiny portion of vegetable sauce and pasta! PASTA!!! Some decent carbs, for some much needed energy reserves. However, the pasta tasted the same as the rice from the previous night. Did they reuse the cooking water?
We didn't stay up long past our main course. The evening was slightly warmer than the previous night, but it was still very cold, made more tolerable in the dining hall by the now four working electric heaters. Ian and I headed to bed early. We were both to be up early for our run the next morning.
The alarm sounded at 4:15am, but there really was no need, I was already awake. Another uncomfortable night. All the same reasons as previous, but this time anxious thoughts about the race. I know, I was there, there was nothing more I could do. There were only 2 options, Do It or Do one. And the latter was not an option. Up, Running Gear on, Toilet, Freshen up, breakfast; Crusty Bread, selection of jams, laughing cow cheese triangles, black well sugared coffee. It was getting closer. I didn't mention, but the previous evening we had collected our road book of the race. It was a map on one side with a altitude profile of the route and checkpoint details on the other. Then between 6pm and 7pm, there was a race briefing. It was in French, but then also after each section, translated into English and then German. It was mainly for the benefit of the 105km racers, pointing out the seriousness of what was to be undertaken. Giving guidance for medal awareness, checkpoints and cutoff times. Proper fuelling and fluid intake. Oh and the fact that they claim this race to be one of the hardest for its distance, if not the hardest. Ian pointed out to me that most race directors say their race is the hardest. There was also a smaller talk about the marathon covering a similar content but much more abridged.
Route MapRoad Book of Race Reverse Side
Second emergency toilet stop and it was now 5:30am. It was cold, but thankfully not as cold as the previous morning. There was cloud cover, which when your at 2700m altitude demonstrates how good clouds are thermal insulators. We were guided towards the tent opposite the dining tent, there race marshals checked off each entrant into the race. We jostled about anxiously in the tent trying to stretch and keep warm. The sound of the DJ boomed over the speaker system as he tried to build drama and anticipation, at least thats what I figured he was doing, it was in French. Competitors took selfies and group photos. The main focus was on Mohamed El Morabity who was expected to win the Marathon having placed 2nd in the 26km race the previous year. Everyone was wearing warm running gear. and donning head torches.
The Race Start
I didn't have any plan other than to try and finish by 2pm. I figured that could be doable. That is 8 hours. As long as I got to PC2 at 19.5km distance before 10am then I will have hit the time checkpoint and would still be able to continue. No matter what else, I would take part for the experience. After all it was a once in a lifetime experience. I count myself very fortunate that I was there and more importantly that I was fit and well enough to even make the start line. My thoughts were dwelling on my little boy Jack and how he would never be able to do anything like this. We were going to enter him into the Mini-Great North Run the following year, I was going to push him in his wheelchair around the route and we would raise much needed funds for Heel and Toe Childrens Charity. But the event sold out straight away, before we could even complete the paperwork and return it to the charity. I also thought about my Dad, he was still very young when Rheumatoid Arthritis struck him. When I was a child, he was my main inspiration to run, I could run, I was OK at it. I found it easy. So I got into the school cross country team and joined South Shields Harriers at 12. My dad and my little boy. Both meaning the world to me and both, in different physically disabling ways, unable to run. Here I was in the middle of the Oukaimeden Plateau at going on 6am on a cold October morning. Wearing running leggings, winter thermal running jacket, head torch with a 3kg pack strapped to my back, about to embark on a marathon at 2700m altitude, about to Run, Jog and Walk to an altitude of 3150m while ascending and descending 2600m of mountains! I would do it over and over and over again if it could help them in some way. That is in part why as runners we do it. We can, others can't, we push ourselves physically and mentally. To challenge the pain and what we think is possible, to help those that need help. Our pain is temporary and in no way compares to the daily pain that they suffer.
The Claxon went at 6:10am. We were off. A convoy of adventurers funnelling their way through the starters arch. Head torches lighting the path in front, heads down peering onto the ground a few feet ahead, looking out for any rocks, boulders or assortment of other potential trip hazards. The first two mile I had ran the previous day. I knew it was predominately flat with a small hill to climb. The pace of the runners around me quite slow, looking at my watch I was moving along at an easy pace of 10 minute miles. I decided that I would speed up a little to cover the first two mile quicker, this had the advantage of being in front of the larger pack of runners behind me, it would give more space around me and let me see the ground unobstructed, avoiding potential hazards before it was too late.
From the end of mile 2 to mile 6 was all uphill. By the top we will have passed 10,000 feet (3048m) altitude. I was all prepared to dig deep, shorten my stride length and work up the climb in a slow but steady jog. Much to my surprise, as soon as those in front of me put so much as one toe onto the start of the climb they began to walk. Granted it was more of a march, but it wasn't a run or a jog. I kept going to catch the person in front of me and began to walk. Occasionally the climb gradient would ease a little and a jog would ensue, so I jogged too. They walked, I walked. Occasionally someone from behind would power up from behind and overtake, but then slow down to a walk. Others ahead would stop and take photos. Who could blame them. Looking over my left shoulder you could in the distance see the lights of Oukaimeden, but much more spectacular, snaking like a ribbon of light around and behind were the head torches from the hundreds of others racers. It was an amazing sight to witness. I wish I was able to have captured a photo of the scene (Visit the race website and there are some amazing photos from the event). I kept on going and began passing some of those in front taking photos. I didn't really pay much attention to my time. My watch face was set to display the current altitude, I could however with 1 button scroll through the four different display screens. By mile 6 I was still very fresh, I had only ran for about 2.5 mile and power walked the rest. But the rest was up 1148 feet (350m of climb). By the top, the first glimpse of the rising sun broke through the mountains. It was still a cool fresh day, but looking out over the valley ahead I still knew things were going to get a lot harder. Checkpoint or PC1 was at 11km and was labeled as Tizi Agouns. I didn't need to stop, but the checkpoint was staffed by about 3 volunteers who were standing next to a 4x4. They whooped and hollered as I went past. Several other runners near me took selfies and we briefly shared a laugh.
The first climb was over. The next checkpoint was PC2 at Timmichi and it was all downhill to there at approx 6444 feet (1964m) altitude. The uphill that I had previously done was a fine almost sandy gravel. Things were very different on the downhill section. There was still a distinct trail, but it was loose rock and scree debris. Initially I started my descent gently, but I felt fresh and the Adidas Trail shoes I wore gave me a great level of grip and traction. The first 6 mile had taken approx an hour and twenty minutes. I covered mile 7 in 9m58s with 270ft descent, mile 8 in 6m42s with 587ft descent and mile 9 in 7m28s with 635ft descent, but I paid for the speed. The route down was switchback hairpin trails. At each switchback I was having to brake sharply and my foot was slipping in the shoe. Small pebbles crept into my shoe and friction began to build. I stopped, emptied my shoe, rubbed my feet and continued.
The Race Middle
The trail by mile 10 was more technical. The racers for the 105km were sent in a different direction to the marathon runners. The quick downhill sections gave way to more sheer drops. Gone were the wider distinct trails, replaced with larger boulders and narrow goat paths. A quick glance at my watch displayed the elapsed time as 1h50m for just past 10 mile, I was on course to cover the half distance in two and a half hours!. However, It was still downhill until past mile 12 and the checkpoint at PC2 Timmichi was there. For the first time on the route, I had to follow the blue navigation markers that were sprayed onto the side of the rocks and boulders ahead. I was now having looking at where I was heading to stay on track, as well as where I was placing my feet. A quick halfway time was now looking less likely.
As I wound down the side of the mountain inching closer to the valley floor I passed through small Berber hamlets where children stood and watched me pass. Some even offered up a high five which I graciously accepted. Further along a racer ahead had to be redirected by a young berber lad as the racer had taken a wrong turn, fortunate enough to have seen, I was able to avoid the same mistake. By the valley floor I was now criss crossing a rocky stream, the Ourika, trying to bound over larger slippy boulders. My pack still heavy with the weight of fluids sloshing around was starting to dig into my shoulders. Stopping briefly, I lay my blue lightweight jacket over my shoulders to act as padding, slinging my pack back on, it did feel a little more tolerable. I had been slowly sipping water every few minutes. I had taken on a couple of energy gels and devoured a peanut tracker bar earlier in the race. The stream seemed to go on for a while, I felt like I was in the middle of nowhere, the vegetation lush and green, the canopies of the trees masked any signs of habitation.
It actually wasn't long before after a slight climb up the bank of the now fast flowing stream that it became apparent that I had reached the village of Timmichi at approx 19.5km. The stone wall that lay in front of me had two coloured arrows a blue pointing right and a red pointing left. The blue was for the marathon and the red for the 105km race. I had learnt the previous night that from this point for a couple of mile, runners from the two races would be heading in opposite directions. But it was now 2hr 50m into the race and it was the approximate halfway checkpoint and first re-fueling stop. I had made the cutoff by an 1h 10 minutes.
I was instantly recognised by one of the race officials on entering PC2, 'Mr Smith' he shouted, almost surprised to see me so soon. I asked if he knew where I was in the pack, he was honest and said that he was watching out for the 105km runners entering the checkpoint, but guessed that I was somewhere in the top 30. I knew that I was relatively close to the leaders as Lisa Mehl, the eventual winner of the female challenge, was not too far in front having passed her on the quick hairpin downhill section, before letting her and a few others pass when I attended to my feet. Lisa finished approx 11th or so in the overall marathon standings. There were approx 93 people taking part in the marathon as the individual event and as part of the challenge. I didn't intend to stop at the checkpoint. I had plenty of water. I wasn't feeling a lack of energy as I had kept fuelling on the way. However, my left foot in particular was sore. I was given a cup of water and I grabbed a piece of melon. Sitting down I removed my shoe and sock. On my left heel was the start of a large blister. The sole of my foot and big toe were red and battered. I massaged germolene into my whole foot. Pulled our a large sterile pad from my first aid kit and one of the lady officials helped me dress the blister. I changed to a different pair of running socks. My right foot was nearly as sore but was showing no signs of a blister yet. I spent no more than 10 minutes at the checkpoint before saying farewell and heading back onto the trail. I was now embarking on the second half of the race and undoubtedly the most physically and mentally challenging part.
My next water and feed station would be at PC16, Tacheddirt located 32km into the race and at the bottom of the next mountain. I would have to ascend then descend the other side of the mountain before reaching that checkpoint. I should maybe explain now why the previous checkpoint was PC2 but the next is PC16. This is simply because PC1 and PC2 are shared by both the marathon and the 105km race. PC3 to PC14 are all part of the 105km run. PC15 to PC17 are part of the marathon route.
After setting out of the checkpoint everything felt good. I climbed the bank out of the village and rounded a corner. I was now apparent that Timmichi say at the boundry between 3 valleys forming a 'Y' shape. Off to the left was the valley the River Ourika flowed into. Of to the right I was entering the other valley, on both sides of my position were mountains, the one on my left side was large, at least 700m higher than my position. The mountain to my right appeared steeper. The valley floor was fertile with lush green trees and plants. I am not sure if it was my brain trying to come to terms with the scale and causing issues with my eyes trying to gain a sense of scale and perspective or if it was a combination of altitude, sapping energy and tiredness, but I suddenly felt quite lethargic. I must have only covered a half mile from the previous checkpoint, but it felt like I had all my energy removed. I opened a peanut tracker and took a bite, instantly I felt unable to even chew, my stomach sending signals that it was going on strike. I slowly chewed, not feeling sick, but not feeling like I was capable of eating anything. I knew I needed to eat and keep fuelled to in order to finish the event. I set the lap time on my watch for the 13.1 mile distance as 3 hour 10 minutes. This included stoppage time for the checkpoints and attending to my shoes. While at the time I was thinking that I could cover the half marathon on this course a lot quicker, I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn't a race to get a time, it was for me, a race to finish. I had to order myself to stop beating myself up about it.
I kept walking, although very slowly. I kept going until I approached the village of Labassene which was a little higher up the mountain on my right. Fortunately encountering the village gave me a little boost. There was some event taking place, some kind of celebration going on in the village. Music, Singing and Laughter filled the air. The trail was on a steady for constant climb. Winding and sometimes looping back on itself, the trail was comparatively easier underfoot that a few mile earlier. My feet welcomed the reprieve from hard angled rocks. I recorded a short video of the village and the valley, if you turn the audio up high you may make out some of the sounds from the village.
The trail ahead was not getting narrower and the drop off the edge were getting more sheer. Now was definitely not the time to get light headed. I took a long drink from my bladder and another energy gel. That seemed to do the trick and within a few minutes of slow walking I was feeling more myself. The sun was now high in the sky and was blasting onto my neck. I repositioned my jacket over my shoulders and reversed my cap so that the peak was offering as much protection as possible. Mile 13 had been my slowest mile so far at over 24 minutes, by comparison mile 14 had twice the ascent of mile 13 but I covered it in 18 minutes.
The route of the trail and more importantly, up the mountain, was again becoming less apparent and the blue markers became essential. At points, I was looking ahead thinking I couldn't see any potential route up without a climbing rope and mountain climbing equipment. But the blue markers did their job, laid out like breadcrumbs. With each step I was moving forward and gaining altitude. There was quite a lot of stepping up boulders and using my arms to help steady and push myself. Once again it was getting very tiring and I was lacking energy. Looking back in it now, the lethargy was a combination of the heat, poor energy intake and crucially the altitude. Even walking on relatively flat parts was still an effort. A few people passed me as I sat at various stages of the climb on boulders to try and recover. I tried another peanut tracker bar, but I didn't have the effort to chew. I grabbed a handful of jelly babies and ate the lot. Within minutes I felt perked up. I stuffed some in my running belt and put the remaining peanut trackers in my backpack. Sitting on the boulder I recognised a figure climbing towards me, it was Nicki Brayne, the eventual second placed female in the Marathon. She was climbing steadily. We briefly talked as we climbed, but the fatigue was too much and I had to stop as she marched on up the mountain. Due to the constant twists and turns, Nicki initially didn't get too far in front, but with every step she was slowly pulling away. I managed to dig in, the jelly babies doing their job of supplying some quick energy relief. I managed to catch a group of about 3 male racers. Not talking, we instinctively started to help each other, occasionally swapping the lead of our small group and looking back to check on how the others were doing. Progress was still slow, but it was progress.
The Climb
The mountain was hard, with the sun beating down on our necks, sweat dripping out of us like a shower, trying to replace energy and fluids at a slow but steady pace, trying to fight the lethargy caused by the altitude by taking deep and controlled breaths. It must have been about two thirds the way up the mountain when I realised that no more fluid was in my bladder, I was sucking up air. Stopping again, I perched on a boulder and removed my back pack. It gave me a chance to re-organise things a little, burying the peanut trackers deep in the bag, I didn't want to see another bar for the rest of the trip. I removed my water bottle and stuffed my now dry winter jacket into the now free space. The jacket had previously been held on the back of the bag under the cord meshing. I didn't know how far I had to go to the checkpoint, consulting the race book and looking at my watch for distance travelled, I found I couldn't convert the KM to mile. It is strange what altitude does to thinking. Looking back, I was at just over 15mile and had another 1700ft (518m) of ascent to climb and about another 1.5 mile distance to cover. I was 4 hours 40 minutes into the race. I had 11 mile to cover and was nearing the hardest part of the event or so I thought.
I pushed on and eventually ascended the mountain at 5 hours 46 minutes into the race, the time was 11:56am, I was now 1hour30 minutes ahead of the cutoff, the checkpoint of PC15 Tizi n'Tacheddirt at 28km distance looked so inviting. For all it was a couple of officials with 2 small tents, it lifted the spirits. I was down to my last mouthful of berry water in my bottle. I asked if they had water spare, fortunately they did, but I would have to descend the mountain at get to the next checkpoint before I could fill my water bladder and bottle. A quarter full bladder would do in the meantime. I popped a berry sport tablet into the bladder and forced the bladder back into its pocket. I jammed my bottle into the top of my backpack and was ready to depart. On asking one of the officials how far it was to the next checkpoint they answered 4km, but there was also about 2800ft of descent (853m). Knowing what had come before both climbing and descending, I had no idea what to expect. It could be fantastically easy and ridiculously hard. But I was more determined than ever to continue, after all, I had gone well part half way in both distance and ascent, the hard part was done, right?
I said farewell to the guys at the checkpoint and headed off. The view out in front of me was amazing. Off to the left I could see a trail which hugged the side of the mountain as it skirted the side of the valley. It wasn't really a valley, it was the side of the mountain, but due to its shape being a 'V' and there being steep sides to the left and right, It could easily be described as a valley. The side of the mountain was more gradual than that side that I had just climbed and wasn't as steep. Looking into the distance I could see peak after peak into the distance.
My hopes were that I was going to follow the path I could see, I was actually on the path, but to my dismay, the blue markers were telling me otherwise. Looking out towards the first few blue markers, it appeared that I was going to be taking a direct route down the mountain along a more difficult path. About a quarter of a mile away I could see a figure with a white top and head covering making their way down. They weren't on the path I hoped I would be taking.
The route down wasn't too difficult. It was slow going as there was a lot of weaving in and out of boulders and rocks as the trail snaked its way down the mountain. I was trying to picture how anyone could run or jog down the mountain. Having to constantly watch where you put your feet to avoid trip hazards and watch out for the correct direction. I was finding it difficult just walking down. I often had to stop and scan the area for the next blue marker.
It wasn't long though before I caught up with the racer in front of me, but not before I was overtaken by a lady who was carefully but quickly running down the mountain. I did try to copy, but I found I wasn't light and nimble enough on my feet, which were extremely sore, to be able to keep going for long.
The Climb Down
There was virtually no opportunity to sit and rest. I kept going until I came across another amazing and welcome sight. As I rounded a bend out in front of me was what appeared to be be a huge boulder, at least the size of a double decker bus. But it wasn't the boulder that was the interesting sight. Sitting in front of the boulder was a old berber man. In front of him he had a small stove and to his side he had a box with a hand written sign. As I approached he asked if I wanted any Coffee, Coke or maybe a mars bar! I thought it was amazing. How resilient he must be to climb up the mountain with his wares to sell, to this spot sheltered by a boulder. I was too tired to remember that I had packed a small bag of Dirham coins in a coin bag, who knew if he could change a 200 dirham note. I passed on his gracious offer and kept moving forward.
Eventually the trail changed. It was no longer rocks and boulders but now very fine mix of mainly pebbles and sand. There was a very delicately warn path crossing this new surface. The angle of the slope was quite steep and one wrong foot and it would have been very easy to slip and then tumble and slide to the bottom, a hundred or so feet below. At the bottom was a stream and in the distance I could see a couple of women washing their clothes and fabrics in the river. Behind them was a fantastic sight to see, a road! Which meant that I wasn't far from PC16 and the village of Tacheddirt. There was one obstacle between me and the road. The road was where I was heading, as there was an arrow painted on the ground pointing down the slope towards the road, which was now about 50 or so feet from the road. I stopped and looked at the slope. There was only one way to approach it, like a crab. I stepped on with my left foot and firmly pressed my foot down onto the slope. Shifting my weight onto my left leg, the lugs in my trail shoes did a great job gripping into the loose surface. Confident that I was going to hold, I slid my right leg down to meet my left leg. The loose material around me shifted but I stayed put. Moving my left leg then right, I shuffled down the slope like a crab. Eventually and safely reaching the road.
There was no obvious sign at first as to which way to go, however, not log earlier I did see a couple of racers in front of me continue in the same direction as I was heading up the road. Following about 5 minutes behind, I hadn't seen them comeback. So thats the direction I was heading. I kept following the road, looking ahead for any blue markers. I was however distracted, to my left and in the valley below was the village of Tacheddirt. I was so close to the next checkpoint. I started to jog, it was easier now as for all the road was a dirt path, it was a road and was a lot easier to run on. I kept going but still didn't notice any blue signs. It wasn't to far up the road, maybe about half a mile before the road suddenly ended. Off to the left and down a slope about 20m was a house. On the roof of the house, which was no more than 5ft from the ground due to the way the house had been built into the side of the hill, was blue writing, but I couldn't make out what was written. I scampered down the hill to inspect the writing closer. It was in Arabic. I had suspected so, but this confirmed it, I had gone the wrong way. But I hadn't seen any blue markers.
I scrambled back up the bank and onto the road. Heading back the way I came I spotted another racer a couple of hundred metres ahead, he like me, was lost. I temporarily lost sight of him as I rounded a bend. I was jogging quite quick to catch up with him. Rounding the corner, I encountered up 3 racers. All looking rather bemused. Like me, they hadn't spotted where the trail went. One of the men asked at a splendid looking house which was on the roadside. The gentleman inside explained that the trail was about a quarter mile back the way we had come.
Heading back up the road we were scouring the ground looking for any blue markings. Fortunately I came upon a blue mark off the road leading down the bank. On closer inspection, there were further blue marks on the opposed side of the road and a metre further on a small blue 'X' indicating the wrong way. We had all managed to pass the wrong way marking. Easily done depending on which side of the road you were on where happened to be looking at that point.
Back on the trail, we descended the bank into the village. To our left was the stream. The path went straight through the village, bordered on our right by houses. Chickens and cows wandered up the street, showing no concern for our presence. Children played and cheered. It was no more than a couple of minutes before we had crossed through the village to the other-side. Next door to the village school was PC16 and the final food and water checkpoint.
It was now 7 hours 39 minutes and 21 miles into the race. The local time was 1:39pm. My original hope to finish by 2pm had long since gone. Unless I could develop superhuman speed, there was no way that anyone could cover the final 10km and 600m of ascent in 21 minutes. I was now 50 minutes ahead of the cutoff time.
My bladder was empty, so too way my water bottle. I needed to attend to my feet and desperately wanted to sit down for a minute or 60. I took my backpack off and sat in on a patio chair. One of the officials offered a drink, for the first time in years I opted to drink full fat Coca Cola. She half filled by water bottle before I downed it in one go. I grabbed a couple of pretzels. I would have had more, but the flying critters put me off. I tended to my feet. They were red and battered with pressure sores, but thankfully I could see any new blisters forming. I didn't dare check the heel of my left foot. Putting my shoes back on hurt, my feet had swollen to make the fit that much tighter. Normally my shoes slide on an off with ease.
I asked for water to fill my bladder and water bottle. Filled, I added a couple of berry hydration tablets to the bladder. Once the tablets had stopped effervescing, I replaced the cap and and fought to put the bladder back its pocket in my backpack. I added a tablet to my bottle and took a long sip. I strapped my backpack back on and asked if the mountain that I had been staring at in front of me was my next challenge. With a bit of a chuckle the response back was a definite yes. I was about to leave. However, I had a sensation coming from my lower back. I felt wet. Very wet.
Taking my backpack off, I would see liquid dripping from my pack. The lower rear was saturated, a slight press to the nylon material released a shower of liquid. I pulled the bladder out to find that over three quarters of the liquid had leaked. The cap was at the top of the bladder and top of the bag, that was screwed on correctly and so was not the cause of the leak. Either the bladder had a puncture in the rubber or the seal at the hose had failed. There was nothing I could do about it now. I had about 300 to 400ml at best in the bladder, if I could get it out without further leaking and another 500ml in my water bottle.
I was now just thinking that I wanted this over with, I stood there for a minute staring up at this mountain in front of me. Wondering if I could see any route up it. Thinking how am I suppose to scale that thing! Im not a mountaineer. Im a runner. And if you can run up that then I will be amazed.
The photo above was taken at PC16. The mountain behind the buildings was the final climb. 2000ft or approx 600m of ascent.
The Final Checkpoint and Final Ascent
The second I started to make the climb I realised that it was going to be a slow hard slog of a climb. I had rested at the checkpoint for 25 minutes. Ignoring my setback, I knew I could finish, mentally I felt more determined than ever, but it was my body that didn't want to continue. I pressed on climbing a while. When I did stop, I looked back down at the village and the view back across the valley from where I had come. Even though I had struggled, the sense of achievement was still overwhelming. My sense of adventure and wanting to explore reminded me why I had to continue. Not many people have climbed these mountain, at least not British. I took a few photos and stood and took in the view before pushing on.
As I climbed, my mind was drawn back to Lord of the Rings; The Return of the King, I think it was, where Frodo, Sam and Gollum climb the 'Stairs of Cirith Ungol'. Thats what It seemed like I was doing. Except I wasn't climbing something as easy as stairs, I would have loved to have had a secret staircase carved out of the rock. But the route up was likened to a staircase. Occasionally the route would be a warn trail, but the majority of the time it was clambering up big natural steps eroded into the side of the mountain, sometimes the steps were knee height and other times they were hip height, or so they appeared at the time. It was exhausting work. A couple of racers caught and passed me. But I endeavoured to keep close to them. As we kept climbing we would occasionally think that we could see the top, but the number of false summits became a bit of a joke. I eventually encountered a Swiss lad called Thomas from Basel, he seemed to be struggling more than me. I can't be certain how far we had to go, but I decided at that moment to stick with him.
We kept climbing, the group of lads in front of us weren't that far in front and we caught them eventually. In the distance we could make out a group of people approaching, possibly a half mile away but still at least 100m further up the mountain. As we climbed and got nearer we realised that they weren't other racers, we were relieved, if they were racers then we were possibly going the wrong way, but we were following the blue markers and they were guiding us ever upward.
Eventually the approaching group were almost upon us, we had to stop and step to the side to allow them past. The route was narrow and very treacherous, one wrong step could have been fatal for either party. To our amazement it was a sightseeing party on an guided walk. But I guess, they were probably equally amazed to encounter a race going up the mountain.
We were all showing signs of fatigue, stopping every few minutes. We were sheltered from the sun and it was now quite cool. So much so, I had to put my blue jacket on to offer some protecting from the cooling wind. We eventually finished climbing the mountain, it seemed to go on forever. The ladies at the checkpoint believed it was 1640ft (500m) of ascent, but I later discovered it was over 2000ft (600m). At the top were were once again greeted by a couple of race officials. Cheering us on they said it was less than 3 miles to the finish and best of all, downhill all the way. We ascended the mountain by 9 hour 40 into the race. It had taken over and hour and a half to climb the mountain. The finish line was now in sight but the climb had taken so long, it was the slowest part of the route and without any doubt, the hardest part.
The initial trail from the top of the mountain was a well defined track, from the looks of it, used by vehicles. We discussed jogging for a bit, however, the thought was short lived when the blue markers directed us off the track and to follow a scree slope down toward the valley floor, from our vantage, it appeared as if we were being sent along the more difficult of the two routes. The track was a nice steady downhill, while there was some gravel covering, it was decidedly easier than the rocky route we were to follow.
We pushed on. Crossing a stream and temporarily loosing sight of the blue markers. It was obvious that we were to follow the path of the stream thought the valley. We did eventually find the blue marked trail again, we were 10m parallel to it, but the marked boulders more difficult to spot in a open rocky valley floor. Up ahead I could see buildings with what appeared to be chairlifts. As we drew closers a few berber houses appeared. Then more. More ski lifts. With jubilation in our voices, we were minutes from Oukaimeden. We were now being directed onto a grass covered trail which followed the stream, I recognised where we were. The valley opened out onto the plateau of Oukaimeden. Thomas decided at this point to have a toilet stop. I did stop and wait, but since he was in no hurry, I continued on. I forded the stream, I was wearing Goretex Trail shoes, I was no more than 200 or 300m from the finish. I started to jog, the jog turned to a run. The pain, the fatigue and any sign of effort left me as I effortlessly ran toward the finish arch. The shouts and building drama erupted from the speakers as the DJ announced my arrival.
I was finished. I had competed the most physically and mentally challenging thing that I have ever taken part in. I felt done in. At moments during the event, I had wondered if it would ever finish. I questioned what I was doing there. Was I capable of doing it. Capable of finishing it. Realising that I was obviously a bit crazy and then some. But stubbornly I ignored all the doubting voices in my head and pressed on.
At the finish I was handed a bottle of water and a small plastic bag with a banana and sandwich. I had finished in 10 hours and 37 minutes. My moving time was 6 hours and 57 minutes. It was 4:47pm.
My immediate thoughts of finishing were 'Im never going to do that again. THAT WAS INSANE! That wasn't a run, it wasn't even a jog. It wasn't a walk. It was trekking and mountaineering.' But of course it was each of those things. I didn't expect the terrain to be so brutal and be so brutal for so long. I didn't expect that last mountain to be so hard. I knew the mountains would give some amazing views, but never that amazing. The whole experience was amazing.
Shortly after finishing David and Nicki came over and congratulated me on finishing. Nicki did a lot better than me, it was later that day that we discovered, as did she, that she placed 2nd in the women. She was awarded an engraved plate. We shared stories about the race and how much harder that we could have expected it was. Feeling sorry for those, like Neil and Ian, who were doing the 105km. They were still going, would still be going into the night and into the next day. That is true insanity. Could I have done that? You don't truly know what you can achieve until you try to do it. But it takes preparation. I also felt for David who had his 26km race the next day. I however had decided that I wouldn't take any further part. I had completed the marathon. My feet were sore. They may be OK by the morning, but what damage would I do? Then there was my hydration bladder. It was obviously damaged. I would need to carry the same gear for the 26km race but wouldn't have any room for 2 one litre bottles of water. Then there was refuelling on the way. Peanut Trackers just didn't do it for me, not with this combination of factors, I could eat them at home, but but not in Morocco. No, my mind was made up. With that I had a cry. I realised that I would get a DNS (Did not start) for the 26km race and therefore a DNF (Did not finish) for the Challenge De L'Atlas. A DNF meant that I wouldn't get a finisher T-shirt for the Challenge. I felt stupid for crying over a t-shirt. It was then that I bought one of the memorabilia t-shirts to go with the buff that I had bought previously.
On the walk back to my tent I was stopped several times by the local moroccan traders. They had been trying to sell their wares for a few days, but I adamantly said I wasn't interested. There was this one chap who wanted me to give him my shoes. I had already decided that I was going to leave some running gear behind together with my Asic Zaraca running shoes that I had brought, I had run over 450 miles in them and they were starting to lack in cushioning and support. The organisers for the UTAT appreciated any donated running gear to give to local runners. I was happy to oblige by donating my running heroes t-shirt, a second t-shirt, running socks, lightweight jacket and the asics shoes.
Evening dinner was the same as the previous night. Soup, then pasta with chicken. I was looking forward to my bed. I had the tent to myself. Ian would still be running. Lying in bed, at about 9:30 PM, things got loud outside, the DJ shouting and hollering, the winner of the 105KM must have finished. The music went on for a while, but sleep was welcoming me and for the first night in the tent, I had a ok night sleep.
In the pitch black with the rain and wind hitting me sideways I found myself crouched down in the wet grass. I was somewhere along the ancient Ridgeway trail approximately 68 miles into the race. Unable to put one foot in front of the other, I had come to a standstill. Around me it was eerily silent but in my head a thunderous battle was raging; a battle between giving up or pushing on. The words in my head were so loud, they were almost deafening ‘Maybe I just can’t run 100 miles….’
This was to be my third attempt at running 100 miles. It wasn’t originally a race I had planned but I’d had to withdraw at mile 60 mile of South Downs Way 100 in June with an on-going knee injury. This was such a disappointment as up until that point of the race I felt really strong and had been running well. Once I had finished wallowing in self-pity, Coach Fifty and I decided that I needed to put these demons to bed, so I put my name on the waiting-list for the Autumn 100.
Finding myself standing on the start line, grinning for photographs with two very speedy ladies; Cat Simpson and Susie Chesher, I reminded myself that there was only one goal today; placings, times, course records were all irrelevant. It had been drilled into me by Coach Fifty from the moment we knew I’d made it off the wait-list….I just had to finish. We both knew that I would want to be competitive, I don’t really know how to race any other way, but we also knew that whatever happened out there, excluding a limb falling off, I was to finish.
Relaxed at the start with Susie Chesher (L) and Cat Simpson (R) photo: Stuart March
This style of race was also going to be a completely new experience for me as it is made up of series of four different 25 mile out and back legs which start and finish in the village of Goring on Thames.
Leg 1: Goring to Little Wittenham and return
A few runners raced off as the starting claxon sounded, my urge to chase them was almost uncontrollable but somehow I reined it in. I had been warned that this section was pretty flat so it was crucial I didn’t get carried away with the pace otherwise I may end up paying for it later on. The plan was to settle into a pace which I hoped would get me back to Goring close to 3 hours 30 minutes.
Full of smiles near Benson Photo: Stuart March
I ran with a few guys but there wasn’t much chat going on until we saw the lead runner Mark Denby, who was already heading back to Goring before we’d even got anywhere near the turnaround point. There were mumbles of amazement and awe at his speed from everyone and we briefly chatted about how long he could keep going at that pace.
At the turnaround point I filled up my water bottle and grabbed a gel. With horrible sweaty hands I fought to open the slippery packet, so for the next mile or so I was distracted with gel juggling whilst shouting support and encouragement to fellow runners and friends heading towards the turnaround. When I had finally managed to ingest the gel and focus again on running I realised I had sped up but it still felt comfortable so I tried not to worry.
I checked in back at Goring in 3 hours 18 minutes, slightly ahead of schedule but this leg is actually only 24 miles, so wasn’t too far off target and now I was looking forward to heading out on the undulating Ridgeway.
Leg 2: Goring to Swyncombe Farm and return
I grabbed a full water bottle and banana from Team Gray at the CP and raced back out onto the course. As I opened my banana I chastised myself for not remembering to ask Thea how she had done in her own race. That morning Team Gray had dropped me at the start before driving to Oxford so Thea could compete in her first Cross Country race for Wycombe Phoenix before coming back to crew for me. I was so upset at this that I momentarily thought about running back to apologise, so as I looked back over my shoulder I was very much surprised to see Susie Chesher behind me.
As she caught up, bouncing along, she told me she’d got lost leaving Goring, ending up in someone’s front garden. She looked fresh, comfortable and full of running. She smiled as she told me we were on pace for the ladies’ course record. I felt excited for her, I had a feeling she might go on to smash it today and I was very happy to let her go. In my head the only thing that mattered today was to finish. As the gap between us started to open up I wasn’t going to try and stay with her, I even had to tell her to stop holding gates open for me and get on with running her race!
My favourite part of this leg is the undulating narrow path up and along Grim’s Ditch. the twisting path is riddled with hidden tree roots, so it takes a lot of concentration to stay upright. Normally I love skipping along here from side to side, but today, disappointingly, it just felt like hard work.
On the Ridgeway photo: Stuart March
At the turnaround point at Swyncombe Farm I grabbed a few segments of satsuma before heading back to Goring. On the return section I felt much stronger, I was enjoying the race again and the fun of the tricky trail. I still felt positive I was going to finish, although it had dawned on me that I was feeling nowhere near as comfortable as I had felt at the SDW100 in June.
Maybe something to do with this was arriving back at Goring in 7 hours and 8 minutes, a massive 50-mile personal best for me and certainly not planned! I tried to eat some fruit and take in some calories by swigging chocolate milk, but I was really struggling, there was nothing that could tempt my appetite.
I left the aid station, walking over the bridge trying to chew and swallow yet another satsuma, but I tossed it aside almost gagging on the texture before breaking back into a steady run.
Leg 3: Goring to Chain Hill and return
I’m very familiar with this leg of the course having raced the Ridgeway Challenge in 2015 and it is undoubtedly tough. The trail climbs very gradually all the way to the turnaround point and with a mix of chalk, stony trail and grassy field it really is tough on the legs and lungs.
At this point the rain had started and the daylight was deteriorating rapidly. I didn’t want to stop to get my head torch out, so I made myself a little game. I challenged myself to beat the dark by pushing hard to get to the 58-mile aid station at Bury Down before it was pitch black when only then would I stop to get my head torch on.
Near Swyncombe photo: Stuart March
I just about managed it, I pulled out my head torch and my crew gave me my Ashmei Gilet to wear as I was feeling too warm for a full waterproof jacket, but the temperature was dropping. At this stage I was beginning to struggle mentally so I started to break the course down into sections, only thinking about checkpoint to checkpoint. I knew the turnaround was only 4 miles away, so it was a case of head down, concentrate on my footing along the trail and keep pushing forwards for as long as I could.
I’d seen the race leaders heading back towards Goring, well at least I’d seen their head torches and they all appeared to be running strong. I had a great shout out of encouragement from John Stocker which really cheered me up. At one point I did try to work out how far ahead of me they were but simple numbers were proving too difficult to process this late into the evening.
At the Chain Hill turnaround, I gulped down a cup of ice cold water and it was absolutely the best thing ever. After sweet drinks and horrid sickly sweet gels, plain old water was amazing. I drank three cups of water successively and started to wonder whether I was slightly dehydrated. The fabulous volunteers tried hard to tempt me with all sorts of delicious food, but nothing appealed except for a few more satsuma segments.
I was now aware of just how tired I felt, everything was starting to hurt from my shoulders to my toes and that positivity I had felt earlier in the day was starting to wane. As one of the volunteers remarked that she could see some head torches approaching in the distance I forced myself to leave and get running, trying hard to focus on downhill fun I was about to have!
Once back at the Bury Down checkpoint the wheels were really starting to fall off. The volunteers made me a milky coffee and Phil handed me a homemade cookie that was nearly as big as my head. I was finding chewing really hard work, so instead broke the cookie into pieces and dunked it in the hot coffee so it was soggy and easy to swallow. Then before I had much of a chance to resist my family chivvied my back out into the cold wet night but I was nearly broken.
Within minutes of jogging out of the CP in the pitch black with the rain and wind hitting me sideways I found myself crouched down in the wet grass. I was somewhere along the ancient Ridgeway trail approximately 68 miles into the race. Unable to put one foot in front of the other, I had come to a standstill. Around me it was eerily silent but in my head a thunderous battle was raging; a battle between giving up or pushing on. The words in my head were so loud, they were almost deafening ‘Maybe I just can’t run 100 miles….’
I was so close to quitting, I had nothing left to give, I was almost done. Suddenly I could feel this rising sense of disappointment welling up inside me. In my head was a vivid image of the next morning waking up without that 100-mile buckle. The feeling was so powerful, I believe this turned it around for me, well that and the effects of the cookie. Moments later I managed to claw my way out of that very dark place and much to my amazement I was running once again, firing on all cylinders.
Heading back along Goring High Street a head torch called out my name, I didn’t immediately recognise the voice, but it was my friend and fellow runner Kevin Smith who has been volunteering at Goring earlier in the day. He had been told by Phil that I was struggling to eat and he had decided to come and give me a few stern words of advice.
Back at Goring Kev produced a packet of doughnuts, a flake and handed me a milky coffee. Now I’d normally inhale any offering of chocolate but I put it in my pack for later as an emergency. Team Gray helped me change my trainers from Salomon Fellraisers into a pair of La Sportiva Helios as I knew the next section was dry and flat and thought my legs might benefit from a lighter trainer. I had fresh socks ready too but I decided against peeling off the pair that had well and truly moulded themselves to my feet over the last 75 miles.
Leg 4: Goring to Reading and return
With some food inside me and just over 25 miles left to run, I knew I had beaten those demons that had haunted me along the Ridgeway, my challenge now was to keep moving forward and avoid being overtaken by too many people.
This last leg is pretty flat, with one sharp hill and a few steps not far out of Goring. As I hiked the hill I took the opportunity to take on a gel and have a little chat with myself. I had berated myself after my poor performance along the Ridgeway, but now I told myself that I was over the worst, this was the easy bit, I told myself that I could do this.
I had recced this section of course so I had no worries about the route, but I was slightly concerned about running in a residential area as a lone female late on a Saturday night. However, I only had one nervy moment when I was running towards three young boys who had one dimly lit torch between them. I tried to run as tall and confidently towards them as possible, but maybe I was slightly too confident, as I think they were more scared of me and my blinding head torch as they shouted some abuse about not being able to see who I was, however I wasn’t going to hang around to argue that’s for sure.
Somewhere on the outskirts of Reading I saw John Stocker again, he told me he had not been very well. A few moments later I too was overcome with nausea, so I stopped to dry wretch at the side of the path. I felt terrible, I wanted to lose my stomach contents so badly but I couldn’t force anything out so I carried on. At this point there was slightly more walking than running and I was overtaken by a male runner as we headed towards the turnaround point pushing me into 6th place.
The legendary stairs up to the final check point weren’t actually too bad. In the CP the volunteers proudly told me how terrible I looked, which made me laugh. With just over 12 miles left to run, I was at the point now where I just wanted to finish, it wasn’t never going to be pretty or stylish. I was not that happy about being over taken just before the turnaround point so I got out of there as quickly as possible for the final run for home hoping that I could hold on to my original 5th place. As I hobbled down the stairs I saw Paul Ali just about to come up and as lovely as it was to see him, he was too close for comfort!
Just over a mile or so later I felt I was running pretty well all things considered, but then I saw Cat Simpson and her Dad running towards the turnaround point and she looked blooming amazing, so effortless. Like so many of my other races the last section was run on pure adrenaline, pushing hard, refusing to be overtaken, there is nothing like being chased by another lady to make me take it up a gear!
The last few miles of the Thames path really dragged on. At one point I was so convinced I only had a mile left that when I asked a runner going the other way how far it was to Goring and he’d replied ‘oh a good 2 to 3 miles’ I nearly screamed! So when the faint illumination of bridge at Goring came into view I finally allowed myself to smile.
The crowd of volunteers and supporters outside the village hall cheered as I ran through them towards the finishing table situated just inside the hall. All I could manage was a little whoop of joy as I shouted out my number to the time-keepers for the very last time. I stopped my watch having started it 16 hours 42 minutes earlier, finishing as 2nd lady and 5th place overall and my first thought
I am a 100-mile runner…
I am so grateful to the army of Centurion volunteers, Team Gray and my best mate Lucy and her boyfriend Robin who selflessly helped to get me to the end of this race and my sincere apologies to the guy in the toilet at the finish who had listen to me vomiting up my stomach contents in the cubicle next door!
Arriving at registration for a Centurion ultra marathon is like coming home. It’s like arriving at a gathering of family that you haven’t seen for a while. Whether I know people or not, they all just feel like people I belong with. Home is not a place, it’s a feeling of belonging, and that is exactly how I felt.
It was Saturday morning and Goring Village Hall was buzzing. Upon arrival, I was greeted with a big hug from Stuart March, a fantastic guy (pretty awesome ultra runner) and amazing photographer, who always manages to capture the real essence of an event and who brings our adventures to life, capturing the moments that make the memories. Honestly … check out his work! stuartmarchphotography.co.uk The greeting from Stuart made me smile, he had recognised me from my previous race, NDW100 and it settled my nerves to see a friendly face. A strange feeling, having catapulted into this ultra world pretty quickly, it just amazes me how many people I have met and how they are so welcoming. I never dreamt I would be a part of anything like this – never dreamt.
I went through kit check, always feel a bit clumsy at this point. The volunteers and staff are great and never rush you, but I always seem to have to pull out the complete contents of my race pack to produce the items that they ask for at the kit check. They always smile. Disclaimer signed, drop bags dropped to the lovely lady with a handmade sign on her head saying. ‘I’ve got baggage’, race number collected. I almost forgot to collect my order from the Centurion store (maps of Thames Path and Ridgeway National trail in case of loss of navigation – but more for souvenir status!), but I remembered so all was well. I wandered around the hall, taking in the atmosphere, and nibbling on a brioche roll. Runners were greeting each other, taping muscles, packing ultra vests, filling water, nibbling on snacks, chatting excitedly and giving instructions to crews. It sounds manic, but it is actually very calm. Nici Griffin (how can I describe Nici? – the heart and sole of Centurion Running) was calmly (on the outside) organising everyone, smiling and making us all feel good – as only Nici does. I bumped into Paul, and it was good to see him. I ran most of NDW100 with Paul, really nice guy, we kept each other going. Paul was going for the Centurion Grand Slam (all 4 Centurion 100 mile ultras in a year – well actually in less than 6 months). I had was about to undertake my 3rd (had missed South Downs Way 100).
I had spent the night before at a pub/hotel in neighbouring Pangbourne to be close to the race start. The hotel was fine, if basic, but I do wonder if it was actually the same place that was illustrated in the photographs on their website! In the morning I met other runners on the train to Goring. Walking to registration I found myself chatting to a woman, who I couldn’t place but knew I’d seen before. She told me about the numerous ultras (100 milers) she had run, and confessed to just getting over a lung infection! After chatting to her again at reception, the penny dropped and I realised it was Roz. I knew of her through a mutual running friend, Bruce, and she had actually given Bruce and I the kick we needed to get out of Reading Aid Station at mile 74 (I think) on Thames Path 100, with hot sweet coffee, when we were both flagging! Thinking back to that race, and realising I was rocking up to the start of my third 100 miler reminded me of the surreal journey that I had been on so far!
Somehow I was starting my third 100 miler (all 3 Centurion races). I was never sporty, started exercising at 40 (originally to lose weight), started running really only less than 3 years ago at 45/46, following some foot issues (which I still have to manage). I ramped up distance quickly, discovered this thing called trail running (to me much more exciting and motivating than road) and pushed myself to complete a couple of trail marathons. Then I learnt about these ridiculously long distances that people run called ultra marathons. I read some pretty inspirational books and learned that people do actually run 100 miles non stop. Well the rest is history, as they say. I am not belittling this challenge by any means at all, quite the opposite, but little old me got it into my head that I was going to run 100 miles! In 2015 I ran 2 ultras (The Wall – 69 miles and White Rose 60). Then I entered Centurion’s Thames Path 100 (TP100). I went for 10k to 100 miles in 2 years. You can read all about my journey to 100 and my TP100 race in my blog Did I really run 100 miles? – TP100. Needless to say it was the toughest thing I’d ever done, but I loved it, you soon forget the pain a relentless challenge to get to the finish line. So on the waiting list I went and ended up getting a place in North Downs Way 100 (NDW100). Now this one was a different beast, in my view the terrain was a lot tougher but I got on better with nutrition and hydration, and despite the hot August weather, I think that one was actually my favourite. You can read about that one too North Downs Way 100 (another 100 miles). After NDW100 I joined the waiting list again (don’t even remember doing it), and just 4 weeks before the race I entered my 3rd 100 miler, Autumn 100 (A100). It was just 5.5 months since the first, and seeing as my goal was just 1, it was a pretty surreal feeling being at the start of my 3rd in less than 6 months, already having earned 2 coveted 100 mile buckles! Despite my late entry, I had not stopped training. I have been lucky with my post race recovery and after both TP100 and NDW100 I was back to full strength and mileage pretty quickly. I cover a lot of mileage, averaging probably 75 -80 miles per week, peaking at higher in preparation for a race. I run 30 plus miles pretty much every Sunday and I like to build up 40 miles before a race. I’m not saying that is the right way to train or that I am fast or a good runner (I am definitely not), but it seems to work for me. I also try to do a lot of cross training, strength, cardio, a bit of weights, core, circuits etc. I have had Personal Training for about the last 2.5 years with a good friend and great trainer, Cameron at jensenexercise.com. Cam has supported and encouraged me, and is particular good at tailoring training to his clients’ needs, getting fantastic results. He probably realised that I wanted to run ultras before I did, and he has worked with me on my strength and core training in particular, and constantly reminds me of the importance of rest, recovery and hydration. He’s also an awesome Sports Therapist, I swear by his deep tissue massage.
Anyway, back to that Village Hall in Goring – I spotted the Centurion Grand Slam Buckle. It is awesome, it is big. I was kicking myself for missing South Downs Way 100 (in June), I was about to complete 3/4 of the job and felt that I had it in me and could have gone for that GS Buckle. But that was not the original plan, and so I had to remind myself to happy with being on the start line for third 100 (the last one being only 9 weeks ago). I saw Alf outside the hall at Goring. I originally met Alf at The Wall (my first ultra in June of last year). He is a good ultra runner but has dogged by injury so today he was volunteering. It was good to see him, the world of ultra running seems a small one.
At Goring Village Hall
I walked with the other runners the short walk to Streatley where the race would start. James Elson (Ultra Runner supreme, founder of Centurion Running and Race Director) gave the race briefing. James was the course record holder, and smiled wryly as he said that conditions were good and he expected both male and female records to be broken. At 10:00am on the dot we were off. A100 is formed of 25 mile 4 spurs (or legs), each roughly 12.5 miles out and back. The first is little shorter and the last a little longer, but there or there abouts. The first and fourth spur are Thames Path National Trail and the second and third are Ridgeway. At the end of each spur the runners return to Goring & Streatley. The other 2 100 mile races I had run were both point to point, so this was a different dynamic and a slightly different mental challenge.
Spur 1 – Goring to Little Wittenham and return – Thames Path
Running an ultra on the Thames Path is difficult as it is relatively flat and therefore the terrain does not determine pace. When I ran TP100 I went out too fast and probably paid for that later on. There is a fine line between getting the first half of the race completed quickly (bagging time for later) and over cooking it early on. I was determined not to go out too quick on A100, but go out too quick I did, as did quite a few others. The first 12 miles went well. It was a sunny morning, hot for mid October. For the first part of the race runners are less spread out, so whilst I ran on my own a lot, I did chat fellow runners and there were always people around me. The first Aid Station was about 6.5 miles in, I was feeling good, stocked up on water and made sure I ate some food. At the turnaround for the first leg I met Paul, and we ran together for a while heading back. At this point I was aware I’d gone out a bit quick (Paul said he had too), so we reined in our pace just a little. I say ‘we’ but I actually lost Paul after a while. I stopped to check for stone in my shoe and he was moving well, so I didn’t actually catch him up again. Paul went on to finish the race in 23 hours, so not only did he get his Grand Slam buckle, but also got a special ‘1 day buckle’ for completing A100 in under 24 hours – awesome achievement!
I ran with a guy for a while who had a fantastic blue mohawk hairstyle. It was hot and he was running without his shirt, just his ultra back and sporting some cool tattoos. It’s good to see a bit of colour and eccentricity on the trail and I complemented his hair. He said that he liked my purple hair, but I don’t think I was pulling off my look anywhere near as well as he did his. I can’t remember his name, but unfortunately he pulled out of the race after 25 miles with severe plantar fasciitis pain (I know all about that so I was full of sympathy).
Shoes – should have got new ones!
I am proud to say that I have never had blisters from running shoes (or at least I was until A100). For distance I wear Brooks Adrenaline ASR (a hybrid shoe), which although not the best for technical trail, are supportive, comfortable and good to my feet. I have had pair after pair and they work for me. So, back to A100 – first leg – I stopped to check for a stone in my shoe, but it wasn’t a stone. What I discovered was the material coming away on the inside of my left shoe and had started to rub my foot. Later on in the race the outer part of the shoes would actually start to come apart. It’s not that they are bad shoes, it’s just that the pair I was wearing had done more miles than they probably should and I should have bought a new pair before the race – Schoolgirl error number 1! I adjusted my sock and shoe and carried on, it wasn’t too uncomfortable at this stage.
I completed the first 25 mile leg in about 4 hours 20mins (having checked my pace a bit) so was happy with that. Stocked up on water and food (Alf looked after me), now for leg 2.
Spur 2 – Goring to Swyncome Farm and return, Ridgeway (a leg for the girls)
The second leg was the most fun. It was only 4 miles to the first Aid Station, so that came fairly quickly. It was still pretty warm so I was glad of the flat coke and water top ups. I was making myself eat. The terrain was a bit more varied. I had slowed down, maybe a bit more than I would have liked, but I was still going ok. The shoe was still rubbing and my hips were feeling it but nothing too bad. The race leaders passed me, coming back on their return, both male and female were absolutely flying, they just seem to glide over the trail. The leader was running 7 minute miles, how on earth does he sustain that over 100 miles? Wow!
Ultra running is a male dominated sport. No, that probably doesn’t paint the correct picture. There are many outstanding women ultra runners, but percentage wise there are a lot more men than women in the races. However, I seemed to meet a lot of crazy, lovely women during A100. I ran on an off with a group of ladies during the second leg. One of them was Emma, she was great fun and really encouraging. Ultra running does strange things to your digestive system and I’m not sure who was burping the loudest out of me and Emma!! There was Jane and Becky too, and we paced each other well. The turnaround seemed a long time coming, it was about 8.5 miles. I was trying to spend as little time as possible at the aid stations. The longer you stop, the more you seize up and the harder it is to get going again. It seemed a long way back, you have some long fields on this section of Ridgeway trail plus woodlands. By now my feet were a bit sore and I could feel it in my legs but I was going ok and was enjoying occasional chat and banter with the girls. We pushed on well. Early evening, it started to rain. I like running ing the rain and at first it was quite refreshing.
Goring is Evil
I made the half way point at Goring (50 miles) in about 10 1/2 hours, I was happy with that. Before the race, someone had said “Consider Goring as evil”. This was the best advice. You really have to stop yourself taking root at an aid station. It’s all about knowing what you need to do before you go in and just doing that and getting out again. I was trying to do this but I did faff around with my drop bag a bit at the half way point (didn’t really need it to be honest). Alf helped me fill bottles and made me coffee. I ate some food but finding it more difficult to eat by now. Nici was calmly having a crisis with her laptop and dealing with everything else at the same time!
As I said before, the half way point is a big boost mentally, effectively you are counting down from then on. But it is also where the race really starts. I was already tired, my foot was sore, hips were aching, it was dark and thought of another 50 miles was quite daunting. But you just have to get out there and carry on and that’s what I did – on into the night for leg 3.
Coke, coffee, electrolytes and grub
Ok so maybe that heading should be ‘Hydration and Nutrition’.
I don’t take gels, I never have done. I try to eat something at every aid station. As the race goes on it gets more and more difficult. By the half way point I was finding it more difficult to swallow food, I had to chew it a lot or eat soft foods. In the latter miles, it was a real struggle to get food down, but when I did it would really help. I can’t say it enough – flat coca cola – gets me through ultras. I never usually drink coke, but in both NDW100 and A100, I was craving it and the thought of coke was spurring me on to the next aid station. Electrolytes – I putting an SIS tab into a bottle of water every so often and I really believe it helps. A cup of warm coffee at the aid stations was another ‘pick me up’. These are the things that work for me!
Spur 3 – Goring to Chain Hill and back (not my best leg)
I set off on the 3rd leg and found myself with Emma and Becky again. It was 8.5 miles to the next Aid Station at Bury Downs, so quite a long section. The trail was quite uneven in places, so I was feeling it on my feet. Emma had a friend of hers, Keith, pacing for her on this leg. He was a friendly guy, and a pleasure to run behind – his backside was the best view on the Ridgeway! ;0)
Bury Downs Aid Station – quick stop and push onwards. Not long afterwards, at about mile 60 I took a tumble, just lost my footing and came down hard on the trail. It took me a minute to recover before I got up (Emma later said that from a distance she thought I was being sick), and it took me a few more minutes to walk it off. I wouldn’t recommend falling over at mile 60 but I eventually managed to get going again. Chain Hill seemed a very jovial Aid Station and everyone was in good spirits. I got moving again quickly on the long slog back to Goring.
I lost Emma and the lovely Keith whilst faffing around putting my garmin on charge. It was beeping ‘low battery’ so I charged in on my wrist from a portable USB charger. I was still making good time (for me), managing to run at a decent pace and walk when I needed to. The trail was uneven and I worried about falling over again. By now, my feet were quite sore and ankles and shins were hurting.
It was a beautiful night, the sky was clear and the stars were bright, at this point I could still appreciate it (just about). This section of the Ridgeway is very open and the night was so bright, you could probably have run it without a head torch on (not that I tried). I was keeping good pace running and walking a bit when I needed to. It seemed a long leg but I passed back through Bury Downs and kept moving forwards.
Bury Downs Aid Station 3.05am – taken by Michael Hinchcliffe (one of the volunteers)
The detour
By my reckoning I was about 4 miles from Goring, it was 3am. Once I got back, there would just be one leg left to go. It was getting tougher now. Early on, if you feel pain you can pinpoint where it is, but as the race goes on it gradually blends to an all over ache until it’s a case of ‘everything hurts!’
I was running on my own, had been for a while. I was pretty zoned out intent on getting back to Goring. I suddenly came to my senses and thought, ‘I don’t recognise that section that I’ve just run’ and became aware that I hadn’t seen a course marker for sometime. But I had been going straight with no junction, so decided to keep going a bit further, sure that I would see a marker soon – Schoolgirl error number 2! Shadows and tiredness can play tricks on your eyes in the night on the trail and I kept thinking I could see a marker only then realise it was just leaves or a branch. I came to a section of houses and thought ‘this definitely doesn’t look right’, so I back tracked a bit. I saw no other runners and faffed around for quite a while convincing myself that I had not actually gone wrong. – Schoolgirl error number 3! Not sure why I didn’t get the map out of my pack! Not sure why I didn’t straight away go back track to the point at which I had last seen a course marker. I was getting a bit panicky worrying about lost time. In the end I did backtrack, which I should have done much earlier and I eventually found the left turn that I should have taken about 3 miles back. As soon as I got back on track I could see other runners. I had lost time and added distance, it was a big mental blow and would put pressure on me despite still having enough time in the bank, I could have kicked myself (but that would have hurt too much :o). All I could do was suck it up, put it out of my head and keep moving forward. I got back to Goring at 5am, a good hour later than I would have, had I not taken the detour.
The last leg – Goring to Reading and back -Thames Path – (a little bit of hell)
I was annoyed with myself for going wrong and losing all that time but had to push it out of my mind. I set off on the last spur, the longest section to Reading and back again. I was back on the Thames Path, which is anything but pretty when you have been running for 19 hours!
My feet felt shredded. My shoes were falling apart. Then came the rain, heavy torrential rain. It was ok at first, but as it got heavier and heavier I was getting more and more soaked and started to feel cold. There was a section of woodland with a lot of tree roots, rocks and slopes. There were fields, which in the rain became muddy and water logged, my feet were so sore.
Whitchurch Aid Station was only about 4 miles from Goring, that was a welcome site. The Marshall there encouraged me to get going again quickly. The race was still doable within the cut offs but it was advisable to keep moving forward.
The 9 miles from Whitchurch to Reading felt like 90. It was pouring with rain, I was soaked and I started to shiver. My feet could feel every stone, every step. My garmin battery was low again (I hadn’t charged it for long enough earlier). I tried to put it back on charge, but it just didn’t seem to be charging. I think maybe I hadn’t charged the USB charger for long enough – Schoolgirl error number 4. Subsequently my watch became a bit flakey, sometimes working, sometimes not (due to the low charge), when I desperately needed it to work out my cut off times and mileage.
Relentless Forward Progress
There is a book about ultra running called ‘Relentless Forward Progress’ and in my view it is the most aptly named book you will get. That is exactly what an ultra marathon is! Before I did my first 100 miler, I thought that the night would be the toughest part. Running all night long isn’t easy, but I actually like it. It is the next day when the sun is up, it’s a new day and you are still going – that’s what I find the toughest.
I eventually got to Reading, shivering and in pain. The Aid Station was Wokingham Waterside Centre seemed and it seemed to take forever to appear. I asked other runners, who were returning on their way back how far it was and they kept saying I was nearly there – nearly there was forever!
The last 15 (ish) miles of a 100 miler is relentless, painful and filled with a desperate need to get to the finish. That return journey from Reading to Goring seemed to go on and on. I was thinking that I was closer to the cut-off than I actually was. I had time to make it, but by now my feet were in agony! Despite this feeling, there wasn’t a moment when I wished that I wasn’t there, not a moment when I regretted and not a moment when I doubted I would finish.
The Finish
I eventually made it back to Whitchurch and then the longest ever 4 miles to Goring. As I approached the finish, I felt myself welling up. I have never had a crew or a pacer for my ultras, happy to run with other runners and make the most of the amazing volunteers at the Aid Stations. But amazing daughter Natalie always insists on being at the end of every race, and as I headed towards the finish I could see her cheering me on. I felt the tears come (have never shed a tear in previous races), Natalie noticed, took my hand and ran the last few steps with me. At 26 hours 56mins I reached the finish line. Had I not taken the detour it would have been somewhat quicker, but I got there and was proud.
I was whisked into a side room of the Town Hall, where the ever smiling Stuart was taking superb Finish photos. I was congratulated and hugged by Stuart and by Nici (who had hugged every sweaty runner). Nici presented me with my t shirt and my 3rd 100 mile buckle.
I joined the other finishers in the hall, sat down and everything hurt. I somehow managed to get my shoes off. My feet were a state, massively blistered underneath. I threw my shoes away, they were fit for nothing. I wondered how on earth I would get anything on my feet to travel home. I had been hoping to go straight to friends’ barbecue but realised that that had been a bit too ambitious. I ate some food a bit too quickly and felt a bit sick. But that didn’t matter as I was holding my 3rd 100 mile buckle :o)
Volunteers
Once again, the volunteers were amazing. Some worked 30 hour plus shifts. Everytime I got to an aid station, there would be someone offering to fill my water, make me coffee, pour me coke. There was food and incredible words of encouragement. It inspires me to volunteer myself.
The People
Ultra runners are awesome. I’ve made some great new friends through running and at each race I meet more incredible people.
Several people I knew were celebrating completing the Grand Slam, including Paul (who I ran NDW100 with), Tracey and Kate, an outstanding achievement by all.
Tinu
At A100 I met an incredible lady. Tinu epitomises ultra running. She had attempting 100 miles twice before but unfortunately had not made the finish. It was Tinu’s birthday on Saturday when we set off and she lit up the trails with a smile and tinsel skirt! She was the last runner for a lot of the course, but she did not give up. A lot of people may have thought it was beyond her, but Tinu perservered and finished well ahead of the final cut off. When she arrived at Goring everyone sang, ‘Happy Birthday’ as she was presented with her buckle. I honestly don’t think there was dry eye in that village hall when Tinu finished.
What Next?
I have a dream of doing Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB). I have sufficient qualifying points, so I will enter the ballot. Not sure I have that much chance of a place but will keep trying each year until I get in.
Now I’ve seen the Centurion Grand Slam buckle and it is special. So do I go back next year, do the 3 races I’ve done this year plus SDW100 and get the Grand Slam? That will be foregoing other races and there are quite a few I’d like to try, so we’ll see.
All I know is that I was never a runner, I set a challenge, had a go, enjoyed it, so tried it again and then again! Every achievement starts with the decision to try. I was never sporty I’m not fast, I’m not a great runner. But I saw something that I really wanted to do, so I gave it a try and I think I’ve found my sport. I am proud of my 3 buckles, here’s to many more! :o)
Since picking up a knee injury at the Monarchs Way back in June, I’ve been troubled with that injury for a few months.
Running has been a bit patchy (although I have been running) but I did make a deliberate attempt to keep all my running offline as I just wanted to do my own thing and get fit in my own time. I did foolishly started the T184 at the end of August and bailed out after 80 miles and since then have been trying get fit and prepared for the A100. 3 weeks ago was a big test when I took part in the Rocky Triple (2 Marathons 1 day and a Half Marathon the next) which I managed to complete but the knees were pretty sore (any more than 25 miles and that was the problem). So I went into to the A100 with no plans/no goal and a fair amount of caution.
Reading Joggers at the start.
I’ve done a few training runs with Paul Beechey and Alex Whearity recently and to them this sounded like a familiar story to the Endure 1250 run back in July where I had a decent run so they were convinced I was sandbagging. I had a few excuses, as whilst I have logged a few miles I have not run with any intensity, have been forced to take rest days at times (I know it was that bad), have been carrying 1/2 stone over fighting weight and had no form over the past few months and was in unknown shape… so it may have been only partly true!
Alex Whearity was also taking part in the event was was planning on running with Reading Jogger Wendy Shaw and they were aiming for a sub 18 time and so I elected to hang back, take it cautiously and do my own thing. No pressure, a relaxed run, let’s see how it goes. I didn’t event prepare an excel spreadsheet with splits and times.. shocking I know.
As a side note, despite the Reading Joggers being a pretty small, sociable running club we do have a small core of good Ultra runners including Paul Beechey, Barry Miller (both resting from Sparta today), Alex, Wendy and myself as the ‘Ben Kenobi’ wizened old man of the team although Alex and Paul like to call the ‘The King’…. not through any form of flattery but as “The King” (of Junk Miles) which is probably more appropriate.
There was one little fun aspect of the race in that Nici Griffin (current owner of ‘The Hat’, long story but I lost it, found it and then gambled it away) had offered it back if I could run a PB time (current PB was 18.44 at the TP100 this year). We kept this largely to ourselves having done the public bet a couple of years ago and so a nice bit of extra motivation.
Photo by Super Stuart March
Leg 1 – Goring to Days Lock (and back)
The weather was ok at the start and I elected to run with a 1/2 zip running top and 1/2 zip mid layer but with sleeves pulled up to keep myself cool but after running the first few miles I did feel warm so adjusted the tops to give myself a bit more air. The field set off quite quickly with about 50 runners heading off infront of me. My observation here is that some people went off far too quickly. I had a plan of nothing faster than 8.30m/m for the first leg which I pretty much stuck to.
I had a chat with Jay McDonald on the first leg out but we drifted apart at some stage. I was pretty surprised to see Mark Denby hurtling back towards me when I reached the 10 mile point (which meant he had run at least 14 miles). Mark eventually run a 14hr something time to take the overall win and course record (sorry James) with an incredible performance. I recall running this event in 2014 where Mark was a place ahead of me with an 18hr something time. So he has improved his time by 4 hours in 2 years, so hat’s off to Mark for a super run.I made a minor mistake after entering the field in Shillingford where the route I have run in the past went straight on but I missed the X sign on the cross directing us a little to the left (and maybe one or two who followed me.. apologies) so I made a wide loop of the field to make up the few yards I missed so I could continue to enjoy a ‘guilt free’ run.
Wendy and Alex passed me not too far from the turn point and gave me a wave and I reached the turn point, grabbed a sandwich and headed back straight away. It was getting pretty warm on the return leg although running conditions were almost perfect overall so no complaints about the weather or footing at all.
I stopped to use the facilities at Benson on the way back and ran all of the leg and arrived back at Goring in 3.32 in 27th place have moved a little way through the field on the first leg.
Grin and bear it! Photo by Stuart March
Leg 2 – Goring to Swyncombe (and back)
I ran this leg by myself and took it easy on the way out as we headed through South Stoke and North Stoke. I caught up with Wendy and Alex as we saw Tom Sawyer struggling with a bad back and checked he was ok briefly (he was ok to get to the Aid Station) before continuing on. I drifted ahead of Wendy and Alex and ran this leg largely by myself through the lovely Grims Ditch section. There were a couple of points I hiked briefly but I was pleased that I ran most of the upwards leg (more than I had done last time).
Stuart March had positioned himself in the dipping/ploughed fields before the turn and I had to make sure I ran this bit to save a bit of pride and avoid any photos of me walking this section.
I arrived at the turn, didn’t tarry too long and headed back, hiked up the hill and then started running back. This return section was probably my quickest and at times I ran some of these sections quite strongly (the Grims Ditch bit is great). I had overtaken a few people and arrived at the 50 mile point with Jez Isaacs. The Centurion Live Timings had me in 6th place at the 50 mile point in 7.20 which was only 10 mins off my 50 mile PB. I was also feeling pretty good, had some energy to run the second half and I cheekily whispered to Nici Griffin that “the hat is coming back today”. This was more for my own motivation as I couldn’t have a disastrous second half after a comment like that! I did spend a few minutes here to put some Rocktape over a potential hotspot, change socks and wolf down some tea, fruit and biscuits but left the Aid Station running.
Photo by Stuart March
Leg 3 – Goring to Chain Hill (and back)
I had hoped to get out onto leg 3 in the light and managed that with an estimated hour or so before I needed to the headtorch. It did start to rain, not too heavily but enough for me to pause and swap my midlayer for a rain jacket as I didn’t want to go into the night with a wet and cold upper torso. Leg 3 was always going to be the make or break leg for me. If I could run a half decent leg, I could manage a PB here. I’m not sure what it was but I ran a good leg and tried to run a lot of the ascents and keep the odd hike to a minimum. I arrived at Chain Hill (62.5m) in 9.33 (shout out to Ken Hughes and Barry Miller who were manning the Aid Stations around here). I had a quick cup of tea and rammed down a few more biscuits and then trotted back.
I’ve commented on this before but I like the out and backs and passing the other runners. It had got dark at the 58ish mile Aid Station which exceeded my expectations so I had my head torch switched on for the way back and offered a ‘well done’ to the runners I passed. Unfortunately, as it was dark I didn’t recognise many runners aside from Russell Tullet who was on course to finish a 100 miler after an injury hit few years which was great to see. He looked like he was enjoying the run more than our recce a few weeks earlier! Thanks to those people who gave me a shout out and apologies for not recognising many people.
I arrived back at Goring in just under 12 hours have traded places with a couple of people and was in 7th position at that time. Hold on.. 75 miles in under 12 hours thats around 4 hours per leg? That’s an hour up on where I was 2 years ago.. not sure what’s going on here but let’s see if I can keep this going.
Photo by Stuart March
Leg 4 – Goring to Reading (and back)
Well after 3 great legs I was starting to run out of energy and crammed in some more biscuits before I headed out. I had to make a toilet stop somewhere where I lost a few mins and then found an LED Lenser SE07 head torch on the floor which I picked up and handed in at the Whitchurch Aid Station. I was starting to struggle a bit more and my jog was being punctuated by more marching breaks.
It was noticeably colder down by the river after Whitchurch and you could start to see the white of the evening frost forming but as I was still moving ok I didn’t need to put my midlayer back on (and the emergency base layer was still safely stashed away). I took a pro plus to fight off the sleep demons and for the first time put on the iPod but even my favourite tunes couldn’t get me moving any quicker.
I walked/ran to Reading high-fiving Jess Gray who was just leaving the Aid Station, grabbed another cup of tea and a few biscuits and tarried here for a couple of minutes before heading back. It was around here that my knee started to feel a bit sore and the walk breaks started to become more frequent. Nothing too bad just the usual late race aches but I was definitely running out of energy aswell by now. 3 legs had gone really well so no surprises that I was becoming tired and slower on the 4th.
I ran/walked as best I could but could only really manage the 100 yards run/100 yards walk routine and knew time was slipping away. My Garmin ran out around mile 93 so I didn’t have much of an idea of the time but knew it must be a PB by some margin. I was overtaken by one chap a couple of miles before the end as I was doing the run/walking but nothing much I could do so as I was moving as best I could.
Despite a bit of a slog on the last leg, I arrived at the finish to find out that I was in 8th place and had finished in 17.04. A personal best by 1hr 40mins. How the hell did that happen? It seems a little churlish to feel disappointed to miss the Sparta auto-qualifier by 16 mins with a big shiny new PB but we’re never satisfied as runners and I know the last leg was where I lost the time.
Nici put on her look of mock disgust that I earned the Hat back (it will never die.. will it?) but did make the observation that she should take it more often with improvements like that! Thanks for being a good sport again Nici.
No comment from Nici.
Well done to all the runners who took part and thanks to the Centurion Army for another well organised, well supported event. I should add that there was a strong female presence with Susie Chesher running the fastest female 100 mile time at a Centurion event and finishing 2nd overall, Jess Gray running sub 17 hours and Cat Simpson and Wendy all looking strong and all 4 finishing in the Top 12/13 with well paced efforts. Wendy finished together with Alex in the end both achieving their sub 18 targets so a good day all round.
The finish time of 17.04 represents a 10% improvement in my Personal Best time for the distance (Previous PB was 18.44 at the TP100 earlier this year) which is a big gain and the question is what did I do differently from other events of a similar distance.I am going to list what I did differently below and leave it for people to decide which they feel was the biggest benefit.
(I hope Mike Julien thanks for me for this!) but I used Tailwind for the first time during a race. I had bought a couple sample packs previously and have started to try it out during long training runs. During the race I carried 2 x 500ml bottles with Tailwind and replenished my supplies after each leg. I did not rely exclusively on Tailwind but also ate real food during the race and did have other drinks at Aid Stations (Coke and Milkshake). However, I can honestly say that I felt like I had more energy to run than I have done at previous races (well.. up until the last leg). So using Tailwind to supplement my hydration and nutrition is something I will continue with. As a side note I used the ‘tasteless flavour’ (is that an oxymoron?). However, there is some taste to it which you have to get used to.
I completed more long runs. Since the knee injury at the Monarchs Way I had been struggling to complete long runs as the knees wouldn’t take the stress and did a lot of shorter runs. It has only been in the last 6 weeks that I managed to put regular long runs together and I had alternated between 1 long run and 2 long runs (20-25m) per week.
I had a rest day once a week. This was largely down to the fact that I needed to rest my knees at least once a week but the rest may have helped.
I had a more relaxed attitude going into the race and paced the race better (i.e. went from 27th after 25 miles down to 8th overall at the finish) and made a particular effort not to go off too fast.
Obviously ‘The Hat’ motivation was a factor.
So at long last you get to read a race report where I say I was pretty satisfied with the result. Not to say there aren’t areas for improvement (i.e. the last leg) but it was definitely a good day/night and I have no complaints at all. If I had been offered that finish time at the start, I would have bitten your arm off.
Edit: A couple of things I have forgotten to mention. Firstly, I have started to have a massage on my legs on a semi-regular basis thanks to my friend Matt who is training to be a Sports Physio and he needed a volunteer to practice on. Secondly, thank you to Adrian who was crewing Wendy and Alex but kindly took a bag of drinks and snacks for me and who I saw periodically at the crew meeting points and grabbed the odd extra snack or drink.
“You’re not very good at this race, are you Daddy?” stated my Daughter after the race… “No, I guess not”.
Well two years after my first DNF at the T184 Challenge, I was back to have my revenge, fitter, stronger, leaner, better prepared mentally and physically… well… um… er… not quite.
Due to an injury hit summer it was totally the opposite, I was lacking fitness, weighing 10% more than I did the same time last year, lacking long runs, under prepared and not really motivated at all. A couple of weeks before the race I was seriously considering not starting but as I had travel and accommodation arrangements booked and a few friends were taking part I sort of drifted into the “I will see how it goes” camp.
Unfortunately the T184 Challenge is not an event where you can just ‘wing it’. It’s long (184 miles covering the length of the Thames Path from the Thames Barrier to the river source in Cirencester), competitors have to carry their own kit and food (except for water) and it ends up being a 2-4 day run/hike with a 8-10kg on your pack with minimal sleep on the way and camping outdoors. Whilst it may fall more into the ‘adventure race’ category it’s definitely a challenging event as evidence by the low finish rate each year.
Full race support is provided with GPS trackers allowing those at home to follow peoples journey, Checkpoints, Volunteers, Pick up van. It has all of the things you would expect from an ultra event aside from the provision of food at Checkpoints.
At the race start the night before with Alex Whearity
I arrived at the ‘Pasta Party’ the night before and met up with a few competitors before going back to my hotel for the night. I was rooming with Alex Whearity who was running the T100 Challenge (the 100 mile version of the race) and woke up earlier than I wanted. I was still tempted just to stay in bed and not bother turning up at the start but eventually headed down to breakfast to meet up with a few other competitors and then heading to the start.
Start of the race
After kit checks and race briefing it was time to set off and I waited at the back and trotted off with Ernie Jewson bringing up the rear. I ran/walked a bit and caught up with Kevin Mayo and we settled into an easy conversation. We both admitted that we didn’t really enjoy the ‘London’ leg of this race. Despite the Thames Path passing various landmarks we were both keen to get out of the City and could then start to enjoy the event at from this point.
I asked Kevin what his race strategy was and he gave me a detailed explanation of his run/walk strategy and his timings and planned stops. He asked me what my plan was “I don’t have one I replied… so we will follow yours!”. From the man who loves his excel spreadsheets with race timings and pacings this was a shocking admission from me. I genuinely had no plan and was just going to take it easy and see how it went.
We kept leapfrogging Dave Cox, James Allan (doing the T184) and Jason Whipp (doing the T100) for a little while and we shared a bit of banter. I particularly liked the fact that they were all wearing the same kit, same buff and had the same backpack. It was almost the ultra running equivalent of turning up in your favourite teams football kit head to toe. Dave, James and Jason all had brilliant runs with Dave and James eventually finishing joint winners of the T184 and Jason finishing third in the T100.
About six miles in I had a comedy fall. I don’t recall what I tripped over but I took a forward tumble, held it for about 5 metres before eventually falling face down. I managed to get the palms of my hands out in front to avoid the full face plant but managed to cut and graze both hands which were stinging for the new couple of hours.
Kevin Mayo pictured
Kevin and I continued on and spent most of the day together following Kevins run/walk plan. The weather was extremely warm and we took the opportunity to soak ourselves at a few of the taps along the route. We had one slight ‘incident’ when visiting a public toilet. After fishing out some 20p’s to access the toilet. We entered only to find that we couldn’t see the urinals and so we used the cubicles. After heading out of the cubicle we noticed a lady doing her hair next to the wash basins and we quickly realised that we had entered the ladies by mistake! We swiftly left and apologised to the lady on the way out and made our escape.
The London leg was warm but thankfully after a recent holiday (with a bit of running) in Crete it didn’t worry me too much and the walk/run approach meant that we were not pushing ourselves too hard. My legs had the usual ache after being out on your feet for several hours but the back of my neck felt the worst with a constant pain almost from the start with having to carry a heavy pack (and admittedly not having trained with the pack due to injury).
It was early evening when we arrived around the Walton on Thames area which I knew reasonably well from running the Phoenix Marathons along here. I had planned to have my evening meal (a self heating meal pack) before it got dark and as we got to Sunbury Lock decided to stop here and eat whilst Kevin carried on ahead. At this point, I had been on my feet for 8 hours and I stopped by the river, took off my shoes and socks to allow my feet to breathe and had a little lie down as my meal cooked (sausage and beans). I ended up stopping here for about 45mins and a couple of people passed me during this time. I was fairly relaxed as I had decided to take as long as I needed.
Time for tea
As I was packing up a Dutch runner Francois caught up with me and we tagged along together on and off for a few hours into the night and chatted generally about running, work and family along the way before eventually separating and heading off at our own pace.
My knees were starting to ache as we went into the night and I had a couple of blisters on the toes forming now. I had worn some heavy duty knee supports which felt like they had helped with the weight bearing but I hadn’t realised these were cutting into the back of my legs (see picture below) and were feeling a little uncomfortable.
Yes, the supports were a touch uncomfortable
Once again during the night phase, I settled into a sombre mood and once again (as usual) questioned why I am actually taking part in these sort of events. For the past year or two I have to admit that (aside from one or two races) I haven’t really enjoyed the long ultras. I don’t mind putting the miles into the training (more time and volume than quality if I’m honest), enjoy catching up with people before and during the race but don’t really enjoy the race itself and tend to focus on all the negative aspects (the aching legs, blistered feet, tiredness), get to the finish and then feel ultimately disappointed with my time because I walked a % of the race/was tired etc. At that point all I wanted to do was be at home and lie down on the carpet in my lounge.
During the early hours, I became more sleepy (as usual) and at a couple of points stopped at a park bench to close my eyes for a couple of minutes before carrying on. Unfortunately at one point I lay down on a park bench for a 5 minute nap and was awoken by Tom Garrod who was passing me and asking if I was all right. I asked him what time it was (it was around 5am) and I then realised that I had no idea how long I had slept as it was starting to get a light by now. I could have been out for anything between 15 minutes to over an hour!
Thankfully the short sleep had helped with the tiredness but I had been laying on the park bench on my side and my left leg and thigh felt stiff and awkward as if it had been locked in a position and I trailed behind Tom as he marched on ahead.
I bumped into Javed and Allan as they caught up with me and marched on ahead a little while later.
I was getting closer to the Checkpoint at Henley some 80 miles in and was mulling over whether I actually wanted to or should carry on. Physically, I was getting to the point where things were starting to become uncomfortable and mentally I was never invested in the race at all. Ultimately, if I wanted to carry on it would have meant a 3 day uncomfortable march and even then there was no guarantee that I could physically complete the race in my current condition and level of fitness. Mentally, I wanted the easiest option.
I bumped into James Bennet just before the Henley Checkpoint and we walked in together. Stouty was running this Checkpoint and I arrived, sat down and told him I had decided to stop here. I didn’t fancy trying to walk another 3 days and I quit. When I had DNF’d a couple of years ago, I was really disappointed with myself, this time I wasn’t bothered by the decision at all.
Happiest DNF ever
So both times I have entered the T184 I have started the event untrained and under prepared. If I enter this event again then I must make sure it is an ‘A’ race otherwise it will simply be a case of the same result.
Congratulations to everyone who took part and completed the T100 or T184 events and thanks to Shane and team and all the volunteers and marshals who helped put the event on.
I was sorry to hear that Kevin who had got himself into the lead position by an hour or two had to quit through injury but delighted for Dave Cox who finished first with James. I should also mention Tom Garrod who not only completed the T184 but also did the ‘double’ by going back t London on foot the next day and well done to Paul Beechey and Alex Whearity who were joint winners of the T100.
My next planned event is the Autumn 100 and I need to try and get in some sort of shape to be able to just complete this event.
