Written by Phil Amos - http://outforabimble.blogspot.fr

So I haven't posted much on here since I started it.. best intentions seem to get derailed by everyday life, and spending time with the family took a bit of a priority, especially as I'd signed myself up to a few little races this year.

Bit of a back story
I always fancied having a go at the NDW100 since I started this running malarky. Alan, the man responsible for getting me into this running thing, had mentioned fairly close to the start of my running journey how there was a group called Centurion running, who organised 50 and 100 mile races, and that he had met the fabled Nici, face of Centurion at Rat Race Dirty weekend. At the time I couldn't even begin to contemplate that sort of distance.. hell I struggled to run down and back to the local reserve from home.
So this idea of running Ultra's as I soon found out they were called seemed like an incredible feat, yet the idea of running the length of the North Down's Way managed to get lodged in my head.. especially after doing a few loops of the Darnley trail, and then finding Ranscombe Farm.
Once I got over my first year of running, I started looking for something a little less road based and a lot more trail based. I enjoy running in the woods and fields and trackways.. there's so much more to see.
I happened across Saxon, Viking & Norman running, a group who organise all sorts of marathons and timed races very local to me whilst looking for something to do to test myself, as I was quite peeved at how I'd done in the Royal Parks Half. I ended up signing myself up for the Ranscombe Spring Challenge while sitting next to my wife in hospital, during a quiet moment in her labour. Unwittingly I booked the Sunday, as I knew we had an NCT catch up on the Saturday, without realising it was going to be our first Mother's day. Bad Daddy! Anyway, I had a great day, only running for 6 hours out of the 8 available as I'd promised I'd get home so I could spend at least some of our first ever Mother's day with my wife and daughter, but it also ended up being my first ultra at 30.4 miles and just under 6 hours.
I ended up signing up for a few more.. it's a nice hilly course, roughly 100 ft elevation climb per mile ran.. once averaged out and local.. so low impact on the family.
I got chatting to Traviss a little bit after finishing Summer event, which I went into thinking I'm aiming for 50 miles so I can use it as qualification for the NDW100 with Centurion. I managed a double Marathon in 10hrs 37, and that would have been enough to qualify me for the race I had always wanted to do. However Traviss suggested that actually the SDW100 would be a much better starting race for an introduction to 100 mile running, and as he'd done rather a lot of them himself all over the world, I took his advice. He also said that if I wanted to do the SDW100, I'd be very sensible to try and do the SDW50 first as it covers the last half of the race, which is likely to be run in the dark.

I went home and signed up that evening for the SDW50.
I think shortly afterwards they announced that they were going to be running their first ever 50 mile grand slam, and the little collector inside me said.. oooooh I want some of that. So I then started watching for the dates to be announced.. and subsequently found myself signed up for the NDW50 (well NDW100 was the overall plan anyway.. wouldn't hurt now would it getting a bit of practise in) and then the Chiltern Wonderland and Wendover Woods. Oh and at some point I must have suffered some sort of mental breakdown as I went and signed myself up for the SDW100 and the NDW100 for this year too. Oh dear. I'm now running the same number of miles as the 100 grandslam, but due to the extra hilliness of some of the 50's I'm going to be covering a lot more elevation (47,800ft rather than the 28,340ft for doing the 100gs)

So.. that kind of brings us to the start of this year.. Alan had also signed himself up for the NDW50 (probably about 5 minutes after I did looking at our race numbers) so I had a training partner! We started doing recce's from Farnham, heading East along the NDW.. started off with half marathonish kind of distances (both of us have babies) and also dragged him along to the Winter Ranscombe Challenge in January where he knocked out his first ultra :)

I also upped my weekly mileage.. fitting it in mainly on Monday nights running back to my Mum's from various stations along the way and eventually all the way from work. I also wanted to get out and do the last half of the SDW50 before the actual event to give me a bit of confidence on the day.. which I managed to do on a nice Sunny Sunday in March.. a month ago today in fact.

Back story done.. onto this past weekend!

SDW50

So plan was to drop Maz and Sadie off at my Mum's on Friday night, on my way down to Worthing so they could drive up Saturday afternoon and see me finish. Scuppered before it even started! Maz had a migraine so went straight to bed, and I had to sort Sadie out, get her changed and settled then head off on my lonesome to my single bed overlooking the sea.

Had a good trip down, parked on the seafront and headed upstairs with all my kit around 10.30pm... got everything laid out (took about an hour once I got all my bottles filled and everything double checked) then hit the sack at about midnight. Saturday morning came.. alarm went off at normal work time and I was up.. made use of the facilities, had some tea and a berrocca, made use of the facilities, had some porridge, made use of the facilities had a shower.. got dressed, made use of the facilities.. normal race day pretty much. Packed everything away, drop bag checked, race pack checked, everything else in a carrier, then went and checked out and headed to registration.

I'd done a quick drive by the night before on the way to the hotel so knew where I was going.. and was directed to the end car park. There was a light drizzle falling, so had my spare jacket on which would end up in the finish line bag. Into the registration hall and there was a buzz of chat and a throng of people.. over to the kit check table and all they wanted to see was that the main torch was working and I had a warm long sleeve top.. through me a bit as I was expecting to get everything out. Promptly shone my torch right in the guys eyes.. I was a tad flustered, and come to think of it I'm not even sure if I apologised! I think it was at this point I started thinking I had packed too much.. but never mind.. on with the day. Away from the kit check desk I just dumped stuff on the floor and repacked my bag.. panicking because I thought I'd lost my kit check token already, then realising I'd put it under my foot so I didn't. Next onto the registration queue.. alphabetically organised.. easy.. surname A.. first line.. and there I was.. oh yeah, I changed my on the day mobile number as my usual phone was too big.. no not the emergency contact.. oh.. ah well.. I think next time I'll just put my usual sim in my little mobile.. caused far too much confusion and lines through numbers that should have stayed etc.

Now time to put finish line bag in the back of the van, have another a quick trip to the facilities, fill up my 2 smaller water bottles for my shorts with filtered, chilled water.. and try and relax. Found a spot in a locked doorway and just sat there for half an hour or so.. until I sensed a gradual movement towards the exit.

Rain had stopped and we headed over towards the starting field. A few words from James, including that we would have a nice following wind pushing us all the way to Eastbourne, and the countdown was on.. Fenix 3 was poised and ready to go (awesome bit of kit btw.. just my two pennies-worth) and the hooter went.. start.. and away we went.. slow to start off with.. narrow gate to get through then onto a road, then up some hills.. more and more hills.. some narrow with lots of people bunched together.. but gradually widening the closer we got to the SDW itself. I started to find myself in the middle of a bit of a group.. which was spread out in front and behind me.. seeing the same faces, rather than a sea of faces.. I just settled into my stride.. from the beginning I'd decided I was walking the hills running the downs, and as much of the flats as I could.. just had to get my pacing right, and the gradient in my head that I would decide constituted a hill.. first aid station felt like it was the longest trek, and by the time I got there I was starving.. I managed to pick up a single jelly baby, a cookie, and some coke.. that was it. Ah well.. that's what gels are for lol. Was a bit confused as I knew I had to get my number taken at each aid station but couldn't see anyone who was writing it down.. had to ask a friendly guy in a Centurion T-shirt, who pointed me up the road slightly at the guys on the road crossing.. ah ha!

Crossed the road, walked up the hill and off running again, and that was pretty much the order of the day.. got to 25 miles in 4 hours 50.. so that gave me a good boost. I covered the first half quicker than I'd done the second half on the recce run... so was still on track for my 10 hour self imposed target. (I'd told my parents and Maz I was hoping to be at the finish for 7.. and didn't want to keep Sadie awake too long)

Aid stations came and went, and I gradually got more efficient getting through the,.. the trick is to trust the guys filling up the flasks while you get your grub.. second to last aid station at Alfriston and only 9 ish miles to go.. 4.5 to the next aid station. I decided I would make sure I filled my empty flasks with enough to get me to the finish, as I had about an hour and a half til the 10 hour point. Had a bit of a laugh when the volunteer said only 20 minutes to Jevington.. 4.5 miles in 20 minutes.. I think not! Clocked the hot drinks on the way out.. doh.. probably for the best though.. save the cuppa to the end, and off I went.. had done this bit on the recce so out and over the bridge and left was alreeady keyed in my head.. the bridge is one of the key navigation points for the course, as SDW foot path goes right and down towards Beachy head apparently.. we need to go left.

As seems to be the norm by this point, out of the aid station and we find a hill.. this is a pretty big never ending one.. and I get chatting to a guy who seems to be motoring up the hill about the same sort of pace as me, had dropped Maz a text on the way out of the aid station and she had told me she was having fish and chip dinner... so that slipped it's way into the discussion. He managed to get a bit of distance on me by the time we came down into Jevington, and think I saw him last on the route a good way in front of me.. or so it seemed, on the last hill up to the trig point. I skipped going into the aid station at Jevington as I had my eyes firmly set on a faster than 10 hours time at this point.. I knew it was going to be close, and didn't feel I needed the extra couple of minutes for items I probably wasn't going to use.

I also didn't remember just how long that last hill was until I'd given up ever seeing the top.. but I finally got there and thanked the guys in the tent who were manning the trig point.. Managed to spot the sports-ground and running track finish line this time round (as opposed to on my recce, where I picked the wrong path and couldn't see jack) as I started down the very narrow, steep chalk path down from the top and then I got a weird cramp start up in my shins.. slow down to a walk again and wait for it to fade out.. all the time verbally abusing my legs and telling them it's all down hill from here.. eventually the feeling of it wanting to cramp went and I managed to get a bit more speed up again. I do love running down hills.. even on very narrow technical paths.. I would not have wanted to be doing that sort of speed by torchlight though.., so glad it was still before dark. Got down into the streets of Eastbourne and over took a guy along Royal Parade (or something like that) I was properly running now.. which was a bit of a mistake.. as I got to just opposite the pub/beefeater thing by the hospital and felt my thigh start to cramp. Slowed right down to a walk to try and walk it off.. but foolishly let the adrenaline of 2 guys cheering me on to it's just round the corner spur me on to a run.. for about 15 yards.. before my first proper full on cramp hit. Doh! Walked it off cursing my stupidity, and got running again ASAP.. by the time I'd crossed the last road and rounded the corner I was moving again.. and the cramp was easing.. running along towards the stadium entrance I could see someone standing in the path who looked familiar.. had a bit of a teary eye when I realised it was my Dad come out to see me.. especially when he started jogging alongside me.. I haven't seen him run in years! Up to the final corner and I could see the stadium.. he told me to go on so off I went.. saw my Mum and Maz and Sadie as I entered the stadium and heard them cheering me pretty much the whole way round the lap of the track.. as I came towards the finish line I could see Sadie toddling about so I made a beeline for her, with mum shouting at me.. .you've go to finish, I picked Sadie up and carried her across the line and then gave her a big cuddle.

Was an awesome moment.. both Mum and Maz were crying, Sadie was happy to see me.. and I had a medal from Mimi Anderson.. race done in 9 hours 58 minutes.. sooooo fricking happy with my time :)

Few photos taken that I don't even remember being taken, and then T shirt and finish line bag were with me.. and it was into the hall for Hot dog and tea!

Awesome day, awesome event.. role on NDW50 in 5 weeks time!

Thank you too everyone who volunteered, and the organisers.. I still didn't really get to say hi to Nici.. will have to make sure I actually catch her when she's not in the middle of something for the NDW and say hello!

Written by Sarah Sawyer - http://sarahstravelsandraces.blogspot.fr

The Plan

I was massively looking forward to the SDW50 for a number of reasons. I do most of my off-road running on the South Downs so it feels like a 'home fixture' to me. I'd run the whole course over four runs in the 2-3 weeks prior to the race so it was all fresh in my mind and I knew exactly in my mind where I could motor on and make up any 'slow' miles. I'd had a really good block of road marathon training at the start of the year and when I moved onto trail it was noticeable how much quicker and stronger I felt. And fortunately mine and James' targets were much more in sync than for the A100 when there was 4 hours difference between what he set me and what I thought I could run! James had set me a target of 7:50, and I felt that if I had the perfect race and the Running Gods were looking down on me, then I could run 8:00.

I knew that running a sub 8:00 SDW50 was going to be tough, and there would be no room for any mishaps (surely even I couldn't get lost on this one....lets gloss over the fact on one of my recces I ended up heading west instead of east along the SDW!) or time to spare (toilet stops, what are they?!), so I'd devised a race plan that looked like this:

• Hike the steep bits in the hills after Botolphs, Saddlescombe, Housedean, Southease, Alriston and Jevington and eat
• Run the rest
• Hammer the flat and downhills as much as I can
• Use Tom for crewing so I don't need to use the aid stations - he had instructions to give me 2 bottles of Tailwind, 1 Ultra Fuel Shake, 2 GU gels and 2 ZipVit bars at the three points we were going to meet (Devils Dyke, Ditchling Beacon and Bo Peep) and shove some Pringles and bits of cheese veggie rolls at me and tell me to eat them!

On paper it looked like a plan with no drawbacks, now I just needed to put it into practice!

The Reality

I'm always Little Miss Organised so we arrived at Worthing College for registration and kit check bright and early, meaning once that had been done I could spend the hour until the race started catching up with various ultra running friends who I'd not seen for a while as I'd been trying to turn myself into a road runner in the first months of the year. I love the 50 mile distance, so although I knew I had a tough target, and in the week leading up to the race a lot of people said they were expecting me to have a good race, I didn't feel any pressure and was just excited to get started and do what I love doing - running on the South Downs.

Tom taking his crewing duties very seriously from the word go! (thanks to Nici for the photo)

We'd woken up to torrential rain but the Weather Gods were looking down on us as it eased off by 8am and we were left with perfect weather conditions for running. James gave the race briefing just before 9am and we were off - just 50 miles between us and the finish line at Eastbourne. 

Race start

As soon as we hit the trails, my immediate reaction was 'mud....and LOTS of it'. In my previous recent recces of the course, the ground had really dried out from the mud bath it had been earlier in the year, and although there'd been a lot of rain in the week leading up to the race, I thought the ground would have soaked it up. Instead we were ankle deep in mud and deep puddles in places. I am AWFUL in mud at the best of times (basically when I was made, I got given Bambi legs!) and as I'm still running with a bit of a broken arm, it's made me nervous on mud as my physio warned me in no uncertain times that if I fell on my arm again, it would be game over for my running for a few months. Despite the mud slowing me down in places, I felt really strong and was averaging a decent pace of 8:30-45 minute miles which is where I wanted to be. After 5 miles on muddy trails, we hit the South Downs Way which is a lot more exposed in this section so was better underfoot. I love this section of the South Downs down to Botolphs and I defy anyone to run it without a huge grin on their face. I arrived at Botolphs and checkpoint 1, but knew as I was meeting Tom at the top of Devils Dyke, didn't need to stop for any food or drink. A few friends were here and told me I was currently 2nd lady (behind the amazingly talented and super lovely Jess Gray) but I knew it was very early days and just wanted to keep running my own race. Beeding Hill after Botolphs is the first of the tough climbs of the race, but I hiked up it strongly and hit 12.5 miles in 1:46, bang on target, and more importantly feeling brilliant. Sometimes you have races where the miles fly by, and sometimes you have races where each mile feels three times as long it as it should, this race was firmly in the former. 

'Flying' into Botolphs (thanks to Neil for the photo)

There were a lot of people at Devils Dyke and this was the first point where I was going to meet Tom, who like a military operation, gave me everything I'd requested. I've been using Tailwind this year and find it brilliant stuff, and in previous ultras I've always taken a couple of Ultra Fuel Shakes (which give you 500 calories of goodness in one hit) so I downed a bottle of that....and as soon as it hit my stomach, there was a massive clash with the Tailwind. Basically I'd made the ultimate schoolboy error of trying something in a race that I hadn't practiced in training (in hindsight, which is a wonderful thing, I should have realised that both products are essentially trying to do the same thing and wouldn't have worked together, but it was too late now and I felt sick immediately).

I really struggled with sickness from the moment I left Devils Dyke, and I really had to get my head down and grind out the miles. I've gone through enough low patches in ultras before to know that the majority of the time they pass, so although my pace slowed down here and I was aware that I was losing precious time I didn't have, I just focused on getting to Ditchling Beacon where I'd see Tom again. Tom thrust various bits of food at me, but I couldn't stomach anything, so just took a couple of gels off him and fortunately after leaving Ditchling Beacon, the sickness passed as quickly as it had started. My stomach still felt like it was doing somersaults, but I could put my foot down without feeling like I was going to be sick, and I had a brilliant section of running here, just the mud slowing me down in places. I hit 25 miles in 3:55 which was about 10 minutes slower than I wanted to be, and I knew I wouldn't make sub 8 at this point, as there would be some really muddy sections in the second half, but I was still really pleased with my progress. I hadn't used any aid stations up until now, but knew I'd need a quick stop-off at one to fill my water bottles up as it was 17 miles between Ditchling Beacon and Bo Peep where I'd see Tom again, so I quickly detoured into Housedean, as my friends Carol and Lesley were volunteering here, and said a quick hello and got water.

Quick detour into Housedean (thanks to James for the photo)

It's another tough climb after Housdean, and although I hadn't eaten anything since mile 15, I was still moving at a fairly decent pace. Just before I hit the 'yellow brick road', Amelia Watts caught me up, looking really strong so we ran together for a while discussing running skirts (don't all women?!) and then she motored on as I couldn't match her pace. Just before I arrived in Southease, I had a massive energy slump as I hadn't eaten for 18 miles, and forced a gel down me, but I really struggled from this point, and lost my 3rd place to Leanne Rive, who again passed me looking a lot stronger than I was at this point.

Struggling into Southease (thanks to Neil for the photo)

The 6 miles from Southease to Bo Peep were the lowest of my race, I was running on absolute empty and the course is very exposed at this point, and the wind which had been behind us for most of the race was in my face. Arriving at Bo Peep I saw the most welcome sight of Tom....and then proceeded to throw up, narrowly missing his trainers (I guess this is the '...for worse' in wedding vows!). He walked with me for about 5 minutes and forced some Pringles inside me, and I started to feel vaguely human again and like I could run. Whether it was Tom or the Pringles (my heart says the former, my head says the latter!), I had a brilliant section to Alfriston, running strongly again. There was more mud upon leaving Alfriston, but Jevington arrived surprisingly quickly, where there was an Angel outside the aid station with cups of Coke which I thought my stomach could just about tolerate, so I downed one of those ready for the final 5 miles to Eastbourne. 

I was still moving at a decent pace up to the Trig Point, but knew I'd struggle coming down through the gully - I'd ran (read as teetered) down it the previous weekend when it was a lot drier and today I resembled a drunk Bambi as I skidded and slid through the mud, and I lost a few places here, including my 4th female to Kit-Yi Greene, who fully deserved to overtake me as she descended like a speedy gazelle! The tarmac at the end of the gully was probably the most welcome sight I've ever seen, and as soon as I hit road, running wise I felt really strong, running the last mile and a half at sub 8 minute mile pace, which is all credit to James' coaching, as I certainly didn't feel like I had 48+ miles of tough muddy miles in my legs. I ran round the back of the hospital and towards the sport ground and hit the track, feeling like I was flying, and crossed the line in 8:23:37, 5th female and 38th overall, out of 339 finishers, a big 50 mile PB and 45 minutes faster than the previous year, in conditions which I'd found a lot tougher than last year.

VERY happy SDW50 finisher

Although my finish time was 30 minutes slower than James' target time, sometimes times go out the window in ultras, and it becomes more a battle of dealing with what the race throws at you. I take full responsibility for messing up my nutrition, which is an area I normally get right, but every ultra is a learning experience, and I'm glad I learnt today what didn't work and not at the SDW100 in June - I could slog out 34 miles feeling ropey, if it had happened at the same point in the 100, slogging out 84 miles would have been a much tougher ask. Even without my sickness, I didn't have sub 8 in me on the day, as the conditions underfoot just didn't suit me - I'm the first to admit I'm a tiptoeing fairy on tricky descents! So ultimately there's absolutely no regrets from me, I'm a bit disappointed with my time but I finished the race feeling like I'd given it my everything and I don't think you can ask to finish a race feeling more satisfied than that.

After receiving my medal from James, and hugs from Tom, James, Mimi, Eddie, Nici, Jon, Natasha, and anyone else who'd give a slightly ropy looking and smelling runner a hug, I forced a cup of black tea down me, which came straight back up as my stomach decided at this point, it was game well and truly over, making for quite an eventful journey back to Brighton!

There's always so many people to thank after these races - everyone at Centurion Running for putting on, what are without a doubt, THE best races in the world, all the volunteers (even though I didn't really use the aid stations the encouragement and support I received from them is truly humbling), all the runners who I shared time with pre/during/after the race, James for being an absolute superb coach in every way, and Tom for spending a day out on the course, tending to my every need and seeing me at my best and very worst!

Written by Jess Gray - http://tinkstrails.co.uk

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same…  from ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling

My friend Coach Fifty sent me the poem ‘If….’ by Rudyard Kipling the day before the SDW50, and I wholeheartedly believe these words got me through on the day.

Having had a disastrous final three weeks building up to the race with a hamstring niggle, with every passing day I became more despondent. I was beginning to believe I wasn’t actually going to make it to the start line.   On top of that I was really feeling the pressure – seeing my name in the pre-race preview as one to watch, the worry I could ruin other races I had planned, the concerns that I was going to do more damage to my hamstring – all my thoughts were of the worst case scenarios, the ‘what if’s…..’

However, reading this poem made me think of my situation in a different light.  Rather than focusing on all the negatives, I realised that I had a choice (actually if truth be told Coach Fifty told me in no uncertain terms that I had a choice) – I could let this niggle consume me or I could start thinking positively – I could think about the ‘If…’

Getting up at 4.30am on Saturday morning I was determined not to think about the negatives, I was going to enjoy a day running along the South Downs, the chance to catch up with running friends and to generally have some fun, but as I pulled on my big girls’ pants, well tight Lycra shorts – obviously for added hamstring support – I immediately felt a twinge in my lower back but this time on the opposite side, I honestly nearly went straight back to bed!

Come what may Team Gray and I made it to the start at Worthing.  After a seamless kit check and registration process I was treated to an amazing supportive hug from Nici Griffin and a chat with superstar Edwina Sutton, then it was time to catch up with some amazing running friends. And just as the rain and dark clouds started to subside so did the apprehension of my injury woes.

Obligatory pre-race photo

The next big decision was what to wear, as although the rain had stopped there were a few showers forecast for later in the day and I also knew that the exposure on the Downs meant the temperature could change very quickly.  My last minute decision was just to wear my Ashmei merino wool top as I could add a layer if I felt cold later on.

Running through the start gantry I decided at that moment my race plan was to run check point to check point, at least then if I had to drop out there would be an army of the best volunteers to cheer me up and feed me.  As the first few miles ticked by my aim was to take it easy, steadily warming up my hamstring and saving something for the big boy climbs in the later stages of the course.  Although downhills are my favourite – my chance to really fly – today I was being careful not to over stride on these, although with all the wet chalk there were a few hairy moments where I nearly wiped out completely!

The first check point at mile ten arrived in a flash, then just after this refuge there is a long climb up to Truleigh Hill. I was marching up the hill with another runner when Edwina Sutton passed us in the opposite direction, she was out doing some course marking duties, her cheering and support gave me a huge boost.  It was warm on the climb, I’d started to sweat quite heavily, so I knew I had made the right decision just to go with the one layer.

The hamstring had started to mumble at me occasionally, although it was waxing and waning so it wasn’t yet loud enough for me to worry. I felt myself finally starting to relax into my own pace, I was pleased to be at the front of the ladies’ field, although I knew Sarah Sawyer in her awesome form wasn’t that far behind!

Arriving at Devil’s Dyke I received a huge squishy hug from Thea which really spurred me on and before I knew it I was through the next check point making the climb out of Saddlescombe.  The next few miles were a mix of highs and lows both in the landscape and in my mental attitude, the negative thoughts started to force their way in, I started to doubt if I was going to be the runner I wanted to be today.

I saw Team Gray and some other fabulous running friends who were supporting briefly at Ditchling Beacon, although I rudely didn’t hang around, I was keen to keep moving, not to waste precious minutes at crew points.

I knew I had to change my attitude and I had to do it fast, so I thought of the poem.  In my head I started to think…If – If I keep going I will make the next check point –  If I push along this flat bit all will be fine – If I keep going I could win – If I stop now I’ll never know what I could achieve today.

My main aim at this stage was to make it to the Southease check point at mile 32ish.  I knew my fellow running friend Nuala Smyth was volunteering here and seeing her would definitely give me a boost, but I also calculated that here would be a good place to get picked up by Team Gray should I decide to drop.  But when I arrived here, not only was I met with phenomenal support from the volunteers, both Edwina and James were there too!  We had a brief chat, I moaned about my hamstring, however they were both so supportive and full of advice, there was no way in the world I could drop out here, so onwards and upwards it was.

Southease….would have been the perfect point to drop had James and Edwina not been there!

There is a very long steep hike out of Southease, at the top it took a while for my legs to get back into running mode again, but once they were going I felt strong, I was enjoying the views and ignoring the twinges in my butt!  Having recced the route, I knew it wasn’t far until the next check point, so I pushed on with all I had, making the most of the flat and downhills, no longer was I holding back on the descents, instead I was giving it everything I had on my tired legs.

At Alfriston I literally slid down the alleyway to the check point only to be caught by a couple of safe-handed volunteers, who ushered me inside the hall.  I enjoyed some delicious ice-cold watermelon and coke, but before getting too comfortable I was being shoved out the door by the volunteers telling me I had a job to finish, but only after we had a laugh, when some suspicious loud banging alerted everyone to the fact that a fellow male competitor had managed to lock himself in the toilet!

The climb out of Alfriston

The course had been brilliantly marked the whole way (even though I managed one slight detour earlier lured by a downhill path), so the notorious split of the South Downs Way at Alfriston wasn’t a worrying as I imagined it would be.  Although I was now being chased by the runner who’d been locked in the loo, so I got a wiggle on.

At this point it was a relief to know I was going to finish, the hamstring was going to hold out.  I’d been told earlier on that I had bit of a lead on the second place female, however there was still a fair few boys in front of me who I wanted to chase down.

At the Jevington aid station I checked in but decided not to venture inside for provisions, instead I headed off up the long steep stony lane towards the notorious trig point.  The trig point is the part of the course where runners leave the South Downs Way and head down into Eastbourne for the finish and has obviously caused a few runners navigational problems in the past.

On the long climb out of Jevington I was joined by another male runner who I had been chasing all day, he had evidently stopped at the check point allowing me to pass him momentarily.  As he caught me again we climbed the hill together, we chatted about our adventures, sharing stories of injuries woes and our future racing plans.  I am always in awe of other people’s running and racing stories, no two stories are ever the same, but there is always something in every tale we can easily relate to.

Just before the top, Drew Sheffield from the Centurion Team ran down towards us, he was full of support and a little bit of cheekiness.  I must have looked dreadful as he told me that when he sees the next lady he promised to tell her how fresh I was looking, then he promptly smirked!

That trig point was a sweet sight.  All that was left to do was a technical chalky descent to Eastbourne and then a couple of miles of road to the finish.  I managed to just get ahead of the chap on the descent by going on the low path as he opted for the high one.  However, by picking my way cautiously down the narrow gulley on my tip toes, my left calf had started to seriously cramp up.  I tell you now that after 47 fricking miles nursing my blooming hamstring, with the finishing line nearly in sight, there was no way on this planet I was going to quit with a bloody cramping calf.  Doing my best line-dance performance I slammed my heel into the ground a few times which thankfully appeared to do the trick.

Those final few miles along the road and tarmac bike path seemed to go on forever and ever.  Although I had heavy legs, sore feet, aching muscles, bad chaffing and some sunburn to add to the mix there was nothing that could stop me.  I had managed to nurse my niggle all that way, so I was full of will and determination to keep going to the very end.

When finally, the athletics ground came into sight, I think I let out an incredibly loud sigh of relief and did a little fist pump.  Then with one very slow 400m lap of the athletics track, I finally crossed the finish line in 7 hours 40 minutes and 22 seconds.

The final lap of the track…where 400 metres feels more like a mile.

What a moment it was to have my medal hung round my neck by the true running star Mimi Anderson and to have a huge trophy presented by James.  It was then I truly believed that I had triumphed….not just in winning the race, but I had triumphed in overcoming the negative thoughts that had blighted me and could have so easily lead to a very different outcome.

I realised how powerful the effect of that poem had been on me….

Whether a triumph or disaster, every situation is something I can learn from and I will seek to treat them both the same.

As for today, well today I learnt just how powerful my mind can be and just what I can really be capable of.

Written by Janette Cross - https://janettecross.wordpress.com

It’s 9.45pm, the night before SDW50 and I’m snuggling down under the duvet.

“Hey, Siri”

“Hello, Janette”

“Wake me at 3.55”

“OK, I’ve set your alarm for 15.55”

Wait. What? No! You silly, sexy voiced, machine thing. Don’t you second guess me (my own fault for having Siri be a man ;-))

“Hey, Siri”

“I’m listening”

“I should ruddy well hope you are. Turn off alarm”

“I turned off your 15.55 alarm”

“Wake me at 3.55 A M!”

So, my alarm went off at 3.55 am and I caught a bus to East Croydon and headed down to Worthing, where it was raining. Quite hard.

There followed a blur of kit check, registration, faffing about what to wear, getting a hug from Leila Rose who was helping at the start, more than one visit to the ladies, meeting up with David Mould (not in the Ladies!) – the man who paced me too my marathon PB –  and then there we were, on the start line.

Ah yes, the start line. This was my 3rd SDW50 and I stood on that start line feeling the least prepared for the race than I have before. Training and fitness have been erratic since the SDW100 last year. I spent 6 months battling with PF (which I *think* I have under control), developed a high hamstring “extremely ouchy when I’m sitting down or climbing hills or stairs” thing at the end of January (which refuses to go away) and, 4 weeks ago on a training run I managed to fall twice in the space of the first 3 miles and cracked my ribs. Yes, again! *rolls eyes at self* I have history with ribs…

I first cracked a rib when wrestling with my son when he was about 7 years old. Since then I have done them damage on several occasions; three times by falling on a training run, once turning over in bed (! – and, yes, I was alone :-P), once after an over enthusiastic hug (the person was REALLY pleased to see me), and, most memorably, when I tripped over thin air at QECP on the SDW100.

Enough with the excuses, though. I felt good. The ribs had healed, I had tapered well and only the hamstring was likely to cause a problem. Still, given all of the above, I decided that my dream goal of sub-9 hours was a non-starter and that I should aim to enjoy the day and maybe hope for a PB (sub 9:14).

I’ll admit I didn’t totally let go of the sub 9 dream. I went on climbers.net (a website that uses stats from past races to tell you where you need to be and when you need to be there in order to achieve a certain time – factoring in your “demise” as the race progresses) and I *might* have keyed in 8:55 as a finish time and I *might* have made a note of what time I needed to be where and popped it in the pocket of my race vest.

I had a race plan…

Enjoy it, have fun, but don’t hang about.

I decided not to look at my Garmin at all apart from the 3 points that climbers.net gave times for: Housedean 26.6 miles, Southease 33.9 miles and Jevington 45.7 miles. The rest of the time I would just run – thinking about form, running the hills where I possibly could and wearing a smile.

The rain had stopped and I was feeling peppy. I bravely made my way nearer to the front than usual and then, bang on time, we were off.

The first few miles flew by and, before I knew it, I was at Pig Alley. There were lots of piggy noises and that unmistakable piggy smell. Pig Alley always reminds me of two things: bacon sandwiches and Fiona Stacey. I first ran cross country when I started secondary school and the route went through a pig farm (yep, there was pig farm in Wigan). The very first time we ran the route I found myself battling for first place with Fiona Stacey. I desperately wanted to be Fiona. She was tall and beautiful with impressive breasts that seemed to come round the corner a full minute before she did. Me – less so on all fronts (so to speak).  We decided to cross the line together that day (much to the disgust of our PE teacher).

CP1 at Botolphs came and went.  I always have extra admiration for the volunteers here.  Spending your day in a windy lay by alongside a busy main road can’t be much fun but, as always, I was greeted with a smile and nothing was too much trouble.  My CP plan is always the same – drink coke, top up water, put food in doggy bag, don’t hang about – and that’s exactly what I did.

I peed behind a bush just before the drop down into Saddlescombe.  I could have waited a bit longer but didn’t want the effect of that downhill on a full bladder.  I have been working on my downhill technique.  Well, when I say “working on” I mean I watched a 4 minute video on the Kinetic Revolution website.  That said, it worked like a charm

The miles ticked over.  On the flatter bits (yes, there are some) I thought about form and was either towing my cowboy or being tall and rangy and relaxed.  I chatted to a couple of other runners but, for the most part, I was happy in my own little world.

It was a wonderful and most welcome surprise to see my friend Brioni pop up twice at random points on the course.  A hug works wonders when you have a hill to climb.  And she held a gate open

CP3 is Housedean.  I knew Leila would be there helping out and I was excited to think that this would be my first opportunity to see how I was doing time wise.  As I ran into the farm, James Elson was there and greeted me with “Hey Janette, looking strong” :-)  I managed to quash my initial reaction of “Oh wow, the race director knows my name and he thinks I’m looking strong and he must know because he is a proper runner and he wouldn’t lie because he’s a nice chap” Instead, cool as the proverbial, I just grinned and said, “I’m feeling strong”

A quick hello from Leila, coke, food in the doggy bag and I was on my way again.  Time to look at my watch for the first time in the race.  Climbers.net said I needed to be at Housedean at 13.19.  It was 13.39.  Twenty minutes down.  I wasn’t especially surprised or disappointed.  It wasn’t a good thing or a bad thing.  It was just a thing.  Sub 9 might be off but, if I stayed running strong then a PB was still possible.

Onwards and upwards.  Literally. :-)

I looked at my watch for the second time that day as I started up the big climb out of Southease.  Still exactly 20 minutes down on where I needed to be for sub 9.  I hadn’t gained any time but I hadn’t lost any either and there were some big climbs a-comin’ and I love hills, me.

The plan for the hills was to run them as much as I could – walking when it was more sensible to walk but working hard and not walking when I didn’t need to.  It’s an easy trap to fall into especially when other people are walking.  It’s like someone has given you permission to take your foot off the gas.  It’s the same as remembering not to go off like a bat out of hell at the start of the race.

Play your own game.  Stick to the race plan.  Don’t hang about.  No naughty walking.  Only sensible walking and, even then, walking like you mean it.  I had to work.  And I did.  I ran more in this race than I have either of the 2 times and I have run it before and definitely more than I have on recce and training runs.  I even ran a little bit of that climb out of Southease. *plumps feathers and preens*

The race seemed to fly by. The weather was kind to me and I only had to pop my waterproof on once and even then I took it off 3 minutes later.   There were highs and lows as always but the lows were few and far between.

Coming out of the CP at Alfriston I passed another runner. It was Tim Cox (a lovely man who looked a little bit like a pirate – not a rough pirate – a dapper one that probably hasn’t been to sea much and has a barber in Jermyn Street).  We had a little chat but I kept moving – a little while later he passed me (having worked his way through his trough and found another peak) and then became something of a beacon for me for the rest of the race.  Seeing him ahead kept me focused.  I was proud to shake his hand when I arrived in Eastbourne.

Jevington was the last CP of the race and also the last time check point on the climbers.net site. For an 8:55:00 finish I needed to be here at 17:00.  Out of interest, I checked my watch as I started up the last hill.  17:03

Ooooh ‘ello

I start doing mental maths. Not my strong point at the best of times.  57 minutes to do less than 5 miles.  That’s doable.  Surely that’s doable.  Let’s work this hill, baby.  So I worked that hill.  From here on in, I checked my watch every time it beeped to mark the passing of another mile.  I whooped when I spotted the trig point and set off down the gully of death, desperately wanting to give it some welly but also keen to keep my ribs intact for once.  I did pass a couple of people and it was slippy underfoot but I managed to stay upright.  Just!

I hit the track and, as I set out on that final lap I took one last look at my watch.

15 minutes to do 400m

*grins*

I think I might have got this.

8:47:06

Poor Mimi Anderson! An absolute heroine of mine, she got the biggest hug and an incoherent grinning woman yelling “It starts with an 8” as she popped that lovely medal round my neck.

And there was Leila again. She brought me tea and a sausage sandwich and it was so good to have someone to share my ridiculous excitement.

As I left the finish to shuffle my way to Eastbourne station, I spotted Mr Mould approaching the track and grinning. A fantastic PB for him

So, in summary, I ran 50 miles. Faster than I thought I could.  I didn’t fall, all ribs remained in one piece, and the only hurty bit was what my son saw and called a Nasty Canasta blister under my toenail.  I won’t post a photo of the blister (I’m thoughtful like that) but here’s a picture of Nasty Canasta instead.

Written by Steve West - https://theparttimeultrarunner.wordpress.com

Saturday 2nd April

The Vale Coastal Ultra was a new event in 2015 which I was unable to do but being right on my doorstep and along the beautiful Wales Coastal Path in the Vale of Glamorgan, from Penarth to Ogmore by Sea, I made sure I wasn’t going to miss it again this year.

I have big plans for 2016 (for me anyway), leading up to my first 100 in October (a100 Centurion Running). I naturally planned my years events to lead up nicely to the 100. I have SW50 in June – a very hilly 50 in the Brecon Beacons also with Run Walk Crawl. In preparation for the 50, I have upped my mileage in recent weeks maxing out at 85 then 90 miles a week 2 weeks prior to this race. This meant that I was in a pretty good place at the moment in my training and as such I was quietly hoping for a decent performance.

Whilst I am a local to this event, I have only ever been on the first few miles of the coastal path. Two weeks before the race I used my last long run to recce The Knap to Llantwit Major, meaning I would know the first 25 miles of the route. I never expected to have to overcome potential navigational issues, it’s not that hard to keep the sea on the left, but I did want to know what to expect on race day.

A busy week in work meant I had no time to prepare so I just made sure my race kit was clean and everything else had to wait until Friday night. I didn’t even know how I was going to get home afterwards, but that could figure that out afterwards.

Friday night was another not so great nights sleep thanks to our little man who had a cough and a cold but at least being up at 5am meant I could finish preparing.

I learned in a previous race in November (Likeys – see my previous race report) that using my Salomon bladder in a race was a faff at CPs and wasted a fair amount of time. However at just 34 miles I figured I can get round on 1 full bladder and not have to stop at any CP – except to grab Jaffa Cakes!

After a 2 mile walk/jog in the rain to the race HQ at the Kymin Centre followed by the mandatory kit check and sorting out my drop bag for the end, I headed down to the start at the pier before the bus from Ogmore arrived and the HQ became chaotic. I killed time chatting to fellow runners a few of which were doing the event as their first ultra. I was able to impart some local knowledge which amounted to no more than ‘it’s not too hilly but expect mud’.

A last minute catch up with a few friends (arch enemies for the day) who are by far and away in another league of ability to me, then we huddled at the end of the pier for the short race brief from Joe the RD – then we were off.

I knew that after the first mile along the cliff tops that the trail down to Lavernock Point gets narrow and would be muddy in places, so after a quick chat to a new FB friend Paul Gander who was also using the race as his first ultra, Rhys Jenkins (arch enemy no 1) and I decided to put a spurt on to get past as many people as possible. This goes against everything I normally do in a race but it made sense in the circumstances.

After Lavernock Point there is a short road section followed by left turn onto the muddy fields leading down to the coast in Sully. The view of the houses along this stretch of coast is to die for, but today it would be a little different with around 250 people plodding past their back gardens. A couple of miles of this turns into a few more miles of road and pavement as we headed towards Barry town. Here I got chatting to Dai, an experienced ultra runner who had just come back 2 weeks previously from Transgrancanaria. Thanks to the number of race reports I’ve read and podcasts Ive listened to, I was able to talk knowledgeably about a race I have never done and pass some more time. We rounded the headland and joined in with the Barry Island park run for a few minutes. Every one of their volunteers clapped us through which was great. A short stint on the beach which was horrible underfoot (note to self – take MdS off the bucket list) and we headed out onto the headland for the second of the 2 mandatory clip points to ensure no cheating.

Next stop was The Knap and the short but horrible climb towards the entrance to Porthkerry Park. I decided this was a good place to take off my jacket which I successfully achieved without losing any time and I then realised that I was competing not just completing – mmm a dangerous thought. I know Porthkerry well and I flew past Dai and another runner on one of the descents thanks to my choice in footwear (Scott Kinabalu).

Approaching the second CP I knew I needed nothing so I shouted out my race number and went straight through. Shit a camera damn, thankfully a second photo was taken and I managed a smile.

It got quite boggy followed by muddy as we headed across to the coast again and up through the woodland so a short walk and a check of the watch showed I hit 13.5 miles in 1:54. I was quietly confident I may have a good day. I just needed to not blow up or make any stupid mistakes.

The path goes through a caravan park next which is a bit weird bit it soon picks up the coast again and a few steady inclines, but nothing too serious and a fair bit of mud, but nothing too drastic takes you out to Rhoose point at around halfway. There is a lovely power station to contend with next whose tall wire fence stretches on for what seems like an eternity, but the flat concrete path does allow you to steadily make some progress and as long as you keep looking left at the coastal panorama, it’s not too bad a view.

Things got quite uneventful for me from now on where I walked a few of the steeper inclines but not all of them and I was still bounding through all the CPs. I had however been thinking for a good few miles, where’s Cronk (arch enemy no 2). Lawrence is a 1:25 half marathoner who is aiming for Kona qualification at IM Wales in September. I had no doubt he would catch me after warming up his Achilles, it only took 7 miles in our last race together (Might Contain Nuts Round 4 in December), but here I was 20 miles in and no Cronk in sight! He admitted after the race he feared he wouldn’t catch me but it was never not going to happen. A few rolling hills and we dropped down to the CP at Llantwit beach at 25 miles. I stopped for 30 seconds this time for some flat Coke, few Jaffa cakes and a few chunks of mars bar. This was quickly spat out as I realised it was Snickers – I hate peanuts!

I decided at this point it was time to open up my personal food supplies. Ella’s Kitchen Banana and Blueberry rice pudding. I never expected it to be particularly tasty and whilst it was thicker and tangier than I expected, it was palatable. I don’t know if it made any difference but in my mind it gave me a lift so that’s good enough for me.

It was at this point Cronk caught me. I had lasted 26 miles so he was most definitely not beating me by 90 minutes today. We had a quick chat and he shot off at a pace that I possibly managed in that first mile but that I was certainly not capable of anymore. He had sub 5hrs in mind – and Rhys to catch! Whilst checking how far I had managed to stay ahead of him I noticed my marathon time of 4:03. Not bad, don’t panic, keep going, your doing fine.

I plodded on further into unknown territory and from Nash Point things got much hillier. The following miles were simply up, down, mud, baby food, up, down, mud, baby food with a few Boulder sections thrown in and a rather picturesque lighthouse (Nash Point) and of course more hills and mud. I knew though that despite the hills and mud this was nothing compared to Likey’s in November and MCN in December so I could keep this pace up.

A friend who I ran the last 20 miles of Likey’s with, Mark Buxton, was running the 18.5 mile race which started from PortKerry Park (13.5 miles into our race) 2.5 hours after we started in Penarth. I had gone through Porthkerry about 35 minutes before they set off but I was very conscious that somewhere behind me was another person who would catch me very soon. ‘Steve’ – ‘shit I knew you’d catch me’. ‘Can’t stop I’m winning!’ And he stayed there too for his first ever race win, an amazing effort well done that man!

A few minutes later and an Italian guy in second came past me but he was clearly running on empty and although he got a few minutes ahead of me he never really got out of my sight until the last mile. Mark’s win was never in doubt!

The last two miles were on the grassy coastal but there was still one major short but sharp down then up but other than this we followed the stonewall in towards the end. It just seems to go on forever, or perhaps that’s just what it feels like after 33 miles and over 5 hours.

I had been looking over my shoulder for the last few miles to see if my position was under threat from some doing a last minute sprint. I was safe but I also knew I wasn’t going to catch anyone so a casual trot in was all that was called for. I did realise though that I came into the last half mile up on the hill rather than along the coast. Not quite sure what happened there so there was a moment of panic and a very quick drop down to the main path in the hope I didn’t lose too much time and give my position away in the last few hundred metres, but all was fine.

I saw a woman who I don’t know but had seen at various times on the route clearly looking out for someone in the race. She told me it was just round the corner. Normally during an ultra when someone tells you that it means another mile at least, but I rounded the corner and there is was, the Run Walk Crawl banners, the small gathering, the music, the medals, the end.

As usual the legs quickly started to seize up after the finish and I did spend most the next 24 hours walking in typical fashion. The usual conversations followed with friends (no longer arch enemies) especially to congratulate Mark on his comfortable win.

So the official results of people I know:

Lawrence Cronk 8th – 5:07:55
Rhys Jenkins 10th – 5:12:08
Me 12th – 5:17:21
Paul Gander – 7:59:15
A superb result in his first but definitely not last ultra – well done Paul.

As always a huge thank you to the marshals and volunteers who these races couldn’t happen without. I didn’t spend much time in any of the CPs but they were definitely brilliantly organised and supported. The only one I did really use at Llantwit CP5 someone sorted out my bottle whilst I stuffed Jaffa Cakes in my face.

This was my first Run Walk Crawl event and definitely not the last. It’s going to be hard, but if the Vale Coastal Ultra is anything to go by, it’s going to be brilliant.

What did I learn:

1) I definitely, absolutely hate peanuts.
2) The hydration bladder works really well over around 30 miles if not 50.
3) Baby food does work (I think). Definitely easy to carry, open, close, store, eat.
4) The right shoes make a HUGE difference.
5) Training lots pays off!

Back to it then, next stop Brecon on 3rd June!

Thanks for reading.

Written by Jostein Sand Nilsen - https://tgc2016.wordpress.com

This is not good. It’s Friday, I’m strolling around in Umag, at midnight I’ll be at the starting line, ready to run 110 kilometres across Istria. Except that I’m not ready. I’m cold, shivering even though the sun is shining and the temperature is at least 10 degrees higher than in Copenhagen. My muscles feel sore, even though they shouldn’t be, my entire body feels weak, and worst of all: I feel sick, as if I’ve eaten something rotten or have some kind of stomach bug. No, I don’t feel ready at all. But the race will start in just a few hours. So I have to be ready.

I never intended to run Istria 100. Sure, it looked tempting — I have been to that part of the world a couple of times and always enjoyed the clean air, the warmth, always wanted to run up the mountains, I speak the language since my wife’s an ex-yugoslav — but my main goal was Transgrancanaria just a few weeks earlier, and I didn’t think I would be ready for another race that soon.

Well, Transgrancanaria ended badly for me, I was too cautious and didn’t eat enough and missed the cutoff after 80 kilometres. I felt OK the day after, fine the day after that, and I realized that I should have and could have done better. How to fix it? Hm. There is this race across Istria…

So I signed up. If Transgrancanaria wasn’t meant to be, surely this race was: not as hilly, 15 kilometres shorter, and a cut-off time of 33 hours as compared to just 30 hours in Gran Canaria. I mean, surely?

And here I am wondering whether I will make it to the starting line at all. The muscle soreness will probably go away, my body will feel better once I start running, it’s always like this before a race. Nerves, probably. But the stomach? I can’t be so nervous that I’m puking at the starting line?

*

Almost midnight. I am at the starting line in Lovran. I have been here before, I recognize these streets. I even know the first 8 kilometres of the route, I once walked up the summit barefoot. (No, really.) I remember the lamps and tights and compression socks and trail shoes from Transgrancanaria. I’ve paid lots of money for this. I’ve left my wife and kids for a long weekend, even my mother, who came the very same day I left, just to be here, just to run. This is what I wanted. And yet I feel strangely out of place. I’m still cold: I see no-one else with as warm pants as me. The stomach isn’t good, I’m still queasy, I need to pee, my body feels heavy, still not ready, not ready at all. In the bus I made plans to ask one of the organizers how long they would stay in Lovran: if I give up halfway to the summit and go back, will someone still be there so I can hitch a ride back to the hotel?

But we’re here. Let’s see how far my body will take me.

Past midnight. We’re off. I jog a bit from the start, it’s what everyone does, it looks weird to be the only one walking, but soon it’s getting steeper and we all start walking. I’m way back in the field, almost everyone is ahead of me. My poles go blump-blump against the asphalt (unlike most others’, which don’t have rubber on the tip and go clink-clink). After a few hundred metres, someone stops by the side of the road to pee, but it’s too early for me: find a rhythm, get away from the house, then take a leak. First be warmer: after a minute or two, I take off my pants. I am almost last. A minute or two later, I find some grass, some trees, a secluded spot with no-one around except other runners (and they don’t care).

When I’m done peeing, I am dead last. So far back that I seem to be officially out of the race: ahead of me, two volunteers are taking  down the course markers. It’s like the race is over, that I didn’t even make the cut-off after five minutes. Part of me enjoys the symbolism. Turn back, I hear a voice saying. See? Even the organizers think you should give up at once. But another part of me is louder: no way, it says. No bleeping way! To travel all the way to Croatia just to give up after less than a kilometer? You can do better than that even if you puke!

So what do I do? I walk faster. I catch up with the others. I pass first one, then another. I get annoyed by some, they are too slow and I can’t get past them, the path is too narrow. I consider slowing down, taking a break for a few seconds, just to make sure I am not spending too much energy, but no, I am hooked on passing people, I am hooked on this rhythm of being slightly faster than those ahead of me. So I go on in the same way.

At the start, there was a lot of noise. Loud music, someone saying something in a microphone (mostly about how 110km is not 175km, as far as I can recall), cars in the street and people everywhere else. Here up on the mountain, though, it’s silent. No cars, no music, no-one making much noise except for heavy breathing, heavy footsteps, the occasional fart and sharp clink or muted blump from the poles. Nobody talks.

Except two Croat woman behind me. The last minutes I have been hearing them constantly chattering about God knows what (my language skills can’t keep up), but apparently it’s hilarious, they laugh as much as they talk, and they talk a lot. What is this, a party? And how embarrassing must it not be for those behind me to be slower than these two chatterboxes?

And then they pass me. They wear identical pastel-coloured tights from the 80’s, one of them doesn’t have poles, they keep on talking — and they skip past me outside the path, as if I’m walking annoyingly slowly. And after having passed me, they move away, walking so much faster that I lose sight of them.

So what do I do? I walk faster. Of course. I catch up with them. And when they pass someone, I pass too. Whatever you do, don’t let them get away. For your stupidly inflated self-esteem’s sake. As if a minute lost here will mean a lost race! As if anyone cares about who passes you or who you pass! But no, your pride and stubbornness makes you create competition where there really shouldn’t be one, makes you focus on small, minuscule victories along the way instead of the ultimate goal of finishing.

On the other hand, to focus solely on something 100 kilometres and 20-30 hours of running further down the road, and not on the small goals along the way, is a sure way to lose your mind and give up.

And of course, the nausea is gone now.

As we get higher and higher, it gets colder and colder. Some hundred metres from the summit, I put on my pants. I remember this last bit from my barefoot run: the pointy rocks, the sharp twigs, and then, at the top, the tower and the marvelous, fabulous view, clear skies and brilliant summer sun in all directions. This time around, it’s slightly different. It’s dark, it’s cold, my feet are fine, and I don’t stop for one second at the summit, just get my bib number registered and run on, yes, run, even though it’s more like a jog or a trot, at least it’s not walking, and that’s something.

On my way down, I pass both the 80’s tights. I never see them again. At the first aid station at the bottom, I am already two hours ahead of the cut-off. This is going splendid!

When I run for a day or more, I tend to lose track of time and space. That is, in both of my previous ultra races, I have been surprised by aid stations coming from nowhere and by the time being something else than I thought it was. My first main goal in Istria was Buzet, about halfway: the bag drop-off point. There, I could change socks and get some of my own food and drink and even sit down and get some rest. You see, I am bad at aid stations, they are not the reason for my running, I always just stuff food into my mouth and move on as quickly as possible. I never even sit down. And it feels good, it feels like I am pushing forward and not just loafing, my mind is attuned to that way of doing it. My body, however, isn’t always on board. So having looked at the race profile, I decided to make myself sit down in Buzet. Force myself to eat and rest. Even though I probably will feel OK.

Coming to Buzet, though, I’m knackered. After the first summit, we had about four more summits, most of them cold and windy (especially the one where there were no vegetation and the cold wind gathered speed across miles of barren landscape) — but instead of putting on my pants, I have just run faster and willed my way through. It felt good every time I passed a summit and could move towards the warmth in the valleys, but it might have taken its toll. I’m tired as I come into Buzet. Not as tired as the Croatian guy who swore for every other step coming down one particularly technical part of the trail, but still. Much more tired than I should have been.

I get my dropbag and sit down. Get some food, can’t remember what, just remember eating something of this and something of that. Oranges, probably, and bread. Drinking coke, something I under normal circumstances find almost nauseatingly sweet. Oh, speaking of nausea, it’s back. I feel nauseous. For many kilometres I have been forcing down gels and bonk breakers, the stomach complaining but my mind saying yes, you have to, you need the energy. The chocolate ate the last aid station made me even more queasy. But we go on, right?

I don’t know how long I sit there. Get up, find an orange or something, sit down. Get up, stand with my hand on my knees, sit back down, lie down, close my eyes. There are many dropbags left — perhaps 30? 40? Timewise, I’m apparently doing alright. Bodywise… But we go on, right?

Right.

As I leave Buzet, the volunteers take my number. 543, they say and look at me, stare at me, it seems like they are confused or a bit scared or, I don’t know, as if they’re thinking «he is too tired, how on earth will he make it to the finish?». One minute later, I go back into the aid station, I forgot my poles. As I leave for the second time, I try to make a joke, haha I forgot my poles, but either they don’t think it’s funny, or they’re busy taking down another bib number. Or I am so tired I don’t speak clearly.

But we’re off again.

If time and space was a bit weird in the first half of the race, it was even more so in the latter. I remember the sun setting: it took hours. I remember having no idea how far I have to run to the next aid station, or indeed how far I have run since the last. I remember waking up from a trance and being surprised that I was walking so fast, and that I had been doing so for quite some time, and that I was in the middle of a bonk breaker which I had no recollection of having taken out from my backpack. I remember two people on top of a hill, they had water. I remember winding paths through meadows, a magic coniferous forest, a cold stream (the guy ahead of me skipped gingerly across to try and avoid being too wet; I thought for a second and then waded straight through). I remember running along an endless, straight road in the dark. It seemed like it was constantly ever so slightly uphill, and it confused me, I couldn’t remember it being like that from the profile. Or perhaps my sense of space tricked me. Don’t trust your senses in the latter stages of an ultra race.

I remember the path turning into a road, and the road leading into a city, and me thinking «this is it, it’s almost over, it has to be, I have been running for ever». Then again, I shouldn’t have trusted my sense of time, either. Coming into the city, a guy points me towards the aid station. It’s only 15 kilometres left, he says.

15 kilometres!

I should have known, of course. The last aid station was 13,4 kilometres from the finish (not quite 15, but still), and I knew that I hadn’t reached it yet. But hearing the number, and thinking that I hadn’t even finished 90% of the race, and feeling, well, this is knackered. The Buzet knackeredness was nothing compared to this. But we go on, right?

I eat bit. Some other guy tells me how close the finish line is. I smile, or try to, and eat some more. Drink some coke (I think). For the last kilometres I have been in the company of another runner; after a few minutes he leaves the aid station. I leave too. I have eaten enough (I hope), I have rested a bit (not really), I can do this. We go on!

Hundred metres later, if that much, I stop and lean heavily on my poles. I’m terribly cold. Just exhausted. Transgrancanaria was nothing compared to this: there, I had to throw in the towel because of the cut off-time and because I hadn’t eaten enough. Here, the cut off isn’t a problem, and I have been eating a lot more. It’s just that I’m so tired… I stand there, on the pavement, feeling the dark around me, the cold night, thinking how far I have come, how far I have left… And give up.

We won’t go on. Gingerly, I walk back to the aid station. I tell the volunteers that I quit, stagger over to a chair and slump down. So this was it.

On the Istria100 Facebook page, there was a quote by Martin Luther King:

If you can’t fly, then run,
if you can’t run, then walk,
if you can’t walk, then crawl,
but whatever you do,
you have to keep moving forward.

I did fly. Up the first hill, 1400 metres, I passed many runners and was passed by almost no-one. And the downhill after that. After a while, I settled into a steady run. Occasionally, I walked, but I always ran when I could. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, perhaps I should have saved up energy for the latter part of the race? Some time after that, when is a bit hazy, but at least from Buzet, I didn’t run at all. Just walked. Sitting at the last aid station, in Buje, I think about this quote again, as I did several times during the race. I can’t walk now. But I can crawl? There are (*checks watch*) something like nine hours until cut-off, there wouldn’t be a problem to crawl 13 kilometres in that time. But no. My knees are too painful to crawl, they have strange red bruises, apparently they have never been through such an ordeal before. I am cold, my entire body is shaking. I sit inside some kind of hangar, it’s slightly warmer than outside, with my jacket on, bent over, trying to keep my warmth. I drift in and out of sleep. Once or twice I venture outside, struggle to get to me feet and stagger over to ask someone to drive me to the hotel. I don’t want to, of course, but I can’t see any other way unless they order me a taxi. And that doesn’t seem to be what they suggest.

I stagger back and slump back on the chair and drift back into sleep, or coma, or semi-awake exhaustion.  Apparently, another runner recognized me and told our common friend that I looked exhausted. If a veteran ultra runner says that you are exhausted, you know you really are.

One of the volunteers at Buje had a dog. Argus, I think it was called. I watched it fetch a ball as I came back from my short-lived attempt at finishing, and it made my smile. Not on the outside, that would have taken too much energy, but it was nice to see a dog playing and just enjoying life the way happy dogs can. As I sat there afterwards, she (the owner, not the dog) came in to me and asked me what she could do for me. She didn’t say «it’s only X kilometres!», she said «how can I help you?». She asked me what I needed, she said that the cut-off was many hours from now, I even had time to sleep here for several hours and still make it.

I felt like a fraud. A cheat. First I wrote for all the world to see: I WILL FINISH TRANSGRANCANARIA 2016! Then I made my entire family (wife and kids and my mother, seems like a pattern now) come with me to Gran Canaria for two weeks to cheer me on. My mother hadn’t even been there before, and always said that she’d never go to those sun-and-beach-and-drunk-Norwegians places. When didn’t finish, I decided to go to Istria. That I can finish, at least, it seems a lot easier. And here I was, slumped in a cheap plastic chair, knowing that I had failed again. I’ll have to come back and explain to the kids, again, why failure is an inevitable risk en every project worth pursuing, and that it’s not nothing to have run 100 kilometres (ok, 96,6) across Istria, and that they shouldn’t lose their faith in their dad just because he gave up. Again.

But I can’t go on. I go outside again, but it’s too cold, I can’t stop shaking, and my legs make we walk like a penguin and are on the verge of buckling under me for every step. Argus’ owner comes back in, with Argus behind her, but the dog stops as soon as she tells him to, impressively obedient. I can’t remember what she said, but I remember that it made me feel more at ease: I can’t go on. But that’s OK.

I hear a voice behind me. A Danish friend has appeared from nowhere, like an apparition. (I talked with him earlier, as I strolled around Umag.) Let’s go, he says. It’s not that far. Apparently, he had also given up, but changed his mind when he realized how much time there was to the cut-off.

But I can’t go on. I don’t see him leave, perhaps it was just an apparition after all? But it must have been him, he did finish some time during the night.

Eventually, someone picks me up. He drives me to the finish line to get my dropbag, then to the wrong hotel before the right one, with me all the time drifting in and out of sleep. Can’t sleep, must sleep, can’t sleep, must sleep. When we get to the hotel, I get out of the car, and I can hardly bend my knees. My muscles have never been this sore. In the car, the heat was turned up, and it was marvelous. Walking 50 metres to my hotel, I start shaking from cold again. But I manage to get into my room.

So. That was that.

Now, some 40 hours later, I use my hand to climb the stairs in our house. The tiredness is still lingering, like a flu clinging on. But I’m fine. I will be fine. The kids understood that I was tired, and sooner or later they will understand that it’s better to aim for the stars and hit the moon than not aim at all. I did run almost 100 kilometres, didn’t I? I did run myself to exhaustion?

Yes, I failed again. The only thing to do is to train more, train better, train harder. And be back next year for the longest race.

I mean, 110 kilometres is the new moon. And one should always aim for the stars, right?