Written by Jez Bragg - http://jezbragg.blogspot.fr
WikipediaWikipedia
It was early on Thursday 11th June when this whole thing came to life. Gemma and I were up early ready for our flight to Glasgow and onward journey north to the Highlands. It felt like a slightly extravagant way to travel, but after too much time spent at a standstill on the M6 over the past couple of months, it wasn’t a hard decision to justify.
Like each of the preceding 10 days, the first thing I did on waking was to check the weather forecast for the Lochaber area, to see how it was all panning out for the big day. Surely I was due a bit of luck after the two previous weather related postponements? The long range forecast for Saturday had looked reasonable earlier in the week, but it was now deteriorating with the midweek band of high pressure and settled conditions now forecast to move away earlier on Friday night. Saturday’s forecast was for cloud, mist, light rain and cooler temperatures on the summits with increasingly brisk winds. It didn’t look conducive to a fast Ramsay Round, so I was again re-considering my options. Ultimately I needed good visibility, dry ground underfoot and light winds to give myself any sort of chance of realising my goals. Such a day had barely existed in the Scottish mountains so far this year, after a somewhat protracted winter and unseasonably cold spring.
Roll back a week and I had been faced with a similar dilemma. The advice I had been given by Ramsay veterans was to ‘do what’s right for me’, essentially not to worry about the impact of a postponement on the wider team. The theory is that a skeleton team would almost always come together, and the advantage of favourable conditions would far outweigh the smaller support team. But to re-schedule three times – really a good idea? Would the team not start losing faith?
This cloud did however have a nice shiny silver lining - there was a really good looking forecast for Friday – dry, sunny and light winds. So with no time to think through the scenarios in too much detail, I set about sounding out members of the team, to see whether they could support an attempt 24 hours earlier. It was a spontaneous decision which I’m fairly renowned for, but it just felt like the right one at that moment. Numerous texts were exchanged before take off, and by the time we landed in Glasgow just over an hour later, I had confirmation that all but two of my original team could still help, albeit we would need to shuffle around the order a little. We were on for early start on Friday 12th. I duly sent a confirmation note to the team and that was that - no going back now – time to get on with it. But it was now late morning, we were still in the suburbs of Glasgow, and in a little over 15 hours time I would be setting off on my long-planned Ramsay attempt. Cue a rather sizeable surge of adrenaline and some hasty plans to pick up last bits of kit and sustenance for the run.
I am sure every team member has a story to tell in terms of the re-jigging of plans. For example my main man on the ground was Charlie Ramsay himself, and the earlier start time meant he had to set off for the Highlands immediately after his Thursday evening dinner party at home in Edinburgh, to be waiting at the start just a few hours later, with no sleep. Cameron Burt was originally due to run the 4 hour middle-of-the-day Leg 2 with me, but I now relied on him to lead me out on the first section over the bigger and more technical 4,000 footers, with not much more than 12 hours notice. Both perfect examples of the level of commitment shown by everyone, but also the favours I called in. No pressure then. Just don’t muck it up Jez.
When you also consider that I hadn’t even met several of my support team members before the big day, you will soon get a sense of the strength of the Scottish hill running community, and their enthusiasm for this particular challenge. It was all seriously warming stuff.
Despite the fact I was setting off in a somewhat hurried manner, I increasingly got a sense that it was all clicking nicely into place, and it made me feel comfortable and calm with the whole situation. Sometimes you can drift into these challenges without the sense of purpose and excitement required, but events as they unfolded and the endless goodwill shown by the team seemed to ignite a fire within.
As an all important part of my preparations, I had written a schedule which was shared amongst the team and used to break down the Round into small sections for the benefit of support runners and those manning static re-supply points. They would then know when and where to expect me, and I would know the splits I needed to run in order to achieve my goal. Easy, right. So then, on to my goal. Put simply, I just wanted to have a proper crack at this thing, not least because these opportunities are typically few and far between. If I failed at this attempt, it would be another year at least before a re-attempt would be feasible. And after spending so much time learning the lines and getting everything ready, I had to be bold and give the record a go.
One of the ways a Round differs from a race is that you have to commit to a set of split times beforehand, and essentially you are measured against those splits all day. As soon as the schedule had gone out to the team, that was it, the commitment had been made. The target time for the schedule was 18hrs 20mins, a few minutes inside Adrian Belton’s famously tough record that had stood untouched since 1989. Crikey, what have I done….
The story of the run itself is told here through a collection of accounts by members of the support team, hopefully adding some interesting angles.
The Start @ 0300hrs. Leg 1: Ben Nevis, Cairn Mor Dearg and the Aonachs
Jez: Cam Burt was the man who had landed the job of getting me through to the start of the Grey Corries at least, ideally a bit further. Cam was literally the only person who could make it to Glen Nevis for the start time, but with a little arm twisting, seemed up for the challenge. We had never met or run together before, but thankfully there was the chance for a bit of dinner and a chat the night before, and we got on well from the off. We would soon share some rather special moments ‘on the hill’ as we climbed the Ben under clear skies and a gently rising run. I have had few more spectacular experiences in the hills than our brief moments atop of the Ben – what a great start for the big day ahead.
Cam Burt: I was probably more nervous than Jez at 3am as I had been tasked with pacing him through the first leg, hopefully helping to set him up well for the rest of the day – quite a task for someone who never plays at the sharp end of the field! At 3am Charlie Ramsay himself set us off.
 |
| The start. Glen Nevis YH, 0300hrs. Myself, Cam, Charlie & Gemma holding the camera. |
I made nervous conversation for a bit before we settled into a steady rhythm. Head torches were turned off after half-an-hour and we were soon past the Red Burn and making great progress to the summit of Ben Nevis. It was a still, clear morning so I knew we were in for a treat, but the next few hours turned out to be the most inspiring running I've ever had! We reached the snow-line as the moon set over the summit and the sky was burning with the rising sun. Pleasingly the legs weren't! A quick time check over the summit and I pulled out the ice-axes and we hurtled down the snow towards the CMD arête like a couple of children released from school early. We probably should have had a responsible adult with us as Jez did cut his hand – not sure how but it bled quite a bit and would be black and blue by the end of the day.
 |
| Reaching the summit of Ben Nevis at sunrise |
 |
| Descent off Ben Nevis to CMD arete |
 |
| Closing in on CMD summit |
The ‘chicken run’ was quickly found and we made lightening progress along the ridge, only briefly deviating from the track to avoid some snow patches as the axes were stowed once again. Jez asked for some fuel at the CMD summit so I pushed on a little and got the menu ready. After packing supplies away I had to work hard to catch back up but knew I needed to be there before the nasty snow patch near the col. Using the snow patch was definitely the quickest route but Jez would need the axe again to have the confidence to go for it.
Once up on the Aonachs with the summit cairn in sight I let Jez go ahead and bag the Aonach Mor summit alone as I refueled myself – something that is easily forgotten as a support runner. Re-united we trotted onto Aonach Beag with shadows 3 times longer than our height. There was no-where I would have rather been at that point as we both took some time to enjoy the stunning morning unfolding around us.
 |
| Aonach Beag summit |
Spinks’ Ridge was successfully negotiates with a few cheers from Anna and Chris waiting at the col below. While Jez got some rice pudding down I offloaded the ice-axes, spikes and head-torches to Anna and scoffed a sandwich myself. Anna kindly took the metal back to base camp and Chris Busby joined us for the rest of leg 1 – phew, I could share the pacer responsibility!
Chris Busby:Just past 4 in the morning on Friday 12th June and Anna and I were leaving the Steall Falls car park to make a 6 a.m. rendezvous high in the hills with two men we’d never met. Despite minimal sleep, our anticipation at the day ahead was high as we jogged through Glen Nevis in the still morning air; the peaks which make up the Ramsay Round rising to the left and the right of us. We’d left ourselves plenty of time and two hours later we were relaxing in the sun when Anna spotted figures above us, moving swiftly down the ridge, the figure in the yellow t-shirt leading the way and whooping in response to the arms we raised in greeting. Quick handshakes all round were sufficient introduction as Jez (in yellow) and Cam unburdened themselves of axes and spikes and Jez stuffed some rice pudding into his mouth. Good news, I thought: one less thing for me to carry.
The running felt easy to begin with, fresh legs carrying me lightly over the hills of the Grey Corries on generally easy ground with some soft snow slopes to descend. On the descent from Stob Ban I stopped to replenish water, losing a minute or so and had to push in order to regroup at the start of the long and leg-sapping climb up Stob Coire Easain.
 |
| En route to Stob Ban, the last of the Grey Corries |
Now Jez was setting the pace, I was hanging on through the rough heather, knowing that Cam was falling behind due to the additional four hills in his legs. I could feel the beginnings of cramp in the hamstrings as we neared the summit but careful pacing kept it at bay and once we summited I knew my job was nearly done. The short climb up Stob a’ Choire Mheadhoin was over in minutes and there was even time for brief conversation on the descent to Loch Treig, Graham Nash meeting us at the pillar to guide us in on the final descent to the handover point.
Cam: I was still feeling good, but knew pacing Jez all the way to Fersit would be difficult alone. The Grey Corries went in a flash. Jez, Chris and I worked well together, each taking the pace at different points and generally finding the optimal route. However, as we summited Stob Ban, the final Grey Corrie, I knew my time was up so I made Jez aware I was expecting to fall back. We were all together as we crossed the Lairig Leacach path but I would drop 5 minutes to Jez and Chris climbing the seemingly never-ending Stob Coire Easain. Once over I regained my rhythm and was soon running off Stob a'Choire Mheadhoin trying to get back in touch. It is a belter of a descent and I thoroughly enjoyed it arriving at Fersit Dam as Jez was departing after his 4 minute break. He was still moving smoothly and looked strong – I was in pieces!
 |
| Pit stop at Fersit - all hands to the deck. 4 minutes. |
Leg 2: Fersit to Loch Eilde Mor
Jez: The first leg couldn’t really have gone any better. I felt strong throughout, enjoyed some quick glissades down snow covered slopes, and managed to negotiate bits which I hadn’t practised much beforehand such as the CMD arête ‘chicken run’ and ‘Spinks’ ridge’. In fact, on reaching Fersit and feeling as good as I did, the biggest danger was over-confidence and subsequently making pacing or other silly mistakes. After a couple of minutes re-stocking my pack and water bottles at Fersit – the static support guys did a great job of turning me round quickly - I headed off on Leg 2 with Olly Stephenson. Olly continues the story.
Olly: Jez’s splits were already streaming in as text messages, and he was 20 mins ahead of schedule by the time we met him at Loch Treig/ Fersit, the first of the two 4 minute breaks that he’d allowed himself throughout the day.
Jez and I set off on Leg 2 at a fair clip, the previous seven hours and ten Munros had obviously done little to tame his determination or speed. Loch Treig reflected the surrounding peaks like a mirror as we worked our way up the steep and unforgiving Stob Choire Sgriodain, before popping over the top to Chno Dearg and then a big descent/re-ascent to the summit of Beinn Na Lap, the most distant point on the Round and consequently blessed with one of the most humbling views – Ben Nevis looks miles away to the west, with a multitude of peaks in-between, most of which Jez had now climbed, or would soon climb – it’s perhaps a scale and perspective that would more normally be associated with a space station than a run.
 |
| Choire Sgriodain summit. I had already climbed pretty much everything behind me! |
From Beinn Na Lap we had 1:50 to descend to the track and then run along the gently ascending track/moorland to the second static support point at Loch Eilde Mor, which we reached after ~4:30 of running in increasing heat. Jez kept it together very well, staying focussed and generally only displaying the faintest glimmers of suffering by occasional periods of silence, but if he was suffering he never said anything.
At Loch Eilde Mor we were met by the world’s finest support crew of Gemma Bragg, Murdo McEwan and Charlie Ramsay himself (the same team as Loch Treig/ Fersit), who busiest themselves like a Formula 1 pit crew to turn Jez around in 5 minutes, and he was off again with the fresh legs of Graham Nash to chase.
Jez: Leg 2 had been a real slog. The change from feeling strong and confident, to weary and disheartened, had happened worryingly quickly. It was probably a direct result of the heat in the middle part of the day, and not allowing myself the time to cool off properly in the streams when the opportunity arose. It was an aggressive and probably quite risky approach I was taking. I feared letting my guard down to do anything other than move forward as quickly as possible. The section as a whole had felt frustrating – I was leaking minutes hear and there - and the cumulative result was a loss of my 20 minute cushion. I was now neither ahead nor behind schedule and at the start of the crucial final third of the run, with a big set of 11 Munros ahead, and zero fat in my ambitious schedule.
Graham Nash: “That’s 5 minutes”, said Murdo. Jez had been at the support point at the Loch Eilde Mor ruin one minute too long, having arrived at 14.28 on schedule.
“Lets go”. And so the climb up Sgurr Eilde Mor began. First of the final eleven Munros. We had 43 minutes to get to the summit. My job to support Jez on the final leg on his attempt on the record for Ramsay’s Round. Olly, who had run leg 2, was close behind carrying some of Jez’s supplies.
Having recced the Mamores with Jez 3 weeks earlier, I knew the pace would have to be quick. Olly started to drop behind and shouted he would see us on Binnein Mor, I grabbed a bottle of flat coke from him and Jez was already 20 metres ahead, climbing strongly.
“I need sugar”. Jez downed the coke and soon we were at the summit. 43 minutes.
Jez hurled himself down the scree run. On the recce he had cautiously descended. Not today. Rocks and stones were flying in all directions. A fall would lead to serious injury. Off the path and the line to pick up the track to the summit of Binnein Beag was perfect. At the summit: “you’ve gained 2 minutes”.
Next the scree run off Binnein Beag. This time Jez was even more reckless. I kept back, fearful of hitting him with an airborne stone.
At the bottom he stopped to get stones out of his shoes, he took the left shoe and I did the right. We joked about ignoring the advice of wearing ankle gaiters. I secretly hoped these 2 minutes wouldn’t prove costly.
I went ahead to refill the water bottles from the melting snow. For the ascent of Binnein Mor we headed for the North ridge – the corrie still full of snow, preventing the normal direct route. Jez had recced this previously and thought it was just as quick. He was right, we gained another minute.
Olly was waiting at point 1062 and I called ahead for more flat coke. We were going at a good pace, but I was conscious of how aggressive the Mamores schedule was. I hurried Jez along telling him to run anything that was remotely runnable. Na Gruagaichean in just 19 minutes. Another minute gained.
Ahead at the bealach was Jon Gay running towards us with carrier bag in hand. Jon injected more speed and we followed around the traverse into the corrie below An Garbhanach. We’d agreed previously that only one support runner would do the out and backs on the narrow ridges – theory being a team of 2 would move quicker than 3. Actually I was glad of the break, and took the opportunity to replenish the water bottles. It was a shame there were no rivers of flat coke as this was Jez’s preference.
 |
| The Mamores - spot the runner |
 |
| The Mamores with Ben Nevis far right |
 |
| Graham leading me off Binnein Mor |
 |
| The Mamores with Ben Nevis, CMD & Aonach Beag in the background |
 |
| Solo, on the summit |
 |
| Suffering in the final stages |
 |
| The all important touch of the summit cairn |
 |
| The Mamores 'freight train' in full flow |
Jon Gay: Waiting on the col under Na Gruagaichean I was able to reflect on how long the route is and what Jez would be going through. It must have been hard in the heat. Like many I had been following the Tracker religiously (a Friday at work). Spot on schedule, figures appeared on the Binnien Mor skyline. Having not run with Jez but seen him winning the West Highland Way Race I had a fair idea that the pace would be relentless. It was, and often not too far from a longer race pace; especially downhill and on undulating ground. The bag of goodies was being consumed which was reassuring, flat coke being the popular item which we ran out of. We had been encouraged to give a 'metaphorical kick up the arse'. Graham and I offered some robust encouragement; I'm not sure how appropriately.
Chris Busby: Seven hours on from last seeing Jez, and the sun was still shining as Anna and I waited on An Gearanach with flat coke, water, chocolate, caramel shortbread, rice pudding and gels laid out waiting for Jez and co to arrive. Jon Gay appeared first, Jez a couple of seconds later. After 15 hours on the go the effort in his face was obvious but he was still moving well, having made up several minutes on his schedule since the previous peak. Watching them descend to re-group with Graham Nash and start the next ascent I knew the record would be tight but the support team was strong and experienced, they moved smoothly together and I knew they would give Jez the best of chances.
Graham: Jez and Jon soon reappeared – they had gained 7 minutes. Olly was at the summit of a’ Chairn (one minute lost), “any flat coke?”, “nope just water”. Am Bodach came quickly but we lost another 2 minutes. We hurried Jez along the ridge, always Jon in front, running and rummaging in the carrier bag “can you manage a banana?”, “No”, “shortbread?”, “no”, “gel?”, “yes”.
One downside of a day’s diet of sugary snacks is backwind. Jez guffed one in my face and it caught in the back of my throat. I coughed and dry wretched, thinking it would bad form for the support runner to hurl.
Next the Munro top of Sgurr an lubhair – I kept encouraging Jez to make the most of the runnable bits. “stay on Jon’s heels”. The only reply was a loud fart. At the summit we had lost another 2 minutes. We needed to up the rate of progress.
At the Devils Ridge out and back to Sgurr a Mhaim I again volunteered to wait it out. The temperature was dropping quickly and the clouds building. The final 2 summits had very aggressive split times, 40 minutes to Stob Ban, and then a mere 30 minutes for the long haul to the Mullach.
Jon: The last out and back was fast. The cooler breeze must have been welcome. I remember how sick and awful I had felt here in the past but encouraged by the view of the finish. Jez looked confident and I was guessing that the schedule was safe. It must have been stressful though. It was obvious at Stob Ban that Jez was preparing for an all out effort at the end. Again the undulating ground was covered rather effectively. By Mullach it was still 'exciting'. I wasn't expecting we would descend so quickly, a very brave effort with burning legs. After only 4 hours for me it was important to remind myself of the pain. Crossing the forest stile did look very uncomfortable.
Jez: The team effort across the Mamores was perfect. It wasn’t rehearsed, but Jon, Olly and Graham just knew exactly what was needed to get the job done. The opportunity was there, but it was far from in the bag. I had reassured Graham previously that I’m pretty good at ‘hanging on’ towards the end, when others might start to fade, but it was easier said than done in this instance. My climbing legs felt trashed. The rough and steep pull up Sgurr Eilde Mor felt so hard, it was a hands on knees job to support my legs. I really wasn’t sure I could even run again after summiting. But as ever, the change of muscle group into descent (the scree) brought me back to life momentarily. And that set the tone for what became the mental and physical rollercoaster of the Mamores – my semi-tortuous world for the next six hours.
Graham: Sooner than expected I heard a shout and Jon was leading Jez down the grassy slope toward the top of the zig zag path. One minute gained. Well done Jon.
At the lochan, Jez really picked up the pace – he knew how tight it was. Jez asked for food. Gemma’s millionaire shortbread hit the mark, “made with love”. The final climb to Stob Ban is short and steep. We’d lost another minute. Jez had a mere 5 minutes cushion.
The last climb – Jez was giving it everything, the pace was getting quicker. He was asking for flat coke, but it was long gone. Jon handed me some powdered glucose drink and I dissolved it in one of the water bottles. It seemed to do the trick. At the summit we’d lost 3 minutes, Jez asked me to send the update text – the time was that tight.
Again Jon led the charge down. “Let’s ****ing do this guys”.
I had timed the descent from the summit to the Youth Hostel last year and managed 53 minutes on fresh legs. Jez had 55 minutes on his schedule, but he’d been going for over 17 hours. I was nervous, and wasn’t going to let him miss the record by a few minutes.
“Pick it up to the fence, Jez”, “stay on Jon’s heels”, “you’re doing great”, “not far now”, “last descent” – all the bullshit cliché words of encouragement I could think of.
Jez slipped on some loose rocks and yelped in pain, but didn’t slow.
The tension between the three of us was building. Every few yards glancing at our watches.
Then suddenly Jez stopped and took a pee. “You haven’t got time for that” I shouted. Jez snapped back at me deservedly, saying something like “a man’s gotta pee”. It broke the tension.
Over the stile, and into the forest. On the track. Off the track and down into the forest again, through the maze of windblown branches, any of which could break an ankle. Back on the track. “Go Jezza”.
As we approached the point where the track is left, and the road joined, Jez asked how far the road section was. “1 mile”.
We hit the road and glanced at our watches. It was in the bag, but there was no let-up in pace.
And then the Youth Hostel and finish was in sight. The descent had taken just 49 minutes. Awesome performance. Job done.
 |
| That's what it means! |
Graham:The record was thoroughly deserved. Jez started this journey 2 years ago and has put in a lot of hard work with many recces in recent months. Having postponed twice due to the weather, and then seen the great forecast 24 hours before his third scheduled attempt, he saw the narrow window of opportunity and took it, albeit with a reduced support team. Huge respect.
Jon: Thanks very much Jez for the opportunity to be involved. Hugely well done.
Olly: Within a few hills the pace ratcheted up again as the fresh legs of Jon Gay joined the party, at which point the three of them (Jon, Jez and Graham) looked more like a freight train than a group of hill runners, and I straight-lined it to the finish to see Jez complete in record-breaking time. Hill days simply don’t get any better than this. It was an honour and privilege to be a small part of Jez’s big day; I loved the way a random group of people came together at such short-notice to help make it happen, and that we all got to share in the warm glow of his success. Maximum respect to Jez, I suspect his record will last a while.
Chris: Back in Glen Nevis when the text message arrived telling us he was two minutes ahead of schedule on the final summit I knew that with a target to aim for he was not going to miss. So it proved. 18hr 12 mins. Awesome.
Cam: Fast forward 11 hours (plus a shower, some cooked food and a snooze for me) and the support team are anxiously waiting at the Nevis Youth Hostel for Jez to appear. He was carrying a GPS tracker and we were getting text updates from each summit. We knew the record was still on, though going to be tight. As each minute passed we got more nervous until the yellow t-shirt finally appeared, Jez raised his arms and broke the tape Charlie was holding in a time of 18 hours 12 minutes. A new course, beating the 26 year old record by 11 minutes! It was a heroic effort by Jez and thoroughly deserved after 3 cancelled attempts due to weather and this attempt only organised at lunchtime the day before!
Jez: Running with guys like that, it’s not hard to see where the inspiration comes from. Words exchanged were relatively few, but some life-long bonds were formed. How to make a bunch of great friends in a weekend. Maybe there are easier ways!
The Mamores required the deepest imaginable soul-searching to keep to schedule. It was aggressive and tense, but magical at the same time. The more I held on, the more resilient I managed to become, and with fresh bursts of energy and support from Jon, Anna and Chris midway through the leg, there was enough to lure me along to the part when I simply wouldn’t allow myself fail. It was an incredibly special day out. There had been a glowing sunrise, clear skies, snowy descents, dry ridges, endless vistas, soaring Golden Eagles, remote Glens, great company, and a body that had just about played ball. It doesn’t get much more memorable than that.
 |
The Team
Back row, L to R: Chris Busby, Cam Burt, Olly Stephenson, Gemma Bragg, Anna Busby
Front row, L to R: Murdo 'The Magnificent' McEwan, Pete Duggan, Charlie Ramsay, Jez, Jon Gay, Graham Nash. |
Reflections from the Static Support Team:
Murdo McEwan:Jez adventures, from much experience, tend to be very high in energy, adrenaline, susceptibility to late changes of plan at short notice, potentially going pear shaped without much warning, and weather. Conversely, they are very low on sleep, predictable routine, and normal food intake. His Ramsay Round Record was to be no exception to the norm; and all these boxes were ticked in spades. I was not to be disappointed in my expectations.
Establishing a suitable date set the scene. 23 May. 30 May. 13 June. All cancelled due to horrific weather. The last of these, 13 June, being changed @ early afternoon on the 11th, to the 12th. So, the 12th it was, with an 03:00hrs start. I was scheduled to rendezvous with the rest of the static support team at the car park at Fersit at 09:45 hrs, a few hundred yards walk from where we would be tending to the needs of Jez and his co runners Cam & Chris. I set off on the c 130 mile drive accordingly. Mixed messages then started pinging through that Jez had actually started @ 02:31; and that they were 20 minutes up on schedule. Somehow I made up most of these 49 minutes, and hooked up with the team.
Morale was high all round; the birds were singing; a slight breeze; no midges. Jez was looking great; the 4,000ft high hills, and 6 more, had all been conquered successfully; slick servicing of all his requirements. He and Olly set off towards Munro number 11. Relieved at everything going so well, I thought we were now setting off for copious cups of leisurely tea and flapjack prior to the next rendezvous by the ruin @ Loch Eilde Mor. Wrong!
Straight back, very briefly, to Jez and Gemma’s run HQ chalet in Glen Nevis; then straight off again to Kinlochleven. Charlie driving, along with Gemma, myself and Graham (final 1/3 of the Round support runner), and the symbolic Scotland flag. Discussion about a gate across the road. “It’s never shut or locked” (quote, several times, convincingly, from Charlie). This time it was very shut, and very locked. Ouch. Potential disaster. Very very fortunately, we managed to get it open, and to drive up the hill. If we hadn’t, we would never have got to Loch Eilde Mor in time for the rendezvous, and the whole object of our presence on the adventure would have failed. Oh dear. On such small twists of fate the whole venture can succeed, or go down the pan....... (Worth bearing in mind for future similar challenges.)
A 1 ½ hour, 4 ½ mile, walk, with all supplies that might be needed, along the dirt gravel road to the ruin by Loch Eilde Mor. Lovely! Again, sunshine; breeze; no midges; views to die for. All this was great. But we were in the middle of nowhere, with no communications signal of any sort. While the rest of the world was able to follow Jez progress via the online tracker, we hadn’t a clue where he was or how he might be getting on relative to his schedule. This, to me, was quite disconcerting and worrying. Maybe something had gone horribly wrong, and the whole venture was kaput ~ with us in complete ignorance of the fact. All we could do was to get to the rendezvous c 15 minutes ahead of the allotted time, and hope he’d turn up.
We did so; all seemed well ~ from our perspective. But we could only see c 200 yards in the direction he would approach; not much notice of his actual arrival. So I headed off the c 200 yards to the corner, with the Scotland flag, from where I could see about another 200 yards. And wait. Then they popped into view, Jez and Olly, spot on time schedule; much flag waving both to them, and to the guys at the RV point.
Reunited! Morale high. Again. Jez and Olly tuck in voraciously. Everything is slick and efficient; but reasonably relaxed and not over-hasty or stressed. But..... time does not stop. Jez is looking a little cosy and comfy on the bench. Fortunately I know him well enough to basically say “Oi, you’ve been here 5 minutes; it’s time you got moving!” The penny dropped. Quickly. Jez and Graham (and Olly ~ keen to keep on going, and not miss out on anything) stride away up the long ascent of Munro number 14, Sgurr Eilde Mor. We in the support team were in now in no hurry; job done; and could watch their relentless c 45 minute ascent until they disappeared over the skyline.
A leisurely 1 ½ hour walk back to the car, no pressure on us (as long as we could get out through that locked gate). Back to the HQ chalet in Glen Nevis where we could at last drink copious cups of tea, guzzle flapjack, and follow progress on the online tracker. (That tracker was a wonderful facility!)
But time was marching on. Jez’s cushion on the record seemed to be slipping. Mixed messages coming through; he seemed to only have 3 minutes in hand on the record at the summit of the final Munro, the Mullach. We go to the finish by the Youth Hostel; no longer having access to the tracker. The rest of the world, following progress online, knows more than we do. We wait. Anxiously. We’ll only actually see him approach for the final c 50 yards. The midges come out, and start biting. Part ‘n parcel of summer in Scotland. Then Jez breezes into sight, grinning from ear to ear, closely followed by support runners Jon and Graham. It’s in the bag. Phew!
18:12. 11 minutes off Adrian Belton’s amazing record that has stood since 1989. And no one has ever got near it in the intervening 26 years. Today everything seemed to fall into place ~ the remarkable weather window playing a major part; a great team; and a stellar performance by Jez pulling out all the stops on the big day. What a performance! A pleasure and a privilege to play a small part in it all.
What’s next on the agenda..... ?
Charlie Ramsay: Supported contenders will require the services of a carefully selected support hill crew, chosen for their suitability to support the contender whilst on the round, they are responsible for pace setting , navigation, carrying equipment and generally keeping the contender motivated and within the bounds of safety.
The round is divided into 3 key sections of approx. equal distance that are comparatively easy to access.
Leg 1 (Start) Glen Nevis Youth Hostel to Fersit Dam
Leg 2 Fersit Dam to Loch Eilde Mor
Leg 3 Loch EildeMor back to Glen Nevis Youth Hostel (Finish)
Support runners would in normal circumstances support a contender for 1 section only with the remaining sections managed by additional support runners. The minimum support required per section would be 1 only.
The key to a successful attempt is a quick change over of hill crew at these transition areas (T As) taking on board adequate refreshments, plus additional refreshments for use during that section, and the disposal of non-required equipment to include the uplifting of suitable equipment for the next section.
This is the where the Ground Crew come in. They must have access to the contender’s schedule which will include arrival and departure to and from the T A.
They must make sure that they are at their T A point and set up for the contender and support runners coming in, to facilitate as smooth a change over as possible.
Jez had scheduled a 4 min stop at each T A.
In addition, he had enlisted his wife Gemma to be his lead ground support person for each section aided by Murdo McEwan and Charlie Ramsay who worked as a team throughout.
One of the key elements of the challenge was the weather forecasts, part of the planning was waiting for the correct forecast, select a date and go. The start date was amended 4 times until we had a perfect forecast, leading to a perfect outcome.
Gemma had spent ages prior to the start ensuring that all the correct drop bags were in the right place at the right time to ease the transitions.
I felt that the team did an excellent job in completing that role much to the satisfaction of both Jez and all of the support runners the whole operation unfolded with military precision with the minimum of effort and with maximum efficiency.
That exercise sits with the overall fastidious attention to every aspect of the challenge over the past 2 years leading up to the attempt, It highlights the level of preparation, practice and planning that led to this remarkable performance.
Well done Jez and all of the support crew, on the hill and on the ground; it was such a pleasure to be part of such a great with a fantastic outcome day.
Team thank you:
There is only one way to close, and that's with the biggest, sincerest and most heart-felt thanks to the amazing team that made this whole thing possible. You helped make a crazy dream, a reality. Thank you.
Written by Steve Navesey - https://navs1962.wordpress.com
SDW100 Finisher’s buckle
In retrospect the coffee was probably a bad idea.
Winchester Premier Inn, heating on at levels that would stress a Bedouin; in June! An air conditioning system that can’t count below 19 degrees, a comfortable climate during the day whilst clothed. Not conducive to lying under a quilt and trying to sleep. Topped off with a fan that sounded like a Hercules C130 aircraft winding up. The coffee certainly hadn’t helped, add the rest and my stress levels were now on the moon. So when it was time to get up at 4:00am Saturday I had yet to get to sleep. A diva style tantrum sent a full water bottle sailing across the room with enough force to skittle the chair. I was not a happy bunny, as with no sleep I was about to embark on a 100 mile foot race which I had fervently hoped to complete in 24 hours or less.
A breakfast of porridge pots and more coffee, Bev had calmed me down and we headed off towards Chilcomb sports ground with fellow competitors Lynn Cunningham and Phil Bradburn hitching a ride with us. They had a poor night’s sleep as well, so I wasn’t alone. Which didn’t stop me bitching about it to anyone who would listen. I guess I’m just not a morning person.
Anyway, about this 100 mile foot race. The Petzl South Downs Way 100 is a point to point race from Chilcomb sports ground in Winchester to Eastbourne Sports Park (do you need me to tell you it’s in Eastbourne?) along the South Downs Way national trail. Centurion Running who organise the race open registration on the Friday evening so as to allow people the opportunity to get set for the race and stay in bed a little while longer. That went well! Did I tell you….? Never mind. So, Bev and I had met up with Dan Park and Bryan Webster at Lewes on Friday afternoon and we’d all driven down together, dropped off kit at hotels and congregated at Chilcomb. Where the family of usual suspects was there to welcome us. The mandatory piss take from Chris Mills, contrasting starkly with his much nicer wife Nikki. The ever cheerful Drew Sheffield, organisational genius, and all round mother hen Nici Griffin to name but a few.
SDW100 Route and aid stations
Not a happy bunny: Photo Bev Navesey
But the bonhomie of Friday was gone and was replaced on a cool and overcast Saturday morning by a tired bloke with a foul temper. Some sage words of advice from ultra running veteran and Centurion life member Gary Kiernan set me in a better frame of mind as a strategy began to form to best mitigate the poor start to the day.
Race director James Elson delivered the brief with the welcome news that we’d have a prevailing tail wind and in no time we were in the pen and waiting for the hooter. The cards have been dealt, the hand now has to be played. Hooter! And we’re off!.. To a gentle jog. A lap of the sports ground to spread the field out before the very narrow entry out on to the South Downs Way, and the runners streamed along the hard dirt path away from Winchester.
The early miles from West to East are easy running. No really challenging climbs until after Queen Elisabeth Country Park at the 22 mile point. The danger here is that the unwary can be lured into haring away and finding that they have nothing for the later stages of the event, which are far more challenging. I settled into a steady jog at around 12 minutes per mile pace and stayed there. Shortening my stride even more for the ups and letting the terrain take me down the descents. Putting in minimum effort.
One of the most common questions I’m asked by people who’ve not taken part in an ultra is “Are there any toilets?”. Well the answer to that is yes, usually. However, you might be up to 10 miles or more away from one when nature strikes. So everyone carries what is fondly known as a ‘shit kit’. Basically a mini pack of tissues and a pack of baby wipes. The rest, dear reader, I will leave to your imagination. This is a sport for the pragmatic. About 5 miles or so in I turned to close a gate and there staring back at me from beside the hedge was a fully deployed bare arse, some are just more pragmatic than others.
With that shock to my delicate system I headed at the same steady pace out to the first aid station at Beacon Hill Beeches just under 10 miles in. Stopping briefly about half a mile from the station to fill a bottle from one of the water taps that are located along the trail. Pop in a High 5 Zero tablet and move on. This would save me waiting in a queue at the aid station as it was likely to be busy this early on. I try to spend as little time as possible in aid stations. Calling out my number to the first of the wonderful volunteers who staff the Centurion events, I passed straight through. I was carrying Chia flapjack for the first 22 miles as the first two aid stations here are 10 miles apart. Half a flapjack is good for an hour’s fuel I find.
The day may have been overcast but it was also humid and we were all sweating profusely by this time. With the attendant risk of chafing. I carry a stick of Body Glide in my pack for this and it was going to get a work out today. The other risk here is dehydration, it is less obvious a risk when it’s not bright sun, something I was going to have to keep an eye on.
Through QECP: Photo Bev Navesey
Down Butser Hill and into QECP , aid station 2 and another well known and friendly face was there armed with a water jug. I took a few moments to catch up with Natasha Fielden while she topped me up. Bev was there to greet me with the news that I was well under 24 hour split time, around 2 hours. Hmmm, I may have set off too fast after all. Too late now, crack on. I figured I would likely need that 2 hour buffer as I slowed later in the race. I was under no illusions, while I knew I could keep moving despite the lack of sleep. I also knew it would have a deleterious effect on my later pace. Currently, I felt surprisingly good.
Bev had known exactly when I’d be coming in to QECP as I was wearing a GPS tracker that I’d hired from OpenTracking. For the £30 weekend individual hire James Thurlow had provided the tracker, weighing in at 65 grams, in a waterproof package. My own personal web page with a map of the route and my own personal dot that travelled along the route betraying my position to anyone with a pc, tablet or smart phone who had the link. It was a
Happy munchkin at aid 3
brilliant tool and I’ll be going to him again, it made Bev’s job so much easier and enabled my son out in Chamonix to easily follow my progress. Not to mention numerous others who were also watching. Which gave me a personal lift as I knew I had real time support out there. Every little helps.
Up out of QECP and it’s starting to get bumpy as we hit the Downs proper. I concentrated on maintaining the pace as best I could into aid 3 at Harting Downs 5 miles further on. Again Bev is there with encouragement and to my surprise so is Natasha with her jug! Quick pit stop, grab some food and carry on. Munching on the move.
Heading out of Harting towards Cocking: Photo Bev Navesey
I know this part of the Downs quite well from my time in the army so it wasn’t going to throw up any nasty surprises. The sun was out now and it was getting quite warm, I certainly wasn’t sweating any less. Descending down towards Cocking there was a large stain on the trail which was odd but it didn’t really register what it was as I was feeling the heat and the strain a bit by now. An ambulance was making its way up from the bottom of the trail. Another runner came up alongside me and asked if I’d seen the large pool of blood. Then it clicked as to what I’d seen. The ambulance had stopped at a group of three runners ahead. One of them had taken a fall and had cut his head on a flint. Though it looked pretty bad it actually turned out to be superficial and the guy turned up at the finish with his head bandaged up, determined to get his finish line bacon sandwich! Not eccentric at all these ultra blokes.
Into Cocking, 35 miles on the clock and suddenly, I’m feeling them. Bev is there, telling me I’m still over an hour under the 24 split and that Dan and Bryan are only about 20 minutes up the road. Do my eyes deceive me? There is a smiling Natasha with that jug of hers again! This time I’m not in a rush through the aid station. I decide on a 5 minute reset. Sit down and close my eyes. Bev to shake me in 5 minutes. I was planning on this later in the race as a strategy to mitigate the sleep problem. So it doesn’t bode well this early on. Bev dutifully got me at the 5 minute mark, I hadn’t dropped off, but had relaxed a little, got my kit together and hiked out of the aid and up the hill away from the crossroads.
I don’t actually remember going through Bignor Hill at mile 41. Though it was definitely there as I had food and water for the next leg. Kithurst Hill, mile 50 (and a bit). Another quick turnaround and out, onto the worst flint track of the South Downs Way. It’s as if a truck load of flint has been dropped onto the trail, raked level (not smooth) and somehow embedded into the chalk. Think, sharpened cobbles. Thankfully it doesn’t last long, about a mile. The guy behind me thought even less of it than I did. A strangled choking sound and I turned to witness him emptying what he’d just taken on board at the aid station over the flints. I couldn’t agree more mate!
The reason for my lethargy became clear, dehydration was setting in. It wasn’t bad yet but it was now a problem. Fortunately I’d spotted it early and simply upped my fluid intake. I hadn’t begun to suffer any cramps so as long as I treated it now I’d be OK. A steep climb followed by some nicely rolling Downland and then the drop into Washington and a major aid station at mile 54. Here I was reunited with the first of my drop bags. Had some pasta, changed my socks and carried out some admin. It’s a long stop but it’s a stop that was likely to keep me in the event as I wasn’t feeling great. When I left I had cleaned my feet of any grit that had worked its way in, applied Body Glide and clean socks. Aimed at preventing blisters later on. My feet were in good shape. Sorted out any chafes and treated those. As well as taken the time to get food and fluid inside, and stock up on gels and flapjack.
Another steep climb out of Washington and I was on home turf. Chanctonbury Hill. Rolling Downs, I settled into a hike, run that kept me at around 13 minutes per mile. Enough to keep the 24 hour target a possibility. Though by now I felt it was becoming a long shot. Two long pit stops that were necessary to keep me going had torn a big hole in the early buffer I’d built up. Added to the lethargic plod between Cocking and Kithurst, yeah, a very long shot.
Botolph’s just prior to learning 24 hour was no longer on: Photo Bev Navesey
Passing through Botolphs at mile 61 after a very quick stop just for water, Bev was waiting on the other side of the road for me. “You’ve just about hit the 24 hour split”, that was the bad news. Not entirely unexpected. The good news was that Mike Churchyard, who had offered to pace me from Ditchling Beacon to Alfriston, was actually going to meet me at Devils Dyke. Under Centurion rules competitors are allowed a crew (in my case, Bev) who can meet their runners at designated places along the route and provide aid. Ideal, for example, if one has a dietary condition that the organisation can’t cater for. Also, after Washington, runners are allowed to have a pacer who can similarly join at designated places to accompany a runner, there are rules for the use of both. Back in January Mike had offered to pace me.
My strategy now needed a bit of mental readjustment. Ok, Truleigh Hill, then Devil’s Dyke. A bit of a climb after Saddlescomb and then Clayton Hill. After that rolling downs to Housedean, the drag up Kingston Hill and…..whoa! Stop thinking! That’s seriously long way (just shy of 40 miles to push if you’ve kept up so far) and I haven’t even taken into account…nope, not going to. So where was I? Oh yes, Devil’s Dyke, That’s not far and Mike’s waiting to meet up. Breaking into a shuffling trot down the far side of Truleigh Hill it was gratifying to note that it wasn’t quite death march time.
Darkness fell on the approach to the top of Devil’s Dyke and the temperature was dropping considerably, chilling my soaked clothing. The welcome shape of Mike C appeared out of the gloom as I reached the gate. Bev was on hand so I retrieved my lightweight wind proof, head torch on and we set off at a trot down to Saddlescomb Farm.
The rave at Clayton: Photo Paula Ridley
The next short leg up to Clayton Windmills and the lack of sleep crept up on me. Mike was setting a good pace that was keeping me in the upper edge of what I was capable of so we were making good time. I told him what was happening and he said that a 5 minute power nap at the next aid should dig me out of the hole. The next aid was a psychedelic rave run by the Burgess Hill Runners. Everywhere lit up by light sticks, including the volunteers. Ha! brilliant. I flopped into a chair and shut my eyes while Mike made sure I had what I needed for the next leg. It was freezing, the chill wind cut straight through. After about 2 minutes I told Mike there was no point hanging around. He hauled me out of the chair, suggested the barn at Housedean would be better and we set off up Clayton Hill, 70 miles ticked off.
Failed nap at Clayton: Photo Mike Churchyard
The next few miles disappeared in a blur, I just followed Mike’s heels. We chatted, but I can’t remember what about. I vaguely recall Mike shepherding me across the road at Ditchling Beacon. Then we were turning off by Black Cap towards Housedean Farm. As we hit the long easy slope down we settled into that steady dog trot again and I decided that we weren’t stopping at the aid except to top up and go. Power naps were off the menu, let’s just get to the end. Then as we dropped down to the aid station I admitted to Mike I’d lied and needed 5 minutes just to have a drink and eat something. He didn’t bat an eyelid at my rapid changes of heart. Just plonked me in a chair when we got there and took my water bottle to be filled, returning with coffee and ham wraps. Ham wraps! Food of the Gods (unless you happen to be vegan of course)! This in now my go-to ultra running food of choice. Carbs, protein and easy to get down. Most importantly, keep down! 5 minutes, good to go. We nailed Kingston Hill. Drag? What drag? I was feeling pretty good. Mike reminded me of an ultra truism; “If you start to feel good during an ultra, don’t worry you will get over it.” Gene Thibeault.
We’d caught up with Dan Park at Housedean, mile 76, looking like he’d died a week ago and someone had just evicted him from his coffin. Despite that he was still undefeated, if anything he was an angry man. He’d left the aid prior to us and we passed him again on the way to Southease. There’s no stopping an angry man and he was doggedly making his way to Eastbourne, spitting a few feathers along the way. He would go on to get in under the cut off. A fine example of a death march to the finish.
The 84 mile aid at Southease was a better stop, quick top up and go. More wraps and out of the aid. It was getting light now so the head torches went away. I’d had my waterproof on as well through the night as it had been quite chilly on the top of the ridge, but was warming up now, so that went away too. We dug into Southease Hill. Mike pacing and me hanging on. Again we nailed it, and topped out to the gentle Downs over Firle Beacon
Early morning stroll over Firle Beacon: Photo Mike Churchyard
and on to Bo Peep before the long descent into Alfriston. Catching the very pleasant and chatty Helen Smith on the way down and accompanying her into the aid. 91.6 miles done, the end is in sight. Well it would be but for two large hills in the way.
This is where Mike left me, having got me out of the aid where the fabulous Paul and Roni Cheeseman crew had taken a request and made me up a big ham wrap, he set me on my way towards the finish. Mike had come from work on Saturday and parked up at Alfriston, Bev had driven him to Devil’s Dyke which is 6.5 miles further than the original plan. He’d then covered 26.1 miles through the night to keep me at my best possible pace. Putting up with my crap and quietly encouraging me. Now he was heading back to work. I simply don’t have the ability to express in words how grateful and indebted I am.
Now I was back on my own and desperate not to squander the hard work of the night. Hiking Wilmington Hill and breaking into a trot on the flatter downland over the top, maintaining it down into Jevington. Passing the toughest man on the course as we dropped down into the village. Tim Vincent had been running well, getting to Southease in 19 hours, until a groin injury had struck. He was now making progress with what can only be described as baby steps. Another runner had lent him some poles to keep him upright, he wasn’t death marching, he wasn’t even death hobbling, and he certainly wasn’t giving up. We exchanged a few words of mutual encouragement, he was OK other than that injury, I continued running to the aid, where I called out my number, assured the staff I had what I needed and kept going. No one drops at Jevington, not everyone stops at Jevington either.
Chris Mills finally says something funny on Jevington Hill: Photo Nikki Mills
95.7 in the bag, 4.3 miles to push. Nearing the top of Jevington Hill ribaldry and piss taking issued from the side of the track. Chris Mills had popped down with his customary greeting. He hiked up to the top of the hill with me where he and Nikki were camped.
They’d been up there all night ensuring that tired runners didn’t take the wrong turning off of the Downs. I was good, I knew where I was and where to go. Most importantly I knew that was the last hill and I only had 2.5 miles left to the finish. Settling into a jog down the hill alongside Willingdon Golf Club, keeping as high an action as I could over the uneven surface, soon emerging onto the road that led down into Eastbourne.
Jogging along Kings Drive Helen Smith came past running like she’d just started! “I’m always good at the end” she called gaily as she sped by. “I’m not chasing after you” was my response to that. Keeping to a steady jog around the District General Hospital and the seemingly interminable drag until the sports park came into view. Happily no one was close to me so there was no danger of a race to the line.
Mr Frog finishes 100 miles: Photo Stuart March
One lap of the 400m track and James Elson is standing under the gantry to welcome me home. A handshake and a time of 26 hours and 52 minutes “You’ll take that?” he asked? James is a personal friend so knew what my A goal had been. I smiled and nodded “Yeah”.
James welcomes me home: Photo Bev Navesey
A big hug from Bev, A wide grin and a wave of congratulations from the magically reappearing Natasha, finishers buckle and led off being asked the most important questions “How do you like your coffee and would you like a bacon sandwich?”, “Coffee and a bacon sandwich? Now you’re talking!”
A further welcome hug from Nici Griffin, I’m not special, Nici welcomes all the finishers personally. Even though she too is a personal friend. We met up with Lynn again, who’d had a great race and been in some time. She looked fantastic, as if she had just strolled down to see what was going on. Shower, clean clothes and refreshment done. A catch up with Drew before we left. A slow hobble to the car and homeward bound. As we drove back along Kings Drive I saw Tim Vincent, still baby stepping his way to a successful finish. It had taken him 10 hours to get from Southease like that. Failure, clearly, was not an option.
About then it all caught up with me; and the lights went out.
Written by Andy Jones - http://jonah-personalmusings.blogspot.fr
“Fair play to you, I could never do that”, are the words that I should never have said to myself.
My previous experiences of the 100 mile distance is either manning a check point or running a few short sections with friends. Seeing the effort (and pain) that they went through had convinced me never to try it, but without realising it, I had challenged myself - how could I come to that conclusion without at least trying one?
This is the reason that I found myself in a field in Winchester at 6am on Saturday 13th June, next to more than 250 other idiots (an affectionate term really!) and began making my way to Eastbourne 100 miles along the South Downs Way.
I love a challenge, but I am not a good runner. I like the process of training for something, and having a reason to not drink a bottle of wine and eat crisps every night on the sofa – something that I could comfortably do every day of the week. The concept of training for 100 miles was and continues to be alien to me. I still have no idea how to do it. I just ran, cycled and rowed a bit and tried to lose weight. Throughout the build-up I had issues with my feet and hips, so my attitude to the event was lets just give it a go, if the body breaks then I will stop, if I get to a point that I don’t want to carry on then at least I will have my answer and won’t need to try another one.
There was little strategy. I hadn’t previously done a recce of the course (I just knew that it would be hard and hilly). I was going to walk every uphill, use poles to take as much weight off my feet as I could, try to eat and drink as much as possible, and just try and enjoy it. Surprisingly enough this simple approach worked well. I took it as easy as I could and was well up on the sub 24 hour pace without too much effort. I had a good chat with fellow runners (nice to meet you Barney, sorry about my boring farming story!) and I loved seeing my little family at miles 27, 35 and 40.
The body was holding up well and I made sure that I took the advice we were given and soaked in all the amazing views – the SDW is indeed stunning.
I made it into Washington at 54 miles to be greeted by a good friend of mine. Spirits were high. I was there in just over 11 hours and was still strong but there were signs that things were going to get more challenging. My hips were beginning to hurt now and I was losing my appetite. I loaded my bag with more food, changed my shirt and headed off again up another hill - standard! A specific finish time was not my primary goal. Genuinely it was to finish, but if I could sneak under 24 hours I’d be happy. I was still over an hour up on the sub 24 hour pace and I just wanted to keep going.
For some reason I had got it into my head that a check point was at 63 miles, so when I arrived at Botolphs and found that it was only 61, mentally I found that very difficult. My right hip was now giving me a lot of discomfort and my stomach was not happy, so I decided to walk, and force food down me until I started feeling better. I was meeting my friend Graham at mile 72, so I had 9 miles to ‘recover’. I tried everything that I could to sort my stomach out but I couldn’t get rid of the nausea. Was it better to make myself sick, or try and keep down whatever was in my stomach? No food appealed, and even my go-to fuel of a pepperami was revolting – trying to force that down with diluted coke near Saddlescombe Farm at mile 66 was a particular low moment.
By now my pace was very slow. Unless you have experienced it, you just can’t imagine how disheartening it is to cover just 3 miles an hour when you would normally expect to cover 5 or 6 miles. Trying to ensure that Graham wasn’t waiting too long for me kept me going. We met up at 11pm and now the head torches were turned on. I was still on for 24 hours but realistically this ‘goal’ had long gone. All I wanted to do was get through the next 28 miles. The thought of dropping though never really entered my mind – I was too preoccupied with feeling terrible and also dreaming of sudocrem!
Graham Booty is a great runner. I “helped” him on one of his 100s between mile 80-90. When he was on 86 and I was on 6, I clearly remember having to ask him to slow down a touch so that I could keep up! He is quality, so he was completely over qualified to be trudging through the night at a snail’s pace with me. He was great though. He provided the chat, opened every gate and importantly knew when not to say anything because he understood that I was often in a very dark place and just needed to tough it out. The hills kept coming, but it was definitely the downhill’s that I dreaded most. After an eternity (even that doesn’t convey how long it felt!) the daylight appeared. Whilst we had just 9 miles to go, it was still so frustrating to know that this would take more than 3 hours to cover.
Approaching the aid station at mile 96 I thought I saw a massive marquee, and wondered if Centurion had really pushed the boat out, only to find that it was just an empty field – clearly I was tired and the mind was now playing tricks.
The stomach wasn’t accepting anything now so there was no point in stopping. The endless plod continued and eventually we headed off the SDW and into Eastbourne. (A massive thank you to the couple who stayed all night in their tent to ensure that the runners knew which way to go!!)
Approaching the sports ground and the finish was an odd feeling. I was tired, in pain and nauseous. I wasn’t particularly euphoric. I had covered 100 miles but I was very conscious that I had kept my friends waiting for me and it was affecting their plans for that day. Graham had to extend his parking permit. My girls were waiting for me at home because it was my birthday and they had planned a nice lunch. Rowley who kindly agreed to meet me at the end and drive me home had been waiting for me at the finish line all night. He had however kept himself busy by handing out the buckles and having his photo taken with the finishers!
But enough about me. The beauty of the Centurion events is the collective, not the individual. The organisation is fantastic - the website, the registration process, the community on Facebook, the volunteers, the sponsors, the check points, the food & drink, the can-do attitude, the warm/friendly welcome, the up-all-night dedication. When you blend all this with a great attitude from your fellow runners (friendly and empathetic, not competitive), you get something special, and something that should be celebrated.
Back to me. “Fair play to you, I could never do that”. Well I proved to myself that I could. I did it. With a finish time of over 26 hours, I didn’t break any records, but I was never going to. It was bloody hard. I have never had to dig deeper to complete anything before. Thank you to all those that helped me. You won’t see me competing in another 100, (the body won’t allow it), but you will see me helping out at an aid station, and now I will have even more respect for those that are attempting this stupid distance.
Written by Guy Oliver - http://outdoorguyuk.tumblr.com/
The Calderdale Way Ultra, believe it or not, was my first foray into ultra-running. The internet has made it abundantly clear that despite having run countless ultras with friends and alone, on training runs, fastpacking trips, or just running as a mode of transport; you’re apparently only an ultra-runner when you’ve run a race.
Back in November, I signed up for the Calderdale Way Ultra, a 50.5 (don’t forget the 0.5) mile race in the Yorkshire Dales (sort of) on the well-known hiking route, the Calderdale way – a loop around Halifax. This was due to Matt over at RideLiftRun talking me into it and Simon Freeman of Freestak laughing at me for never racing. It was somewhere I had never been, hilly, camping available at the start line, looked beautiful and challenging in equal measures. Perfect.
The big day soon approached and Sammy (my wife), Lenora (my daughter) and I set off from London just after rush hour; the drive was an extremely comfortable four and a half hours, with a quick stop for petrol. We had planned on meeting Matt, Tim (another team mate from our home town) and Laura (Matt’s girlfriend) at roughly the same time, but their journey turned out to be an ultra in itself, taking a hideous 8 hours from Portsmouth. Sammy, Lenora and I had smugly already been to the local for a couple of pints and a meal.
Pre race nutrition strategy is key
Upon our arrival, we were greeted by John Lloyd the race organiser and a lovely chap. We had a good chat and Lenora spent the rest of our time there pointing out “John George Lloyd” as some sort of weird mantra on repeat. The venue was fantastic and a hell of a lot more comfortable than we were expecting.
Camping pitches and caravan spots are right at the start line of the race, with a toilet and shower block attached to the Todmorden Cricket Club main building. The town of Todmorden has some fantastic pubs within a couple of minutes’ walk (it’s a really lovely town, but with convenient shops, supermarkets and amenities) and the cricket club bar was extremely welcoming (a dangerous proposition the day before a 50 mile race). All in all, we were pretty happy so far.
The compulsory race briefing from 7-7:30 pm was good, if a little brief. It was more of a five minute briefing, but that was ok as it covered everything we needed.
Following a comfortable night’s sleep, I got up at 4:50am for some breakfast and general morning routine stuff. I won’t paint you a picture.
Matt, Tim and I were on a strictly complete not compete schedule. Tim had the most experience having completed the MDS and a number of other ultras, Matt was the fittest having done an insane mileage since Christmas but had only recently got into running and I look like a fat cleric.
Using the bathroom, I heard John Lloyd’s voice shouting something out, which I assumed was a 5/10 minute warning so I quickly rushed out…to find everyone legging it off the start line! As I mentioned before, I’m used to running on other people’s schedules but this happened pretty quickly.
Sammy shouted at me to get my stuff and run; Lenora waggled her finger in a suitably disapproving and condescending manner. Snatching up my new Inov8 Race Ultra 10 backpack, which I had painstakingly packed and repacked the previous night and again in the morning, I legged it past the ladies for a quick kiss and off down the road to catch up with Matt and Tim.
Turning left out of the golf course, I headed down the road and could see the bulk of the runners already half way up the hill through gaps in the trees – the route followed a zig-zag path ascending the first climb. Not the best start to the day. Spotting Matt tying his shoelaces (obviously pretending to do something while waiting for an idiotic friend) gave me a bit of relief, until I realised Tim wasn’t with him. 500 metres into the race and we’d already lost each other – this didn’t bode well.
Matt told me that Tim had gone to the toilet and then the race started. He didn’t want to look like a complete plum, or like he had bottled it, so he decided to run around the corner and wait. Sure enough, Tim came running down the road and I was relieved that I wasn’t the last one. We put on a bit of speed to try and catch up with the pack and were confronted by a pretty steep climb up Stoney Royd Lane and through Well Wood.
We passed a lady in her mid-50s who from what I understand, withdrew at Checkpoint 1 later. I really don’t blame her, as the first section was pretty punishing in terms of elevation. Seeing everyone go out so quickly was also quite disheartening, especially when viewed aurally from the toilet. Up ahead we could see three ladies running together at roughly the same speed as us, one of which was the lovely Jill Lawson, who was staying just next to us in her camper van. One of the first people to the site after us, we’d had a good chat the day before – it turns out that Jill was a walking guide in the Lake District, so she was certainly used to the hills, although this was her first ultra-race too.
Overtaking the three ladies gave us a bit of a boost and feeling a bit more buoyed up by this we proceeded to run…in completely the wrong direction. “Boys! This way!” became one of the main consistencies up until checkpoint one, as we were repeatedly saved by Isobel Pollard and Jayne Booth who turned out to be from the local running club, the Todmorden Harriers (also responsible for the annual and much older Calderdale Way Relay).
Jill and Issy
Jane and Issy - our babysitters
Rather stupidly, we had been lulled into a false sense of security by the repeated assertions of the race staff that it was near impossible to get lost. Despite both Matt and I having loaded the entire race route for navigation into my Suunto Ambit3 Run and Matt’s Garmin Fenix 3, as well as having a clearly written set of directions on the map, we had taken it for granted that it would just be a case of following a clearly marked trail. After all, the race organisers had told us that they had spray painted sections that were less clear and it’d be a walk in the park.
We overtook the trio of ladies, only to run completely the wrong way, receive another “Boys! This Way!” and to run past them again later with our tails between our legs. Following a series of wrong turns, we finally hit a trail along a windswept hill top where we were able to open it up a bit, getting some real speed on flats and downhill which felt amazing. As warned by Jill the night before, there certainly were 45 mile and hour wind speeds, although they were coming from behind us and were fantastically cooling.
Reaching check point 1, we were greeted by Laura, Sammy and a wind-swept, pretty pissed off Lenora. The marshals were amazing, filling my bottles for me and reminding us repeatedly that we needed to get a move one; how we were right at the back. They all had a great sense of humour and really buoyed us up stuffing food in our faces and saving time on hydration. I’d forgotten a few things, including my race number when I had left, so Sammy had brought them for me which was great.
Refuelling at CP1
The girls pounded past us (again) at the checkpoint without even stopping. We didn’t even have a wrong turn as an excuse this time. To top things off, I’d pulled a muscle in my hip.
About a month before, I’d done a 32 mile training run which was fantastic. It felt easy and I really enjoyed it. 10 days before the race, I had scheduled in a 50k training run at a slow pace before tapering, which went wrong at about 20km. My hip felt tight and at about 35km was beginning to hurt, so I went home a little dejected. My biggest fear was that this little niggle that I’d never had before, would flare up on race day.
The section between checkpoint 1 and 2 was beautiful. Tim had given me an ibuprofen (don’t judge me) and it made everything better. I don’t usually take pain killers, but a one off isn’t so bad. Also, navigation had become more natural since we had to decided to actually do some.
We flew down excitingly technical descents, ran parallel to some truly epic views and through beautiful wooded areas. We even stopped for a few photos to capture the moment.
Somewhere on the way to checkpoint 2, we started to notice a group of lads approaching us, along with a load of people descending the hill we had just come down. Assuming the marshals weren’t lying to us at check point one (which is entirely possible; they did have a cheeky sense of humour and were doing their best to motivate us) then it was likely that other people had found navigation difficult too. This was a huge motivator and reminder to always trust in the long game.
Later on, we met up with three runners; a couple, Sam Blanchard and Andrea Taylor, with another runner, Steven Jones. Sam and Andrea were roughly our age and both were annoyingly athletic and good looking, whilst Steven was in his early 50s and clearly extremely resilient. Fantastic people who made the day so much more enjoyable. We ended up running as a group for the rest of the race.
The crew - Tim, Matt, Andrea, Sam and Steve
At about 20 miles and just after check point 2 (18.97 miles), my hip started to hurt again. I ran on for a bit but it got much worse, so Tim gave me some more ibuprofen. This time, it only dulled the pain a bit and it started to become a bit of a concern. I cracked on with the running, as if you obsess then it’s never going to help.
Talking to our new friends really helped keep my mind off the slowly building pain and I was still really enjoying the day. With Sam on the map and Matt and I on the GPS navigation, things were much more slick and we were chewing up the miles effortlessly. We were flying through stunning scenery, laughing and joking with friends, old and new, my broken pelvis was remaining firmly at the back of my mind where it belonged, and everything was perfect.
Then disaster happened.
I had been using my Suunto Ambit3 Run for navigation, but hadn’t for one second looked at our mileage. I decided to check. I wished I hadn’t. Having left the start line from the toilet in a mad panic, I must have double pressed the start button and not a single metre had been recorded. I was about 25 miles in, with absolutely 0 miles to show for it! The race officially hadn’t even happened. I went into complete melt down.
Originally posted by thefilmstage
Matt and Tim looked at me with the kind of pity you see in people’s eyes when you’ve lost a loved one or just seen your dog run over. Taking deep breaths, I managed to avoid a full scale tantrum in front of our new friends (who were possibly already giving me a wide berth). Sometimes you just have to take one for the team and get on with it.
Fortunately, I’ve got the attention span of a three year old on amphetamines, so managed to forget about it with the help of my old friend agony in my hip and the stunning fields covered in yellow buttercups we were running through. For the sake of posterity, I’ll point out that my hip really was extremely painful.
I’d like to make it clear that the fault was entirely my own. I’ve never had this happen before and it only happened due to my idiocy of not being ready at the start of the race. I managed to focus on the positive side; I may not have recorded the run, but the navigation had been faultless. Without the Suunto Ambit3 Run I know for sure that I would have been lost a hell of a lot more. Following that little black line and arrow really does take an enormous stress out of navigation. On a fastpacking trip, I’m not so concerned about stopping to check maps and compasses, but on a race with cutoffs, it was an enormous crutch.
Just over a third of the way past checkpoint 2 we ran through the entrance to Shelf Hall Park where we were joined by a bewildered ultra runner in sunglasses who looked at a loss as to where he should go and rather put out. I’m pretty sure we didn’t get a single word out of him for the duration he joined us, but did poke and grunt at the map a bit.
We were confronted by a very steep ravine which we all finally decided to descend into, although we had totally lost an obvious trail. Once we were next to the stream at the bottom, it was pretty clear we had lost our way and the climb on the other side was considerably worse than the descent.
Considerably steeper than it looks
Following the stream for 50 metres, we were confronted by a fallen tree and so decided to climb up the side. It was extremely step and we had to dig our shoes into the mud and pull up using tree roots/branches, occasionally helping each other out with bunk ups. I love getting lost - it usually leads to the most entertaining situations but our silent companion didn’t look so happy.
When I got to the top, I began to run and something went ‘ping!’ in my hip. The pain train had arrived on the platform and I was well and truly feeling it. Something must have given on the steep climb and it didn’t feel good.
The rest of the race for me was constant agony. I was still really enjoying the scenery and company, but hung back from everyone as I’d lost a lot of speed and preferred to shout expletives at myself where no one else could hear.
Turning a corner through some woods, I was confronted by some nightmarish sheep, which actually turned out to be llamas. I wasn’t thinking straight.
Sam ran behind me at one point and said “you know that your left foot is turning in at the toes right?” which reminded me of the exact same comment my friend Elaine had said to me towards the end of a long hilly run a few months before, which I had automatically ignored. He told me to try to run as if I was kicking a football to turn my foot out - his advice was an immediate improvement. After a short distance, my knee started to hurt as I wasn’t used to running in this way, but it was clear where the problem was to be found now at least.
Hitting a wooded trail up a hill filled me with joy - I was suffering on the flat and downhill section, but the steep climbs were fine, comparably anyway. Heading up a hill in what I think was Cromwell Wood, my friend Simon Green from team Ashmei came bounding past on the short ultra (28.5 miles), spotted me and ran back for a hug and a quick chat before bouncing off again. I had been hoping to catch him at some point and it cheered me up.
Later, Andrea said she wasn’t enjoying the more frequent roads we were running on this section of the race and I tended to agree. The harder surfaces certainly weren’t helping me either.
Passing a shop just after checkpoint three, Sam treated us all to an ice cream and a can of Coke. Asking if anyone wanted anything else, Tim asked for a packet of B&H cigarettes. They all laughed (not realising he was serious). Andrea and I were running along eating our ice cream and I opened my Coke. Suddenly everyone took off - Andrea laughed at my despondent look. She ran off too. No mercy.
The next 10 or so miles were eaten up in a haze of pain, canal paths and whining noises coming out of my mouth. I was starting to feel guilty for holding our little team up who were kindly hanging back for me, which was actually worse than the pain in my hip. I had promised myself that I would drag myself to the finish line, but I hadn’t counted on holding other people up by doing so.
On the run up to checkpoint 4, there was a 600m stretch of flat/gently ascending road. Everyone else had bounded ahead due to hunger and I was hobbling along in tow. Sammy, Lenora and Laura were due to meet us there and as I approached the checkpoint, Lenora came running down the road to me shouting daddy. At that point, I knew it was time to throw in the towel.
Checkpoint 4 was at 36.65 miles and according to Matt’s GPS (which had actually been started at the beginning of the race) we had done just over 40 miles. I made it there in 9 hours 40.
I told the marshals that I was out, spoke to the team who all understood entirely and gave them a high five, telling them to smash it for me. Sam told me that if the painkiller he gave me didn’t work, then I’d be foolish to have continued. I was disappointed to be dropping out so close to the end of the race but then I knew it was the right decision. Ultras aren’t meant to be easy and if it wasn’t a challenge, I wouldn’t have been doing it.
I’m a big believer in the saying that you learn more from your failures than your successes. The fact that I had learnt a lot really softened the blow of the DNF. Here’s what I learnt.
1) My left foot turns inwards and when I’m pushing speed, distance and vertical gain (bearing in mind I don’t usually race), the problem is compounded. I need to do some work on my running form.
2) I need to get up earlier and make sure I’m not on the toilet at the start of a race.
3) As a result of 2, I need to take time to make sure that I’m actually recording on my watch. Although this isn’t essential to completing a race, it certainly is to avoiding a meltdown.
4) My mental game was strong and if I can run 20 miles in pretty tough terrain on an extremely painful hip injury, then I did ok.
5) I still had a load in the tank. My legs were strong and if I hadn’t hurt my hip, I still had a hell of a lot more to give.
6) My nutrition and hydration was spot on. No stomach issues, no cramping and no problems.
All in all, a success, despite the failure. After a lie down and quick nap in the tent, Sammy, Laura, Lenora and I went to the finish line to cheer in the team. Matt had texted Laura giving us a heads up and they came in exactly on time.
Tim, Matt, Sam, Andrea and Steve all came in together at 12 hours 48, to a proud and jealous in equal measure me.
A few minutes later (6 to be exact), Jill, Isobel and Jayne crossed the finish line. I cheered them, followed by a sudden realisation that the ladies who had both saved us and repeatedly overtaken us had in fact come in behind Matt and Tim. It wasn’t a competitive thing at all; but a joyous outburst that at least two of us had clawed back a bit of dignity from their having to babysit us for at least 10 miles. Sam looked embarrassed and I realised my outburst wasn’t good form. Andrea realised she wasn’t the last woman and gave a similar outburst much to Sam’s now double embarrassment. Still, our early saviours had made it in and I was pleased for them.
A highlight of the race for me was when Sam and Andrea saw Tim having a cigarette by the finish line with Laura. I wish I had photographic evidence of the look on their faces before they cracked up laughing after realising that the request for B&H a few hours earlier was genuine. I honestly have no idea how Tim does it. He’s a positivity machine.
The full race results are available on this link so I won’t reel off who won, but I’d like to mention Jennifer and Paul Hopkinson, our camping neighbours and number 1 mixed couple on the race (who also gave me severe Bimobil envy). Also to Martin Davies who came in joint second - a really nice fella who hopefully I’ll be seeing again.
All in all an amazing race, a lot learnt and a great weekend in beautiful scenery with my family. Thank you very much John Lloyd, but I’ve got unfinished business - I’ll be back.
Written by Avery Frantz - https://averyfunadventure.wordpress.com
Let me start this report by stating the following:
1. The Keys 100 was the first race of my life.
2. It was my first attempt at a 100 miler.
3. This is the first report I’ve written–so bear with me.
Preface
It had been a long journey to reach the starting line of this race. I had a very typical backstory of a former school athlete (baseball in high school and into college) who eventually started his career and got more and more out of shape. By the time I hit age 31, I was tipping the scales at 226 lbs (101 kg) and I’m only 5′ 8″ (173cm). When it finally hit me, by way of the scale combined with a mandatory physical for a new job, that I wasn’t even overweight but obese, I had a moment of truth in which I knew I had to do something about my situation. Somehow I knew that running was the quickest way to get back in shape and lose weight but I couldn’t even run more than 10 minutes at a time. I joined a gym and put in 4-5 days a week of walking and jogging on a treadmill along with weights, elliptical trainer, and stationary bike. At the end of two years, the longest I run I did was a half marathon on a treadmill in about 2:20.
When I moved to a new location for work, I no longer had a gym membership but instead tried my hand at running outdoors. That was a huge change from only treadmill running. I quickly found out that I couldn’t run more that 2 consecutive days without bad pain in my knees. I also encountered the dreaded IT band syndrome from running on many hills. I had to stop running for 2-3 months and just cycled instead. I eventually started running about 3 days a week with about 3 days of cycling but another move for work along with a lack of focus meant the training dropped off, the weight started creeping back and I wasn’t generally happy about it.
Then a miracle of sorts happened in June of 2012 — I challenged myself to running every day of the month. However, I did some research prior to starting this goal. Thank goodness for Google! I found out that what I was previously doing was pushing too hard too fast–so common for runners. I learned that if I limited myself to a pace just above a fast walk and didn’t do it for anything more than 30 minutes, I could start to acclimate my entire body and not just my cardiovascular system. The bones, cartilage, ligaments, and connective tissue take quite a bit longer to adapt to a heavy workload like running demands. My method was to only do 30 minutes or 3 miles, whichever came first and to do it a super slow pace (think slower than 10 minute miles or 6 minute kilometers). The first two weeks were a bear but I am one stubborn person when I am challenged with something or someone tells me it can’t be done. After persevering through aches, pains, and niggles but nothing major, the problems subsided. By the time I hit week 4 I felt like a changed person. I accomplished my goal and ended up running for 6 weeks without a break.
Over the next several weeks I slowly increased my weekly distance with an occasional 8km run, then 10km run, and eventually by August I woke up one morning and ran a half marathon as a training run just for the fun of it. At the end of August I attempted my first marathon distance on my own and did it. Yet a funny thing happened when I finished the marathon distance, I felt like I could run farther. Again I went to the Google machine to search for “Longer than a marathon”. Lo and behold, the term I had never heard of before popped up: Ultra Marathon. Very interesting, I thought. The research continued. I read about amazing distances and the prototypical ladder of ultra marathons (50km, 50mi, 100km, and 100mi). I thought 50km is doable but the rest are ridiculous and probably not going to happen. I went to work training for a 50km run. I set my sights on January 2013 and trained throughout the fall. I even ran another marathon distance in December 2012 just for mental preparation. On MLK day in January I set out on the road and ran 50km in and around Luxembourg City in subfreezing temperatures with 3-5 inches of snow on the ground. After 5 hours and 20 minutes, including time to eat and adjust equipment, I finished. The last 45 minutes were a death march (I didn’t know that was the term at the time) but something inside of me said there’s no way I’m going to stop after completing more than a marathon. If I stop now, I’ll have to run all those km/mi over again just to have a chance to finish 50km. I pressed on and did it. I reached my home and collapsed on the floor.
The running continued throughout 2013 and by May 2013 I completed my first full year as a real runner. I had a light June and July with training and only averaged a few days a week of running. By the end of the year I was running more but not with a real focus on any goal. When Christmas hit and I was starting to see weight creep back on (I reached 182 lbs after getting down to 170lbs), I knew I needed to challenge myself again. Let the research begin again, I thought. Looking back on my training logs via Garmin’s website, I looked at my patterns and what made me successful in 2012. I committed myself to a run streak of the month of January 2014, kept a strict food/calorie log, and plugged away. In the meantime I figured out a new goal–I decided I was going to run across the country of Luxembourg. For those that aren’t familiar with the country, don’t get too impressed. My path I chose, from Belgium, across Luxembourg, crossing into France, returning to Luxembourg, and ending in Germany, was only 39 mi/63 km. Yet it seemed like a good goal. Run 39 miles prior to my 39th birthday.
Oh what a day!
Over the next few months I slowly upped my weekly distance and increased my long runs. I did a recon mission by bicycle tracing the path I’d run on foot. In May I embarked on my journey and successfully crossed the country running with no walking whatsoever. My incredible wife even paced me the last 25 kilometers. I crossed the German border after 6 hours and 22 minutes of running.
With that goal out of the way and knowing how I operate, I knew I needed a new goal. What was next on the ultra ladder? 50 miles…um, okay but that’s 80.5 km I thought. It’s only 20km from a 100km so I said what the heck I’m going to do 100km in the summer of 2014.
I plodded away at my training and was starting to run over 100km/60mi weekly prior to my 100km attempt. At the time of my attempt, I had moved from Luxembourg and was visiting my family in the Washington, D.C. suburbs. I plotted a course that would have me run from the very beginning of the Rock Creek Park to the Potomac River in D.C. and back. The last portion of the run would even take me past homes where I used to live, schools I used to attend, neighborhoods where I used to play with my friends, and baseball fields I used where I used to play. The theme was a literal trip down memory lane.
I felt good 3.5 hours in.
The 100 km endeavor was a reality check and a big piece of humble pie. I’ll cut to the chase by saying I completed it but I was finally hit head on with a firm dose of reality in ultrarunning, you cannot run the whole thing. By hour 6 of the run, my quads were starting to tighten up and as I approached hour 7 I could barely maintain any sort of pace. I met my incredible wife at a predetermined location as a makeshift aid station and told her that she may need to start accompanying now because I’m not sure I am going to make it. I had completed just shy of 70 km of the 100 but there was no more running left in my legs. We were supposed to meet at km 80 to finish out the route. After some good pep talk and me swallowing my pride, I decided that if I had to walk, I had to walk, but by golly I was going to finish this 100 km. We walked for 45-50 minutes and I told her I’d try to run a little bit to see if my legs would respond. Amazingly enough, they did! From that point on I did intervals of about 20 min of slow running with 5 min of walking. We did that until 12 km remained and I gutted out the remaining distance by running straight through. I even got near 10 min miles during that stretch. After just under 13 hours I had completed the 100 km. Now there was only one thing left for me to be fully self validated (at least in my mind) as an ultrarunner–the incredible 100 miles.
100 km finished!
In September of 2014 we arrived to our new home in Mérida, México. I had always wanted to live in México because my wife is from the country. However, I had no idea that Mérida was so different compared to Luxembourg in terms of outdoor sports. It is 100% flat, there are barely any usable sidewalks, and ZERO trails. It’s all street running. I trained for about 2 months but hadn’t committed myself to a date for doing my 100 mile run.
For reasons unknown to me and probably because a friend signed up for the Marine Corps Marathon in November 2014, I reconsidered my longstanding view about never wanting to enter a race. I had various negative reasons for not running in a race including, self-doubt, not feeling like I belong, and fear of failure. Yet the overarching reason I ran is because I liked to run. Running is my active form of meditation. Running is what challenges me to push myself beyond where I may be today. I have always had a strong competitive gene in my body since my first waking memory. I think it’s why I did so well in baseball as a kid. As an adult I found that running is my outlet to find out what I can truly accomplish. I haven’t found my limit yet but I’ll keep trudging until I do. Back to the signing up for a race idea…I decided I would find a 100 miler because I just couldn’t see asking my wife to follow me around the Mexican countryside by herself for 24 hours just so I could accomplish my self-imposed goal of 100 miles. Logic told me that I should find a race that matches the terrain where I live and the weather. That led me to the Keys 100 in May 2015. It was further away on the calendar than I wanted because, being the impatient person I am, I preferred to do the attempt in late February/early March. In the end, that was a blessing in disguise because it helped me iron out a few training issues as well as build my conditioning to a better level.
Race Report
I tried to remember to smile as much as possible.
When I arrived to Key Largo and attended the pre-race packet pickup/meeting, the butterflies started to hit. I felt really out of place, knew nobody, and wondered if I belonged amongst all these fine athletes. Race Director, Bob Becker, went through many details of the exchange points, route, aid stations, and rules but after about 10 minutes everything just started blurring and for those that are familiar with Charlie Brown, I just started hearing his teachers speak.
Following recommendations, I slept well Thursday night but Friday night I only slept until 2:45am. I got everything ready in the hotel room and started packing everything in the minivan. My wife, two daughters, and mother-in-law were accompanying me on this trip. All would be in the vehicle for the first 10 miles of the race, then my wife would transport them to Key West, drive back to find me on the course and crew for me the rest of the race. Did I mention she is 7 months pregnant? While loading the minivan, I dropped one of the big suitcases on my left ankle. OUCH and why wasn’t I more careful? Was I self-sabotaging just hours before things were set to go? We got the whole minivan loaded up and headed for the start area at around 5am.
We waited around at the start line, took pictures, saw all the pre-race rituals of the runners, and finally the opening ceremonies including the national anthem took place. Now the goosebumps were arriving. I was in the 4th heat of the individual runners which meant I got to watch the first three waves of runners who either said on their entry form they would finish under 21 hours or had run that fast in past events. I had to fight more self doubt by entering in chatter with other participants to pass time. Finally my wave was called and I entered the corral.
Mike Morton, the official timekeeper of the event said his little jokes to loosen the tension, counted down the time, and boom…away we went.
My method I used was heart rate based using data that I had captured over the past couple years of running. I wouldn’t let my heart rate climb above 130 for the first couple hours then would use 140 as a limit as the temperatures rose. Unfortunately due to my adrenaline, my heart rate was already elevated so I had to readjust to keep my heart rate in the low 130s to start. It still frustrated me because even at around 135 I was only running at a 6:30-6:40/km pace (approximate 10:25-10:35/mi). This was quite a bit slower than I normally run at that heart rate in equivalent temperatures and humidity in México. Yet I resisted the urge to push myself yielding to the advice of so many other runners and books I had read.
Issie and me.
The first 45 minutes flew by thanks to the fact there were so many runners around. I ended up meeting a very nice guy from Florida named Issie who had run this race before. He commented on my shirt that my wife had designed that said Te Amamos Papá (We Love You Papa). He was a Latin American immigrant and thought it was cool that I had that on my shirt. We exchanged quite a few stories and at the 45 minute mark he pulled up to start his intervals. I pressed on and met back up with another runner I met the day before in the pre-race meeting named Butch. He was a strong runner who had a running background from high school and was part of an ultrarunning team at Virginia Tech. He was also 20 years my junior!! We, too, talked quite a bit and exchanged our running strategies but at mile marker 91.5 (it counts down from 100), the parking area was on the other side of the road from us and my family was still in the car. I didn’t want them to get confused so I wished Butch well and went across to tell my family to go to the next exchange point.
At first mandatory check-in at mile marker 90.5, I met my family, got two full bottles of tailwind mixed in water, and said my goodbyes since my daughters at ages 4 and 3 would not last throughout the long day and night of running. My wife took them to Key West and I wouldn’t see my wife for another 5+ hours. I had no idea how much that would affect me.
I’m still having fun.
At this point I was running by myself but with runners within view in front and behind. We were off the main Route 1 on a service road. It had high trees and was kind of picturesque in a non-Florida/ocean sort of way. I still felt very good but was not running as fast as I wanted. My first bathroom urges were hitting me but I was having a bear of a time figuring out where would be a good location. Luckily there was a construction site which meant port-o-potty to the rescue. I was in and out in under 60 seconds and I felt much better.
Over the next few miles there were various crew cars meeting runners which made me think what exactly I needed to do for my strategy. I had two 16 oz bottles. I held one in my hand and had a hip pack with a holster for the other. I also carried 4 packs of tailwind (1 per bottle) and one almond nut butter. By 8:30am it was pretty darn steamy. My experience from training in 103-108 degree F (39-42 C), made me drink lots of my tailwind concoction. I was finishing nearly 2 bottles an hour from hours 2-3.
At mile marker 85.1, I filled up my bottles with more ice and water as needed. I set my sights on the next full aid station 5 miles away. By the time I hit the full aid station, my heart rate was definitely way too high and I knew right away I was starting to overheat. I checked in, filled my bottles with water and tailwind and plodded away. I was getting more and more sluggish and knew something wasn’t right. My feet were sloshing like I was running in the rain. My left big toenail hurt a bit and I was reaching heart rates in the 150+ range. Just after hour 4, I already had to take a one minute walking break. This was not my plan coming into the race.
Based upon a 50 mile training run I did at the end of March, I wanted to run for 7-8 hours prior to walking. Also based on that run, which was done in harsher conditions than the Keys 100, I had set my goal of finishing the 100 miler in under 20 hours. I knew that was in definite jeopardy if things didn’t improve. Again drawing on the advice of other expert runners and my experience, I knew it was more important to slow down now and get my body in check, rather than running the risk of completely blowing up before the halfway mark. While I did slow down and start mixing in some walking, I had another huge problem. My stomach was feeling bloated and foamy. I did some analysis of what had transpired and I quickly realized that I had been drinking only my Tailwind mix without any pure water. Because of the heat and nerves of the race, I had overloaded my stomach with this solution and my stomach was revolting. To summarize, I had feet that were squishy and sliding forward in my shoes, I was overheating, behind the pace I wanted, and had stomach issues. EXACTLY what I wanted without even completing 25% of the race!!!
As I moved along slowly towards the 25 mile timing check-in, I saw how far behind my desired pace I wanted–at least 20 minutes. Not good at all. Like I said, my plan was for the 20 hour mark. My idea was to run the first 50 miles in around 9 hours to give me 11 for the second half. That was a two hour buffer that I had already eaten into during my first 25% of the race. Frustrating but I didn’t let it get me down. I knew there was a lot of distance to cover and I made the decision then and there, I would just give it my all, but stay conservative. I wouldn’t give up and just walk. I would moderate my pace so I could run the majority of the route.
After that check-in I was in interval mode doing 5 minutes running, 1 minute walking and sometimes I’d skip a walking interval depending on my heart rate and how I felt. Along the way I met a nice runner named Hernán who saw the four flags on my shirt–one being from Brazil. He asked me if I lived there, and I said to him (maybe in my broken Portuguese) that I lived there for a couple years. Then in English I explained to him the flags represented my family. A Brazilian and Luxembourgish for my two daughters, a Mexican for my wife, and an American for me. We chatted when our intervals matched up and he told me he had done the race before but today wasn’t going well for him. He said he wouldn’t finish. I tried to be encouraging but he seemed pretty resigned to his fate. On a side and at my great delight to see, he did finish the race. Good job man! He gave me some advice on not pushing too hard and being careful for the Hell’s Tunnel portion which was a long stretch through stagnant air and mangrove. It was known for just cooking the air. I bid him farewell as our intervals didn’t match up any longer.
Eventually I reached the 70 mile marker (30 miles into the race) and was running by myself again. I was still too hot and was really looking forward to finding the next water station so I could fill one bottle with water and one with Tailwind to help find a balance for my stomach. Finally in a little less than 2 miles I found the check-in and access to more water. At this point I had been redlining–and it really sucked. My modified approach from this moment was to try to balance the water and tailwind solution to make sure I kept the water and calorie intake without bloating my stomach. I ended up running for more than an hour with cramping, bloating, and burping foam. YUCK!
In the time after my family’s departure I figured out that I needed to focus on getting between the “Cooler” (water/ice) stations and the full aid stations. They were roughly 5 miles apart. However, I ran into a bit of a let down when I approached twhat was supposed to be Cooler before the Long Key. There was a sign but no cooler. UGH! Now I was running with low amounts of water and the remaining water was the temperature of the air, which was now in the upper 80s. While running on Long Key, I received a phone call that my wife saying she had returned and was near. She’d meet me on the other side of the bridge I was on. Relief was in sight…or was it? I got to the other side of Long Key bridge, saw a bunch of support vehicles but no wife. Now it was time to cue the pity party music. My phone, which was not a US phone and didn’t have much airtime to work in the US, received a call from my wife but in my sweaty fumbling I couldn’t get the call. I tried to text but it failed. Little did I know that I also sent one of those automatic texts on an iPhone that said, “Can I Call Later?” or something to that regard. With that, my wife didn’t call back. Luckily, which happened many times due to the huge generosity of the fellow runners and crews, another group saw my despair and filled up my bottles with what I needed. About 15-20 minutes later I found my wife at the mile marker 59 check in (40 miles into the race). From this point on, I would have my wonderwoman of a crew known as my wife helping me the rest of the way. I was definitely rescued in more ways than one.
We proceeded to meet each other at each of the designated runner/crew exchange points every 1-2 miles. After the first exchange I entered Hell’s Tunnel. That was not fun at all. It was everything Hernán described. Hot, dreary, non-moving air, and I tell you it felt slightly uphill the entire time. I think it lasted 20-30 minutes but felt like more.
Over the next 5 miles leading up to the halfway mark, it was pretty standard going. I’d run and mix in small one minute walk breaks here and there and meet my wife. I wasn’t in terrible shape anymore, nor overheating due to always having ice in my hat and ice in my bottles. However, at one of the stops before the halfway mark I decided I had to change my shoes because of the pain emanating from my big toes–especially the left one. When I took off my shoes and socks I saw disaster. Both of my big toenails were raised up and the one on the left was a good quarter of inch raised. Looking back on things I should have punctured the blisters right away, treated/tapped them and moved on but in my rush and inexperience, I just put on fresh socks, changed to my Hoka shoes with a bigger toe box and moved along. My feet were in a lot of pain but this race turned into me just blocking the pain out to deal with at another time after the race.
We reached the halfway mark at the 50 mile check-in in Marathon and my wife displayed another one of her many awesome posters, “Keep Calm, It’s Only Halfway!” When I checked my time I realized that I was 45 minutes behind the pace I wanted to keep. Reaching my sub 20 dream goal was just about lost but I refused to give up or just phone in the rest of my race. I told myself that I was going to do as well as I could no matter what and let the chips fall where they may.
From the 50 mile check in there were only two more exchange points with my superhero wife before the dreaded 7 mile bridge. I got fully stocked up before embarking on the stretch that meant I needed to cross the 7 miles with no more refills of ice/water/food. I decided now would be a very good time to start using my iPod. I embarked across the bridge and started what would become my revised method of run/walk intervals which I dubbed “target practice.”
The first target was the elevated portion of the 7 mile bridge. I decided I needed to run to that point and then I’d walk the uphill portion. While running on this bridge I was passed several times by Butch, another strong runner Michael, as well as this runner that ran the entire race in sandals. Their running paces were far stronger than mine. Yet when we reached the uphill portion of the bridge, my faster walking pace put me ahead of them again. Near the top of the bridge I started running again and used an interval of 5-11 minutes of running to one minute of walking. After about 80-90 minutes I reached the other side of the bridge and so happy to see my wife. We were now 60 miles into the run and sometime during the next 5 miles I crossed into new territory for my running career: I surpassed 100km (roughly 62mi).
Around sometime between mile 60-70, it started to get near dusk and I switched from the desert gear of a long sleeved white Under Armour tech shirt and Ultimate Direction desert hat with the neck flaps to a tank top and regular hat. I also donned my mandatory reflective vest with flashing LEDs. Very quickly I realized that I needed to use my Petzl headlamp as the main road didn’t have many streetlights in certain sections.
As a side note, since I live outside of the States, I do all my calculations of pace, distance, etc. in kilometers. From the 100km mark I had about 61km to go. My thought process was to get through km 100 to 120 and then the rest should be downhill. My thought process, as weird as it may be, was that any of my training runs on a given week would be in the 10-40 km range. If I could get my distance down to that range, I could mentally process it as “just another training run” and not some giant distance.
During miles 70-80, there were several routine exchanges between my wife with the exception of one almost fatal mistake. At around the 78 mile mark there was a pedestrian bridge closed right after an exchange point. I had switched my Garmin watches because for some reason the one I had been using was near the end of its battery life even though it was supposed to have had 24 hours of life. (After the race I figured out that I left wifi running on the watch and how to turn on UltraTrac mode to give it near 40 hours of life–would have been nice to know beforehand!) While messing with the backup watch, I kept walking forward on the pedestrian path until coming head on with a fence and seeing it was closed. Now I could have gone back the 200 meters to where I met my wife and gone up to the road but I looked up a small embankment and though I’d just go up, hop the guardrail and be on my way. Unfortunately, when I swung my right knee over the guardrail, I smacked my kneecap dead against one of the wood and metal posts. For a moment I thought my day was over. I got over the guardrail, had blood dripping down my leg and could barely walk, let alone run.
To recap: The sole of my left foot was badly blistered due to over lubricating it with aquafor–which I had never done before, both of my big toenails were lifted up due to huge blood blisters underneath because of my feet sliding forward due to the aquafor, my left ankle was bruised and unbeknownst to me at the time was swelling from the suitcase I dropped on it, and now my right knee hurt like it was broken in half. This was the deciding moment for me. Was I going to DNF my first 100 miler, my first race of my life or was I going to push through and do it?? I did some soul searching while hobbling forward and said to myself that I was going to get there some way or another. I tried to start running again and it worked. I was actually in less pain running than I was walking. I believe it was at this point near the 80 mile mark that I started talking to myself outloud, signing songs or at least just singing the melody, and just plain yelling nonsense. I also would take the occasional squirt of water directly to my face to get a jolt of energy–like a smack to the face. I must have looked like a madman!
A couple of interesting things occurred at night time, I had some mini hallucinations and I was also a bit worried at times about being hit by a car or falling off a bridge. Due to the dark and my headlamp being the only source of light in some places, I mistook some very large low-lying leaves on a plant as an alligator. It definitely put me on alert the rest of the race. Everytime I heard some rustling in the plants near the water I kept looking for one. I would even scan the bushes with my light trying to see if I saw reflections off of animal eyes like they do in documentaries on National Geographic. While trying to pick targets down the road, I once thought a street sign was a runner up in front of me. I changed my mind about 3 times before realizing it really was a post with a sign. As for the cars, due to the fact we had to run on the small shoulder of the road, there were several times where the oncoming traffic going 55mph+ got too close for comfort. I was worried that in my weakened state that I might take a misstep and go into traffic. Crossing some of the pedestrian bridges, I noticed that the barrier was barely hip height. Again, I thought that if I take a tumble or trip, I could easily flip over and into the water. YIKES!
From miles 80-90, I saw Butch and Michael a couple more times but I seemed to be getting out of the aid stations and exchange points a little faster. I think around the 85 mile mark was the last time I saw them. They were both in some pain and needed some stretching and regrouping. When I got in front of them from that point, I sort of used it as motivation to keep me going. My target practice method was in full effect as well. I would pick objects down the road like a building, a street sign, or a stoplight to run to (about 1 km away) and then I’d see if I needed a quick walk break of 150 meters. I also met an extremely inspirational runner along this stretch, Jason Romero. The first time he passed me, I noticed he was with another runner but what was different about this situation was that Jason had a sign that said blind runner. He has severely reduced vision essentially giving him a small little tunnel of sight in front with zero peripheral vision. He would follow the light of the guide runner. Everytime he passed me over the miles remaining, he’d be very supportive and positive. I was amazed and motivated by his positivity–especially this late in the race. I came to find out that this man had run all over the world and even represented the United States in the Olympics in London. AMAZING!
From miles 90-100 it was more of the same, I would meet my wife, get more water/food and I started using some caffeine sports gels every hour at this point, too. If the next meeting point was a 1.5 miles or less, I’d run all the way until I saw her. If it was further, I’d run about a 1.5 miles, walk for 150 meters, and then run until I would see her again. I also started looking back quite a bit to see if any runners were closing in on me. My competitive streak was starting to take effect. Instead of having any runners to catch, I just wanted to make sure no one would catch me.
At the 95 mile mark, my wife left me to go wake my daughters and mother-in-law. It really did my spirits well to know I was going to see my daughters soon. My oldest daughter Fiona was so excited about this race and had even run with me some while I was training. Keep in mind she is 4 years old so having that much enthusiasm touches my heart. When they saw me for the first time around 2:00am in the morning, they were going crazy with excitement. I gathered my new water and ice, gave them a kiss and started walking a little bit before my running commenced. My younger daughter Gianna said, “Daddy you have to run not walk!” I smiled and said okay here I go. We met again with 2 miles remaining. They again were cheering. I left them and at the final exchange point I didn’t stop and told them just meet me at the end, Daddy is running all the way.
I didn’t stop running until I reached the finish line. There it was, the moment I had dreamt about for years. My family cheering me on, fellow runners cheering, and everything rushed through my head…with the final thought that I DID IT! All my hard work, dedication, desire, stick-to-it-ness, whatever you want to call it, paid off. 20 hours and 28 minutes from the time I started I was at the end. When I crossed the timing area and gave my chip to the time keeper, I immediately went back to my family grabbed them all and we crossed the finish line together hand-in-hand. Without my family, especially my wife, none of this would have ever even been a dream let alone possible.
We did it!
Post Race
I felt pretty good considering the undertaking. I didn’t feel like collapsing. My feet were a wreck from blistering but my muscles and legs themselves felt pretty darn good. For my first race of my life, I was pleased but I know I can improve quite a bit with refined training and strengthening. The next day I also learned that I finished 8th overall.
After researching all the runners who finished ahead of me, I found out that all are very accomplished runners. They run all over the planet and in some of the most fabled Ultra Marathons such as Western States Endurance Run, Badwater 135, Marathon des Sables, and 4 Deserts. I received plenty of positive feedback from some of these runners who said I did great for my race of my life let alone my first 100 miler. I thought at the time it was casual chatter but came to realize after the race that maybe with a whole heaping ton of hard work, I might be able to have some success in Ultrarunning!
My valuable lessons learned:
- I’ll make sure to follow what I normally do prior to my long run training and definitely not do anything different race day. The lubricating the bottom of feet was a terrible mistake.
- I will give myself a little more leeway on my heart rate in the beginning to account for early race adrenaline.
- I will make sure to have two water bottles: one with Tailwind and one with pure water.
- When blisters arise, I will tend to them right away to avoid the pain factor I dealt with for 17 hours.
- I will make sure to get the Garmin in the correct mode for a 100 miler prior to the race.
- In hot races, I’m going to use ice much earlier rather than wait to nearly overheat.
Written by Daniel Maskit - maskit.net/rundembear
There is a well-known quotation often attributed to Michelangelo (although there is some dispute about the attribution) which goes:
"The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark."
This seems like an excellent sentiment for endurance athletes. I often remark that the nice thing about ultras, as compared to marathons, is that you don't worry so much about time. You line up at the start line and mentally award yourself a gold model if you finish the event. A very different state of mind from having a goal time for a marathon. However, as with times in a marathon, if you always have a 'gold medal' race this likely means you aren't challenging yourself enough in your event choice. Combine this line of thought with my common advice to focus on the question 'Did I run the best race I could run today?' and you can begin to understand how it is that I can hold my head high after finishing 'only' 88km of this year's London 2 Brighton 100km Challenge. I know that some runners view taking a DNF (Did Not Finish) as a failure. I feel that they are wrong to do so.
I had a fantastic day in the country running with my friend Jason. The weather was just about perfect: comfortable temperature, dry, just overcast enough that I didn't feel baked by the sun. The course was mostly beautiful country, ranging from the River Thames from Richmond down to Kingston to the countrysides of Surrey and East Sussex, with some nice pieces of trail thrown in from time to time. The staff at the aid stations were really great, and the food choices were generally excellent. I ran a much stronger fifty miles than I had run last year, and definitely had my nutrition plan working much better. Despite having been really good about nutrition for the first 45 miles or so, I then made a couple of errors. First off around 45 or 46 miles in I found myself thinking that I should reach into a pocket, get out some food, and eat something. I failed to follow through on that thought. Big mistake. Without eating often enough, your body starts shutting down your digestive system, and at that point your race is basically over. Yes, you can slog through to the finish, but it will be tough and slow. Coming into the 80km checkpoint I was starting to lag, and then I tried to force myself to eat, but I went right for the hot food which was jacket potatoes, when I probably needed something with more rapidly available carbs. Then I added cheese, which added protein into the mix, something which my stomach was definitely not up for handling. A couple of miles later I was feeling ill, tired, and generally beaten. Just couldn't keep running. I did manage to walk to the 88km checkpoint (and Jason scored major points by sticking with me even though I tried to send him on his way), but I was beaten.
At this point I had a choice: stick with what I had accomplished, start recovering, and call it a day; or push on, have hours of tough slogging to the finish, risk injury, dehydration (I wasn't keeping food down so this was an actual risk), etc. If I hadn't finished this very race last year I might have felt I had something to prove, but that wasn't an issue. I'd already learned a great deal, and knew where I had gone wrong. I didn't seem likely to learn anything more by pushing on. So I called it a day. Spoke to the excellent medical staff. Had a little Coca-Cola to settle my stomach and spike my blood sugar. Ate some fruit. Spoke with staff and other runners. Took a shuttle to the finish line so I could be there to greet Jason when he came in. The result of this is that I felt fine the next day. A little sore, very tired. Hungry! Ready to start recovering and turn my attention to my next race. It's a lot like setting out to run a sub-3:30 marathon and 'only' running a sub-4:00. Did you miss your goal? Sure. Do you still feel a sense of accomplishment? You should. Did you just do something most people can't even imagine? You betcha. Did Not Finish, true, but Definitely Not a Failure.
