Written by Steve Navesy - http://navs1962.wordpress.com/
It was hopefully going to be third time lucky. Two entries and two DNFs was the current rap sheet. I was a repeat offender. Was it going to be different this year?
2014 hadn’t been bad so far, I’d lost weight (about a stone down on last year), was running well for an old knacker. My son Paul Navesey, had put together a training plan for me and it was showing pretty decent results. I’d had a good SDW50 and knocked 2 hours off of last years’ time. Followed by a naff showing at the NDW50 and added those 2 hours back, which was entirely my fault. I learned from the first that I could do a decent 50 and the second I could screw up a decent 50. Ok, pick the bones out of that.
But this isn’t about covering 50 miles on the Downs. This about a 105 mile war of attrition against one’s body over the Fells. It’s not hard, it’s beyond hard. Montane’s slogan of ‘Further, faster’ should be ‘Further, than you think’. Because when you approach a crest, a climb, a rock filled path and you think it’s the last one before your next goal; there’s another one you’d forgotten about.
With that in mind I actually headed up to Coniston just wanting to get going. I was in a better place than the previous two years and the belief was there. If I’m honest with myself, it hadn’t been present before. And that was the end of self-honesty as I fully intended to lie to myself for the next day or so and constantly tell myself I was fine and it’s only a small hump and not a small/medium/large (delete as applicable) mountain I was about to head up.
We always get up to Coniston on the Thursday evening. It gives me plenty of time to register, overcome any last minute issues and I try to get my head down for a few hours before the start. Make sure I’m well fed and watered etc. Plus my wife Bev, gets to have a day chilling out around the area which she loves doing. As a bonus I got to have a quick beer with perrenial race marshal Clare Shannon and briefly chat to race organiser Terry Gilpin and catch up on the Thursday evening. Always good to hook up with the Lakeland ‘family’.
Registration as always, went like clockwork and the well-oiled machine of the L100 team had me through in minutes. Issued with my new most valuable possession, the SportIdent ‘dibber’ electronic timing tag. Then embarrassingly displayed my weight for all to see in black marker pen on my race number. I spent the whole race noticing that people who were bigger than me were also lighter. Well sod that, I’m still not breaking out the celery and Ryvitas. And yes, I will take two pieces of cake at the aid stations. I do believe I currently have calories to burn. But before that it was into the Endurance Store pig heaven of running apparel with my credit card yelling warnings at me about limits and other such mundane affairs. As it was it needn’t have worried as I have a fear of trying anything new at a race. But I did plump for a pair of Montane gaiters. Nice and simple and with the added advantage of spare elastics. To which I instantly thought “running pack repair kit”. Cha ching, and just £18 lighter. Then off for a kip.
The pre-race briefing was the standard excellent presentation from race director Marc Laithwaite. Good information and advice as always. Just wait for ‘Nessun Dorma’ and the hooter now. In the meantime it turned out that many of the ‘Centurion family’ were in town. James Elson the race director of Centurion was attempting a Bob Graham round and my son Paul was supporting on one of the legs. Paul had been down for the L50 but after a stunning 10th in the Celestrial in Andorra a couple of weeks back and CCC in August, the L50 probably wasn’t a good idea just now. James is certifiably insane, on watching the L100 he commented “That looks fun!” Chris Mills was running the L50 and his wife Nikki was teaming up with Bev to provide support and ribald abuse as we went around our separate courses. Drew Sheffield, fresh from the Ronda Del Cims, Clare Shelly and Nici Griffin made up the Centurion posse. The four of them, less Nici, set off promising to try and get some pictures as I went past.
Last minute panic pee, followed by another. Was I panicking or really just well hydrated? I decided to start lying early; well hydrated. Adjust the gaiters and laces, Nessun Dorma, countdown, hooter and off through cheering crowds. I was flying already, getting to Bev before she had her camera ready. Past the Bull at a steady jog and then everyone stops (except the truly insane) and walks up to Miner’s Bridge before heading up Walna Sca. 600 metres of climb to start a 100 miler, that’s pleasant. Normally I’d have deployed my poles immediately but this year everything felt fine. So I kept them folded for the first part of the climb and strode out. Mindful of the warm temperature even in the early evening I had resolved to keep backed off even more than usual at the start of an event and save any work for the relative cool of the evening. Paul was at the car park half way up to grab some snaps and give an encouraging thumbs up. About 100 metres down from the peak Chris and Nikki were heading back down and delivered the first pieces of ribaldry. Guys, when you said you were just going up the hill a bit….. Ok, where are Drew and Clare? Predictably, sat on the peak. Both looking as if they had just stepped out of an air conditioned room and not hiked up a 600 metre climb. While I was already a sweating huffing mess and the poles were now in use.
Down the far side the first issue appeared early. The socks were rubbing! This is where the rule of ‘P’ comes in. Prior planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance. I had a pair of old, tried and tested socks in my pack. I looked for a comfy place to sit and promptly swapped the socks. Twenty or thirty people streamed past but did I care? Nope, not racing them. The first guy I’m racing is changing his socks. And I can’t see the other guy, because he’s back at the start/finish with the clock. And away we go to Seathwaite and my first double helping of cake.
Normally I work on half a litre of water per checkpoint, roughly 5 to 7 miles. I’d gone through a litre by Seathwaite. I decided to up the S-cap intake from one per hour to the maximum of two as I was drenched with sweat and it wasn’t really getting any cooler. I also resolved to throw as much water down my neck as was comfortable in the few moments I was in the checkpoint. To me it’s like a pit stop and that’s where you lose valuable time. I’m convinced that too much lost time in checkpoints greatly contributed to my DNF last year. Well if I wasn’t dibbing, filling up bottles or throwing cups of coke/water down my throat, I wasn’t staying. Off down the road cramming cake in my mouth as I went.
The climb up to Grassguards isn’t particularly challenging but I was feeling the draining effects of the heat. Time to break the poles out again and cruise up the slope. Through an unusually dry plantation. Normally a good place to sink calf deep in the mud. And an equally, and equally unusual, dry run down towards Boot. All going well. Wrong! As we crossed the fence off of the path cramp seared through both thighs. Are you serious? 10 miles in, that shouldn’t have happened for hours. 50 miles on the SDW and not a single cramp. 10 miles on the L100 and it feels like a horse has just narrowly missed kicking me in the nuts. It’s going to be a long night. I later learned I wasn’t the only one to feel the onset at that point in the race.
I wanted to get to Eskdale before it was properly dark as the path on the far side can be tricky to locate after dark. Hiking up the hill with a cup of tea in one hand and some carry out food in the other, I just about got there. It was dark but I’d located the path and not lost any time doing so. Pausing just long enough to put my crushed Styrofoam tea cup in my rubbish bag I ran down to the next checkpoint to refuel.
It was still pretty warm and that was slowing me on the climbs. Of which there are over 700 metres on this seven mile section from Wasdale to Buttermere. People were passing me but then I’d passed the majority of them in the checkpoint. After crossing the beck on the way up Mosedale I looked back and was treated to a sight I’d not had on my previous attempts. A line of bright head torches bobbing along in a line back across the fell. That was a morale boost. Over Blacksail and Scarth Gap, then the run down to Buttermere. My standard ‘pit stop’ and away with my picnic. The descents had caused me real problems previously but great hill training advice from Paul had turned that around.
Braithwaite saw me sit down for the first time, 33 miles into the event. Just long enough grab pasta, rice pudding and to put my head torches away. Yes, torches. I had a small Petzl on a waist belt with a diffuser that spread a pool of light around my feet. It meant I could see what was underfoot all the way down the rocky descents of Blacksail and Scarth Gap. For my money, it worked.
Now it was the least hard section of the course. The 28 miles from Braithwaite to Dalemain. Time to use the early morning cool temperatures and the flatter terrain to get some steady jogging miles in. This section is traditionally kind to me and this year was no exception. The cramps had eased out with the onset of morning, though the muscle damage had been done; it was manageable. Even the slope up to the Old Coach Road which is probably better used for bog snorkling was dry and springy under foot. Into Dockray to the sound of cowbells and cries of encouragement from the crew. To add to the occasion my old mate and verbal sparring partner James John Street is sat there quaffing his morning coffee. “Uh oh, there goes the neighbourhood”.
The next section is long and dry. Water is going to be an issue and I’d noted that the usual streams were mostly little more than muddy puddles. James passed me on the way into Aira Force with a cheery wave and the usual inter service insults. I responded in kind through a mouthful of ham sandwich and soup which I’d liberated from the checkpoint. I’d met up with and was having a natter with Tracy Edwards from the Dirty Daps and Muddy Tracks running club. Before she paced away from me on the climb up Garbarrow Fell. An ability that she had which was to be a life saver for me later.
The run into Dalemain was hot. Following my plan of hike when it was upslope and jog when it was down only really worked when there was shade. But there was a boost waiting as Bev and Nikki were there in the courtyard to cheer me through. My second sit down of the event and some admin. Feet ache but in good shape. Shoes battered, too battered. They’ve taken a real hammering over the last 60 miles and look like a possible problem in the making. Out of the drop bag come an identical pair of nicely worn X-Talon 212s. Seven large cups of water and a hot stew later. I’m good for gels, replaced spare batteries for head torch. Nikki douses my head with enough sun block to float the Bismarck. And away. Meeting up with James again on the way out of the checkpoint. A trait we were to repeat at Howtown and Mardale. The girls were waiting at Pooley Bridge with more encouragement and instructions to keep my hat on.
Fusedale was everything I’d expected, a long slow drag. The temperature of the day sapping my energy to climb. So I opted for a steady cruise up resolving to use the drop down from High Kop to Low Kop and then down to Haweswater to make up lost time. Stopping briefly to fill up an already empty bottle from the running stream part way up Fusedale, an 800 metre ascent. I got to Mardale just as James was leaving. I was knackered. A bit of a purple patch along the side of the lake had come and gone. I needed to sit down. Fortunately for me the midges had different ideas and after 5 minutes of being eaten alive; drove me out of the checkpoint. Off up Gatesgarth with my now ubiquitous soup and ham sandwiches. Though hot soup and a parched throat isn’t something I recommend in normal circumstances.
Gatesgarth is a pig. Steep and rocky up. Steep and rocky down. And foot problems had started to manifest. The dehydration was probably not helping that. On the way down I met up with Ian Blakebrough and shortly after that Tracy Edwards and Simon Bennett joined us and we made a four as it got dark making out way to Kentmere passing through 80 miles as the showers started. We stayed as a team out of Kentmere and now the rain was coming down and it was getting cold. The Inov-8 Stormshell jacket proving it’s worth here. I was able to climb better now the heat had gone. Tracy led us up Garburn Road. It’s steep and loose underfoot and I was in bits. I locked onto her heels and just hung on. Just as I was at the point of not being able to keep the pace the gradient mercifully flattened for a moment. The respite didn’t’ last long though and I was back mentally holding on to the now two pairs of feet that Tracy seemed to have swimming blurrily in front of me.
I just wanted it all to stop so I could lie down and close my eyes. At which point I deployed my pre-race stick it out weapon. I was in a hole, a big one. But I’d told my friends what I was doing. Some of these people had followed me through the DNFs of the previous 2 years and had sent me good luck messages for this year and I knew they were monitoring the updates. My family who had shared in my disappointments. Well not this time. I wasn’t going back to them with another loss. So with that mental reset it was back to the blurry feet and hang on. By the Time my vision cleared we were in Ambleside and the cheery face of Clare Shannon welcoming me into the checkpoint.
Time for admin. Blister repair, stock up and go. 16 miles to push. We’d lost Ian but gained Nick Sale. I thought Ian had maybe cracked on ahead but I learned later he had dropped at Ambleside. A real shame as I had hoped he was on for a finish. Nick soon proved to be a real bonus as he realised early on we had gone wrong in the dark. As we were cruising close to cut off with our pace his intervention was invaluable. I knew this section pretty well so after our early error pushed on to try and save time with the navigation. Though in the dark and with the lack of sleep I had to stop and think a couple of times, it cost us time but not as much as blindly wandering down the wrong route. We began to use the ground as best we could. Heading along the flat river bank we decided we should try and jog. Off we went, grabbing time where we could.
Just after the Chapel Stile checkpoint on a short but nasty little climb we lost Simon, who had been checking the road book as we went to confirm my navigation. Again Tracy had led the climb and while Nick and I dug in behind her, unfortunately Simon couldn’t hold the pace. We didn’t stop at Tilberthwaite. I told the others as they were better climbers than me and I had enough to get me through to the end, I was going to just dib and go. Knowing they would catch me on the climb. But they both said they were of the same mind and we would all go together. We cracked into Tilberthwaite with over two and a half hours left on the clock and just over three miles left to go. Our time grabbing from Ambleside had worked. We dibbed in and went straight up the steps. I hate those damn steps! Well, I do now.
I was slowly dropping back from the others and Nick was pulling ahead but in the end we stayed pretty close across the top, about 30 metres between each person. Until I could see Walna Sca through the gap ahead. The last crest! Wrong! What did I say earlier? There’s always one more than you think. Ok, it’s a small one but at over a hundred miles in, it’s still one last smack in the teeth before you leave. And then it’s downhill all the way. Except downhill on smashed quads and raw feet is not really much fun. But we ran it anyway. At least, it felt like running. I’m not sure that it looked like it. As we got near the Bull we caught up with James who gave me a big grin “Thought I’d come back and get you old man”. Cheeky sod.
Passing the BP garage Nick asked “Is this the way? It’s uphill!” There’s always just one more hill, though in this case it’s more of a bump on a normal day. “Yes mate, around the corner and we’re there. C’mon, it’d be embarrassing to get run over in the middle of the road this close to home”. Down towards the school, people still by the side of the road cheering. Bev getting out of the car by the side of the road where she’d just parked.
“Morning”.
“You’re early, I wasn’t’ expecting you just yet”.
“Well I’m not stopping”.
And finally, under the gantry. Tracy was suffering and struggling to run downhill so Nick and I had pulled ahead slightly. 38 hours and 50 minutes on our feet. Tracy wobbled into the hall behind us to the cries of “100 finisher!” I turned to high 5 her (aware I was a bit on the ripe side) and she said “Bollocks to that this deserves a hug, even if it’s a sweaty smelly one”. Bev was there with the massive grin on her face that really just said it all.
And thus ended my Lakeland 100. I had the tee shirt, I had the medal. Most importantly I had the right to own them. And to cap it off I’d met some truly exceptional people. Where else would a complete stranger work their arse off to help you?
As a footnote I checked the results and was heartened to see that Simon had indeed made it. We’d got through the night working as a team but a brutal fact of the L100 is that if you want to finish other than an emergency, there isn’t much room for compassion.
Special thanks to:
Paul Navesey taking the time to put a plan together for me, help, advice and always working on ‘when’ not ‘if’.
Bev Navesey for putting up with my obsession, making sure we always had somewhere to stay and driving me back home when I’m in bits.
Nikki Mills for ensuring I don’t get sun burn for the next 30 years!
Kit list:
Inov-8 X-Talon 212 trail shoes
Inov-8 Stormshell 150 Jacket
Inov-8 (there’s a pattern forming) Hot Peak cap
Asics Trail Short Sleeve Half-Zip T-Shirt
Ron Hill trail cargo shorts
X-socks Sky Run socks (version 1)
Ultimate Direction Scott Jurek running pack
Black Diamond Ultra Distance poles
LED Lenser H7 head torch (Petzl Tikka backup) with energiser lithium batteries
Oakley Radar Path glasses
Written by Susan Graham - http://continuingmyjourneytothedarkside.blogspot.co.uk/
Arrival and registration.
Here's Kim and I just before the off. Feeling confident and very hot. |
The first four miles done and dusted and the heat is tremendous. |
Thank to Steve Mee for photo. |
The path turns into this scramble. Photo taken by Vicky Hart. |
Happy but very tired. Thanks to Kim for photo. |
So what's the future. Well I have an idea and a plan is being sketched out in my head. Albeit suffice to say if it hadn't been for the Lakeland I wouldn't even be contemplating taking on another adventure, but it's now gotten to be a bit addictive.
I've met some amazing people along this part of the journey, Kim, Anna, Sue, Bev, Lois, Lauren and on and on. I've been given an interest in the Ultra running world/community and watched in awe the exploits many others who I've had the privilege of coming into contact with. Visited some amazing places and seen the sunset and the sunrise on some truly beautiful scenery. However the journey continues, and I will be blogging shortly, hopefully with more detail, if not for one thing then it will most definitely be another.
Thank you Lakeland50. It's not goodbye though.
Oh I almost forgot and had to quickly snap "the bling".
Written by Louise Karen Isaacson - http://mountaingoatess100.blogspot.co.uk/
On Monday the 29th of July 2013, I woke up in my hotel room after completing the Lakeland 50 on the Saturday. I slowly attempted to sit up, right, I can move, ouch, my legs don’t like that, just get them onto the floor then I can stand up, ouch, I can barely walk, sit back down on the edge of the bed for a while! I’d never ran this far before! Where’s my medal, my bling, the reason I’ve put myself through the biggest, toughest, run of my life. Ahh there she is…..my precious! Next year I’ll have another one of these, twin bling I thought. But wait a minute, what’s the point in having two of the same, this baby needs a big brother. Despite having vowed never to put my body through 105 Lakeland miles after seeing the walking dead en route that Saturday, the seed was set. I was a medium/slow packer in my running club and had completed the L50 in a time of 12 hours 24 minutes. Sub 15 hours qualifies for L100 entry. How could I be good enough? The numbers say I am. That was it, decision made, I was entering the Lakeland 100 as soon as I got home!
Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/
This weekend saw the inaugural running of the Thames Path 100, the first of four races arranged for this year in the UK byCenturion Running. The race follows the River Thames as it stretches from Richmond in London, all the way over to Oxford. This obviously offers several benefits as far as running 100 miles goes: Firstly, it's flat as hell with a grand total of 2,100 ft of elevation gain (most of which comes from bridges), and secondly, it's easy to follow (just stay as close to the river as possible without getting wet and you'll be fine). However, as we were all about to find out, there is no such thing as an easy100 miler!
With a couple of weeks to go, I was feeling pretty darn good about this race. Despite a few issues, I had had a great run at the Pilgrim's Challenge, and had even gone so far as recceing the route. I had found all of the points where I would likely go wrong during the final 50 miles and had burnt them into my memory, and had another recce planned to check out the first 50 miles later in the week. I was feeling strong! I was feeling prepared! I was feeling like I was going to absolutely smash it!
I was feeling like a complete bloody idiot when, just over a week before the race kicked off, I skidded off my bike and landed heavily on my right hip. Crap.
Yes, with only a week to go, I had injured myself quite badly. As I later discovered, my back wheel had become loose when I came off on the ice in winter, and had kicked out as I attempted to turn a corner in wet conditions (luckily the lorry behind me was kind enough to stop while I peeled myself off the road and limped to the pavement). Right about now, I was wishing I was Wolverine (okay, okay, so I always wish I was Wolverine).
In place of a healing factor, I had the next best thing; a Chelsea. Chelsea is a great friend of ours, and also puts me together again when I fall apart. She has just started her own physio business, so I thought I would do my part to help her by providing her with a physio task - put me back together again in a week. So followed a week of intensive icing, prodding, poking, and ultra sounding. I attempted a little run on the Sunday before the race, and things didn't look good. More icing! More prodding! More poking! More ultra sound! Über sound even! Surprisingly the bruising went down and, whilst it ached a little, I was quietly confident about things. All systems were go!
I spent the evening wining (or was I whining...) and dining with the marvelous Mimi Anderson, discussing race strategy and how much our respective other halves have to put up with from us! After a surprisingly restful night's sleep, we were up and making our way to Richmond Old Town Hall to register. It was great to see so many familiar faces, and it was great fun chatting to people about their training. We lined up at the starting line just before 10am, with a few stragglers (most notablyBatman and Robin, and birthday boy James Adams) joining us late having run the Richmond Park Run 5K beforehand. What a bunch of crazy mofos! Wish I had thought of it...
The horn went, and we were off! Bruce Moore, whom I had run with at the South Downs Way 100 last year, took off into the distance with everybody shouting for him to come back. One day, he might be able to keep the lead, but today it wasn't to be - I next saw him coming into the first aid station the wrong way having gotten lost at Hampton Court! I settled comfortably into the middle of the front pack, and we made our way through through the outskirts of London. We were hit by a light rain in the morning, but after that the sun came out and we were presented with a fantastic day for running!
I was a little worried about route finding as I was unable to recce the first half of the route due to my accident, but I ran with no real issues. I was glad that I managed to get myself into a position on my own so that I wasn't caught up in a "race" situation this early in proceedings. Also, whilst I am generally a very talkative person (some may say "too" talkative...), I actually prefer to race without chatting and just get on with my own thing. As we ran past Hampton Court Palace, we reached a busy road crossing where I was forced to stop and wait for the traffic lights to change. On the other side, I was caught up by Mimi, who had decided to ignore her original race plan completely and try and chase me down!
I broke away from Mimi and another runner and took off ahead again (so much for not racing...). A look at the pace showed that we had just run a sub 3:30:00 marathon - possibly too fast for a 100 miler? Nah! I was slowly catching the runner ahead of me around Staines, and as we went under the bridge I spotted the Centurion Running arrow pointing off away up and over the bridge. The runner ahead of me had missed this and was continuing to run along what had suddenly become the wrong side of the Thames. I shouted to get his attention, and was luckily able to get him back without having to run after him. He thanked me profusely, and we crossed over. As I was running across the bridge, I noticed that the runner behind me had also missed the sign. I shouted and gesticulated wildly, trying to get his attention. Luckily he turned (as did a lot of other people...) and I was able to get him to come back and get back on track. I wonder how many other people missed this turning, as it would mean running backwards a good mile or so to get back to the bridge when the path finally ran out on the North side. Not fun!
My race strategy was pretty basic; run as fast as I could (within reason) for the first half, with enough banked for the second half to get a good time. My "A" goal was a slightly unlikely finish of sub-16 hours, with a backup "B" goal of sub-18 hours, and an if all else fails "C" goal of sub-24 hours. I was carrying the bear minimum of kit, with only a handful of gels and a 500 ml bottle to last me between aid stations. Given how regular they were, I had reasoned that this would be fine. I had gloves, hat, headtorch, and a lightweight jacket, with additional clothing available to me at my dropbags in the last 50 miles in case I ran into problems. I was hoping to spend as little time at aid stations as possible, and eat only what I needed to keep going. A "speedy" 100 miler was my main aim.
Generally things went swimmingly in the first half, although I did run into a slight issue between Windsor and Cookham. I had forgotten to check the distance to the next checkpoint, but luckily a couple sitting on the bank told me there was only 2 miles to go. Unfortunately, they lied - there were more like 7 miles to go, and I hadn't rationed my drink very well. I managed to make 100 ml of GU Brew last, and was very relieved to finally come to the Cookham aid station. A refill, a downed bottle of water, an introduction to Mark Cockbain (who will be torturing me at the Viking Way Ultra next month) and I was off again!
I came into Henley on Thames in about 8 hours, meaning that my "A" goal was probably off the cards as an even-split was pretty unlikely. But I was feeling strong and ready for the second half. I replaced my Garmin, and pulled out my head torch, and was ready to head off again into the darkness. From here, I knew the route, so was pretty confident of navigation, but of course it was night-time now so there was still the possibility of running into issues.
I caught up with a couple of other runners up ahead, and started to overtake them. Coming to a fork in the road, I unfortunately took the wrong path, and had to make my way back towards the river across the field. Luckily, glow sticks along the route along with shouts from one of the other runners made this pretty simple, and I headed off again into the dark. I came storming into Reading, having run a particularly good split, and was feeling great. The lovely aid station workers informed me that I was currently in 8th position, with the 1st place runner a good few hours ahead of me. I was a little worried about the section through Reading, and there were plenty of undesirables hanging out by the river drinking White Lightning and smoking suspiciously fragrant substances. This was a great incentive to keep up the pace, and I ran through without making eye contact. Frankly I suspect they were too stoned to notice and thought I was some kind of UFO coming towards them...
Coming into Whitchurch, I approached a couple of marshals directing me up and over the bridge towards the town hall. Having recced the route, I knew exactly where the village hall was, so made my way straight there. This was the indoor aid station, and it was a little too nice going into the lovely warm hall. I was careful to be as quick as possible, so grabbed a quick refill and a piece of Mars Bar, said hi to Jo Kilkenny who was (wo)manning the station, and headed back out into the cold towards the only part of the route that can be described as "hilly". As I headed up, I saw a handful of lights coming towards me. "Alright lads, where did you come from?". Unfortunately, these three had run right past the checkpoint, and were on their way back to sign in. Doh! Suddenly I was in 5th place.
The path is quite hilly around here, and in particular there is a very steep downhill section that, especially in the dark after running almost 70 miles, required careful negotiation to avoid tripping on any roots. This of course is a bit of a quad killer. This section is very pleasant though, and I kept up a good pace through to the next aid station at Streatley where my last dropbag was. The weather at this stage seemed to be absolutely fine (although the temperature was dropping with the night), so I decided to stick to what I had and left my emergency supplies there. A quick refill, a rubbish attempt at drinking a Cup-A-Soup, and a little chat with Dick Kearn (of GUCR fame), and I was off for the final push.
About a mile from the checkpoint, I decided that I should probably make some attempt to keep the cold out, so stopped briefly to put my hat, gloves and wind-proof jacket on. I ran comfortably for a couple of miles, when all of a sudden my right hip really started to ache. This was the feeling that I had had when I attempted to run immediately after my bike accident. I could feel myself listing to one side, compensating for my bruised right hip by running mainly on my left. This then led to my left hip flexor starting to ache. My pace slowed down to a walk, and pretty soon walking became painful as well. My body cooled down, and my quads tightened immediately, giving me a waddle somewhat akin to a Barbie doll. In the distance I could see 3 headlamps making their way along the trail towards me. I had to think about what to do here.
Coming out into Moulsford, I came alongside of the A329. I weighed up my options, and made the very difficult decision to pull out of the race. My reasons were:
- My current predicament was due to a pre-existing injury rather than just overuse for the day (and I was frankly lucky to have gotten this far with no issues). Had I started at 100 %, I would have carried on and pushed through (as I did in the SDW100 last year)
- I was halfway between two checkpoints, 4 miles from each, and didn't fancy a 4 mile waddle
- I was in a position that would be very easy to find by the sweeper crews
- I had gear and provisions to last me to the next checkpoint - but only if I was running. Walking, I would get much colder and would likely not have enough water to get me there
- I have the Viking Way in 5 weeks, and decided to be sensible and avoid any permanent damage for the sake of finishing
- My aim for this particular race was speed (which was going well until then). When that was off the cards, finishing at the risk of being out of running for a long time didn't seem like a good plan
- I'm married to a physio and am afraid of being told off...
So I called the emergency number and arranged for a lift to Oxford, where my wonderful friend Peter met me and took me back to his for a lie down. I woke up on the Sunday morning with a lot of pain in my hip, but feeling surprisingly happy with how things had gone. Jen was worried I would be really upset, but I surprised myself by remaining very positive about things. In particular, I took the following away from the race:
- I was in fifth position when I pulled, and was on for a ~17 hour finish, so the race itself was going well
- My legs were feeling good even 75 miles into the race - I reckon I would have had the last 25 miles in me (of course a lot can happen in that time, and we'll never know what could have happened)
- My equipment choices and nutrition were spot on
- Other than my hip, I had no negative issues whatsoever from the race (no blisters, no chafing, no sugar crash, etc.)
So hey. No sub 17 hour 100 mile finish this time, but there's plenty more chances this year! A week on, and my hip is feeling much better, so I'm confident I made the right decision in not making things worse, and with only 4 weeks to go until the 147.8 mile Viking Way I'm confident I will make it to the start line!
The race itself was fantastic. James and his team really did put on a hell of an event, and I think that everybody agreed that the assistance that we runners received was second to none. Huge thanks go out to everybody that volunteered. The race was won by Craig Holgate in an astonishing debut 100 mile time of 15:11:15, and Mimi came through as first lady in a marvelous time of 18:50:30. 68 runners made it in before the 24 hour cut off for a special "100 miles, one day" buckle. Unfortunately, whilst I was asleep, the weather took a serious turn for the worse, and runners were subjected to freezing rain and even snow on the Sunday morning. Centurion Running had to make the very difficult decision to abandon the race after 26 hours, with some runners only a few miles away from the end. James has explained his decision here, and given the fact that runners were suffering from hypothermia, it seems to me that he absolutely made the right decision. Whilst I'm sure it is incredibly disappointing for those that were pulled so close to the end, I'm sure that they understand and support the decision. I guess that there really is no such thing as an easy 100 miler...
Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/
Well. What a difference a year can make!
This weekend marked my "official" return to ultra running after my DNF at the Thames Path 100 miler in March. Since coming off my bike a week before the race, then running over 70 miles on what would later turn out to be a pretty dodgy ankle, I have been desperately attempting to recover and avoid missing any further races (already failing to make the Viking Way and a Bob Graham Round attempt with Chris Baynham-Hughes). Some aggressive electro-accupuncture from my physio Chelsea Harding and slowly building up my training seemed to be working well. A top 10 finish at the Northants Shires and Spires 35 mile ultra, 3rd place at the Willingham 7.7 mile Fun Run, and a first place finish at a random 5 Km Fun Run in Swavesy that I joined by accident after spotting it on my cycle ride home suggested that things were on the mend. But the big question was; could my ankle withstand a full 100 miler?
This time last year I ran my second ultra - the South Downs Way 100 mile race, running along the beautiful SDW between Eastbourne and Winchester. This was somewhat of a passion project for the race director Jen Jackson, who organised the first event in 2010 with about 35 runners. The 2011 event would be her last event, but she decided to hand over the reigns to someone who could do the route justice. Step in James Elson from Centurion Running, who had wanted to organise an event on the SDW National Trail but had not wanted to step on Jen's toes. He took over the race (with a few tweaks including changing the direction to take advantage of the westerly winds) and added it to his set of 100 mile races (Jen took part in the inaugural rebirth of the race and you can read her report here). Last year I came 5th in a time of 22:10:00, so I was really looking forward to seeing how much difference I had made in the last year.
Despite only having a month or so to really build my training back up, I was feeling strong. Chelsea seemed much happier to let me run this race than she had been at the Thames Path. I was therefore a little peeved to wake up on the Wednesday before the race with a fever coming on and... let's just say "stomach problems". I was a bit worried that I was coming down with something, but a day of drinking water and dioralyte to stay hydrated seemed to keep things in check. So when race weekend finally came around, I was feeling happy. There was no excuse this time!
I had been kindly offered a lift by Gary Barnes, an extremely experienced ultrarunner with 5 Grand Union Canal finishes under his belt. I was introduced to Team Gary (Archie, Mark and Kev) who would be crewing for Gary along the route, and we made our way to Winchester. We registered at Chilcomb Sports Ground in Winchester where I dropped off my two drop bags, and then made our way over to the Travelodge where the 5 of us would be staying. We made the decision to eat at the Little Chef restaurant right next door, which in hind sight was a very poor decision. The entire place looked depressingly run-down (shocking, I know!), and despite there only being about 6 tables taken up there was a "45 minutes to an hour wait". Given that everything is microwaved, I have no idea what was taking so long. I was so worried about the state of the food that we saw being distributed by the (and I use the term loosely) "waitress", that I made the drastic decision to order the vegetarian option. I figured it would be less likely to kill me from food poisoning.
Totally worth the hour-long wait... |
Gary, Mark and I shared one of the rooms, with me on the sofa in the room. Despite Mark having a full blown conversation with himself during the night, I slept surprisingly well and woke feeling fully refreshed when the alarm went off at 3:45 am. We got ourselves sorted, exchanging our own experiences of what pre-race rituals work and which don't, then headed over to the start line - only to find that the road was closed. Having not expected to have to deal with traffic problems at this time of the morning, we were a bit taken aback. We were able to quickly solve our problem with Google - not sure if that will work on the course if I get lost, mind...
Team Gary "enjoying" dinner (Left to Right: Kev, Gary, Mark, Archie) |
We made it in plenty of time for the pre-race briefing, giving me a chance to catch up with fellow runners Allan Rumbles and Javed Bhatti (whom I had unfortunately missed at the Viking Way Ultra), and a chance to chat to lots of other runners looking forward to getting going. After the unexpected snow storm that had hit the Thames Path runners in the early hours of the morning, resulting in several cases of hypothermia, James had made the decision to make waterproof clothing mandatory equipment through the whole race. Thanks to the always expert advice from Sue and Martin at Likeys, I had gone for the incredibly light Montane Minimus, but was secretly hoping not to have to use it. About 10 minutes before the race start, it started hammering it down. Not ideal. I pulled out the jacket and put it on, but given the forecast for the day made a last minute decision to just get wet for now and run in my shorts and t-shirt. With James counting down from 2 minutes, I struggled to fold the thing up in the wind and stuff it into my bag. I was traveling light with only the mandatory equipment, a couple of gels and a bottle of electrolyte drink to keep me going between checkpoints (as well as a bladder in case the heat picked up later in the day), so there was plenty of room in the trusty Salamon pack.
Just in time, I got myself to the line. We counted down from 10 and were on our way! The race started with a lap and a half around the field (both to spread the field out before we headed onto the single track of the SDW, and to make the distance up to exactly 100 miles). By the time we made it out onto the field proper the rain had already stopped, and the day was looking like it was going to be a fantastic day for running!
"How the heck does this thing fold..." C/O Centurion Running |
My race plan was to head out at a relatively fast pace to get to the front of the pack, and then try and hold as even a pace as possible given the terrain. There are some pretty punishing hills along the SDW, although fortunately (or unfortunately in other respects) we would not be contending with the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head at the Eastbourne end of the route (apparently dehydrated, half starved idiots running across deadly, deadly cliffs in high winds at night is not great for health and safety).
Things were looking good as I arrived at the first aid station at Beacon Hill in second place behind Martin Bacon who had taken off like a shot from the off! Last year, I spent far too long at aid stations chatting away so this year I was making sure to just grab what I needed and go (always being sure to thank the lovely people at the aid stations of course!). There was a small group of us running at roughly similar paces as we approached Exton, but an unfortunate misreading of the signs led to Wouter Hemelinck and myself taking the alternative route around Exton, rather than the route straight through. By the time we noticed, we were at the bottom of the hill and, not relishing the thought of running back up again we carried on until we rejoined the main route, bumping into Gemma Carter and others as we did. That unfortunately cost us maybe a couple of miles as well as a couple of positions, but it was very early days yet so I put it out of my mind and focused on the race still to go.
As it happens, I had "accidentally" recced this section of the race a couple of weeks ago when visiting my parents in Horndean. I had left for a "quick run" along the Monarch's Way trail, found myself intersecting the SDW, decided to run along it, and finally resurfaced 6 hours later. Team Gary were all set up and waiting for their man, and cheered me through as I grabbed a refill and went off on my way (although they were a little confused as to why they hadn't seen me at Exton). Last year I got a little lost running through Queen Elizabeth Country Park at night as signs for the SDW suddenly disappear, but running in the daylight and with the fantastic route markings there were no issues at all.
I caught up with Cliff Canavan-King who had come second the year before in 19:59 and was one of the favourites for this year. Unfortunately he was suffering from a problem with his left leg and was planning on pulling out at Cocking where he could get a lift. We ran together through a very runnable section through Harting Downs and finally down into the aid station at Cocking. Here I found Dick Kearn, of Grand Union Canal fame, manning the aid station. Dick was the last face that I saw before bailing out on the Thames Path, so it was nice to know that the same thing wasn't going to happen this time. I also found out that I apparently have famous side-burns... I said my goodbyes to Cliff and headed off on the next stage.
By now I was starting to pull back on the leaders, and was finding myself becoming stronger as the weariness of the first 35 miles wore off and my body got used to what was expected of it. I was finding it easier to hike the hills and my leg turnover on the flats and downs felt stronger. So much so that I found myself overtaking a group of mountain bikers out on the SDW (much to their surprise). Around a mile and a half from the small aid station at Bignor Hill, I came across Martin Bacon sitting by the side of the trail. He had hurt his foot quite badly, so much so that it had gone a disconcerting purple/black colour. I offered to help carry him to the next aid station where he could get some help, but he wouldn't let me spoil my chances in the race. A group of walkers who happened to be passing by offered to assist instead, and I sped on to the next station to get some help. He was taken to the hospital where they put his leg into a splint, but I saw him at the finish line later and he seemed well in spite of this. Hopefully he will recover quickly and I'll see him back on the line at some point in the future!
This unfortunate turn of events put me in third place behind Wouter and the current leader, Ryan Brown. And I was gaining. But with more than half the distance left I did not want to make the mistake of getting into a race and burning out. I kept pushing forward, power hiking the steep ascents, running the lighter ascents and flat sections, and going all out on the downhills (much better for the quads, but more risky on technical ground). I came into Washington village hall at mile 54 to find that Cliff had beaten me there (I knew that he was fast, but that is ridiculous!). Both Ryan and Wouter had apparently spent some time at the aid station, whilst I was in and out like a flash (stopping only to replace my Garmin and grab my headlight from my dropbag). This allowed me to make up some of the time that I had lost in Exton, and I in fact took off from Washington before Wouter who was in the process of strapping his feet. I was now in second place with just shy of 50 miles to go. But a lot can happen in 50 miles.
I don't remember too much of the next few sections, but pretty much everyone seemed to follow a similar pattern of; a long hike, followed by some undulating running over exposed fields, with a final speedy descent into the aid station. Whilst the uphills felt incredibly slow going, the rest of the running felt fantastic. My legs were turning over nicely, and the wonderful vistas of the South Downs in the glorious sunshine that we were now experiencing were making the whole event seem like a wonderful experience. On top of that, I was gradually gaining on Ryan. He arrived at Washington 20 minutes before me, but by the time I approached Clayton Windmills (or Jack and Jill as they are affectionately known) I found Ryan sat at the aid station struggling to find any food that he could stomach.
The view from Jack and Jill C/O Centurion Running |
I left only a few seconds after Ryan, forcing myself to munch on a sausage roll (and failing miserably). I took off running and passed him, taking the lead - but only briefly as I suddenly noticed my laces needed sorting. Oh well. Whatever Ryan had eaten at the aid station really seemed to have done the trick as he took off like a shot. I on the other hand was going the other way. I found myself struggling to breathe fully due to severe cramps in my stomach, and nothing I could do would shake this. This had another unfortunate effect of making it very difficult to eat anything other than gels, and even those were proving difficult to stomach. Despite this, I was still able to run well, but was feeling increasingly lethargic as I failed to top up the energy levels adequately. I lost a lot of ground to Ryan through to Southease, but was still in with a shot.
I came into Alfriston village struggling to maintain my usual cheerful demeanor. I hope that I was suitably friendly to the volunteers in the hall, but probably wasn't as jolly as I had been earlier in the day! But we were so close now that I could smell it. There was just a 4 mile jaunt into Jevington, then a final 4 miles to the finish. I was pointed towards the bridge out of Alfriston where we would find the most navigationally dangerous part of the course. We wanted the alternative route through Jevington rather than the coastal path through the Seven Sisters. Anybody going wrong at this stage would really regret it... Following the finger point to Jevington, I made my way up a hill and onto a very long ridge like section. By this point it was too dark to run safely so I pulled out my head torch to make sure that I didn't miss any markers. The ridge curved back on itself a few times, and I wondered if I would see Ryan's light off in the distance. No such luck!
I was really starting to feel the fatigue at this point. Once I got going and the legs were turning over, I was clocking out 8 or 9 minute miles. But it was taking so long to get going with all of the hill hiking, and the cold wind was not helping matters. At one point I took a quick sit down on the bank, but quickly told myself to MTFU! I pulled into Jevington village, following the (slightly eerie) glow sticks through the church yard and was directed up the steps to the village hall. Boy, could I have done without the steps up to the door! I kept things simple, gave my number, and headed straight out for the final 4 miles.
I was told that there was 1 more hill to go to the trig point at the end of the Downs, before a 2 mile downhill section straight into Eastbourne. I began the trudge up the hill which was just too steep to run but not steep enough that I didn't feel a bit of a wimp for walking. This section was a bit tough for navigation as the path through the fields in the dark was never quite clear. There were markers along the way, but in the dark they were impossible to see from a distance. I finally hit the trig point and followed James' instructions (and the handily placed spray-painted arrows on the floor) to the final downhill gully. I have to say that I expected the gulley to be more runnable. It was very narrow, and overgrown in places, making it more of a "controlled fall" than anything else.
My feet had survived pretty well up until now, but this section really chewed them up. As I came out onto the road in Eastbourne, my feet were not happy with me. I would like to say that I sprinted the final mile into the finish, but I'll be honest - I wimped out. I ran/walked my way around the streets, making my way towards the lights and sounds of the sports ground. As I came onto the track, my usual race instincts kicked in and I was able to summon all of my reserves for a final sprint finish towards the line, where James, the wonderful Mimi Anderson, and a few other volunteers were cheering me on. I came through the line in 17:23:04 feeling fantastic, especially when James handed me my first ever race buckle.
This looks much more stupid now than it felt at the time C/O Mimi Anderson |
A quick massage, a shower, "calorie replacement" (a hotdog, packet of crisps and a can of coke), and a pretty poor attempt at getting an hour's kip, and I was back out on the start finish line wrapped in my sleeping bag to cheer the other runners through the line. This was tons of fun, seeing so many people complete this amazing achievement and having the opportunity to chat to so many of them.
The men's race was won, as you might have guessed, by Ryan Brown in an amazing time of 17:04:26. I was second in 17:23:04, and Nick Weston was third with a cracking time of 18:08:03 (honourable mention to Steve Scott who came in fourth only 53 second later - it's not often you see a 100 miler coming down to a sprint finish!). All of us broke Mark Collinson's amazing record of 19:42:00 from last year (albeit that was on a longer course).
Oh dear. Do I always look that cheesy?! No wonder people focus on the side-burns. |
The women's race was won by Claire Shelley in an amazing time of 19:43:03 (6th overall and almost faster than the men's course record!), second place was Nicole Brown (Ryan's wife - champion ultrarunning family!) in 22:56:05, and third place was Helen Smith in 23:30:55 - all under 24 hours!
Gary and Allan both got through the line with cracking sub-24 finishes (giving Allan two sub-24 hour finishes in his Grand Slam attempt). There were cheers and there were tears as people came through the line. One runner (Jack Armstrong) proposed to his girlfriend who was pacing him (she said yes!), so huge congratulations to them! And Tara Williams actuallywalked the entire route - and still finished in 26:37:47! All in all it was a hell of a party atmosphere at the end and all through the morning. It was another fantastically organised event from James and the crew at Centurion Running, who all worked tirelessly throughout to make our races go as flawlessly as possible. Bravo!
My lovely new belt buckle! Now if I could only find a belt small enough to actually work... |
So it's Monday now. I've come down from the highs of the weekend. So what have I learned? Well first of all, I am not in too much pain at all. I have a couple of small areas of rubbing (but nothing of note), a couple of small hotspots on my feet that never quite became blisters (miraculously), and my quads are a little stiff. But I cycled to work without much trouble (at least once my quads had woken up), and my walking is not quite as John Wayne-esque as it has been in the past. I must be doing something right! I am also not letting myself be annoyed that I only came second. I am incredibly happy with my performance. I managed to shave off almost 5 hours from last year's time, 2.5 hours from the course record, and a couple of minutes off of James' predicted race-winning time. In the end, the better man won, but it's encouraging for me to know that I might have it in me to win one day. Hell, if I can shave another 5 hours off next year, I might just give Ian Sharman a run for his money... Well, a man can dream.
Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/
For the past week I have been following various people on twitter showing off the fabulous weather around Chamonix; beautiful blue skies, glorious sunshine, temperatures above 30 degrees. It was therefore slightly disappointing to arrive in Chamonix on Thursday to cold weather, a lot of rain, and a massive bank of grey cloud where the mountains should have been. Yes, unfortunately the weather gods were not smiling on the UTMB for the third year in a row, and with rumours of another shorter route a la 2010, the disappointment was palpable.
Somewhere behind those clouds there's a mountain with my name on it! |
I traveled over to Chamonix with James Elson, who unfortunately had suffered the UTMB curse on his previous trip in 2010. He was, understandably, not amused. We were kindly offered a lift by Richard Felton who was driving over with his girlfriend Kady. Somehow we managed to displace his parents, but they didn't seem to mind!
I did my best to ignore the worrying weather reports of snow, fog, zero visibility and mudslides, and instead soaked in some of the infamous atmosphere in Chamonix. The UTMB race weekend actually consists of 4 separate races: the UTMB (Ultra Trail de Mont Blanc, 166 km, 9,500 m ascent), the CCC (Courmayeur-Champex-Chamonix, 98 km, 5,600 m ascent), theTDS (sur les Traces des Ducs de Savoie, 109 km, 7,100 m ascent), and the PTL (Petit Tour de Leon, a whopping 300 km, 22,000 m ascent). But despite the rain, Chamonix was buzzing. Given the atmosphere at most ultras in Britain it was a huge difference, and more on par with a big city marathon. The locals take time out to come and support all of the runners, with shouts of "allez, allez!" being heard regularly throughout the weekend. There is a finishers chute that runs through the entire town, and the thought of running through the cheering crowd at the end of such an epic undertaking was an exciting prospect! But first we had to find out if we would be running at all...
The finishing chute in Chamonix. Fingers crossed when I head through it will be slightly drier |
Given this amazing organisation, the race directors were surprisingly lax at actually informing us as to what was happening. In fact, I was getting most of my information from tweets from iRunFar and the guys at Ultra168 who were present at the press conference. I guess it makes sense that they would want a firm plan in place before announcing things, but I had seen the potential updated race course hours before we ever found out that the course was even being changed!
The upshot was that "the weather was bad, and was due to get badder" (the actual words of the RD Catherine Poletti). Essentially, the upshot was that the weather above about 1,700 meters was becoming highly dangerous, with high winds, snow, and low visibility from fog. Of course, this had been on the cards all week as far as I could tell, so quite why they were taken by surprise so much...
The PTL runners had begun their epic quest on Wednesday, whilst the TDS runners had started a few hours before we arrived on Thursday afternoon. The news coming in from the TDS runners wasn't great. Many were coming into Chamonix (still to a cracking reception, despite the late time and terrible weather) with a glazed look in their eyes.
The CCC began on the Friday morning, essentially running the second half of the UTMB from Cormayeur (plus a bit). But with the weather the decision was made to cut out two of the climbs (Tête de la Tronche and Tête aux Vents). Despite this, the majority of the course was as it should be. This left us all with hope that our race would go ahead with only minor alterations.
Chamonix looks much better in the dry |
Unfortunately, 7 hours before the race was due to start, I got a text:
"Start around 7pm. Weather conditions too difficult on the mountain pass. New course 100km France only. 4 layers of clothing required."
Sigh. So, after all of the race prep, and all of the build up, we were left with a much shorter course (103 km, 6,860 m ascent) with none of the mountains. Disappointing.
But 100k is no walk in the park, and the ~7,000 meters of ascent we were expecting was an exciting prospect! So I tried to put the disappointment out of my mind and instead focus myself on what Luke Carmichael would later dub the mUTCV (Mini Ultra Tour of Chamonix Valley).
I headed over to the start line with my room mate, Paul Wells, who was a very experienced mountain runner having run the Trans Alps several times before, as well as being an avid triathlete. We joined the throng about an hour before the kick off. The weather was... fine actually. A little cloudy, but there was no rain. Hmm. I would have preferred torrential floods to be honest, rather than feeling like we were missing out for nothing! I got chatting to a couple of English guys, Bill and Chris, while we waited. Both were of course a little annoyed at the changes, but were excited to get going. Chris actually came 28th last year, so we convinced him to go and use his fame to get up with the big dogs in the elite pen. The elites were noticeably thinner on the ground than expected, with several of the Salomon athletes being pulled out at the last minute for other races (such as Steamboat Run Rabbit Run, with its enticing $100,000 prize pot).
Crammed into the starting pen an hour before the start. The weather didn't look so bad - pretty much how July looked in England |
With only a few minutes to go, we were surprised to find that the CCC leader was making his way in - a first for the event. It was an excellent finish, with all of Chamonix and all of the "UTMB" runners on hand to cheer him in. I did wonder what would happen if 2,300 runners suddenly descended on whomever was coming in in second place...
But there was no time for such concerns. The countdown went down, the sounds of Vangelis' Conquest of Paradise played on the loudspeaker (that tune becomes very annoying after the fiftieth or sixtieth time), and we were off! Well, sort of. The pushing was immense, with thousands of runners pushing to squeeze through an annoyingly tight section. And nobody warned me about the step! Luckily there were so many people around me, I couldn't have fallen over if I'd tried, although I later found out that last year's third place finisher Sebastian Chaigneau had no such luck and had taken a pretty nasty spill, but was luckily okay.
It took a while to get to anything resembling a run, but once I got going it was a great experience. Running out of Chamonix to the sounds of "Allez! Allez! Bravo!", a cornucopia of cow bells, whistles and horns, and high-fiving kids as we ran past was truly astounding. The first 10 km or so is all pretty much flat, with some smaller climbs through the woods of the Chamonix Valley through to Les Houches. At this point I was vey happy with my chosen attire - shorts and a t-shirt, with a thin base layer where I could roll the sleeves up easily. I was also wearing some calf guards for the first time ever as shorts were only allowed if you had something to cover your legs. A lovely German couple that were in the same chalet as Paul and me would later comment that they could recognise the Brits as they all had shorts on. I say that with a modicum of national pride, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't a complement!
This climb sucked. Like, seriously sucked. 10 km my arse! |
My game plan had been the usual - run to how I felt, power hike the toughest climbs (I was determined to never get the "cheating sticks" out if I could help it - another British distinction apparently!), and don't waste times at the aid stations. Some water, a bit of coke, maybe some cheese and salami, but otherwise rely on a few gels I had in my bag. I figured that 15-16 hours was a realistic goal. I had my bag packed in such a way that i shouldn't have needed to ever take it off - waterproof in the front pocket, and an UltraSpire handheld bottle for water tucked into the bag that could be carried if I needed to put the waterproof on over the bag. Genius!
As we headed up the climb to Le Delevret, I passed a few familiar faces. Mark Collinson, who had won the SDW100 on my first 100 miler, was looking comfortable, and said that James and Robbie Briton had headed past not long ago. As I headed past, the rain started to come down, but in more of a drizzle than a torrent so I left the waterproof and carried on. I found James pulled over making the sensible decision to put his on, so decided that maybe I should follow suit. It was, after all, due to be wet all night. But aha! My cunning plan meant that I had no need to pull over. Oh no. I continued my hike and slipped the jacket on, smug in the knowledge that I hadn't lost those 10 seconds. Of course what I hadn't remembered was the effect that nighttime can have on your ability to see. As the day drew to a close, and it quickly became clear that the full moon was fighting a losing battle with the black rain clouds, I remembered that I needed to get my head torch. Which was in my bag. Which was under my jacket. Well no problems, I can just take one arm out, reach around, just about... Nope, wrong thing. Is that it? Aha! Gotcha! Now, if I can just close the bag. Bugger, can't get a purchase. Nghhh. Grrr! Can't do it. Shit. Going to need to get the other arm out. Crap, it's caught on my Garmin! Argh! It's all inside out and wet and.... Aaaaaarghh!
Not my finest hour. Well, 5 minutes at any rate. Good going you idiot! With that little ordeal sorted I got back to the task at hand, vowing that if anything else needed to come out of the bag I would just pull over and do it the sensible way. What is it they say? Less haste, more speed?
Going down! Much nicer than the ascent, but could easily have been somewhere in England... |
At this stage, we were still on the UTMB route, and would continue that way through St Gervais (where I was later very surprised to find that I came in only 23 seconds after Jez Bragg who had won two years earlier!), on to Les Contamines, down through Notre Dame de la Gorge, then back up to La Balme. After La Balme, we would begin to loop back on ourselves through an alternate route through to Les Contamines and Les Houches through the Chamonix Valley in a kind of figure-of-eight, meeting up with the latter part of the new CCC route at l'Argentierre, then back to Chamonix. The highest ascent would be below 2,000 meters, with the rest of the ascent made up of shorter (but steeper) climbs. I had heard that the start of the UTMB was a little uninspiring, with forest trails that could really be anywhere but after La Balme it opened out into more interesting mountain passes. Unfortunately, we would not be getting these awesome vistas and would instead be stuck with views that could have been on the North Downs Way a few weeks ago.
Things were going well, and I was moving up the field nicely. My climbing was surprisingly good for a guy from Cambridge, and I was overtaking people even without using poles. But the downs were really where I was causing some damage. The trails were not too technical and it was quite easy to just let loose and really push the descents. It's much easier on the quads to avoid braking. But of course the danger is that the faster you go the less control you have, and the more likely you are to cause an injury (or, y'know, fall off a mountain...). But I was running at a speed at which I felt confident (watching real descenders like Killian Jornet is amazing, to see the speeds that they can get to whilst still maintaining control) and was able to push up the rankings.
But then I started to feel hungry. My stomach was rumbling and just felt completely empty. I chucked a gel down, and waited to see if things would improve. They didn't. The climb up to La Balme was starting to feel tough as I just felt devoid of energy all of a sudden. And it was a looooong climb. I had to stop and "stretch" - kind of in the way tennis players check their strings when they miss a shot. I decided that I was going to sort myself out at the next aid station and try and fill my empty stomach. As I was doing one of my "stretches", James passed me, spotting the sideburns like a hairy beacon in the night. He offered to climb with me, but he was going strong and I didn't want to hold him up. By this point the aid station was visible so I knew it wasn't long to go.
The sun is up, and I'm feeling good! I can almost smell Chamonix. |
I arrived at La Balme to be treated by a huge bonfire, and a small amount of snow. It was noticeably colder, and one of the aid station assistants told me I would have to put my trousers on before continuing. I was really worried at first as I didn't have any running tights, and tried to explain in broken French that the rules said it was okay to wear shorts as long as I had the calf guards on. However I soon realised I was being dense and they wanted me to put my waterproof trousers on, which was essential kit for the race. Doh!
I grabbed a LOT of food, and headed over to he bonfire to sort myself out. It was bloody cold having to stop here, and I started to shiver quite badly in trying to put clothes on to keep me warm. Oh the irony. I started to munch my way through my rather large picnic when somebody said my name. Once again, my sideburns had been recognised and I was introduced to Marcus Warner one of the Ultra168 guys. I have been following Marcus' ongoing review of the Salomon Sense quite keenly, hoping for something to crop up to put me off wanting a pair (they're on the expensive side). Unfortunately it still seems as if they may be the perfect shoe. Bugger.
After a bit of a moan from me about my lack of energy (sorry Marcus!) he headed off for the next section. I, on the other hand, went back for seconds. And thirds. And must have been there for about 10-15 minutes scoffing. I have never had that issue before. Usually I hardly eat anything when I run, usually because I would go through expensive gels too quickly otherwise! But now it felt as if I was putting food into a black hole. Some people have suggested this may have been a result of the altitude, but whatever the reason - I was hungry!
A lovely family of supporters cheering us through the last 10 km into Chamonix. Needs more cowbell! |
When I finally felt as if I couldn't fit anymore cheese in, I headed off. This section was a lot of fun, and was much more like the race I had expected. After a little bit of getting going (probably waddling from all that cheese), I felt reinvigorated! My running stride was back on track and the leg turnover increased once again. We were running over some quite open ground now, with the light snow being buffeted around us. Unfortunately it was pitch black, but it still felt more like a mountain race than the woods had. As I was following the track, a large group of runners appeared coming the other way shouting "non!". Apparently they had somehow all gone off course, and the lead runner had very nearly run off a cliff! I am not entirely sure how this could have happened as the markings were second to none, and there was a marker right where I was standing, yet somehow we had all managed to make the same mistake. Up in the distance we saw the lights of runners who seemed to know where they were going and a quick check of the course on my Garmin (which unfortunately wiped all of my data up to that point) confirmed it. We all climbed over the fence and headed up onto the (really quite obviously) correct path. Few!
But I was still hungry. So again, rather than a quick refill and a fond "merci", I was force-feeding myself cheese, and noodle soup. This pattern of overtaking a number of people on the section, only for them to pass me as I scoffed, became a recurring feature through Les Contamines (retourne) and Bellevue. The route down from Bellevue was a hell of a lot of fun, slip-sliding my way down an incredibly steep mud chute. From then on, we were back into forest trail running territory and familiar ground as we once again went through Les Houches.
Beautiful weather in Chamonix! Shame it was 24 hours too late... |
One thing that was absolutely incredible to me throughout the race was that, even in the middle of nowhere, even 2,000 meters up, even in the middle of the night, and even in the pouring rain, there were people out cheering us on. Not just at the aid stations in the villages (which were bustling with activity throughout the night, and the spectators and volunteers were an absolute joy!), but along the route itself. So on my way into back down into Les Houches, on hearing the familiar ringing of cowbells I was most surprised to find that it was, in fact, just a cow. But I take the support where I can get it!
So I was having some stomach issues which weren't awful, and this was slowing me down a lot due to having to eat, but things were still going okay. My legs felt good, and my pacing felt consistent. After Les Houches we hit a particularly uninspiring section of the route - a 5 km climb up a road, to reach a car park. A lovely way to greet the new day. By this point the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, and it looked to be a relatively nice day. On the way up the hill I chatted to a French runner I met about various aspects of running in Europe compared to Britain. He didn't speak much English but I seemed to get on okay with my GCSE level French. I also bumped into a girl who was struggling with her knee. My attempts to explain the complex interactions between the Iliotibial Band and "runners knee" were not so successful, but I think that she got the gist and stopped to stretch in the way that I showed her. Hopefully that helped and she was able to finish.
We got back into the woods and headed across the valley and passed Chamonix to the sounds of cheering and cow bells as others completed their journey - but we still had another 25 km or so to go, heading up towards l'Argentierre. I made up some time on a slightly technical section downhill through the valley, but when I got to the bottom I realised how hot I was. I stopped to take off my extra layers and got back to running in shorts and t-shirt. As I was fighting with my bag, I was caught up by Luke Carmichael who had the same idea of cutting down on the layers.
Prize giving in the sun |
The climb to l'Argentierre was tough. Very tough. A winding, incredibly steep route up through the woods with no sign as to how much further we had to go. Each time we thought that we were nearly there, the route turned a corner where we would find more up. At one point we passed a sign for l'Argentierre saying "25 mins" (presumably to walk), so we assumed we were nearly there. But the route took a different path and it was another hour before we got to the summit. At which point we then had to drop back through the woods into the town.
This last section I had developed a new problem - chaffing. I had now reached the stage when walking was painful, so running had become a no go. Instead I had made the call to walk it in to he finish - a very annoying decision as up until now I had been looking okay (other than my stomach). I stopped briefly to phone Jen and let her know that the reason that it was now taking twice as long between checkpoints wasn't because I had fallen off of a mountain, when I was passed by Paul Bennett whom I had run with at the end of the SDW100 last year. I got back to the task at hand and completed my John Wayne walk into l'Argentierre.
By this time I had hemorrhaged a few hundred places, and the aid station tent was jam packed. As I grabbed some noodle soup, I saw Marcus again. "We really must stop meeting like this" he said. As we were chatting, Bill came through as well. We headed out for the last 10 km; Bill and Marcus heading off at a good speed for the final push; me gritting my teeth and making my way slowly towards the finish. Along this section, I met a nice French chap called Jean who had also slowed down to a walk, and we had a nice chat as we made our way towards Chamonix. Despite the searing pain down below, and the fact that I had dropped massively off of my planned pace, I was feeling pretty happy. The sun was shining, there were lots of really supportive people out on the trail (and a lot of photographers ready to snap the runners in various states of suffering), and I had made peace with my poor performance long ago. So now I was just soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying the ride. Jean took off to try and get to the finish, and I just kept on moving. The final section was pretty flat and will have been a fantastic speedy session for the fast guys.
The sort of weather we could have expected on the higher peaks over the weekend? |
The sound of cowbells in the distance heralded my arrival on the outskirts of Chamonix. I had been saving all of my "Allez"ing for this last section, as I knew that I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for walking through the crowds. I gritted my teeth, rearranged things as best as possible, and set off for one of the toughest kilometers of running of my life! But the cheering crowds, along with swerving to high five as many of the kids as possible, quickly made me forget the pain. I ran through the line that I had been picturing since I had arrived in 19:26:03 - about 4 hours later than I had hoped. And I felt great! A beer and some cheese to recover, and I headed back to the chalet for a shower. Ow...
The men's race was won by Frenchman François d'Haene in 10:32:36 (the guy never even saw daylight!), with Swede Jonas Buud second in 11:03:19 and America's Mike Foote taking a fantastic third place finish in 11:19:00. The woman's race was won once again by the remarkable Lizzy Hawker for her fifth win (go Team GB!), with Italian Francesca Canepa taking second in 13:17:01, and Spain's Emma Roca taking third in 13:23:37.
The rest of the weekend was spent cheering people on, and generally soaking up the beautiful sunshine (bloody typical) that had graced us. I went up to l'Aguille du Midi, a mountain in the Mont Blanc massif with a summit at almost 4,000 m giving a great view of the surrounding Alps. It was pretty cold up there, about -10 degrees - I got some funny looks wearing my shorts. It was definitely harder to breathe up there, and I did get a little out of breath climbing the stairs, although I do wish we could have run at that altitude to see what would have happened. Oh well.
In the evening, I went along to an event organised by Centurion Running and Extreme Energy for the British runners that had taken part, and it was great fun hearing people's stories (and it was vindicating knowing that everybody thought that it was more than 10 km to l'Argentierre) and how they got on. It sounds as if everybody had done incredibly well, and nobody that I spoke with pulled out. I think about 80 % of us ran in shorts and without poles - "allez les rosbifs" indeed!
Stunning view from the top of l'Aguille du Midi |
So overall, things didn't go to plan. But I had a fantastic time none the less. My food issues may have been a result of the altitude that I hadn't considered, and it is definitely something that I need to look into in the future. The chaffing is just one of those things. Usually I avoid it, but this time it became an issue. C'est la vie - can't win them all. In general I was happy with my climbing and more than happy with my descending. I can definitely benefit from adding some hills into my training, and this is something I will work at in the future. But hey, it doesn't always go to plan.
The race itself was incredibly well organised, especially given the last minute changes. It's easy to see why this is one of the top events on the race calendar. I have never seen so many race markings in a single event - frankly it seems impossible to get lost. To have done that over the new course in such a small amount of time was pretty astounding. The helpers throughout the weekend and at the aid stations were amazing, and were incredibly helpful despite my poor attempts at speaking their language. Of course I was very annoyed that I couldn't officially say that I had run the UTMB (particularly as I had essentially wasted my Lakeland entry to be there), but to be clear I wasn't annoyed with the organisers. They know the terrain much better than I do, and were doing what was best for the safety of us idiots. However, I suspect that something will have to change. This is now the third year when adverse weather conditions have affected the route. Hopefully a contingency plan can be developed that can be rolled out if necessary - 100 miles, same elevation, but none of the highest summits. I guess we'll have to wait until next year to see if this happens though.
So would I come back? Most definitely! After all, I still have to cross the UTMB off my bucket list...
Written by Debbie Brupacher - http://macrunningadventures.blogspot.fr/
Stage 1 Arughat (600m) to Machha Khola (900m) – Distance : 25km Time: 4:07
The start of the race was very unusual. It was Tihar,( also known as Diwali in India and popularly known as the "festival of lights”) and the villagers wanted to bless us before we started. A group of men from the village played music and all racers walked together behind them to the holy place. Once there, each runner was blessed and given a scarf and a red dot or tika as it is called, which is a bright red mixture of rice, yoghurt and vermillion powder. From there we walked back to start, one group photo and with a bang of the gong, we were off. The run out of Arughat was relatively easy, flat runnable trail but it wasn't long before it turned more technical. This was a shock to a number of people as they had not expected this type of terrain, for me it was very similar to the terrain of the Swiss Alps where I had done most of my training, so I felt at home and it was great to be running again after so many days travelling.
Written by Sondre Amdahl - http://sondreamdahl.com/
I have dreamt of running the Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) since I read Born to Run in 2010. And I have slowly built up my milage and my confidence to be able to tackle the UTMB, the «Mother of all ultra trail races». I felt confident going into the race, but I had never imagined that I would finish 7th after a nearly perfect race, a race that was my first trail 100-miler. I will remember crossing the finish line for the rest of my life!
First of all, let me tell you a little bit about my self. I am a 42 years old ultra trail-runner from Norway, married to Ingvild and a dad to Ingrid and Mari (both eight years old). I am currently based in Gran Canaria in Spain. I have worked in sales and marketing for many years, but I have now put that «career» on hold for a while, in order to spend more time with my kids and also be able to focus more on my running. I have lived in Norway’s largest ski resort for a decade and done most of my winter running on snow and ice (on cross-country ski tracks or in the ski slopes). Here in Spain I do not have to worry about icy conditions, and I can run on smooth trails year round.
My first ultra race was Kepler Challenge in New Zealand in 2003, when I studied for my masters degree in Australia. Then, work and other commitments took most of my focus/free time, and it was not until 2011 that I did my second ultra, the 50 mile long Ultima Frontera in Spain (1st place). Last year I finished second at the Pilgrim Challenge, fourth at the Transgrancanaria Advanced (85km) and 18th at Transvulcania. I finished off the 2013 race season with a tenth place at the CCC race in France/Italy (101km). This season started very well with a 6th place at Transgrancanaria in March and also a win at the Hoka Highland Fling in April (race report Highland Fling).
I had big plans for the Lavaredo Ultra Trail (120k) in the end of June, but I got sick a week before the race. After a two week period with no running, I got into training again, and I have had one focus since then – the UTMB!
The summer training has gone very well. I have done a lot of running with a lot of vertical, both in Norway and here in Spain, after we arrived in the middle of July. I spent a week in Tenerife and La Gomera in the end of July, which included some hilly long runs on some fantastic trails! In a three week training block in the end of July/beginning of August, I logged 510km running with 26000 meters of vertical gain.
The three weeks before the UTMB, I slowly reduced my milage and had a nearly perfect taper. I finished the taper with a week long stay in Val Veny in Courmayeur, Italy. It was very nice for me to stay in Italy the week before the race, and escape the hectic atmosphere in Chamonix. I think I got a good adaption to the altitude by sleeping at 1900 meters above sea level for a week.
My race strategy for UTMB was to start fast, but not go all out. I wanted to be near the front, but was also very focused of doing my own race and let my body adapt to the terrain and the pace. After Les Houches, I saw that I was running near by a lot of guys that I know are very experienced (Yeran Duray, Jez Bragg, Mike Foote, Timothy Olson and Hal Koerner), and therefore should be able to adjust their effort thru out the race. I decided to hold the same pace/effort that I had gotten used to, as I felt very comfortable on both the hike up and then the run downhill to Saint-Gervais (21km).
I got into a good rhythm after Saint-Gervais, and honestly just kept that rhythm all thru the night. I passed some runners, but I was also passed by a few. I have struggled on the downhills for the last couple years, but felt much more comfortable at this race. Luckily all my spesific downhill training the last months have paid dividends.
I got to Courmayeur after ten hours of running. I had a short chat with Bryan Powell from irunfar.com, and he said I looked strong. I did feel strong too, but we agreed that «The race hasn’t started yet». I saw my crew in Courmayeur, and they helped me with my gels and my drinks. My race nutrition is very simple: Tailwind Nutrition and some gels. I use gels when I can not get hold of Tailwind and have to rely on the energy drinks at the aid stations. I picked up some bars in La Contamine and in Courmayeur, but never ate them.
I have a lot to choose from, but normally just stick to Tailwind and a few gels (GU, Hammer Nutrition and Clif-shots).
After Courmayeur, Gediminas Grinius and Jason Schlarb passed me. Jason was soo fast that I didn’t even think about following him. I passed some runners during the night and into the morning, Mike Foote and Tony Krupicka was two of them. I was sixt at the aid station at Trient. I did the last part of the UTMB-course last year (at the CCC) and knew that if I could keep a good pace on the downhills, I had the chance of a top ten finish. I am normally strong on the uphills and knew that all the other guys had to be tired too, so I could not loose too much time hiking uphill. I heard reports that I had between 10 and 20 minutes down to the next runner, but did not believe to much in those reports, as things can change very fast at the end of a race as long as the UTMB.
So, there was no surprise when Andrew Tuckey from Australia reeled me in after the aid station in Vallorcine. But, he looked a bit tired too, so I decided to try to push as hard as I could up to the last aid station in La Flegere (8km to the finish). By doing that, I figured that we would keep the pace high enough to keep the 8th, 9th and 10th place behind us all the way to the finish. And that strategy worked! Andrew and I stayed together up to La Flegere, filled our bottles there and started running down to Chamonix. We stayed together until it was three kilometers to the finish. I don’t think Andrew increased the pace that much, it was just that I didn’t have the speed required to keep up with him on the steep downhill section just before the village.
I tried to soak up as much of the atmosphere as possible after I had crossed the finish line. The UTMB-organizers do such an incredible job in order to make all the finishers feel that they are the «winner». And I felt that I had actually won the 7th place last Saturday.
The price giving ceremony was another highlight for me. I had a humble feeling being around all the other elite racers, but they were all so nice and inclusive!
What’s next for me? After some easy days, I’ll start preparing for my next race, the Tenerife Bluetrail in October. After that race, I plan to take November off, before I start preparing for the spring season. Main targets for the spring/early summer of 2015 is Transgrancanaria, Transvulcania and hopefully the World Ultra Trail Championships in France in the end of May (if I qualify for the Norwegian team).
La Sportiva Helios shoes and Injinji socks. This combination worked perfect. I had no blisters or sore feets. I ran with this setup for the entire race.
So, how can a dad to two kids and a full time worker (I have worked more than full time for the last ten years) end up playing with the big guys on such a big stage as the UTMB? This is what I have focused on the last three/four years in order to achieve the things that I have done:
I run a lot
There are no shortcuts. I run on average 120 to 130 km. per week, year round, most of it on trails with a lot of vertical. I do most of my long runs with a backpack similar to the one I use at Transgrancanaria or the UTMB.
I work with a coach/mentor
I have worked with Ian Sharman/Sharman Ultra for more than a year now. My running has improved a lot as a result of our cooperation. Ian has a lot of knowledge about ultrarunning, and it has been very helpful for me to discuss training, race nutrition, race strategy and long term planning of races and recovery. Ian is very friendly and easy to talk to. The training plans that he makes for me are very good, and I feel that they are customized for my needs and my life situation. As a mentor, Ian do not need to motivate me to train – it is more important that he reminds me to cut back when I am tired or feel fatigued.
I am Powered by Plants
When it comes to nutrition, there are no shortcuts either. I am very conscious of what I put in my mouth. I believe that plants is the best for me, and I have been 95 percent vegan for about a year now. I didn’t eat much meat before that either, but now I eat lots of vegetables, fruit, berries, beans, legumes, lentils, whole grains and so on. I feel that a vegetarian/vegan diet helps me recover a lot faster. And I just feel better!
I use the best gear available
I use very simple race nutrition
I have found out what works best for me, and that is a combination of Tailwind Nutrition and gels. I use gels in order to get enough calories if I have to rely on sports drinks from the aid stations. At the UTMB, my crew supported me with Tailwind at the five places that they were allowed to give personal assistance.
Going into the UTMB, I had a dream of a top-10 finish. I have run with some of the worlds best before, and found out that most of them are just like me – humans. I am not saying that I am able to win races like Transgrancanaria, Transvulcania or the UTMB – my point is that I am able to get into the upper sections of the rankings. But that’s only if I dare to dream about getting there. If you think you are slow, you will run slow. If you think you can run fast, you will run fast!
Written by David Ickringill - http://ibizaultrarunner.com/
Addiction sounds like a dirty word these days, conjuring up images of delinquents sat in a dingy crack den, so it’s time to come clean (no pun intended) I am an addict. Not of the crack pipe but a much better, higher high than ingested substances can provide, I’m talking of course about the endorphins and satisfaction we get from running. When we are not running, we crave a run, just a five minute stretch around the block; maybe just sit watching the common wealth games wearing our trainers as its taper time. Whatever the reason/ excuse, we need a fix; there is no other way to describe it.
Ok, now I am out about my addiction which started in January 2012, I can get around to describing what has to be one of the most memorable few days of my life, after a little more preamble… My dad was proper old school, never showed any emotion and set the bar higher than I could ever reach to gain his approval. Maybe finally I have done something physically challenging enough that he might have given me that single hug I sought all my life. My mum on the other hand would have thought I was the greatest, simply for running my first ever race the Brighton Half Marathon in February 2012 and absolutely forbade me from doing something as stupid as running a 100 miles..
The NDW100 was to be my second ultra, following on from a ‘just inside the cut-off’ 13:08 finish in the 2014 NDW50 which served as my qualifier for the NDW100. The training and build up to the NDW50 was poor due to many reasons not least of which were a three week trip to Disneyland not too long before race day! My hopes were high, but modestly placed that I had more to give this challenging 100 mile course across the beautiful North Downs. Why do we want to run a 100 miles in the first place? This is a question I and probably thousands of others would like an answer to, but without knowing why, my life would never be complete if I had never tried the distance. I blame Geoff Roes/ Anton Krupika/ Kilian Jornet and Hal Koerner for my obsession with the 100 mile distance. So I’m not only an addict, but a freak who is obsessed with running a 100 miles, my fantastic wife Shelley knows there is no stash of money anywhere, so quite why she puts up with me remains a mystery. Back to the point, yes a 100 mile obsession started by the movie “Unbreakable: The Western States 100”, quite simply if you haven’t seen this movie, give it a try, you will not be disappointed.
The idea of Shelley being my crew for the race was sold like a credit default swap, packaged up with a week-long trip to the UK staying in a nice hotel complete with a pool and all the extras. The in-laws need little encouragement to see our children, Harvey nine and Jemima five so agreed in a jiffy to come down and help out with child care and a crew stop at halfway. The team was taking shape, pacing came from Scott my old running partner who responded to my initial email far more eager than anticipated. Ideally I was hoping he would jump in at mile 50, but on reflection his decision to wait until mile 70 (72) was perfect.
After a couple of months of hard training and eating a bloody good diet I felt ready to give the North Downs my best shot. Living in Ibiza training over the summer has been tough, very tough in a summer without a single drop of rain for many months and morning temperatures over 30oC. Even being out of the door for 05:30 long runs in the hills mean there is no escape from the unforgiving mid-morning rays of the Balearic sunshine. Late night head torch runs are a battle with stifling humidity.
Training done and we are on the plane at 05:00 to land in a miserable, grey and very wet Gatwick at 06:10 on Wednesday pre-race. The next few days were blissfully spent with Shelley and the children, my final piece of work a 10k on the hotel treadmill and it felt good. On the eve of race day the journey from Farnborough to Farnham to register and collect bib number was wet, very wet, to the extent that by 10pm I was hoping to receive a race cancelled message from the race organisers.
My race plan had been to aim for a 12 hour first 50 miles, having gone over it a zillion times in my mind where to get 68 minutes from? I knew for sure I was stronger on hills and would gain time there and the latter seven miles would be much quicker. I was hopeful of getting halfway near to 12 hours. The plan was to go real slow and steady in the first 50, but the weather forecast scared me half to death and I wanted to bank enough time that I wouldn’t be fleeing from CP to CP in the nick of time in the anticipated mud.
Shelley had set her phone alarm as backup to mine not going off for any reason but failed to realise her phone was on Ibiza time so we were up and buzzing an hour ahead of schedule at 03:15. It’s fair to say nerves were an issue, I had not been this nervous since my first acting performance at Junior school when I was sick onstage! The morning turned out to be a gift from above, I actually looked skywards (not the only time this day) and said thank you. At Farnham school hall Shelley was in awe at the sight of so many ‘nutters’ as she now calls us, she got a real spine tingling buzz from the energy in the room listening to James ‘ race briefing. What did he say about the stretch of woods after mile 60, “it might not be obvious”, “oh f*ck I was going to get lost for sure!!” Navigation and a total lack of any kind of sense of direction is my Achilles heel. Walking to the trail head the weather was picture postcard material, freshness in the air from the heavy rain and lovely sunshine to warm the soul. Today I was going to start near the back and not get caught up in a frantic 9min mile pace at the start!
The first mile or two were a little bit stop/ start as people ahead where doing acrobatics to avoid the huge puddles stretching the width of the trail and avoiding the very overgrown brambles but this was a nice steady way to get warmed up. After a couple of miles the convoy started properly rolling and things felt good, the frequent beep of the Suunto indicating another passing mile seemed to fly by. The first aid station at the golf course was soon upon us, quick top up of water and off. It was great chatting to people along the way, a guy from Cumbria who did UTMB last year telling how vitally important it was to start slow, he was 2,200 at CP1 at UTMB and finished 1,110. I saw Tim Lambert and passed him without knowing for sure it was him, my first thoughts were that it couldn’t possibly be Tim as he did around 10:30 for NDW50 and I shouldn’t be anywhere near him. Chatted with an experienced 8 x 100 mile finisher from Sweden who said 100 mile races in his area were £10 and great fun, sounds like a plan J? Sadly I don’t think he finished. Conditions were near perfect, the rain had dampened the sandy parts of the course, which had become compacted from those in front making it nice underfoot. In places the mist created some amazing ethereal scenes from the warming sun. The one over-riding thought I could not shake was how good I felt, it didn’t seem real. A few times I took photo’s to try and slow myself down, it didn’t seem possible that I was going this good without a care in the world! Sometime after the second aid station I started chatting with Paul Haynes, we hit it off and seemed to be travelling at a similar pace. As he told me his running cv I thought I should not be running alongside such a good runner but felt great and was not going to slow down any more as we chatted the miles away easily. We saw Tim a few times and ran together for a few miles which was good, everyone was rooting for him to achieve his very public dreams and honour his promise to his good friend from the US. At Boxhill CP Tim informed Paul and I we were on for sub 11 hour 50, I was honestly shocked beyond belief it was right here I was getting concerned that implosion was going to come in spectacular style and the feel good was a barrier to inevitable meltdown. Boxhill came and went, I loved every step of that hill, the miles still ticked by with ease. At one point I said to Paul “You go on ahead I would hate to think I was slowing you down”, he replied “I was going to say the same, you are travelling the hills so well”. Probably the biggest compliment I ever received in my life!!! Botley Hill aid station was memorable as a lovely girl was hugging every runner atop the hill, great stuff from the volunteers. For the first time I felt something on my left ankle and knew immediately what it was, the aggravating tendon issue felt on my right foot during NDW50. Also I knew there was nothing on earth I could do once it started, initially it is discomfort rather than pain. We passed the dodgy cow fields without incident, Paul wisely suggesting “Let the guy up ahead run past the cows at speed see what mood they are in.”. After the cows I seem to remember we put the hammer down slightly, Paul shouted “Car behind” I squeezed into the hedge aside the road only for the in-laws and Jemima to pass on their way to the half way point with my bag of goodies and hopefully a load of moral support. It was at this time II knew some higher force was looking after me on this weekend for sure. We arrived at Knockholt knowing it was around 11 hours and sat down for feeding, today was a good day.
The halfway aid station at Knockholt is magical, lots of crews excitedly waiting for their runners, hot food and drinks being served in the kitchen, generally most people are still in decent shape. Personally I was full of beans inside the hall getting lots of calories on-board thanks to some lovely hot pasta in addition to all the usual goodies, even had time for a visit to the wc, pity I had brought no reading material.. It was around ten minutes before I emerged outside into the late afternoon sunshine and big hugs from Jemima and the in-laws, this was a special moment. Paul had met his wife at Riegate and then Knockholt when he had not expected to see her at all so he was especially buoyant as we rolled out of town together. It was at this stage I mentioned my legs felt leaden after the ten minute sit down, Paul assured me they would return. His experience was on the money again and soon we were moving nicely again along mainly residential streets, here is a big % of the roads that make up the 20% of the total. It was after a few miles of the unrelenting roads and pavements that my left ankle/ tendon started giving significantly more discomfort to the extent I was feeling it affect my gait. Several times I said to Paul, “You go ahead, I don’t want to slow you down”, each time he valiantly insisted the pace was good for him. I said it one more time and he knew I was not able to sustain what was a reasonable pace to this stage from Knockholt. Again the voice of reason said “Ok, I will get my music on, don’t spoil your race by doing too much at this stage”. I learned so much from running some really enjoyable miles with a good runner and good egg, more than books can teach us for sure. After half a mile I saw my new best mate again as my tendon ‘thing’ meant I could still travel smoothly UP the hills, I didn’t get his attention he soon left me again on the following flat section. The 60 mile aid station came up fairly quickly and I was still making time on my original plan so called Shelley to bring forward my meet with her and Scott from 01:00 to 23:00 / 23:30. It was here I saw Paul for the final time as he rolled out whilst I sagged in a chair enjoying the last of the daylight. As per every aid station the volunteers are amazing, refilling bottles, coffee/tea, nothing is too much trouble. It is only through other blogs I remembered the cow bell here, was like a film set “Runner coming” ring, clang, ring, happy times, treasured memories.
The first Gremlins struck leaving this CP, a single piece of tape made me unsure of the direction, I spent ten minutes wrestling the map and trying to figure if I went across the road or to the right before a group of runners said I should go right! The decline in spirits seemed to be working in unison with the fading daylight. Another mile down the road and another decision to make, straight on or turn right again, asking a woman who pulled in a mini up outside a quant cottage “Which way for North Down Way?”, she didn’t know but beckoned me into the ‘cottage’ which turned out to be a strange little pub! A local guy whose ear bore dozens of studs pointed me straight on “They all went that way he pointed”, phew. But the drama wasn’t over, a guy with a voice box in his neck chased after me hollering as much as a voice box will allow “No, no, no, this way” and he lead me down the right turn and pointed to a sign on a pole, an orange star labelled “DC”. “That’s not our sign, it must be the other way” I told him, and started back where ear ring man had pointed me. The other guy grabbed my arm and jogged with me down the road insisting this was the correct route, and lo and behold red tape. I shook the guys hand heartily, he had probably saved me many miles and a lot of pain, earing man meanwhile had tried to stitch me up. This was the first proper alone stretch, into the woods in the pitch black, only the rounded beam of my secondary head torch showing me the way. It was magical, like something we dream about all our lives, that totally at peace feeling, the sounds of the darkened woods felt as normal as my own heartbeat. I trudged and walked through the woods enjoying every minute whilst being aware of potentially ending up in here until dawn should I take a wrong turn, James’ warning popping into my head now again.. Another head torch caught me up at great speed “You pass me, I’m walking it out of the woods.” he seemed to want the company through the woods, strength in numbers etc. We moved on together in total silence, our head torch beams re-enacting scenes from star wars. Up to now my stomach had been 100%, a strange sickness feeling started at the latter stages of the woods and I became intensely aware of the very circular beam of the torch which seemed to be making me dizzy and sick. Holly Hill came and was a great explosion of fairy lights and crazy volunteers, my frazzled brain by this time didn’t make the connection between Holly and Christmas. My equally frazzled sense of humour cracking a poor joke about me slowing down so much it was now Christmas. I heard mention of dogging so I gave my thanks and left hurriedly, I had no energy for that sort of stuff!
In my mind the meeting with Shelley, Harvey and my pacer Scott was going to be at mile 70, on a road over the motorway, a location chosen for the street lighting. My watch told me I was at 70 miles and no road in sight, a few drops of rain had me unleashing my jacket for its maiden usage. The next couple of miles seemed long, and this was my first of many experiences of thinking I had done more miles than I had, it hurts like hell mentally. Eventually reaching the road over the motorway and no sign of my crew, a frantic phone call and some jogging from both parties and we were unified at mile 72.3! My feet were trashed by now, Shelley did a great job trying to repair them but it was too late, they were mincemeat. Addizero’s and holed socks were swapped for Leaadville 2010’s and new socks, a hot coffee was enjoyed and in all used at least half an hour where it should have been five minutes. This was a learning experience, my first 100 and Shelley’s first go at crewing, we both need some refining! Shelley was in shock at the sight of the many runners hobbling like crippled aliens over the road, she said “None of you look sane, I’m saying that honestly, I just don’t get it.”. Harvey seemed down in spirits seeing me in this now broken state but I knew the buckle was coming home bar an accident, I didn’t realise yet how misplaced my confidence was. Without yet realising it, my condition had taken a plunge from Holy Hill, I didn’t realise 99% of the next 30 miles would be painfully walked. Headtorch was changed for the Petzl daddy torch at this stage and no more head torch dizziness were encountered all night. Scott was in high spirits as we jogged/ shuffled a mile or two but I cried enough, I knew this was going to be a long slog from here, walking was a good few octaves less on the pain scale, I couldn’t handle the pain of running a whole lot more. The rain for the next few miles was relentless, yet my new Marmot dealt with the downpour with ease, it actually felt like I was cocooned safely inside a protective wrapper. The mind is weird when tired and frazzled but I could live with the safe cocoon feeling for now. Somewhere along this stretch we passed a guy who had given up the struggle in his own mind. We tried hard to convince him to walk it into the next aid station with us and re-group, we dropped our pace but as we did the guy dropped his pace. I felt a duty to get the guy to the aid station with us but my efforts seemed futile so we marched into Bluebell Hill where I told the volunteers of the guy that would be following us in and his likelihood of dropping. The guys took a mental note but told me there would be a whole lot more over the night. Shelley had wanted to see me at this aid station but sleep had taken hold whilst Harvey was snoring for England, we had a brief kiss before setting off down a long, dark, very steep and slippery slope which was no coincidence that I cannot remember much of this next stretch after descending the hill into hell. We were sort of lost in some woods until a guy with gps device said I think we go left. We marched up and down a lot of steps and trudged mercilessly on into the wet night. The saving grace of the wooded sections was the canopy slowing down the driving rain, it was very wet rather than very wet with a real sting. By now I was suffering pain at a level unknown previously, legs, ankles, feet, Jesus my feet were trashed. Scott was doing his best to keep me entertained and aware of my surroundings but I had just switched off from reality for a while.
Maybe the warm food or coffee revived me as memories from Deitling onwards are far more lucid, what a site it is that greets people entering the hall at mile 82, broken bodies everywhere, some seemingly in meditative state trying to summon the courage to go back out into the driving rain and darkness. Scott went and woke Shelley and sat with the sleeping Harvey whilst my best friend and wife of 16 years looked at me with sad eyes sat opposite me in the hall. She didn’t need to ask the question but I knew inside she was screaming at me “Why, why the f*ck are you doing this to yourself?” In equal measure I gave her my silent reply with my watery eyes “I don’t know, I just have to, you know that”. It was hard leaving this aid station, the clock said 04:20 we needed to get going, I wasn’t paying attention on the way out as the guy gave us directions, we took a right and chatted with a two times UTMB finisher who looked more broken than anyone I had seen all night. Half a mile later we knew this was the wrong way, wizened UTMB man had stopped higher up waiting for a signal that we had gone the right way before he started re-tracing steps back to the main road. Scott was full of energy and was brilliant at scouting ahead and saved me a mile at least on this occasion. Even now, I’m not sure we wouldn’t have been better continuing the wrong way from Deitling, what we encountered on the correct path was pure unadulterated nastiness, ankle deep mud, 50% gradient slopes, cambered slopes, steps, did I mentioned them. These next few miles brought out a first in me, I wanted to quit. The thought I had never had before, and always assumed I would never think this thought and there it was bold as brass, I wanted to sit down and wait for someone to get me off the course. Scott did a great job, reminding me of the potential look on Harvey’s face being told “Your daddy quit, he’s a quitter, a loser”. I responded by yelling more f*cks at trees, the trail, Scott, how on earth this made me feel better I have no idea but it did and I picked up the death march pace with gusto. We trudged on, and on and on, my watch had gone awol on distance and timing as I had stupidly paused without knowing at times. Along this stretch pacer Scott had played a trick on me, he took off his head torch and said it would not turn off and proceeded to carry it in whichever hand I was walking beside, I moved left, he swapped the torch, I dropped in behind and he put it on his head backwards. My inner demons telling me my pacer and friend was trying to make me quit. Enough, I asked Scot to put his fricking broken head torch in his pack, good it was out of sight. Five minutes later I could see it flashing through the fabric, so it was the torch all along, it wasn’t Scott. No worries, at the next aid station I would get it from the bag and drop a stone onto it’s miserable flashing head, ha see who was laughing then mr head torch. Of course by the time we reached the aid station other more interesting paranoid thoughts had occupied the vacant cavity in my head. The main one being “We are not going to make it in time”, sadly for Scott and myself, I let this thought take over, and the effect this had on my morale was dramatic.
The next few miles are a blur again, a lot of roads I think, Shelley phoned Scott had to take the call my mental faculties were not ready for phone conversations. Shelley wanted to wait outside the final aid station to check we were ok, or maybe that was Lenham, I really don’t know. From Dunn Street at mile 98 I started to believe we were going to make it in time but the pain levels were just silly by now but the death marching was on reasonable terrain until the final couple of miles across ploughed fields where I had my final tantrum and said I would not walk another step after Scott had duped me again on how far we had to go, one mile being two and a half. He tried to cheer me up by asking “Who is the bloke with the beard who started the Western States race?”, “I’m not telling you, why should I?” was my pathetic reply. Finally he managed to convince me this would be the most pathetic DNF they had ever seen, 400 yards from the finish…Eventually the fields gave way to a long stretch of nettles where I got soooo much pleasure seeing my pacer near to tears trying to get through the nettle patch. I’m saying to myself “He’s bothered about f*cking nettles is this a wind up, nettles, he’s winding me up the pussy”. I walked through and never felt a thing, my body was near to shut down and the barriers were down in my head and across the train tracks.. My buckle is waiting I thought smugly. Seeing Shelley and Harvey was a special moment in time, those final few minutes of the race are among my top ten ‘moments’ of my whole life. I received my buckle and place in the Western States ballot from Nici, gave her a bone crunching hug and cried.