URCCoaching

Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/

 

This weekend I was lucky enough to head over to the beautiful island of La Palma in the Canary Islands, to take part in one of the top races in the world ultra calendar; Transvulcania. Last year, this was very possibly the biggest Ultramarathon in terms of media coverage, with the combined forces of iRunFar, Ultra168 and Talk Ultra to allow us to follow along from home. But this year, I would actually get to be there. 

After a fantastic week away in the Peak District (just as a sort of acclimatisation to hills between Cambridgeshire and La Palma) with my wife and daughter, I left to meet up with Chris Baynham-Hughes, Martin Wilcock and Richard Webster to begin the rather convoluted journey to the "Isla Bonita". A very early 4am start, a taxi to the airport, a flight from Manchester to Tenerife, a hire car to the airport on the other side of the island, another flight to La Palma, and another hire car for use on the island itself, and we were there!
Resistance training
We drove directly over to the registration point at the finish line in Los Llanos, collected our numbers and timing chips, and tried to decipher what we needed to do the following day. There was a whole lot of Spanglish going on on our parts, with Chris as our designated translator. He knew the Spanish for right, but not for left, which was good enough. Although he didn't know the word for "veruca sock" unfortunately.

After soaking in a little atmosphere, working out logistics for meeting up afterwards, and a bit of difficulty in finding the place we were staying (we ended up popping into a hotel to find out where we were going only to find that was the place - it was just helpfully called something different) we finally made it to our apartments. After a quick dinner of paella and a beer, we finally got to bed close to 11pm, with a 3am wake up planned to get sorted and out to the start at Fuencaliente lighthouse. An awesome way to prepare for a race like this!

 
Team Onada - 'No Kōfuku!' (no surrender)
In the morning I was pleased to see that I had no ill effects from the previous night's paella (those prawns looked a bit fishy to me), and got myself ready. I was trying a few different things for this race, using an UltrAspire Isomeric handheld combined with my UltrAspire Impulse waist pack (with only one empty bottle in it just in case I needed more fluids) instead of my Salomon pack, my Salomon Sense Mantras instead of my Speedcross, and some X-Bionic gear that had been sent to me to test (review to follow). Not really the best plan to try new things on race day (particularly not, y'know, everything!), but I think it was the right call. 

We drove to the lighthouse that would be the start for the race, leaving our car in a random patch of brush along the winding mountain road that led to the bottom. We had noticed on the way that the petrol situation was looking pretty dire - never mind whether we would make it to the hotel; we weren't sure we would make it back up the hill! Oh well, we would worry about it later. I'm sure we would be fine to push it back after the race...

The start was a mass of people all gathered for the off. There were apparently 1,650 people registered, although I'm not sure how many actually ran. Two notable DNS's were Anna Frost (the previous year's winner) who decided to avoid running to allow herself to recuperate, and Anton Krupicka who unfortunately came down with the flu just days earlier. We were not too far from the start line, although there were still a huge number of people ahead.

 
I think there's a guy on the left who doesn't have any Salomon gear on at all. How did he get through the checks?!
There was a real party atmosphere, with commentators saying many inspiring things (I think - I have no idea really) and an odd UFO in the sky taking film footage. If it really was an alien, I'd hate to think what kind of skewed opinion of humanity they might take away from it. I suspect that they would probably assume that we were all sponsored by Salomon... Or owned by them. Ah, the wisdom of Salomon. 

At 6am, still under the cover of darkness, we were off! Well, sort of. The road quickly narrowed past the lighthouse, and narrowed further to a single track path back up the hill, causing an insane amount of bottle necking. It's always very frustrating when this happens and it must be so nice for the guys in the lead to not have to deal with it! The four of us battled our way up the hill, finding ways whenever we could to get in front of the people ahead of us. It was steep, but it was far too early to be walking darn it! I couldn't help thinking to myself, "I'm only racing myself here, but you're in my way!". After dodging poles to the eyes and groin, other people attempting to get through the throng (one of whom sent me sprawling quite impressively), and a giant boulder rolling down and hitting me in the ankles (probably kicked down by Kilian when he heard I was closing the gap), I finally reached a point where I could get running. 

The race profile looks pretty scary, with the first 20Km taking you up above 2,000m, meaning a 10% incline. But there were actually some pretty runnable sections, and I was able to maintain a pretty good pace as we went. Of course there were also some bloody tough climbs as well, including one where I went sprawling right as one of the (many) cameramen on the course caught me. Look out for that great picture soon.

 
Note the speed blur...
Richard and Martin had started out roughly together, and I bumped into Chris as we came into the first aid station at Los Canarios. All 3 are amazing runners and we had no idea which us would make it to the finish first, making the decision of who should keep hold of the car key difficult! After running into the aid station with Chris to the rapturous applause, cheers of "Vaya! Vaya!", and cowbell ringing of the locals (you don't get that sort of thing at the Grand Union Canal), I headed off on my own. 

I was running on feel rather than pushing for anything in particular, and was keeping up a tough but manageable pace. I wasn't sure if I was going too hard only to blow up before the end, or if I was being overly-conservative on the hills. I'm not overly great at hills, but cope okay considering I live in the flattest part of a pretty flat part of the world. The terrain for the most part was volcanic ash up the first major climb (excitingly putting me in danger of developing one of my favourite diseases; pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcaniconeosis), opening out into a forest path as the sun came up. The route follows two long distance 'Grand Routes; the GR130 ands GR131, which are well sign posted with markings along the way painted on the rocks. There was never really an opportunity to go wrong (and believe me, I tried...) and anywhere that there could be an error somebody was posted to direct us.

 
I'll be up there soon
As the sun rose and the cloud burnt off, the heat began to rise. For the first few hours it wasn't too bad, but as the day went on it rose towards the 30 degree mark. Being a very white, overly hairy guy from England, I wasn't overly prepared for this weather - particularly given the winter we have just had. A combination of regularly dipping my head in water buckets at the checkpoints, my new X-Bionic Fennec shirt to keep my core cool, and using a waist pack rather than a back pack seemed to do the trick, and I was never more than just uncomfortable. Others weren't quite so lucky, and lots of the first aid points along the way were filled by people suffering from various effects of the heat. I dread to think what the attrition rate was for the race, but it looked quite significant. I believe fewer than 1,000 finished but don't know how many started. 

My nutrition and hydration were going well. I was using a gel every 1.5 hours (a combination of TORQ and GU), slightly more regularly than my usual 2 hour approach. I was careful not to over-drink which meant that electrolytes weren't too much of an issue even in the heat. Most of the time I had almost half a bottle remaining at the next aid station when refilling. The next checkpoint at Las Deseadas was at the summit of the first long climb. We had figured that a 10 hour finish would mean getting in here in about 2.5 hours. I came in in 2:27:10 which was a good sign.

 

 
Easy to spot!
After this, the route dropped again towards the Refugio El Pilar, allowing some time to be made up in the descent. This was the first "full" aid station, with food as well as just water like the previous two, so I took the opportunity to shotgun a whole bunch of fruit before carrying on again. 

The next third of the course didn't look so bad. Well, on the course profile at least. On the course profile it was a long ridge run giving fantastic views of the island, generally uphill, with one very steep significant climb in the middle up to the highest point of the course at the observatory of Los Roque de Los Muchachos. In reality it was fooking tough all round! The terrain was very runnable in places, but there were a lot more steep climbs than I had anticipated. Not quite the speedy ridge run that I had envisaged, but hot damn if the views weren't stunning. The route followed a horseshoe shape from the south of the island, travelling over the highest point in the centre then West down to the coastal town of Tazacorte. We could see all of this ahead of us and it was stunning.

 
Now this is running
In the ever-stifling heat of the day, the glittering sapphire-blue ocean off in the distance that marked the end of our adventure was already a welcome beacon to our tired minds. But there was a long way to go yet!

 
And so is this
By this point things were looking and feeling really good. My choice of gear selection was working brilliantly with no issues, hydration and nutrition were going well, my legs felt strong, and I was comfortably sat in the top 100.

 
Well I don't think that the poles are Salomon branded
Being so open, the aid stations could be seen (and heard) from quite a distance away. In some ways this was bad as it could give you a false sense of perspective for how far you had to go. Sometimes it was weird as you could hear the cheering and shouting but couldn't see signs of the aid station anywhere in the distance. But in other ways it really brought the race alive for me, particularly as for a lot of it I was running alone. This was the first long distance race that I have ever done without my iPod, and it was nice to have the varied shouts of the race to fill the void usually filled by rock music and Stephen King books.

 
So near yet so far
The aid station near the observatory by Roque de Los Muchachos that marks the highest point of La Palma was visible/audible for a long while in advance, and the final climb up the hill was pretty steep and rocky, occasionally requiring hands for balance. Not quite scrambling like something like Cavalls del Vent, but not far off in places. This was to be (for the most part at least) the end of the 'up'. From here on out it was pretty much downhill all the way.

 
Rocks! \m/
For some reason, I seem to cope quite well with downhills and am usually able to make up time with an aggressive approach. Up until now I had been losing a few places here and there on the ups, but gaining a lot of places on the downs. This was therefore the section that I had been looking forward to as I was planning on really starting to cook here. I decided to have a quick refuel as I was not planning on eating much more on the way to the finish about 25 Km away. With over 2.5 hours to go to finish in 10 hours I should have been laughing, although it was insane to think that the winners had already finished by that point. The elites really are in a completely different class. I had about a mouthful of pasta, then changed my mind and stuck with the watermelon!

I set off onto the descent, which was a combination of incredibly rocky technical terrain, terrifying sheer drops, and sloping volcanic ash flows, but opened later into a series of large wooded land masses leading down to sea level. I was doing well and making great time, when I suddenly felt my left calf muscle twitch and cramp up. This has happened to me before, and I believe is a recurrent problem since the Piece of String last year that I obviously haven't quite fixed yet, which was exacerbated by the climbing. I stopped to stretch it but ended up just having to run a bit slower than I really wanted.

A few Kms from the aid station at El Time, my calf suddenly spasmed at a rather inopportune moment and I went flying forwards on the rocks and cracked my knees. Nothing too serious, just a bit of a scrape and some bruising, but as I started to run again I couldn't get my feet to land where I wanted them to on the rocks which wasn't ideal. I carried on even slower down towards the aid station through the woods. Running in general was fine, but running on anything in any way uneven was proving unnerving as I kept nearly going over. Before I got to the checkpoint I had already stacked it 2 or 3 more times. One time a very nice man behind me just jumped over my corpse, cursing me for getting in his way. Charming!

I got into the aid station, refilled my bottle (which had emptied when I landed on it face first), then went into the First Aid tent to get somebody to quickly check me over. Inside, I found Forest Bethel who had been crushing it in the top 50, only to suddenly come down with unstoppable leg spasms (great band name) and be pulled from the race with a bag of "happy juice" stuck in his arm. He was pretty disappointed as you can imagine, but after a trip to the hospital was okay and should hopefully be back to full fighting force in no time.

 
Any excuse to sit down. Lazy bastard!
I headed out on the final descent down towards the coastal town at Tazacorte. Unfortunately I was still unable to run the uneven sections so was stuck walking anything where there was a chance I might go over again. Which, y'know, was all of it. Despite the gorgeous weather, the most glorious coastal vista imaginable, and the fact that I was approaching the end of this amazing race, that was the most depressing 6 mile walk of my life! It never seemed to end, and when the route got closer to the sea, winding down an almost crazy-paving style path, only to switch back to head in the opposite direction I almost lost my shit! At one point, we hit the road (about 2 minutes after my final fall) and I thought I was saved, only to be waved back onto a rutted and dilapidated trail. I swear I would have hit the marshal that waved me off the road if it hadn't have been for the man out with his family offering ice cold refreshments to the runners just beforehand. Never has a gigantic bearded Spanish coke-dealer been more attractive to me. I could have kissed him! When I sheepishly told him I was English and didn't understand him, he bellowed something to his family and they all laughed and chanted at me. I think they were being friendly, but quite frankly he could have said whatever he wanted and I would have just smiled and said, "Grassy arse"!

I stopped briefly on the seemingly never-ending switch back down to the town and called Jen to let her know why it was taking about an hour longer than it should have done so she didn't worry too much, and it was really nice to just sit there in the sun chatting to her.

 
Scorchio!
I set off again, resigned to a slower time than I expected and having lost about 50 places on the descent, but newly determined to finish things out as strong as I could. As soon as I hit the bottom of the pavement with fresh Tarmac under my feet, the game was back on. I hopped in and out of the final checkpoint at Tazacorte quite quickly, stopping to gnaw on some more fruit and to get some ice cold water over my head from some very eager kids (soaking the Englishman obviously seemed like a fun game!). In my haste I created a new cocktail of water, Powerade, and Coke. Interesting taste, but it got the job done!

Right. Home stretch now, but this was the section that took Kilian out last year. There as about 1.5 Kms running along pretty flat Tarmac which was great for getting my legs working again after 2 hours of walking, but then we turned off the road to head up an incredibly steep 350 m climb up a cobbled street to the town of Los Llamos above us. This was a straight up hike, and I was actually able to pull in a few people here. When we reached the top, we could hear the cheering at the finish line. There were about 5 people in my sights along the long straight road ahead of me before the turning onto the main road, but I was only able to pass a couple of them. I turned the corner onto the finishers strip that we had seen the day before, and ran through giving high fives to all of the kids who seemed to really enjoy being a part of the race. This feeling is so awesome (in the true sense of the word) and it's so exciting to be a part of something so inspiring and to be inspired by those around you. Whilst I love the smaller nature of some of the races I enter (I got clapped into a fifth place finish of my first race by only one person), there really is nothing that beats that kind of atmosphere. 

My final time was 11:03:35, an hour outside of what I had hoped for but still a respectable time (and I think second Brit behind Richard's brother in law, Rich Heath). I have a habit of never being happy with how I do, but really it's just that I know I could do better. It's my competitive nature, but I'm competitive with myself more than anything else. If I set a goal and don't achieve it, but know that I could have done, I feel like I have failed. Not in a depressing way - I just move onto the next thing and try and improve things that need improving. It works well for me, and it never affects my enjoyment of the races themselves; one of my favourite experiences ever was my slow 10 Km John Wayne death march into Chamonix at last year's UTMB after suffering pretty serious chaffing. It's always something eh! I'm not sure what I'll do if I ever have a perfect race and have nothing to moan about...

 
It says 149th male, but I prefer to think of it as top 10 female
I passed through the finish and into the finishers' area which was kind of odd. Paddling pools and showers were set up for people to use (prior to the masseurs having to touch them I guess), but they were right next to the sides were people were staring in and... just kind of watching us. Oh well, when in Rome! Not being one to miss an excuse to get naked, I whipped off my top and shoes and hopped in. Luverly! Due to the change in my running gait, my feet had become pretty shredded so I got them checked over by the doctor and had my legs seen to as well. It was just a couple of minor bumps and scrapes, and hardly seems worth all the fuss now!

 
War wounds. They look a bit pathetic in this picture...  Although my feet aren't nearly as bad as this makes them look!
I grabbed a quick massage to crack into my calf and also into the new twinges which had come about due to the change in running, but nothing a bit of prodding didn't fix. As I finished, Chris came through the line (3rd Brit I think?) looking very strong. He'd had no interesting incidents along the way and had run a corker, but had to get in on the first aid action by severely cramping up during his massage and needing to be put on a drip. Always got to go one better...

 
He's just too hardcore to relax!
Martin was next in, and boy did he look like he had some stories to tell! Sporting a giant gash on his left knee, a smashed phone, and a haunted look on his face, he regaled me with his story of falling off a cliff and just about managing to avoid breaking anything (other than his phone of course), losing his hat in the process. Luckily he was able to obtain a new one from a camera man who wanted an interview:

Cameraman: "Describe Transvulcania in a couple of sentences."
Martin: "It's like running up a volcano, and it's fucking hot"

 
And yet people kept asking if he was British.
Somehow I missed Richard coming through the line, and found him relaxing with a beer after a great run considering a slightly dodgy ankle. He bucked the trend for Team Onada by coming away entirely unscathed! His brother in law Rich Heath also had a great run with very few negative signs, coming in first Brit (we think?) third Brit and nicely set up for taking on the Grand Union in a few weeks along with Martin. Not too many cliffs to fall off there!

 
Soaking in the Transvulcania atmosphere.
We polished off some free paella and Cokes (awesome service from the helpers) and began the real ordeal of getting back to our car in the middle of nowhere and making it back to the room on nothing but fumes. Luckily we made it, and were out for a celebratory pizza and beer by 11pm. What a day!

The race itself was won by Kilian Jornet in a new course record of 6:54:09, playfully crossing the line with a pocket full of flowers in a nod to last year's 'flower gate' incident when he was beaten in the last few miles by Dakota Jones, who jokingly placed a flower on him as he crossed the line and collapsed.  The idea that people can run that course that fast is insane! Closely behind in 6:58:31 was Luis Hernando, with Sage Canaday coming in third in 7:09:57. First in for the ladies was Emelie Forsburg in 8:13:22, with Nuria Picas following closely behind in 8:19:30 and Uxue Azpeitia in 8:44:48. Both the women's and men's races were very closely fought battles right until the very last minutes. It's a shame I missed it!

That was to be the end of our whistle stop trip to La Palma, and we began our journey home early in the morning on Sunday. I didn't get home until 5pm Monday to give you some idea of how fun the travel plans were! Don't get me wrong, they were awesomely organised by Martin who spent a lot of time working out the best options for a short trip over, but if I was to go over again I would take the family, make a holiday of it, and find a direct flight from closer to home. 

But on the plus side, we did get a few hours free in Tenerife before our flight home to spend in Siam Park, an awesome water park with some absolutely amazing rides! Shame they all involved long walks and climbs to get to, but hey nothing beats a bit of rehab!

 
Yeah, climbing up that will be dead easy.
So what a weekend! Now I'm just glad to be home with my girls. Next up is the South Downs Way 100 miler in 5 weeks, so I just need to get my feet sorted again (I hear greyhound foot cream is good for it...) and get ready for race day.

No Kōfuku!

Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/

Blimey, what a day! Another year, another edition of the World's Most Pointless Race (TM) as 13 hardy souls (aka idiots) turned up on a Friday morning in Streatley to run the Piece of String Fun Run. Last year was the inaugural race and was brilliant despite a few teething problems (mostly due to the horrendous weather). But this year they were going all out!

 

After a brief race briefing ("please don't die") it was left to one of the runners to decide the fate of the group - an "honour" which I was bestowed with last year for paying my £1.47 donation to the RSPCA by internet transfer rather than by postal order (a far more embarrassing prospect, particularly when it costs £1.50 to get the order made up and you're holding up an entire room full of people waiting to cash in their giros). Ian Brazier was punished this year for forgetting to pay his entry fee, and picked one of the 5 pieces of string - which ended up being about 6 feet long. Did that mean anything?! Who the hell knew! But our fates had been sealed. With that, we were rather unceremoniously sent on our way out along the Thames Path, and were told that we would be intercepted somewhere along the way. And we were...
A bunch of stringers. Photo curtesy of Nici Griffin.

100 meters up the road we were pulled up short and bundled into a minibus. Now, I don't want to ruin their fun, but I totally called this! I was expecting plenty of psyche-outs and misinformation throughout, and this was the first of many. Basically I just thought "what would I do to fuck their minds"? As with last year, I had tried to make sure I was ahead just in case that was the end, but as I bundled into the back of the bus like a naughty school kid I realised that I was now technically in last place.

 

So off we went, with minibus driver Dave Merrett teasing us with our suspected destination. To be honest, I'm not sure if even he knew where we were headed as we shot down lots of little country lanes! I was half expecting to go in a large circle and end up back where we started agin, but we definitely seemed to be heading further and further from Streatley. Eventually we hopped on the M4 and it looked as if our final stop was going to be either Wales or Swindon. "Please Wales... please Wales...", was the general consensus!
I spy with my little eye, something beginning with H. It was Hokas in case you were wondering. Fun times.
As it happens, both were wrong and we instead rocked up in Bath. Bath is very pretty. Pretty fucking far away from Streatley! But only 5 minutes away from Richard Cranswick's house which I think was a bit of a surprise to him. If it was me, I may have considered buggering off home, but of course he now had the home advantage.

 

We were probably all thinking the same thing now, "I guess we'll be running back to Streatley". I was trying not to worry too much about distances, or where we might be headed. But I did find myself trying to get into the head of James Adams - if I was an utter bastard, what would I do to these poor defenceless runners?

 

Simply having us run back to Streatley would be too obvious, so I expected one of two things to happen:
    1. We would be pulled up short of Streatley (maybe even when we got really close) and sent off somewhere completely different (possibly by minibus again, although the logistics of this when everyone was spread out would be difficult).

 

  1. Streatley wouldn't be the end. I thought that the cruellest thing to do would be to try and make people drop out around this point by having them think they were done only to be given more. But the really cruel way would be if the finish was not too far away. So I figured there would be a long section which people would hope would be the last one, then another long one but where people would be pulled up short in an hilarious way similar to the start.
Trying to get into James Adams' head is a dangerous game to play, and this is exactly what he wanted people to do! Dammit. I've played right into his hands! Although as it happens I was pretty much right on the money. Either way, I was in it for the long haul and had told myself to treat Streatley as at least the halfway point.
Taking in the route. I'm like a navigating machine.
Anyway, off we went along the Bath and Avon cycle path (yay... pavement...) until we were intercepted and sent down towards the river. "Follow the river, cross over the bridge, then turn left to carry on along the river" is what I was told. So I headed along to the bridge, ran across, and kept my eyes open on the left for the turning to get back on the river.

 

Hmm. There wasn't one. Okay, maybe it's a bit further? Nope. Oh hang on, I remember a turning when we ran along here earlier. Maybe that's it? Oh, it's a lot further than I remember...
In the end I decided to wait for the others who we're coming along to see what they thought. Tim thought we should just carry on going to miss out the section along the river and rejoin the route further ahead, but I don't like missing sections out - especially as I wasn't sure if we would miss another interception. In the end we stopped a nice elderly couple who informed us that the turning was just as you come off the bridge (where I had expected it to be) but on the right hand side (...not where I had expected it to be). Sigh.

 

Back we went and got back on track (now in the back of the pack). I was running with Terrence Zengerink and caught up with Dave Baker as we eventually came back off the river path and back onto the cycle path. As we came back onto the cycle path, we saw Chris Edmonds and Kate Hayden who I think had missed the turning after the bridge but carried on going. We ran together for a while, with them enjoying the fact that they were beating me - even going so far as to ask for a picture of the momentous occasion! Alright, alright, rub it in...
Ian seals our fate.
We all ran together for a while until I decided to look at the map (which I hadn't done in a while). "Erm. Guys? We're on the wrong side of the river." We shouldn't have turned off quite so quickly and should have gone up past the pub. Again, we could have just carried on going and eventually gotten back on track, but I made everybody head back the right way. Tim Landon had already legged it though, so I sprinted after him to chase him down, which was probably the most knackering part of the whole race. He's one speedy guy!

 

Back on track again, I had probably added a good 5 miles onto my journey (to be fair, so had a lot of other runners). Considering we should have only done about 20 miles by this point, this was pretty good going. Maybe I'll run with the map in my hand from now on...

 

I finally made it into Bath, where an exasperated Nici Griffin was wondering what the hell had happened to me. It had given some of the other guys quite a shock to learn that they were in the lead as about 5 of the front runners had gone the wrong way. We were now told that we would be running along the Kennet and Avon Canal, heading towards the Thames at Reading. But would we be redirected before we got there?

 

By this point I noticed that my legs were aching for more than they really should. I put this down to my lack of long distance running this year, since for the past few months I have hardly done any running more than 15-20 miles. A combination of a knee injury for much of the summer, together with struggling with sleep with our little girl, meant that I had not really been able to get many longer weekend runs in. I decided to play the long game and just stay comfortable, so put all thoughts of catching people up out of my mind. It's all very well running fast, but if you can't make the end it means nothing. So I relaxed into my pace, chilled out at the aid stations, and just listened to my audiobook - The Shining by Stephen King. Perfect for night time running!

 

I came into the next aid station where James and Dave had the minibus and our drop bags. I grabbed a chocolate bar and had a little sit down while I munched. Terrence and Tim caught up and overtook me, but I wasn't too concerned. I headed over to where Lee Briggs and Andrew Jordan were taking the times down, and suddenly remembered that I had stolen a whole bunch of clothes off Lee when I dropped out of the North Downs Way. Oddly he didn't seem too concerned about getting a bunch of old clothes back off the sweaty runner at that moment in time...

 

We carried on, and I caught up with Terrence and Tim a few times along the route. I seemed to be moving a little faster than them in general, but found myself taking longer at the crossing points, as I was paranoid of ending up on the wrong side of the river and having to double back. Tim caught up with me while I was um-ing and ah-ing, and that was the last I saw of him for the rest of the race. He had found a hell of a rhythm, and soon opened up a gap on the rest of the field. Meanwhile Terrence and I found ourselves leap-frogging each other for much of the next section. 

 

As we came through Devizes, It was starting to get dark and I was struggling to find my footing, so I stopped to stick on my head torch. Nici was waiting at the next aid station at the top of the locks, and was very motherly - making sure that I was warm enough in just my shorts, that I had a backup light, that I had enough food, that I would remember to call. Jeez mum, you're sooooooo embarrassing! I headed off after a cup of tea, and set off into the town. There was some kind of festival going on with people carrying large paper lanterns and giant paper donkeys (pretty sure that wasn't a hallucination...), which was very pretty and a little surreal. I was a bit worried that I would have to fight through some people, but they all seemed to be on the other side of the river. 

 

Nici's directions had been stuck in my brain, "Cross over at Bridge 122, then cross back over at Bridge 115, then head to the Swan pub". Bridge 122. Bridge 115. Bridge 122. Bridge 115. Counting fucking bridges for 3 hours is not my idea of a good time, I can tell you. If you're trying to avoid worrying too much about distances, and trying to "just run", I recommendnot counting fucking bridges. Still, it was good practice for the Grand Union Canal Race next year I guess. I came into the next checkpoint at the Swan Inn to find Lee, Andrew, Dave and James Elson, along with my drop bag. I took a seat and had a nice cup of tea to warm up. Shorts and long sleeved shirt was perfect for running, but definitely got a little chilly when I stopped! Terrence came in, grabbed a few bits, then promptly disappeared - straight into the pub. Damn. Why didn't I think of that?!

 

I said thanks and took my leave. There were a few spots of rain coming so I put my Montane Minimus jacket on, but it never came to anything. Still, with the temperature dropping another layer was probably a good plan. As I headed away from the pub, I heard a shout. I turned to see a headlamp back at the pub but couldn't hear what they were shouting. Had I forgotten something? Gone the wrong way? I headed back to find out what was going on. "It's me!", said the indistinct shadow with the head torch shining in my face. "Paul!" Ohhh! It was Paul Ali, head of Ultra Tales eMagazine, who was helping out and just wanted to say good luck! It was great to see him, and now the spots of rain started to make sense! Paul seems to have this effect on the weather you see. It's his lucky hat I think. Every time he wears it (last year's Winter 100 and this year's Thames Path 100 being particularly good examples), the weather Gods react violently, sending everything they've got to try and make things more interesting. I was half expecting a plague of frogs to hit, but luckily the hat seemed to be conspicuously absent. Phew!
Sunrise on another beautiful string filled day.
The actual running sections were all much of a muchness now. Run along the canal looking for the right bridge to cross, then repeat ad infinitum/nauseum. I wasn't too fussed by the monotony as I had the terror of expecting Jack Nicholson to jump out from behind a bush with an axe to keep me entertained, but it was nice to meet up with people at the checkpoints every 12-15 miles or so. Next up were Jany and Rob who had rescued me at last year's Piece of String, when I was having trouble moving through the quagmire. It was nice to catch up in slightly more pleasant conditions! Terrence and Ben Hall weren't too far behind, and I headed back off again onto the canal path towards Reading. 

I managed to negotiate the marina at Newbury without too much of an issue, and managed to avoid getting into any issues with any of the revellers still stumbling out of the late night venues. I think they were probably a little too bemused to say anything anyway. The next checkpoint seemed to take an age to arrive, and as Terrence caught up with me we both commented on the fact that we must have already done almost the promised 15 miles, yet there was still no sign of life. He had a Garmin on, so we knew it must be true - those things never lie. I was a little worried about whether or not I had enough water to last me, and wasn't sure whether I would have to start rationing just in case. When I got to Thatcham train station, I decided to give James a call just to make sure that I hadn't missed them (a genuine concern through much of the race). He assured me that there were just a few more miles to go.

Miles? MILES?!

Eventually I found James and Dave with the minibus and our drop bags, and I was very pleased to be able to have a bit of a sit down. It was a pretty open space and there was a cold wind blowing, so rather than get too cold I decided to go and sit in the van with my cup of tea to get myself sorted. It was lovely and warm in there, so I figured that I would take the opportunity to rest up for a bit, and asked Dave to poke me in half an hour. Which he did. Luckily he has a snooze function, and I got another 15 minutes of being lazy in before I finally headed back out again. Just as I was getting out of the van, Rich, Tom Forman and Steve McCalister arrived looking in very good spirits. I said hi, then headed back out into the fray, anxious to get moving again to warm back up.

The next section was another long one, but the sun soon began to rise, bringing a renewed sense of vigour with it. I was quite behind Ben and Trevor now, having been lazy at the last aid station, and I found myself having to walk a lot more than I would usually. Maybe I was just being a wimp, but I at least consoled myself that there was no use destroying myself as I might still have a lot further to go.

As I came into Reading, confusing the hell out of the early morning punters, I passed a McDonalds and couldn't resist. Acutely aware of the stench emanating off of my person (and not particularly caring), I ordered a double sausage McMuffin meal - and it was gooooooddddd! The first real food (for some value of "real" at least) I had eaten since breakfast the day before. Well fuelled and raring to go, I headed off to find the next checkpoint.

Breakfast of champions.

Jany and Gemma Greenwood were waiting just before the canal reached the River Thames, and were guffawing away at a little incident involving Gemma trying her hardest to maintain a straighht-faced conversation with a Police Officer while Jany had a cheeky wee behind the car. Fun times! I thought Streatley was about 30 miles away from Reading, but apparently it was a lot closer. Score! So off I went along the Thames Path, which I have run several times before so was at least happy that I wasn't going to go wrong anywhere. This section was pretty uneventful, except that I was definitely starting to feel it now.

As I pulled off the path into Streatley, I passed Drew Sheffield and Claire Shelley on the bridge. Some of the runners were already about to head out on the second section of the Winter 100 (which had started at 10am), with Ed Catmur leading the way with a 2:50 on the first 25 mile section. Yikes! That boy can seriously hoof it. Expect to see big(ger) things in the future from him. As I came into the Morrel Rooms in Streatley (the Race HQ for the Winter 100), I got a little round of applause from the volunteers. I grabbed a seat and was told by James Elson, "You know this isn't the end, right?". Of course I did! But apparently this information had shocked some of the others. As if they would be kind enough to have the finish in such an obvious place. I took a little bit of time to pull myself together, having already done about 110 miles. I was feeling okay, although my knee had a bit of a twinge. I had mentioned to Drew and Claire that I hadn't quite decided whether I was going to carry on or not, but I had no legitimate reason to drop other than being a pussy. I was just getting into my new book anyway (Dr. Sleep, the sequel to The Shining) so sucked it up and got back out there.

The next section was a lot more fun, as we headed out along the Ridgeway on the same spur as the Winter 100 runners. This was familiar territory now after last year, and was much more interesting than running along a canal. My speed wasn't quite what it once was, so I was passed every so often by somebody running the Winter 100. Many of them would stop to check I was okay as my running was a little laboured by this point, and they thought that I was struggling after the first section of the race rather than having already done longer than they would do in total. My ability to articulate that I was all good, happy to be out and about, and for them to have a great race was gradually waning, but I managed to have a chat with several people along the way. I came into the W100 Aid Station at North Stoke, where I found Simon Edwards and Liz Grec helping out. I stopped for a bit of a chat and a cuppa, then headed back out the door. James Elson and Paul Navesy where outside, and I confess that I thought for one brief moment that this was the end - right outside the Aid Station. But alas, no. Fine, I was enjoying the route anyway so headed off, aiming to get to the Swyncombe Aid Station before dark.

The route became a lot more challenging here, or at least it was after 115 miles of running, and I found myself tripping a few times on the rutted course. I think that I must have tweaked my knee on a root, because all of a sudden I was aware that I wasn't really able to run properly. I slowed right down, acutely aware of the injury that I suffered earlier this year. Hmm. I pushed on a bit, and just got chatting to several people including Paul Corderoy (who is hard to miss with his rather amazing beard), and a guy named Chris who was running his first 100 miler (and seemed to be enjoying himself). I gave him a bit of encouragement, "I guarantee that you'll feel like shit later...", and quickly thought to follow it up with, "...erm, but you'll come out the other side and feel great again later!" Hopefully I didn't put him off too much.

The path took a steep turn upwards, and now I was really struggling. I had a definite limp on now, and my running had stopped completely. I turned to see Chris, Tom and Steve coming up behind me, laughing away and having a whale of a time. I was quite happy in myself and joined them for a bit of hiking, but realised that my race was over. I didn't want to damage my knee like I had at Transvulcania, so I was going to get to the next checkpoint and stop. Well, actually, I was going to get to the next checkpoint, then run about 200 meters of the next section just in case my initial prediction panned out, and then stop.

Unfortunately, I was so slow, that it quickly became clear that I was never going to make the cutoff that had been set. I crossed the road after heading through Huntercombe Golf Club and realised that it was getting dark. I stopped to put my head lamp on, and then called James to let him know that I was going to miss the cutoff. I had planned to walk there, but it was still another couple of miles and getting colder. I wasn't able to run to get my body temperature up, so in the end I decided that - as I wouldn't make the cutoff anyway - I would just drop here. Dave came in the minibus to pick me up, and we headed back to Streatley.

And that was it. It wasn't an epic fail, and it wasn't a glorious repeat of last year. It was just a kind of "oh well" situation. I'm disappointed that I had to pull out, but there's no doubt that I had to pull out. I don't go in for this Death or Glory bollocks. I honestly don't care enough to destroy myself unduly.  I'd rather be able to run again the next week. There are probably certain situations where I would risk an injury just to finish, but since I didn't even know where the finish was here, that wasn't going to happen.

A friend wrote on my Facebook wall that "if it doesn't hurt then you're doing it wrong". What's interesting is that my opinion is quite the opposite. Frankly I think that running, even stupid distances like this, shouldn't hurt. Well not in that way anyway. I mean of course you should feel your muscles screaming at you because you're giving it everything that you've got. But it shouldn't hurt. If you're getting injuries, tweaks and niggles, then chances are that you're doing something wrong that you might want to try and correct. I'm happy with my running style now, and generally find that it results in few injuries (the Transvulcania one was mostly due to falling on a rock rather than overuse). After the 147 mile Viking Way, I was back training normally (albeit more slowly) that same week. I put this down to having found a good running form, and a good combination of shoes and socks that work well for me.

Lottie cheering me on from home. Squee! Adorbz.

So yeah, there we go. I pulled out after 120 miles of the second Piece of String race, and headed back to see what would happen next. At this point there were 5 more people left in the race - Terrence, Ben, Chris, Tom and Steve. Unfortunately Chris, Tom and Steve dropped out a little further ahead than me as they became lost on the next section and were never going to make the cutoff. A valiant effort nonetheless (for Rich, this was more than twice as far as he had ever run, and Tom had a broken foot 8 weeks ago). But Terrence and Ben both found the elusive end of the Piece of String. Another year with 2 finishers - people are going to think it's a fix... The rest of the race had played out almost exactly how I had called it. They had made it to Swyncombe, and from there had run another ~15 mile section. From there, they were told to run right to the end of the Ridgeway (some distance away) - only to be pulled up short after 100 meters to be told that they had finished. Luckily neither of them pulled out at that point, which would have sucked. I was only about 15 miles from the end, but at least I know that it wouldn't have been doable in my condition. 

 

Despite the fact that only 2 people finished again, and the distance (or at least the running time) was very similar, this year's event was very different to last year. The weather was a huge factor in the attrition rate from last time, and many people dropped quite early due to the miserable conditions. This year, the weather was absolutely gorgeous, and we very nearly had 6 finishers (half the starting field). It was a little chilly, but there were clear blue skies throughout much of the day(s) with no rain at all. We can thank Paul Ali for that.

 

One huge difference was the amount of kit that I used. Last year I had to change clothes quite frequently to avoid dying from hypothermia. This year, I wore shorts and a t shirt with a thin base layer for the whole event. I had a giant drop bag full of various extra waterproofs, changes of clothes, spare shoes, etc. I probably took about 8 gels, 2 chocolate bars, and a spare head torch from it. Very different.

 

So I guess that the big question is - would I do it again? Honestly, yes I would. I have to say that, despite the fact that the weather was horrendous last year, I actually enjoyed it more. This year it felt harder than it should have, largely down to my fitness. But I can do something about that. Generally I had fun out there though, and think I kept a smile on my face most of the time. I moaned of course, but hopefully it wasn't too whingey. No whingers allowed after all. I'm just disappointed that I didn't make it to the end, where I would have gotten the greatest prize of all - a hug from the lemur-bearded James Adams. It isn't pointless after all.

As usual, a huge thank you to everybody that gave up their time to help a group of idiots attempt to fulfil a madman's idea of a good day out. We couldn't have done it without you! Well alright, we didn't actual do it with you, but you know what I mean...

Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/

I hadn't planned any races between the Spine in January and the Grand Union Canal in May because I half expected to still be in traction. However, when I inexplicably managed to survive without going the wrong way and running off a cliff, I decided to take up one of the last few places in the Centurion Running South Downs Way 50. This was a chance to get a longer run in before the GUCR, and also was a good way to recce the last half of the SDW100 in June. But more importantly, Centurion events are also one hell of a party.
 
After spending 2 hours driving the half hour trip back home after work (grr), I had to head straight out to brave the wonders of the M25 on a Friday night. I made it to Worthing just in time to pick up Bryan Webster and Dan Park from the station and order food from the pub before they closed. We met up with Sue Albiston, her daughter Becky and everyone's ultra-mum Nici Griffin who were patiently waiting for our arrival. After eating and talking b*llocks for a while, we headed off for a surprisingly good night's sleep at the Travelodge. Well, I had a good night's sleep anyway. But then I had a double bed to myself, not a teeny tiny single bed in the corner of the room like the other two. God bless shotgun rules.
 
We turned up bright eyed and bushy tailed at the start line to be greeted by the usual slick Centurion machine. Nici had recently joined the crew and had brought along her trademark panache for efficiency, and despite everybody's best efforts kit check and registration went without a hitch. It was great to see so many friendly faces, and I spent the whole time before the start chatting away to anyone who would listen (surprisingly I wasn't left talking to myself). It always amazes me how close it's possible to get to people that you only actually see about 4 times a year!
 
And they're off! And I'm already chicked... Photo courtesy of Pete Aylward of runphoto.co.uk
 

I wasn't sure what to expect from the race really. I'm not really back at full fitness, but the last couple of months have actually been pretty good running-wise. I felt good with no real niggles to complain about (first time in a while) and was really looking forward to getting going. I had a 7.5 hour finish in mind (secretly hoping for 7 hours, but that was probably pushing it). But I really wasn't expecting to be troubling the front runners who I knew would be shooting for somewhere closer to 6 hours (nutters). After a few words from Race Director James Elson, we were off. Race favourites Paul Navesy, Richard Ashton and Mark Perkins went off like a shot, and I joined on to the chase pack. We were going at a fair old lick, and it soon became clear that I had completely overestimated my current abilities. It felt "okay", but probably not okay for 50 miles, so I backed off the gas slightly.

 
It was a beautiful day, which really surprised me as Paul Ali had turned up with his dreaded lucky hat (bringer of rain). The forecast warned of a band of rain slowly approaching us from the West, acting as a pretty good incentive to run faster. However, after only a few miles in my stomach started to feel... unpleasant. Not ideal. I came into the first checkpoint at Botolphs desperate for the loo, but since it was just a pop up table at the side of the A283 I was shit out of luck (pun very much intended). Paul Rowlinson (who will forever be my saviour from the Piece of String race a couple of years ago) offered the use of the neighbouring field, but I'm a bit precious about such "outdoor pursuits" and preferred to wait and hope for a public convenience.
 
"What's got two thumbs and couldn't give a crap (even though he really wanted to)? This guy!" Photo courtesy of Paul Rowlinson
Big mistake. With 5 miles to go until the next checkpoint at Saddlescombe's Farm, it quickly became clear that running was not conducive to sphincteral integrity. Too much information? You may want to skip the next bit then...
 
I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to break my cherry and just do as the Pope does, and proceeded to look for a good spot. I honestly couldn't have picked a worse time; for the next few miles, the entire area was completely wide open for miles around, with nary a tree to hide my shame. Who would have thunk it on the South Downs?! I was haemorrhaging places, but that was the least of my concerns. Eventually I found a little thicket off the track, and headed off for an, ahem, "papal visit". I was caught a little short as I didn't have any tissue with me and didn't fancy using a handful of twigs, so had to improvise and use my spare buff. Bollocks. I liked that buff.
 
I came into Saddlescombe's Farm much later than expected to find Nici and James "Did You Know He Has A Book Out" Adams wondering where I had been. I just shrugged and asked where the nearest loo was. I took a bit of time to sort myself out, then headed into the aid station to try and refuel a bit. As I headed out, I bumped into Paul Ali, who had also entered at the last minute. We ended up running together for much of the rest of the race, and it was great to catch up. Along the way, I ran past Bryan, who was a little surprised to see me behind him. He had been struggling a little, but managed to push past it and finished in a great time of about 9 hours.
 
We also bumped into Paul Radford, who had done a similar thing to me and set out at the pace that he thought he could do, and not the one he actually could do. Of course he had a much better excuse than me, having had serious knee surgery recently following an injury at the Spine in January. I was just unfit. He joined Paul and me and the three of us stuck together until Jevington. I actually started to feel much better and we picked up the pace a lot compared to the first half of the race. Generally my legs were feeling good, but I was definitely feeling the hills and breathing harder than I would have liked. I really need to do some hill work!
 
"Come on guys, it's this way!" Oh Paul, Paul, Paul. Did nobody ever tell you that following me is a very bad idea!  Photo courtesy of Paul Ali
Coming down the hill into the final checkpoint at Alfriston, I actually felt really good so just legged it down to the bottom. I remember the run through the churchyard being much more ethereal at the 100 miler 2 years ago, with glowsticks lighting the graves in the dark (I wasn't as fast as Robbie Britton, who finished in daylight when he did it). But now it was a beautiful day, and the sun was shining. Someone was sat outside taking numbers, so I didn't bother going inside - there was only about 5 miles to go and I was feeling good. I headed up the final climb with Paul Ali and one of his friends, Dan Gritton, knowing that once we hit the trig point at the top it was all down hill to the finish. Dan and I took off at a brisk pace, and decided that we were going to try and hoof it down the hill to see if we could get in for an 8 hour finish. I couldn't remember how far it was to the end, but thought it couldn't be more than about 2 miles. With 8 minutes to go until the 8 hour mark, we were maybe pushing our luck...
 
So hoof it we did, high-fiving Drew Sheffield as we ran past the trig point, then sprinting down the wooded track down to the road. We were moving pretty quickly, but I had slightly underestimated how far it was until the end. As we hit the main road, where you have to run past the sports ground and follow it around the hospital to the other side, I realised I had slightly over-cooked it and backed off slightly. Dan went on ahead, and I realised I wasn't going to catch him again. As I turned the corner into the Sports Center I caught another runner, Gareth Fish, and we both headed into the track together. "Let's see your sprint finish then" were his words to me. Game on! We hit the track together and picked up the pace for our final lap. As we turned the last bend, neck and neck, I kicked it up a gear for a final 100 meter sprint to the line and just took the "win" by about 6 seconds, finishing in a time of 8:10:28. Small victories, eh!
 
I was greeted by lots of friendly faces, including THE James Adams who was handing out medals and probably promoting his book (did you know he has a book out?). Paul Ali finished a few minutes later, graciously letting the runner he was with cross the line first (he's a better man than I), and Paul Radford was over a couple of minutes later. 
 
I caught up with Paul Navesey and Richard Ashton to find out what had happened at the pointy end. It sounds like it was a pretty close-faught thing, with Paul winning in a cracking time of 6:11:28 (44 minutes off Mark's course record), Richard coming second in 6:23:26, and Mark coming in a very close third in 6:24:41. I had said at the start that it would be awesome if the race came down to a sprint on the track, and the race for second almost did.

The women's race was equally close, with Edwina Sutton winning in a fantastic time of 7:09:21 (for 9th place overall, and 40 minutes off of the previous course record), Sarah Perkins (wife of Mark) coming second in 7:19:43, and Gemma Carter getting a well-deserved podium finish (following some annoying injuries) for third in 7:32:42.

Paul, Rich, Rich's girlfriend Nell, her friend Felicity and I went off to the pub to laugh at the fact that ultra stud Paul has no friends on Twitter, and when we got back we found that it was pissing down with rain. So Paul did bring the rain with him, but the cheeky bastard managed to finish and bugger off home before it hit!

As always, a huge thank you has to go out to all of the volunteers out on the course. The atmosphere was buzzing and everybody was really friendly attentive as usual. The passion that comes from the supporters is always a huge boost to the runners, and is always appreciated. I particularly enjoyed the themes at some of the checkpoints, like the sombreros at Southease. Arriba!

 
The secret to avoiding knee injuries when running is to just levitate. Keep it under your hat though. Photo courtesy of Simon Hayward
All in all, it didn't quite go to plan, but I'm actually pretty happy with that time. It wasn't as good as I was hoping because of stomach issues, but I don't think it's any kind of recurring problem that needs to be sorted - it's just one of those things (I'm still not feeling great today to be honest). I picked it up a bit in the second half, and suspect that I have a hell of a negative split. Plus I spent about half an hour, erm, let's say not running. I definitely still need to do some work on my fitness, and need to get back to working hills into my training (difficult in Cambridge), but all in all it wasn't awful. I didn't suffer any twinges or injuries, and everything else actually went really well. Plus I really enjoyed myself (well, in the second half at least), and that's the main thing. My main goal was to not embarrass myself horribly, and until writing this blog I probably managed that. Now there's about 6 weeks to go now until the GUCR, so plenty of time to build up a little more fitness, and I guess I won't have to worry too much about hills there. I'd like to be able to push for a good time, but I think a good plan will be to reign things in at the start, and hold things back for a late push in the second half. 
 
Is that likely to happen? Yeah right!

Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/

"You need to run more."
 
I love my wife! It's not that I hadn't been running much recently; my training had become more consistent since the start of the year as we finally recovered from a difficult year of no sleep, and I was finally getting back to my level of fitness from the previous year. I was back to commuting to work through running and getting plenty of speedy miles in, with a couple of podium places in local ~10K races indicating that I might be getting in good shape for the coming season. What I hadn't done recently was many long runs on the weekends. Well, long runs anyway. My short run is 10 miles, so my sense of scale is a little skewed. But with some long (long) races coming up, my wife was a little worried that whilst my speed was looking good, my endurance might not be up to scratch.
 
My first A race of the year was the upcoming Grand Union Canal Race (GUCR) - 145 miles along the Grand Union Canal starting in Birmingham Gas Street and finishing in Little Venice, London the following day. The GUCR is something of an institution in the UK ultra running community, and if you've ever raced in this country then chances are you've bumped into Race Director Dick Kearn, who is a mainstay of support throughout these events. He's easy to spot these days with his rather spectacular beard. I actually met him in my first ever ultra way back in 2011. I chatted to him at the end and asked if he had ever done anything like this before. Little did I know...
 
Dick Kearn in all his beard glory. Photo C/O Ross Langton
 

The community involved in the race is very close-knit, with many people running the race year on year, and it is probably on most UK runners' bucket lists. For this reason, entrants are decided through a lottery system. I applied last year but didn't get in, but I was lucky enough to be selected for this special 20th Anniversary edition. Yes, there have been idiots doing this kind of thing for 20 years (and then some). As there is a slightly better chance of getting a place if you supply your own crew, I entered as a "supported" runner meaning that I had to find some people willing to listen to me whinge for 30ish hours. This was surprisingly easier than I expected, and a quick message put out on Twitter gave me the dream team of Simon Edwards, Liz Grec and Tim Lambert - Team Awesome Stupid! The sheer selflessness in the ultra running community always amazes me, and these guys were willing to give up their entire weekend to help some stupid side-burned twat run halfway across the country. Amazing!

 
I'm not so great at planning, and normally don't really bother beyond figuring out how to get to the start line. I very rarely worry about pacing strategies or nutrition strategies, and instead rely on just running at a comfortable pace and eating when I'm hungry. I find anything else is just complicating matters. But now that we had a team, I felt that at least some semblance of a plan was probably in order. So Liz and Simon came over a few weeks before the race to discuss "tactics". By which I mean I said "I'll meet you every 10 miles or so and you can give me some gels", and then we watched the Eurovision Song Contest. The closest that we got to a specific plan was to roughly plan out the times I would be likely to hit the 50 mile and 100 mile points. I was planning on just going for it and seeing what happened, so figured that a ~28 hour finish would be doable. So I figured that 8 hours to 50 miles, another 9 hours to 100 miles, then 10ish hours to the finish would be a good estimate for my A game. But I wasn't going to stress if I wasn't making this pace, and said to the guys not to bother telling me the times, or even what was going on around me with respect to other people. There would be no point even thinking about racing until at least past the 100 mile mark.
 
I was originally due to share a room on Friday in Birmingham with my good friend Dan Park, but he had unfortunately pulled out of the race. This left a spare bed, meaning that Liz and Simon (who would start proceedings without Tim until the afternoon) could crash in with me. I met them after work and was chauffeured through the rush hour traffic to central Birmingham to the Premiere Inn where we were staying. We headed straight over to registration to say hi to everybody and grab our team t-shirts, then headed next door to O' Neills for some food. After negotiating the various technological traps that seemed determined to prevent us from ever making it to bed (we broke the lift and the door to the corridor), we finally made it to the room. It was a bit snug, but I managed to get a good night's sleep - although I apparently managed to keep everybody up all night by laughing in my sleep. That's a new one. I seem to recall that I was dreaming I was in a comedy trio with Gary Dalton and his brother. We must have been good. Jokes are always better when you have to laugh at them yourself right? Ha ha ha.
 
Looking oddly hench here... Photo C/O Ross Langton.
We wondered down to the start and managed to say hi to a few people before lining up without too much ceremony in the Gas Street basin. After a quick brief from Dick, we were sent on our way. I headed off at a comfortable pace and just settled into a rhythm ready for the rest of the day, although appeared to take off well ahead of everybody else. I honestly wasn't sprinting off, just getting into a natural pace. I was just behind another guy, who I later realised was Bruce who was one of the guys I had leapfrogged backwards and forwards with on my first 100 miler. He apparently has a habit of sprinting off early, and I had a few comments like "don't try and keep up with Bruce". But I was happy, relaxed, and in the zone listening to Needful Things by Stephen King on my iPod. I was ready for a great day!
 
Well, pretty much ready and relaxed. There were three things that I was a little concerned about. Firstly, I wasn't sure how easy navigation was going to be. I mean, I know that you just run next to the water until you get to London, but it's not necessarily that simple. There are various points where you break away from the main canal, or where the canal goes off in different directions, and making sure that you are on the right side of the water is pretty important. But we had great maps from Dick and the team, and Paul Ali had kindly leant me a little A4 cheat sheet which I had laminated and planned on using to avoid any mistakes. I also had a GPS route on my Garmin as a backup (although didn't really use it), and then the full maps were there just in case. I wanted to keep things as simple as possible, and the cheat sheet worked brilliantly meaning that I didn't have to spend much effort on making sure I was going the right way.
 
Secondly, the stomach issues that I ran into at the South Downs Way 50 a few weeks ago hadn't really sorted themselves out. The last thing I wanted was to have to pit stop constantly to sort things out, but I had a feeling that I was going to have to. I thought maybe it was a lactose intolerance, but cutting milk and cheese out of my diet recently doesn't appear to have helped much.
 
Can't tell which is the canal and which is the tow path... Photo C/O Liz Grec.
Lastly, I had been suffering from plantar fasciitis for a few weeks which I didn't seem able to shift. I hadn't really run much as I was trying to let it settle down, and had seen my physio a few days before to see if anything could be done, but it was still a bit dodgy. Running on it wasn't actually too bad, but afterwards it would become very sore. But I figured I would just roll with it and see what happened.
 
This race was largely a precursor to my main race of the year, Spartathlon in September. It is roughly the same length (although Spartathlon will probably be a little warmer), so I wanted to remind myself that I could do the distance, and also to test out things like kit selection and the like. Since I am going to have to take time away from my family for the race, I figure that I'm really going to have to finish...
 
The first 10 miles to the checkpoint at Catherine de Barnes bridge were a nice warm up, setting the scene for what was to come. My foot felt good, with only a slight niggle of any notice, and the weather wasn't too bad with just a little drizzle to worry about. I met Liz and Simon for the first time just before the first race checkpoint. It was F1-class! I was using my waist belt and planned on having a small bottle, a couple of Torq gels, and my jacket at all times. At each meeting I would swap my bottle, swap empty gels for full ones, and grab some proper food (usually fruit, but with a bit of other stuff thrown in for good measure) before heading straight off again. I waved hello, swapped my bottle, crammed in some grapes, and I was off again. Text book!
 
I went straight through the checkpoint, briefly pausing to say hi to various people, before heading off back on track. I was currently in first place, but was trying not to think about it. For one thing, Paddy Robbins (the course record holder and "Mr. GUCR") was running, and I really wasn't expecting to beat him. For another there was a long way to go yet.
 
A rare sight of sunshine! Photo C/O Liz Grec.
Once out of Birmingham, the course is actually surprisingly scenic. The idea of spending 30 hours on a canal at first thought sounds pretty boring, but it is honestly as pretty as many other events in the country, taking in open fields, woodlands, marinas, rows of lock gates etc., and there is plenty of traffic on the canal to keep things interesting. Plus dodging angry swans is always good for keeping you on your toes. But I had my book to keep me company, so was perfectly happy with the isolation. I was meeting up with Liz and Simon every 8 or so miles, and we got our pit stops down to a fine art. I would stop for a couple of minutes to make sure I ate something proper each time, have a quick chat, then get on my way. I also bumped into the crews of some of the other front-runners, and it was nice to see them along the way and say hi as well.
 
A few miles after my second pitstop, my stomach really started acting up, so I decided to do something about it. Not a great sign so soon in the race, but no use worrying about it now. I just needed to fix it. We were running alongside some woodland, so I figured that I would climb up the bank for some privacy. No such luck, and I quickly slid down the thick wet mud face first. Brilliant, I'm covered in mud with about 130 miles to go. Awesome. Luckily nobody was around to see that. A little further I managed to find a secluded area and sorted myself out. I planned ahead this time, so luckily my Buffs remained intact...
 
Feeling much better now, I got back into the swing of things. Just in time, as the slight drizzle quickly devolved into a furious rainstorm, becoming so bad that I even ended up putting my jacket on. Shock horror. I came into Hatton Locks feeling good - and very, very wet. Javed Bhatti was here taking photos, and James Adams took a little jog with me down to the checkpoint. He very kindly told me about the lovely cooked breakfast he had just eaten. Yeah, alright, rub it in.
 
Starting to rain a bit as I headed into Hatton Locks. Photo C/O Ross Langton.
Straight through the checkpoint again, and I was off into familiar territory (well, kind of). I studied for a long time at the University of Warwick, and spent most of my time there living in Leamington Spa, so it was quite interesting to head through Warwick and Leamington along the way. Not that I saw many sites - just more bloody canal. But it definitely brought back some memories. In particular, my 21st birthday, where a friend of mine (whose birthday was the following day) spent the whole day drinking and bowling, before heading out on a pub crawl. We ended up down by the canal where we attempted (very unsuccessfully I might add) to steal an oar (bloody students), before heading home to collapse in a drunken heap. I thought it was about 4am, but turns out we only made it out as late as about 9pm. Man, we were cool.
 
Stockton locks came up, and felt like a mountain compared to the rest of the route (which was as flat as you might imagine). It was still raining, but less heavily now, and I was getting some quite funny looks from people as I went through. But hey, they were out in the rain trying to push a long thin boat uphill on water, so I'm not sure that they really had the sanity high ground that they thought they had. I went through the checkpoint at the top of the locks still in first place.
 
36 miles down, about 110 still to go.
 
That's a really silly way to think about a race like this. To have run almost a marathon and a half, but still have over 100 miles left to go, is a depressing thought. I honestly think that one of my biggest strengths in this game is my stupidity. I mean, I know that I'm not really stupid (I have a couple of pieces of paper to prove it), but I can quite happily not think about things. Maybe "self-inflicted naivety" is a good description? In some ways, a race like the Piece of String Fun Run plays into this kind of thinking, because if you don't know how far away the end is then you don't need to worry about it. Just run. The minute you start counting down, the sheer enormity of the task will come hitting home. A sense of scale also comes into it. To run a distance for the first time, you don't have that positive reinforcement that comes from having done it before. If the furthest that you have run is 50 miles, then to realise that you have more than twice that still left to go can seem crazy. But if you've done 100 miles, then that can be put into more perspective. I have never had part of my brain thing that tells me "whoa, now wait a minute, that's just too far". Think about it - if nobody ever told you that 100 miles was a stupid distance to run, would you think that it was? I like to think of it as "running stupid", and it's the reason that I'm yet to really find a limit where I say, "no I can't do that"; I'm just not going to impose one on myself until I reach it.
 
So instead, let's just carry on running!
 
I reached the Napton junction soon after the checkpoint, where the canal takes a hard left (one of only a couple of key navigation points to really be aware of along the route). This was followed soon afterwards by another key turning point at Braunston. Liz and Simon were genuinely concerned that I might end up heading up here and end up in Newcastle. Cheers for the confidence guys...
 
... Yeah, I don't know either. Photo C/O Liz Grec.
The route briefly left the canal here and headed up another mountain and down a wooded track for half a mile before rejoining the canal on the other side. Somewhere after this section, I was joined by another runner who completely scared the shit out of me. He was motoring (or else I was crawling), and for a moment I thought he was just somebody out on a morning run. I was also caught up by Pat Robbins, and we chatted for a little bit as we headed towards the 50 mile mark.
 
As I met up with Liz and Simon, I was delighted to see that Tim had joined the party. I said not to worry too much about updates on the other runners at this stage, but it was useful to know that they weren't flying off ahead of me. I had hit the 50 mile mark almost bang on 8 hours, so was very happy with my pace. I was also feeling really happy in general. My fuelling was going well, my stomach wasn't showing any major issues, my legs felt great, and other than the niggle in my foot everything was feeling good. I realised that I wasn't really using my watch at all, so dumped it with the guys. I was setting my pace entirely on my comfort levels, and it was working out just fine.
 
A couple more junctions followed, which were easily negotiated, followed by a pretty lengthy diversion away from the canal while it passed through a long tunnel. As I came to the top of the track, I had a brief moment; I knew that I had to turn right, but I didn't know if it was right at the end of the track (following a very small lane) or head left here up to the main road andthen right. I figured it was the latter, but wanted to be sure. As I was double checking the map, one of the other runners' crews saw me and confirmed where to go. Of course they missed a trick here, and could have sent me completely the wrong way!
 
I really didn't like this bit, as it was completely on the road, in slightly dodgy light, in the rain. I was very conscious of the cars, so made sure to make myself as visible as possible. A mile or so up the road, I saw a van pull into a junction, and figured that this was probably my turning. It was Dick and Dave Merret, and I took great pleasure in the fact that I was ahead of the course markers. The track down to the canal was pretty overgrown and nettley, so I was kind of happy to not be first through since the worst of it was mostly trampled down now.

 

 
The weather started to improve a bit, and the sun even came out. I reached the 70 mile checkpoint at Navigation Bridge, which is kind of the mid point of the race, feeling good. James Elson was here helping out Dick before heading off later to run with Pat towards the end of the race. Pat was steaming ahead, but I was keeping up with the other guys ahead of me. I headed on a bit to meet up with the guys, and was told that the guys ahead of me weren't looking as comfortable as me. I'm not sure if this was true or if they were just trying to play mind games to keep me pushing, but I was determined to just focus on my own race for the time-being, and not get sucked into a race with 70 miles left to go.

Going well - it must be an early shot. Photo C/O Ross Langton.
A little further on and I was greeted with some chicken nuggets and chocolate milk shake, and the protein was gratefully received. I was still eating pretty well, and things felt good in general, but I could feel a niggle in my left knee. I wasn't too worried about it yet, but was aware of it as the last thing that I wanted was a repeat of my knee issues from last year. The light was starting to fail slightly after running through Milton Keynes, so I took my head torch with me just in case. My original plan was to get to 100 miles and then change into some clean clothes and re-tape my feet, but I figured that it made sense to do that at the next meeting point now that it was getting dark.

 

 
As I approached bridge 107, I could see a flashing light up ahead as Tim guided me towards the car in the car park next to the bridge. I stopped here to fix things up ready for the second half of the race, and took time to dry myself off, strip off and replace all of my clothes, retape my feet (the tape from the morning had worked brilliantly, and my feet were feeling good with no hot spots) and put some new shoes and socks on. Bliss! It's lucky that I have no shame. After chugging down a bit of proper food, I was sent off to chase down the light of a runner who had overtaken me during my little break.
 
I felt fantastic! Fully reinvigorated with a change of clothes, but in particular now that I had clean dry feet, running just felt nicer. There were about 10 miles to go until the checkpoint at 100 miles, where I would be joined by Simon who was going to buddy run with me for the first half of the final 45 miles, before Tim took over for the last 25 miles or so. I caught up with the guy who had crossed over the bridge ahead of me, and we worked our way over the bridge at Marsworth to get back onto the Grand Union path. We came into the 100 mile checkpoint at about midnight, meaning that the second 50 miles had taken around 10 hours. Longer than I had hoped, but not too shabby.
 
Now there is a big difference to running 150 miles compared to 100 miles. Inevitably it becomes a war of attrition, and the winner is the runner who slows down the least. Barring injuries, my running style seems to lend itself to not utterly destroying my legs. At the 148 mile Viking Way Race last year, my legs were actually fine by the end of it and I was back running a few days later. It was cocking up my navigation that really screwed me up. My running pace had not really changed much in the last 20 miles (slow but steady), fuelling was going well, and my feet were in one piece. If I could hold it together I would be on for a good finish.
 
I headed off with Simon, ready to make a dent in the last third of the race. I'm not really used to running with other people, and I'm not the most talkative person when I'm racing. I pre-warned Tim and Simon about this and figured that I would just do my best to not be a whiney son-of-a-bitch the whole way. At this stage the sleepiness was starting to creep in, but as long as I could keep moving it wasn't an issue.
 
But then I couldn't keep moving.
 
The niggle in my knee was gradually getting worse, and it was clear what had happened. I was over-compensating slightly because of my right foot, and for some reason doing this for 100 miles wasn't great for my knee. Who'd have thunk it? Ordinarily, this is where I would stop. If there's the chance of an injury, I'm not willing to push on and make things worse just for the sake of finishing. I care more about being able to run day-to-day, particularly as it is my main source of transportation. However in this case, I really wanted to convince myself that I could get to the end in preparation for the psychological battle at Spartathlon in September. So I decided to just man the fuck up and get it done.
 
Simon did an awesome job of encouraging me, but it was really tough going. Walking was proving to be tough enough, so pushing into a run involved some serious teeth clenching. Plus, because I had slowed right down, I was getting cold (and the odd shower that hit us really didn't help). Also, because I couldn't keep the adrenaline up by running, the tiredness was really hitting me. I just wanted to run, but that wasn't happening.
 
I think I broke him. Photo C/O Liz Grec.
The sun started to come up, and it actually looked like it was going to be a nice day. There were lots of people out fishing, although from the look of them (and the distinctly shifty looks they were giving us), I suspect that they shouldn't have been. As we approached a small bridge, there was a rather large heron sitting on the corner of it. He seemed to wait until we were right on top of him before flying off, and we felt his wings brush against us as he headed off across the water in the hazy morning light. Simon was amazed by the experience, and it really seemed to touch him. I was just pissed off that I had to break stride to avoid it flying into my face.
 
I was trying to keep a smile on my face, but it was becoming hard. We met up with Liz and Tim, and I just had to stop. The car was right there, and I just wanted to close my eyes for 10 minutes. I knew that any more than 20 minutes and I would forfeit the race (it was actually 40 mins I later found out, but probably for the best I didn't know that), so I asked them to wake me up in 10 minutes. Dropping out had never entered my head here, but I later found out that the guys had thought that this would be the end. I was woken after 10 minutes, and pressed snooze on Simon for another 5 mins. After a quick prod, I was up and out the door. I looked like shit, but actually felt a lot better. My head wasn't as wooly, and I at least wasn't concentrating on the fact that I wanted to just go to sleep. The morning was proving to be bright, clear and warm, so Simon and I set off with renewed vigour.
 
After a slow and ambling start, I found that if I gritted my teeth and got into a running gait, it actually hurt less than walking. The trick was to keep it going, so I just focussed and cracked on. Simon ran along with me, encouraging me to keep things going, and pretty soon we were actually pushing a pretty good pace. He picked up the phone to Tim and told him to hurry up and get his kit on because we were flying. This was a surprise to everybody, and Tim had been prepared to have to walk me in to the finish. As it was, we might just get in for lunch.
 
When we met Liz and Tim at checkpoint 8 (Springwell Lock), we were all feeling much better again. The adrenaline had hit me and I was feeling surpassingly good. My knee was absolutely screaming at me, but if I forced myself into a run I was able to get through it. If this had been approaching the finish, the sheer good vibes would have seen me to the finish. But unfortunately there was still a marathon to go.
 
I swapped Simon for Tim a couple of miles later, and Tim was fully prepared to start racing. He had his eyes on a couple of runners ahead of us and wanted to chase them down. At first I was game, but the adrenaline gradually wore off. I could probably have gritted my teeth and pushed for 5 miles to the finish - but there were more than 20 miles to go. Right now I just wanted to get to the end in as little pain as possible.
 
Things weren't helped by my first navigational error of the whole race just after Harefield Marina. We were well inside the M25 now, and approaching London proper, which really was a positive boost. But as we crossed bridge 182 (one of the steepest bloody bridges I have ever seen) things didn't seem right. We were no longer alongside the canal, and seemed to be heading further away from it. We stopped to ask a friendly fisherman if we were on the right course, and he thought we should probably have stayed alongside the canal rather than crossing over. We pulled out the map, and found that the bridge number on the cheat sheet was actually wrong, which was not helped by the fact that whoever had made the GPS track had also apparently made the same mistake. This was a bit of a blow, and I think that Tim blamed himself as he was in charge of navigation, but it honestly wasn't his fault. I thought I had checked the cheat sheet against the map, but must have missed the slight discrepancy in bridge numbers. Oh well, it wouldn't be a Sam Robson ultra without some kind of navigational cock up. Back over the ridiculously steep bridge we go (seriously, I almost had to clamber up it on hands and knees)!
 
Navigational error caught on camera. Well one of us is right... Photo C/O Liz Grec.
We were back on course now, and it was a relatively straight shot into London central from here. Tim used to live around this area, so knew the canal well. We were even on the last page of maps, so the finish was within sniffing distance. Although having said that, the pungent smells of central London can probably be smelled from Birmingham... The going was getting slower, and I was finding it harder and harder to MTFU. The end might well have been relatively close compared to how far I had already run, but it was still a long fucking way away!
 
Tim pointed out various landmarks to me along the way, and we discussed various things like how strange it is that you can get so close to people that you may have only met once or twice before (the beauty of Twitter and Facebook), the mental aspect of running, and how I'm just like Jez Bragg (I forget the context...). As we took the turn North at the Bull's Bridge, we entered the "finishing straight", since there would be no more bridge crossings before the finish from here. The final checkpoint was up ahead, but before we reached it we had to negotiate a rather loud rave on the other side of the river. The wump wump sound blasting from the speakers sure got my attention, and Tim and I discussed past lives as drinkers and how that kind of thing really didn't appeal any more. The ravers, who had obviously been going all night, looked awful and I can't say that it appealed to me. But then I wasn't really one to talk...
 
We came into the final checkpoint where James Adams and Nici Griffin were hanging around to cheer people on for the final push to the end. I felt a little unsteady on my feet, so sat in a chair and promptly closed my eyes for a quick power nap. I pride myself on generally being a friendly person, and try to always be happy and smiley for volunteers at the aid stations. I'm also pretty undemanding I think, and don't like to put people out - even my own crew despite that essentially being their entire raison d'être! However, I feel that my sparkle wasn't quite up to scratch at this point. I apologised to Nici a few days later just in case I wasn't smiley enough for her. She promptly told me to shut up, and that I had even been voted "Politest Person to Crew" by her and my crew. Daww! You guys!
 
This was it now. The home stretch. Except it was still a half marathon away. What's that, like an hour and a half? Ahem.
 
Is this a wind up? Photo C/O Liz Grec.
It was now just a case of getting to the finish in one piece. The running sections were fewer and farther between, and we were getting sloooowwww. So slow in fact that our ice-creams melted and Liz and Simon had to eat them for us. Dammit. Things were looking particularly dire when we were overtaken by a guy out walking his dog. Alright mate, slow down. It's not a race. Geez. After his dog almost killed Tim, we actually chatted to him briefly. "Ha, you'd better have run a 10K already fellas to be walking like that!", he laughed as he caught us. "Sort of!", we laughed.
 
Tim was trying to keep me going at this stage, and after what felt like a particularly long section I needed to sit down somewhere to take the pressure off of my knees. But there was nowhere to sit anywhere. In desperation, I spotted a piece of wood in a little clearing and perched on it, hoping to god that it wouldn't break under me. I could have sat there for longer, but Tim dragged me on.
 
As we came to our final meeting with Liz and Simon, I was happy to be given a bottle of Pepsi and some more chocolate milk. I had a bit of a funny turn here and had to hold on to Simon as I felt a little whoozy. But I got a nice surprise as I was informed that my wife and daughter had driven all the way to the end to see me finish. The last time they did this was at the Viking Way, and I had kept them waiting for ages. I was determined this time for them to not have to hang around for too long. I gritted my teeth one final time and prepared for the last 10 Km to the finish.
 
Too slow losers! Photo C/O Liz Grec.
So off we went, with images of seeing my little girl in the next hour or so etched onto my mind. We actually covered this section in a surprisingly good time (relatively speaking of course), and despite the really rather depressing levels of rubbish that greeted our arrival into central London it was a pleasant finish to the race. The sun was shining very brightly now, and I was even starting to worry about sunburn (which given the previous day was quite amusing). Some of the landmarks of Central London like the Shard were coming into view, and the signposts to Paddington were gradually counting down towards zero. I didn't really know what the finish looked like, so we just kept plugging away until it came into view.
 
And suddenly there it was, with Liz, Simon, Jen and Lottie all waiting for me. To a smattering of applause, I asked Jen to bring Lottie over, and ran across the line with her holding my hand. It was a lovely way to finish, and it's just a shame that I missed the photographer so there's no photo of it. I shook hands with Dick (who had been doing his best Santa Clause impression for Lottie), got my medal, then had a big hug with my awesome crew. Despite the fact that I had essentially walked the last 45 miles, I still managed to sneak in a Top 10 finish, finishing in 32:28:00 for 10th place. Not at all what I had hoped for, but I was very happy with it considering.
 
For one thing, there were a lot of positives from this race: 
 
Firstly, my nutrition was spot on. I didn't eat too much crap, and instead ate a lot of fruit to keep me going, and a large selection of Torq gels fuelled me right up until the end. I haven't turned into a ravenous blackhole of eating afterwards, and in fact my appetite has been completely normal all week, which is a good indictment of how things went.
 
Secondly my gear choice was also spot on. I decided to try running in my Salomon Sense Mantra (rather than my usual Speedcross) in preparation for Spartathlon, where I think that these will be more appropriate (I don't have road shoes really). I also used my UltrAspire Impulse waist pack which worked brilliantly (no bounce and only a tiny amount of rubbing), which will probably again do the job for Sparta. Also, I was very comfortable throughout and in particular had no issues with hotspots or blisters on my feet, which is actually pretty incredible considering the conditions on the Saturday. Taping and Drymax socks score another win.
Okay. One blister...
Also, my pacing was pretty much spot on. I find that running to feel works well for me, so this bodes well for Sparta. Whilst I haven't done a huge amount of long running recently, the endurance is there. I now have plenty of time to get in tip top shape for Greece.
 
Finally, my crew were freaking awesome. It is still amazing to me that they were willing to give up their entire weekend to help drag me (literally as it turned out) towards the finish. Although we chat on Facebook and Twitter, I actually haven't met Tim, Liz or Simon that many times, but they had absolutely no hesitation in volunteering when I put out the call for help. For the first 100 miles, they were a well-oiled machine, giving me exactly what I needed (whether I knew it or not), and getting me in and out of our meetings in record times. After things deteriorated, they became a source of inspiration and support, prodding me to keep going and making sure that I had everything that I needed to finally make it to the end. I remain convinced that crewing is harder than running, and these guys were with me for the duration, through good times and bad. I will forever be grateful for that.
 
Now I just need to figure out a way to get them out to Greece in September...
 
So that was it. The aftermath isn't too bad. My knee and foot are still quite sore so I won't be running for a while (so South Downs Way in 2 weeks is probably off), but I am cycling with no issues. It truly was an honour to have been involved in the 20th anniversary of Dick and Jan's baby, and I can fully understand why it has the reputation that it has. The support from Dick's crew was amazing, and I can only offer my heartfelt thanks to everybody that helped out over the weekend. You guys really make these events what they are! Congratulations to everybody that took part, particularly Pat who went on to win the race despite running into some issues in the latter stages (it's horrible to say it, but it is kind of nice to know that even the best guys can have a bad day out there). I will be back again, as I think that if I can go in and not get injured then I can hit my A race target of ~27 hours. Maybe next year. 
 
But for now, let's get ready for Sparta!

Written by Pavel Paloncý - http://ar2.palonc.org/

Pavel Paloncý on The Spine Race

430 km. In the UK, in winter, on foot and solo. What is this race actually like? It is neither the longest one I have done, nor hardest or coldest... In the race description it says, that it is "the most brutal race in Britain" and this probably is the most accurate description you can get. It is brutal.

By its length, because it is a foot race, due to its weather, cold, this all makes it brutal. Despite all these things, the memories I have from this race, are in many respects special and way more positive than "brutal".

Before The Start

On one hand it was something new – an ultra-long foot race in the UK. And solo and in winter. And this was most attractive for me. I felt well prepared, I felt I had experience with similar races and that I could use them. But there was also some tension from the unknown and a few worries about coping with the race, mostly with the fact that it was a solo race. The limit was a full week - could my head get on with itself?

There were 5 CPs awaiting me on the course and I decided that up to CP1 I would not be ambitious but would look around and try to acclimatise and learn something. And there were a lot of things to look at.

The race follows The Pennine Way, 430km National Trail, which means that land owners have to let you pass. Some may own a pack of hounds and a double-barrelled shotgun, but they have to let you pass through. 5 CPs on the course and we had our drop bag at each of them [the organizer was moving it around], a warm meal and you could sleep there.

Lesson One

I wanted to learn so I did that. For the first leg I was in no hurry, I was looking around carefully and trying to absorb as much information as possible, especially regarding the map. Right at the start, Britain has shown, what is capable of. We started in a heavy rain (nice weather was forecast), during first few kilometres we went through several gates, went over many walls, went through some farms.  About 10 cm of melting snow had fallen during first half hour and on a rocky hill the trail disappeared.

Later, we found the trail and England began to show its other sides - such as trails. In fact, the first 150 km was trail running with occasional slippery sections on grass or meadows. Otherwise it was real trail running, rugged trails with lots of stones.  Apart from that, I have occasionally taken a slide or two on wet slippery grass.

Water Management

Water was all around and in all possible forms. Three weeks before the race there were heavy rains in England, and many places were flooded. The English have very nice paved trails on the moorlands, which would have been really nice to run on ... had they not been under the water and icy at times. And so almost all moorlands were soaking wet, trails were icy and the bogs wetter than wet with mud everywhere. The forest arrived right at the end. This was kinda strange, I met forest for the first time at about 350 km into the race ...

And all this was covered with fog at times. During the day, but mostly in the night. Sometimes I could see as far as 15 meters, but most of the time the visibility was about 4 meters, just a few steps in general.  And once, the fog was so heavy, that I could hardly see my own feet. Well, different country, different fog.

And so what happened? There is no point in describing every part of each leg for the complete 430 km. It was dark most of the time, anyway. So I will focus on the most important and most interesting. The rest ... is just dark :)

The Race

After all of us got lost on the first section in the snow, the race started over and the field began to stretch and I with two guys from Catalonia formed the leading group (last year's winner Eugenio Rosello Solé and his colleague Joel Julia Casademont).

Even though I tried to go at my own pace and to save as much energy as possible in principle, we turned up at CP1 as leaders and this is where the Catalonians got stuck a bit. For the second leg (almost 100 km) I just went my own pace, from time to time I closed a gap on some challenger racer (racers on "shorter", 100mile, course that ended at CP2) and we ran together for a while. Then he was dropped and I went on my own pace. But we kept meeting several times.

I came to CP2 as a leader and when I was leaving the CP I just met with Eugenio and went off to face the second night of the race. And this was the last time I met any racers at all. At first, I was quite angry on myself, that I ran too slowly and squandered the lead I had had, but then I rather got back to staying focused and ran further.

The English weather took charge and changed the second night of race more into a fight for survival. Cold, wind, fog and heavy rain fell upon all the racers, most of them in the final part of the 100km leg, where energy is scarce and so many racers were hypothermic, had to be searched for, rescued and delivered back to safety.  So it was very understandable that when I reached the end of the third stage, CP3, in this weather and with no stop for sleep until this point, the CP was virtually non-existent.

But the volunteers at all CPs were always very kind, helpful, and tried to help me, so even here we managed the situation - we shared a porridge with banana, I found instant soups in my drop bag and went so sleep for an hour instead of having a proper meal. And probably during this night, during my partly punk-style stay at this almost non-existent transition area, I gained the biggest part of my gap over the rest of the field.

All those who tried to chase me down immediately, did not finish. Those who came to CP2 during that night, did not want to chase me right away. I was also thinking to stay a while in the middle of 3rd section at crossing point at Tan Hill, but eventually I found enough willpower to move on to CP3. Since this time nobody really knew what my gap was, everyone was just assuring me, that it was huge.

I went from one surprise to another, for example when I set off from CP3. The track went along a river and was very flat, so it looked very runnable, but the opposite was true. There was hardly any trail and those trails that were there, were broken and stony.  But the reward was great - probably the most beautiful leg of the race. First, I could enjoy the Low Force and High Force waterfalls, but later I got into completely remote wilderness, which I never would have expected in England, until I went near beautiful water reservoir to a brutal glacial valley High Cup Nick, where some small jet fighter was just having a practice. Wonderful.

But the other part of this leg went through the highest hills of the race and during the descent a heavy fog came down so it was hard to see.

When I try to recall the route with hindsight, I can see a lot visions. Well, it was a really long route. I can see clearly the first hour, when heavy rain turned to snow and the ground was covered by 10 cm of snow in a while. I can see nice paved, submerged and tricky trails on the moorlands, which turned icy at times. I can see a large number of meadows and farmlands that the way was crossing. I also remember seeing no one at the farms (As my sister noted, English people have tractors and Polish people for taking care of the farmland!)

I can recall the very traily second leg, the fight with weather in the third, the beautiful fourth leg, mud, Hadrian’s Wall and mud again on the fifth section and forest and windy hills on the last one.

I also remember permanently present mud and thick fog that could be cut, had not my knife been blown away by wind and also "bog and moorland". This can be translated in many ways. Probably the closest would be "hassle and troubles". There were more and more moorlands and more and more troubles. Troubles with night navigation, because sometimes there was no trail at all, even through these situations I handled them most of the time. My legs and feet were bad because a few steps in a bog were enough to keep your feet freezing cold.

Inflammation

That dreaded word, when you feel pain at some point, and the pain grows stronger and stronger as you continue in the race. It drags a bigger and bigger portion of your attention. You cannot filter it and not think about that, because it is not some unimportant kind of pain that would not mean anything, such as when your skin is rubbing somewhere and you get a blister or a rash. This pain means that some muscle (tendon or something else) is overloaded and if you continue, it suffers and you overload it more and more. And exactly this happened around 90 km before the finish line, when I felt the paint at familiar place in tibialis anterior.

For a while, I was thinking what to do with that, and then I found the solution. Nothing. Ibuprofen. Or 2.  (Usually I avoid taking pills during my races, but I know this muscle and what pain it is capable of when inflamed.) I would have to slow down, that's true, but 90 km is not so much not to finish the race and it is not too much for the inflammation to get much worse.  The morning after I finished the race, I could almost could not walk (at all, really), but the estimated time of recovery (week or two), was a good estimation. Now it is ten days after the race and I have been for a run for the first time ...

Well, even the last 90km had passed and I ran down to Kirk Yetholm village to the end. And a lot of organizers and food and beer and rest and sleep and warmth. And also the finish line! After 110 hours and 45 minutes I reached the finish line in a new course record. This is nice to hear. But this does not last for a long time. At the finish everything is just falling apart, my body stops working and I can feel cold, hunger, fatigue, pain and suddenly I realize that I am really sleepy.

Two Races At A Time

This race was a solo race and this was my biggest fear. Five days somewhere in the bogs of England, what will I do there? How will I get on with myself? Can my head cope with that?

But, I was never alone in this race. Before the start of the race I asked my friend on Facebook for support. And so many people were racing with me at other places. I was somewhere outside, during the day and night, running my own race. But thanks to perfect GPS tracking anyone could run virtually with me. And through cell phone I could know, that more and more people were watching.

From the beginning of the second leg I was receiving messages of support. Sometimes people were writing how big my gap is, sometimes just cheering for me. And as the race went further I could feel how it was getting stronger. Support and expectation can put you under pressure, but it was enormously encouraging and this was driving me further. Thanks to all of you. This huge and growing support defeated all bogs, sleep deprivation, fatigue, inflammation and to some extent also the falling apart after reaching the finish line, when all the race tension is just released.

Bad Technologies

I often hear the lament (which I do not really approve of) that modern technologies are alienating people. How we use SMS, Facebook and the internet in general to replace personal communication. Kids tend to sit at home, instead of going outside. Instead of meeting with friends we message on Facebook, send and SMS or share a lot of bullshit in our status. Well, in this case, modern technologies enabled any communication at all.

In "Into the wild" we could hear that happiness is only real when shared. I would not think of it in connection with SMS messages and such, but this was the case and the end of the race was very emotional for me, even though I was making my way alone down a grassy slope.

Technologies are just tools, it is how you use them. So Facebook and phone are OK, they enabled me to stay in touch, but I could go for a real beer now instead Facebook.

What More?

I often get questions, if I am going to do more of these kind of races. If I will get myself into ultralong solo races, such as The Yukon Arctic Ultra and such? Well, I don't know. It is great that I did well here, and it means a lot to me. But the last 90km I was fighting with inflammation of my tibialis anterior and the morning after the race I could not walk at all.  It took me a week until I could move normally and it still was not OK until 10 days after the race to do some running. And if this was to happen after each race, I will not do these races.

Simply put, 400 km is just too much and I hope I can find a way to reinforce some critical parts of my body and to avoid these inflammations. I feel that at different points of the race different parts of my body were giving me hints that it had been too much for them. I could convince most of them, the rest I could not.

But I believe that I will find a way.  Because I have a very positive experience from England. It is not only the win, but the reception I received in England by the organizers  before the race, what the volunteers did during the race to me and basically everyone was very nice to me. Now I go for a winter adventure race in Poland, where we go with a team, I feel much more as a team player and if we sort out the funding, in August we will go back to The UK, now as a full team, for the Itera ARWS event.

At the end I would like to thank everyone for the support I received,  it was really amazing. Special thanks goes to the Sanasport running store, which support me in the long run in these extreme races. 

Written by Andy Mouncey - http://www.bigandscaryrunning.com/

 

‘Bravo!’

‘Courage!’

Late morning on Saturday and the Italian ski town of Courmayeur looks every inch picture-postcard under clear blue skies. I’ve just cleared the forest after a mind-bogglingly long & steep zigzag descent into what is the traditional half way point of the race after what has been for me nearly 12 hours of physical and emotional ups and downs on a truly alpine scale.

We’ve also had every type of weather thrown at us during the previous 78 km and some 4400m of climbing and descending, but that’s not the reason for my haunted expression: It’s because I know that my race will stop right here. 

I’ve known that for the last few hours - it’s just that the Italians are not making it easy. Men, women, young and old are out on the race route shouting and clapping encouragement to the weary runners. It’s the children – the bambinos - that get to me, doing unbridled enthusiasm as only they know how. Thinking of my own boys just makes it worse and I feel the tears start to bubble. Then the UTMB race organisation works a leverage trick of their own. Every runner has their full name and the flag of their country printed alongside their number. The result is that spectators can make it personal. So I have my name shouted by smiling faces as I close in on the municipal sports complex in the centre of town which is the checkpoint. I feel a complete and utter fraud. My number is shouted ahead so that my dropbag with spare kit in can be found among the other 2299, and then the knife goes in. I’m handed it by a smiling young Italian boy not much older than my eldest: ‘Bravo, Andy!’

Oh, Jesus…

I have to turn away as I’m in serious danger of bursting into tears right there, and walk the final few yards into the building trying desperately to smile and wave my thanks around a very wobbly bottom lip.

Up the stairs guided by kindly Italians and into what looks like a huge mess hall where runners are seated setting new speed records in food consumption. I look for the chair furthest away from everyone and everything and make a beeline for it, As I sit down the dam bursts and the tears flow uninterrupted for what seems like many minutes. It’s taken 25 years of racing but finally I have another first: Mouncey, Andy, UTMB 2011, Did Not Finish.

 

Is This Wise?

It all started a week ago as I flew out early to get ready to receive the six runners I’d be coaching who’d signed up with www.alpine-oasis.com/trail-running for a week in UTMB country. 

‘Andy, is this wise?’ Phil & Annie (Mr Mrs Alpine-Oasis) could, I suppose, be forgiven their scepticism.

Four weeks earlier I’d had the small matter of the Lakeland 100, then I was proposing to complete UTMB on the back of an intensive week in the mountains with a client group. While the pace over the ground would be very comfortable for me, it would be full-on in all other aspects.

So honestly? I didn’t know. And I wanted to find out. And I was OK with it not going to plan to get my answer. But I also figured a week in the big stuff would be good for the legs and the head – because adjusting to the sheer scale of the landscape out here is one of the hardest initial challenges. So I’d built a case and presented my arguments – but the jury was still out.

 

Taking A Look

Before the clients arrived I had a route reccie to complete.

‘If you do nothing else then look at the final two climbs,’ said Mr Fellsman Mark Hartell. ( There is 10 in total, by the way). ‘They’re the steepest and the hardest and will make or break your race.’

I only had time for a look at the final one, and realised very quickly that Mark wasn’t kidding. It was a 700m monster all gained in 4km. Visions of grown men crying… 

 

The Week Before

We had a superb week with our multi-national group of runners out and about from our base in Les Contamines on the UTMB race route. The sun shone as we introduced our folks to the joys of a glacial meltwater river bath post-run, English puddings, and a dog called Pickle. We also did some very cool running – culminating in an overnight stay at the high mountain refuge on the Croix de la Bonhomme – the highpoint of the race route.

Then on the Monday our special guest Stuart Mills www.ultrastu.blogspot.com arrived, and a greater contrast in pre-race routines you could not find.

‘Andy, is this wise?’ intermated the man who beat me by about 5 miles at the 2010 Lakleland 100.

Well, at least it gave me another chance to rehearse my argument. Heck, it sounded plausible – didn’t it?

Stu was a big hit – not least because his approach to this ultra lark is not the most conventional you will ever find and therefore just perfect for busting some limiting beliefs and kicking off an argument – er, I mean, provoking discussion. 

He was asked about his strategy: ‘Go off as fast as I can while I can.’

Er, but it’s a 100 mile race, Stuart – why would you do that?

‘Cos it’s fun to race the big boys.’

It’s fun??

I could see jaws dropping and eyebrows heading upwards, but there was no denying it, Mr Mills enthusiasm was catching.

What about stretching, Stuart?

‘I don’t enjoy it so I don’t do it – why would I do something I don’t enjoy?’

Pause. Fair point.

 

Bombshell

Friday morning and a bomb drops as 2300 runners receive the following text from the race organisation:

UTMB: important storm + cold weather + rain or snow. UTMB start at 11.30pm

Phil has been watching the weather closely over the last 48 hours and this is the one he’s been waiting for. Clearly the race organisation do not want a repeat of last year  - race stopped 3 hours in due to awful weather – and do want to get the leading edge of the front out of the way before the race starts. But they’ve also taken the final climb out of the route in favour of a valley bottom option because the snow line is now down to around 2000m and the forecast is for seven shades of hell to sweep the high ground.

A five hour delay – so most people will do two nights then…

As 2300 race plans implode, I check the obvious first: Can I still make my flight home (??!)

And then the rest of the day is given over to Plan B. I’m quite fortunate because I didn’t have much of a Plan A to start with so there’s really not much to change other than take advantage of the additional sleep and eat time. I do, however, change to more grippy shoes. For those runners who’d done the detailed scheduling, modelling and reccie runs it was a different story – and Stuart was one such runner…

 

Chamonix, 1.5 Hours To Go

It’s belting down and we all wonder how busy the start will be. I recall watching here last year in packed crowds and with the whole place jumping. But 11.30 at night in a deluge?

I do the essentials and hand in my drop bag for the half way checkpoint, then Annie makes an emergency call to a friend who lives in town: ‘Joy, can we call in for a cup of tea, please?!’ Thank god she’s in, and we sit out the remaining wait time slowly steaming and dripping over her floor while checking the race updates online. Phil joins us half way through. He’s got full media accrediation this year which means he’s covering the entire race – someone else who will be pulling a two night gig.

 

30 Minutes To Go

Back outside and the square is a sea of multicoloured waterproofs. People have appeared as if from nowhere, and if it’s not in full jump mode, it’s pretty close with the bedraggled MC s giving their all to whip up the crowd. I shout into Annie’s ear ’I need to be over there!’ A hug and kiss sends me on my way to squirm through the bodies to get as close as I can to the start gantry. 

I finally come to a halt about 50 yards away recalling that Stuart had said that would equate to around a 5 minute delay. If I turn my head I can see the big screen behind me which is showing shots of the front line of the start. There’s Killlian, Jez, Scott, Sebastian, Lizzy, all looking as reassuringly soaked as us mere mortals. All other movement is impossible so I try and relax and take it all in from under my hood. There’s a lot to absorb: It maybe nearly midnight in godawful weather, but the square is packed, music is thumping, people hanging off balconies, and cameras going off everywhere. And even though I’m a repressed Englishman I can’t help being drawn into the excitement…

 

Go!

A massive cheer, music cranked to maximum, a surge, then a stop, and we’re off – kinda. It’s stop start with bottlenecks frequent and a crowd who are going nuts. The emotion is almost overwhelming and to my astonishment I feel myself welling up as we shuffle between the barriers. I had absolutely not expected this but have some real wobbly lip moments and damp eyes as every so often a face in the crowd comes into focus and our eyes lock if just for a split second. What’s conveyed in that connection? Excitement, joy, fear, awe and…love? All I know at the time is that it is enough to move me…

Clearing the town I’m threading my way through the bodies as gaps open and trying desperately to avoid being skewered by a trekking pole. While around 50% of the elite field will use them, they are the kit choice of the majority as you go down the field. I have mine stashed and my plan is to use them from halfway. More bottlenecks as we enter the park: It’s a large and clearly very scary puddle.

What the..?!?!

Ah, so continentals slow down for puddles, obviously.

I elbow through and splash down the middle leaving howls of derision in my wake.

Unbelievable.

 

The First Climb

It takes me around one hour of running along the valley bottom to find any meaningful space between the bodies – and I thought I’d got a reasonably good start position. An hour! I try very very hard to relax and just try and ease through as gaps appear but have to own up to the fact that impatience and clostrophobia get the better of me on more than a few occasions. Straight through the first checkpoint at 8km congratulating myself on avoiding any puncture wounds, and onto the approach to the first climb which will be a height gain of 800m in 6km to the high point at La Charme.

A sharp turn then boom! straight up. This is our night run route with our clients so not only is this whole next section familiar to me, it’s familiar in the dark. I focus in on a relaxed and steady pace through the tarmac switchbacks which give way to muddy forest 4 x 4 trails. I seem to be steadily gaining ground without going into the red zone which is something to smile about as we thread our way upwards. And still people are out cheering on the course – not just a handful, but LOTS. Impromptu aid stations at the end of driveways, the noise of cowbells, entire families are out in the poring rain at god knows what hour of the night.

We gain the top and I get ready for the 7km and 1000m plunge through the forest into St Gervais in the valley bottom. It’s treacherous underfoot with much of the smaller paths now mud chutes. I bless my change of shoes and wonder briefly how many of the Europeans in their smoother shoes for the dry hardpacked trails will be getting on. I find that even being conservative and protecting my quads I’m passing folks here and there.

So it’s a happy if very bedraggled chap who trots into the first big CP at 21km to find once again the place is jumping and the soggy cameraman lining up on me is – ‘Phil!’

‘I love your work, Mr Mouncey’

‘Wonderful to be working with you again, Mr Coates.’

We indulge in a mutual grinning moment as I’m swift in and out gaining some more places in the process. I don’t register it at the time but I’m already starting to pay for neglecting my eating and drinking in this first half marathon. One of the side effects in bad weather is that you just want to get your head down and get on with it – eating and drinking become less important, not least because the sensation of sweating is missing. And I’ve been remiss.

 

Into The Abyss

31km and we hit the CP at Les Contamines after threading our way along and up and down the valley. I’m looking forward to meeting Annie and our runners for a boost before we hit the big desolate stuff. Sure enough there’s a smiling Annie with rice pudding and tea and an even more smiley welcome from Simon, Tiiu, Claudia and Lilly. I chow down and chat between mouthfuls realising that at last the rain has stopped but it’s definitely colder here at 1100m. A handshake with Simon, kisses and soggy hugs from the girls and I head off on the approach to the longest climb and the high point of the race, the 1500m haul to the Croix de al Bonhomme at 45km some 2500m high.

As I leave the village I half register the time on a clocktower. I’d reckoned around 3.5 hours to this point – the leaders would have been through 30-40 minutes ago – and I’m sure I see clock hands at quarter past three. 

There or thereabouts then…

But I’m now very cold and it takes me an age to warm up. I realise I’ll have to stop and gear up before starting the long walk approach as the trail rises, and 4km later I do just that. On go the overtrousers, hat and gloves and out comes more food. Part of me registers the fact that I’m in France in August wearing full winter kit. Another part registers that it’s been a very slow last 4km and that I’d better tune in ‘cos there’s a big-ass climb coming up.

So I walk, eat and do my best to appreciate the stars in a clearing sky. I’m on familiar ground having brought clients here over the last couple of years so know exactly what is coming. As we clear the forest and head ever higher the landscape broadens out so that I can see a line of twinkling headtorches stretching out for miles ahead. I’m doing fine on the lower slopes but as the path steepens and I engage another gear my breathing suddenly spirals out of control and I’m having to fight to maintain my pace.

Bloody hell!

I’m both shocked and seriously uncomfortable and am forced to slow down to retain some semblance of control. Looking back on the steep switchbacks I can see I’m pulling what amounts to a train of about 20-30 people all following exactly the line I’m taking. To my amazement only a handful of these people charge past me on the steepest final part of the pull upto the col, but my attention is all over the place and suddenly I’m constructing all sorts of scenarios around packing it all in.

An abyss has opened infront of me and I’m heading straight down.

I realise the colour of the land is changing and am momentarily distracted from doing wallowing self-pity. It’s takes me a few seconds to make the connection: Snow! Fresh snow on the ground which has also lightened the shape of the mountains around us as the wind now tries to blow us off the col. This is the point of no return: If I continue from here I’m committed all the way to the next valley floor CP at 50km. And I can also turn back and retrace to Les Contamines and my own bed in our apartment. Fortunately I’m not thinking all that clearly and with most things on automatic I find my legs continue to carry me onward.

My mood is only momentarily lightened as I clock one of the Japanese runners who is clad only in a vest on his top half. Just a vest! Everyone else I can see has got full winter kit on here!

There’s a final few km of rocky traverse and gently climbing from the col to the refuge at the high point. I’d hoped to crack on from here, but am reduced to what feels like a shuffle. I have no energy for anything remotely upwards and my spirits have just spiralled.

 

Brighter, Briefly

As the world lightens around us I wander listlessly down to the refuge which marks the beginning of a 5km descent to Les Chapieux which will see us lose 1000m in height. The path is steep frozen mud and shale going down and down as far as the eye can see. Treacherous in places. Above us is a different story: Clear lightening skies start to highlight the mountains in a stunning early morning display showing off the new snowfall in all it’s glory.

But I’m still doing ‘listless.’

Two thirds of the way down I start to pick up and by the time we hit the valley floor I’ve regained all the ground I lost on the climb – but I figure some serious calories are needed and proceed to make short work of two bowls of soup.

While I’m occupied I’m also chewing over the ‘abyss’ moment. I can see nothing good from that and a suspicion grows around some very empty reserve tanks. We’ll know for sure on the next climb…

The next 40 minutes or so is the best weather window we’ll get and we are treated to sunshine on the upper slopes of Mont Blanc ahead and to our left, clearing skies and freshly snow covered peaks. I’ve shuck my waterproofs, hat and gloves and rolled my sleeves up – alittle precipitously because it’s still very cold I have to grab my hat and gloves back on before I’ve gone too far.

We’re now on the 10km and 1000m climb to the Col de la Seigne and as the weather closes in once again around halfway up, my breathing spirals and I’m reduced to a slow walk. This time even my Japanese vest-wearing friend does nothing to lift my spirits. I’m moving too slowly to generate the heat I need to stay warm so despite full winter gear on again, I am also cold. Which just depresses me even further. I can see no possible way of breaking this pattern so I can see no possible way of completing this race. I reflect ruefully that, hey – at least the experiment’s working and I’m getting some answers…

I am a truly sorry son of a b**** who shuffles over the frozen high point in what amounts to a near blizzard.

 

It’s Just Not Working

We’re now heading down to the Italian side of the Mont Blanc massif and the landscape changes accordingly. We are much closer to the towering walls and as a result it all seems much more dramatic as we emerge from the mist. I have moments when I am able to gawp in amazement at the scenery, but they are getting fewer as I do depression with more frequency.

We have one more climb to go before the long drop to Courmayeur and I realise I’ve decided: I will stop at Courmayeur. I also realise there is no lifting of spirits from that decision. I’m just too tired to care that much and anyway, there’s still a way to go. 

Despite all my mental skills I can still see no way to do another 50 miles and 5000m of climbing and descending once I reach Courmayeur. More importantly, I can’t seem to make it matter enough either. I’m now paying the price for skimping the mental and emotional prep and figuring I could complete this little jaunt on what pretty much amounts to momentum. Lakeland was always my priority – this, (and the pre-race week) was an experiment. I was blasé and now it’s back to bite me.

 

Full Stop

The fourth big climb is a 500 pull upto the Arrete du Mont Favre, a 2400m high point at 69km from which we start the 9km descent dropping 1200m into Courmayeur. The only way I can see me getting over this is with poles and so it proves despite my ‘blow at halfway’ pattern kicking in once again. I make time and places yet again on the descent as we drop into Italy and beautiful sunshine. I stop for an age at the final small CP just faffing about before the steep drop through the forest into the town preparing, I think, for it all to be over. The forest is quiet, beautiful, peaceful – and I am certainly calmer when I emerge.

It’s taken me 78km & 4400m of climbing and descending to produce some answers to questions I probably had the answers to anyway – but sometimes the only way to really know is to do.

 

The Bigger Picture

The final race distance after the route changes was longer than normal: 107 miles

The finishing rate was 47%

35 hours into the race only 120 runners had finished

The greatest % of runners finished between 40-46 hours

 

Short photo montage here: www.mudsweatandtears.co.uk/2011/08/29/utmb-in-pictures 

Results, pre and post race interviews, photos here: www.irunfar.com 

7 minute film montage here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFWDUsvLCoE 

Jez Bragg Blog here: www.jezbragg.blogspot.com 

Written by Luke Ashton - http://lukeashton.blogspot.fr/

The North Downs Way 100 mile trail run covers a 9,930ft climb and an overall elevation change of 20,000ft. Making this one of Centurion's toughest events on the calendar. Today will be my 2nd attempt in trying to complete the route.


"Beginning in Farnham at the Western end of the North Downs. The course works its way through some of the best of the English countryside before traveling through the small village of Puttenham and on to Guildford. It then continues on to Ranmore Common before the steepest climb of the race up to the top of Box Hill. The trail then drops down the other side and back up to Reigate Hill, on through Merstham to Oxted and a further 8 miles to Knockholt Pound and the 50 mile point at the outermost edge of Greater London. The course then travels on through Wrotham and Holly Hill before crossing the Medway Bridge. The final 25 miles see runners travel South East towards Dover running the majority on trails, paying brief visits to the villages of Detling, Hollingbourne, Harrietsham and Charing before dropping down into Wye and the finish"
Centurion Running

With a very early 3am wake up call to reach the start in Farnham this morning. I have my usual race fuel of half an avocado, with olive oil. Then Bulletproof coffee for the car journey.

I stayed at the parents in Horsham this time, which is about 50 minutes away. Dad is driver today and we pick up ultra runners, Shawn and Katherine from the Aldershot Travelodge along the way. Arriving in good time just after 5am.

I remember the registration well from last year, and so far there is no wait for bag check and number collection. A big hug and warm welcome from Nici Griffin, then I spot Kevin Smith. We chat about the day ahead and how excited we are to get going.

This will be my 3rd experience of the NDW event. Back in 2012 I didn't get a spot from the wait list and volunteered at Botley Hill mile 43 instead. Then 2013 I dropped with an ongoing ankle issue at Botley Hill. So this year it would be great if I make it past this spot and discover the 2nd half of the NDW....

I attach my number then drop my halfway box in the van outside. Just before the race brief I bump into Tim Lambert and meet his lovely wife Solange.

The route is very straight forward and only slight diversion at Knockhalt Pond for the 50 mile aid station, but just follow the Centurion arrow markers.

Race Briefing 05:30

A last minute toilet stop and then a short walk to the trail head start. John is outside chatting with Shawn, he said he wanted to make it for the start, and true to his word he has! Hopefully John will be able to pace me this evening somewhere along the route.

My coffee is kicking in and I am feeling pumped, ready to hit the trail. We had plenty of rain last night with the feel of thick humidity still in the air... I am only in a tech top as I know I will heat up quickly with this morning...

With Ultra runner Shawn Timmons

A last few minute pics and wishes of good luck. John says he will look out for me at Newlands Corner which is 14 miles away.

With just a few seconds to go, I make my way closer to the front pack and set my Runkeeper and Garmin at the ready...

180 runners have arrived to make the start of the 2014 Centurion North Downs Way 100.

6:00
And GO.!!!!

Quickly the runners disperse along the track as we weave in and out of lanes, gates, fields and woodlands. Memories of last year come back to me, except it is all so quiet without ultra Ian Shelley and Bill to chat to this time. Come to think of it looking around at the other runners, I do not recognise anybody at the moment.

The Trail head North Downs Way

The morning is still cool but very damp, with the humidity rather high. Already I am heating up and my clothes start to feel clamy and wet.

I stay to just under 9.00min/mile pace and preserve my energy on the climbs, then running the flat and downhill parts.

After just over an hour I take an S!Cap, which I wouldn't normally do this early, but I am sweating bucket loads already!

Good morning North Downs Way


Puttenham
Mile 7
Eventually the track leads through some woods and to the first aid station. I have enough water in my Salomon S-Lab Hydro5 pack for now, so just have a few cups of water. The team take down my number and I carry on ahead along the route.

I spot a runner in a kilt who I've seen at another race before. Turns out to be the MarathonManUk (Rob), who asked the time I planned on finishing today. When he said he has just finished a midnight marathon, I didn't think he meant today!

He is running at least one marathon every day for a year and is on day 119. I chatted some with him as we run, he said how it's been a great challenge, but now with the day job it is starting to take a toll on his body.

Sometimes the running can be the easy part...

Newlands Corner
Mile 14
Very damp, still humid and no sign of the air clearing yet. The sun is shining but it will take more than that to dry up. My clothes are soaked through.

When reaching the next aid station I catch up with John who has been waiting here for me. I refill my water bladder and take another salt capsule. I am still fueled by the coffee so just consume plenty of water with NUUN electrolytes for now.

I thank John and will see him again later.

Robert Young heads off up the trail


Navigating through fields, woods and country lanes, it all is very straight forward to follow. Either the national trail north downs marker, centurion arrows or red and white tape. The occasional orange spray paint 'ndw100' on the ground is a good guide when paths are overgrown or covered.

The markings are much clearer this year and closer together when needed. I even stayed on track this time at Martha's Hill, and only go slightly off course through a village before noticing my missed turn...


No missing this!

The air has finally cleared from the wet and the sun is heating up the ground fast. It feels dryer already and my clothes are less damp, at last...

The bright light and big clouds show an array of lush green hills with Surrey and Denbies below. The north downs are breathtakingly scenic and those steep climbs really make it all the worth while from the top.

More miles running and another salt capsule needed, 20 miles in and I am just starting to feel ready for some fuel to top up my engine. Few sips of olive oil that I carry on me is sufficient for now until I reach the next aid station.


View from Colley Hill

The route is very familiar still and after heading downhill into the woods, the chalky track leads down steep towards the A25 crossing near Denbies. I am grateful I went for the Merrell Trail shoes with this race rather than the Luna Sandals at SDW100. They are holding up well with the terrain and cushion in the right places when my feet get tired.

The path heads down the cycle lane and then under the road, to the other side and into the small car park, where the support team are waiting with refreshments.

Box Hill
Mile 24
9:12 min/mile
RANK 16

3hrs 46mins of running so far. My number is recorded and with help I refill my water bladder and add some NUUN tablets. I eat a few almonds, pecans and cherry tomatoes before thanking the team and jumping across the stepping stones over the river.

Always a beautiful site but with a nasty twist around the corner....

STEPS! Big, steep, high and uneven terrain to add to the mix. I think the one good thing about these is the huge trees that shade them. Then the views once out on the top again.

I march up them one at a time and refuse to look up until I reach the top step! Music is my way of distraction right now and seems to be working...

The stepping stones-River Mole


The views from the top are brief once reaching more woodland. The terrain is uneven with plenty of tree roots, stones and chalk. The track leads down steep and just like last year, and at the same spot, I loose my footing and fly forward, catching my fall with my right hand.

Luckily I do not hit the ground as hard as I did last time, but I've landed heavy bruising the knuckle. I worry little of it now and the legs are still mobile which is my main concern...


Steps to Reigate Hill

Dusting myself off and heading downhill with caution.

Soon enough after a few more miles I come into the next aid station.

Reigate Hill
Mile 31
Reaching 11:00, over the bridge and a big welcome of cheers and clapping from the spectators. I see my crew, Mum and Dad as I pass the cafe into the park grounds.

Number checked and recorded. Another water refill and a few cups to quench my first. Alma is here to greet me with a big hug and some cheeses and olives, as always. A Centurion event wouldn't be the same without her here. It's always good to see her along the route. I pick at a few but am not overly hungry yet.

Ultra Crew: John, Mum, Sunday, Dad and Will

I catch up with John, Will, Sunday and the folks. I swap over my Salomon flask with one of Johns, as I've had a leaking tip which is becoming so annoying and wet in my pocket. With half water and coconut water added, problem solved.

John to the rescue again!

I have a coffee with cream and try some of mum's almond nut bread (my recipe). Very nice but not my usual race fuel. Instead I eat a few scoops of my Energy Fuel that's in the crew cool box.

It's time to head off, Sunday reminds me to get moving again. I thank and hug everyone and tell them I will be reaching halfway today and feeling great!


Caterham
Mile 38
Just 7 miles later it is the next aid station. This section was yet another steep climb through the woods after Colley and Reigate Hills, but then shorter and some flat road as the route leads through Merstham village, Oxted, over the M25 and then towards Caterham.

I picked up my pace on this leg, still feeling strong and the coffee doing the trick.

Top up with salts and water. Few nuts, cherry tomatoes, bites of melon and quick chat to the team, I am ready to move on.


Photo courtesy of Hisayo Kawahara

I have memories from seeing the medic last year at this spot, ice and some worries whether I would finish or not.

I leave with a spring in my step and a confidence that I WILL finish the North Downs 100 today!

Approaching lunchtime and the sun is really warming up the air. Although It is much drier now and sweating has become less of a problem as I adjust to the more pleasant weather.

Stuart March photography

The last climb under the shaded trees rises very steep until reaching the next aid station up Botley Hill. It is impossible for me to move quickly here, so I hike up having a breather and in happy spirits I'm making good progress with no discomfort as yet...

Botley Hill-The Pirates
Mile 43
I am greeted by a warm welcome and hugs from the Pirates here. I explain how great it is to reach them after last years drop. I refill with some water and add another NUUN tablet. I'm pretty good for fuel so just have a few bites of cheese with some almonds.


Photo courtesy of Matthew Toy

Thanking the guys I head on over the road and follow the trail through another wooded area. I come across two markers for the North Downs Way, either straight on or up the steps. No centurion marker to be seen so go with straight ahead.

I soon see a marker with an arrow to the left, is this for up the steps or straight on? I am confused....

Eventually I come out of the woods and meet a lane. No footpath or markers. Damn.

I walk up the lane and get out my map for the first time today. Shortly two runners ahead walk down the lane and ask where we are. After locating us on the map, we can reach the track on the right when it crosses this lane. We should have took the steps after all.

Which way?

Once back on route it is a pleasant flat track and then mixture of fields and road until going off the route slightly and into Knockhalt Village.

I pick up the pace where I can on this section and really start to buzz that I am passed my dreaded drop point from last year! I am feeling so good right now and looking forward to the unfamiliar second half to come...

Knockhalt Pond
Mile 50
10:36 min/mile
RANK 9

8hrs and 50mins has passed. I refill my water and grab my drop box, turning down the offer of hot food from Solange who is part of the team here. I eat light when running ultra, and most who know me will understand how I can run very long hours without crashing or needing to eat. I have become very fat adapted the past year and follow a No Sugar No Grain lifestyle. Which not only stops the need of snacking but keeps my metabolism fueled in 5th gear all day and when running.

I let Sunday and Mum know I am just changing my clothes and freshening up.

Halfway point with a very proud Mum


I top up with P20 spf50 sunscreen as it can wear off with sweating. Drink some coffee with cream and eat some avocado then a few small spoonfuls of my energy fuel mix. I pack some cheese and top up my coconut water and nut mix to take along with me.

My back up ANKER battery for my iPhone is running low, so I swap that with a fully charged one. I swap my sunglasses for my PETZL head torch with another spare to carry for the night section. Then pack my arm sleeves with me.

Feeling dry, fresh, watered and fueled up again I think I am set to get moving. 20 minutes or longer has already passed.

Thanking and hugging everyone goodbye, I head on down the road and follow the diversion markers to reach the NDW again.

I have a smile on my face and a sense of accomplishment as I break the halfway point.

A few miles of small country lanes then fields before reaching what has to be the steepest and highest climb of the day. It looks like a narrow track high into some woods. I walk quickly but tire halfway and slow down. My quads burn just from walking.

What feels like forever eventually flattens out then descends very steep. Tree stumps and muddy track is very technical to navigate with fatigued legs, so I tread carefully and slowly as I can.


Otford

The track soon opens out to glorious open fields and all the colours of summer can be seen from afar. An enjoyable stretch of flat and undulating trails meets the village of Otford.

I see a familiar face approaching ahead wearing running kit. I'm so in my zone but figure It must be Allan Rumbles. We exchange a hello, he looks to be meeting a fellow runner.

Few more miles pass and now on the Pilgrims Way. Another salt capsule and plenty of water before I reach the next aid station.

Wrotham
Mile 60
Once reaching and rather tired now from the flat road section but still feeling strong, it's time for some strong coffee from the team and few nuts with melon.

I refill my water and chat to the volunteers how tough the climbing has been. Reassured that I am looking good and fresh, so it can't be all so bad.

I feel hopeful I will keep up the pace until the finish. Little words like this can really help boost the mood and spirits when needed.

I thank everyone and once set make my way down the lane for the next 6 miles leg.


Photo courtesy of Dan Skrobak (@dnna)

This section is a combination of small lanes, track through woods and fields.

Holly hill as a pleasant climb that leads out to more glorious scenery of the downs and Kent. The clouds are broken and the breeze has picked up, making the conditions perfect this evening.


View from Holly Hill

From Holly hill it is then through Birling with plenty of rolling lush green and not much else to see except sheep and goats. I really am feeling good and my body just seems to be running on auto pilot.

Some olive oil and cheese with another salt capsule is about due. I am keeping the salt levels up every 2hours and it seems to be working very well with my hydration. As the humidity has dropped I am not needing so much water as this morning.

Somewhere near Birling


Somewhere shaded by the trees is the next aid station with another warm welcome. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but it seems Christmas has arrived with the theme here and it is a very Merry one!


Santas Grotto


Holly Hill
Mile 66
The team record my number and help assist refilling my water. I drink a few cups and nibble on some Brazil nuts and cherry tomatoes. Another strong coffee and then I take a jelly baby sweet for my sugar trickle.

Thanking the team and looking forward to some long flatter miles to follow for this next leg.

I chew out the sugar and glucose before spitting out the sweet. Just this small amount seems to give me enough to focus my mind. However I'm looking more forward to my choc covered espresso beans once I see my crew...

Upper Halling/Noth Halling


I start to spot a few other runners here and there as they slow their pace. I pick up where I can and gradually overtake, increasing my position. At a guess I am now around 15th place but not sure.

Further on I spot smiling photographer Stuart and hi five him when passing.

The miles seem to tick over nicely and although my body is fatigued I feel a sense of euphoria and high running this long. I feel alert and awake it's like a drug.

The track becomes less trail and trees as the Medway Bridge starts to approach nearer. I can see all the boats across the water. The path leads out onto the road then follows the cycle path over the bridge.

Although a great experience up high and with the view, the long endless road is rather unpleasant. I take some pictures as a distraction and keep my head down until I meet the end of the bridge..

Medway Bridge Rochester


The path leads out and onto another long stretch of road that meets the countryside, heading towards Bluebell Hill. The climb is steady and windy. It's much cooler so I put on my arm sleeves for now.

I top up with my salts and then eat on some cheese and my nut/seed mix. From the flat and busy suburban roads to the great open fields and track, it is quite the contrast of scenery on this 10 mile leg.

I enjoy my music and let my mind drift off, thinking of the finish later, and whether I can make it in sub 18 hours? checking the time it looks unlikely and I won't have a true idea until reaching 80 miles. I also need to keep the aid station stops to a minimum...


Wicham Reach Borstal
Bluebell Hill
Mile 76
Once reaching the next stop up another steep climb, I can see my crew and what looks like the Bosh flag. When in view I see it is Steve and Tina cheering me on. Along with John, Will and Sunday. I chat to everyone, perhaps a little too much, as I am buzzing with endorphins right now!

The Ultra crew tracking me down

I get my number checked in and a hot black coffee with the team.Some water and a refill to my bladder. I feel ok without the fuel for now and just have a few sips of coffee and cream that Sunday managed to track down at a nearby coffee house. I have a few olives from John and pack some more cheese.

Bosh support: Steve, Tina, Sunday and John


Sunday is all kitted up and ready to hit the trail with me from here on. It is always great to have a pacer in the later stages and Sunday has become quite the tradition at the last section of Centurion events. John was not so sure if he could pace me a few weeks ago as he had a fall, but he is slowly getting back on it again and has offered to meet me later on down the route.

Pacer ready at Bluebell Hill

Thanking my amazing friends for making the effort and the drive out to see me, I hug everyone and set off down the hillside and through the shrubs with Sunday in tow. I feel over whelmed that Steve and Tina came along again at another race and try not to let the lump in my throat develop tears.

Sunday soon distracts my mind and fatigue with all the updates of the day, Bosh runners, family and friends all send their words of encourgement. Mum and Dad still cannot get over how far I can run and in one day! It blows their mind....

21:30
Head torches now on and navigating through more wooded areas over tree stumps and rocks. I find it easier to follow Sunday, as when behind I just see my shadow and cannot see the floor. He is very good in keeping my walking to a minimum, except with the climbs and steps along the way.

The sky turns dark very quickly and the breeze picks up bringing in the rain clouds. It is due to downpour by midnight and I really wanted to finish in that time.

The route is approx 102 miles and just approaching 80, so to cover over 20 in less than three hours is looking very tight. Detling is the next stop and after this the hills with killer steps everyone dreads along the NDW route...

Almost to Detling...


We weave in and out of some fields, over styles, and country lanes. The grass becomes very lumpy and thick in places causing our pace to slow. I have my arm sleeves on now as the temperature is dropping bringing in the damp feeling again.

A few miles are left, heading along through Boxley Warren that runs parallel to the Pilgrims Way. It feels like a long way but having the company has helped as a distraction on my aching muscles.

Still feeling very alert and focused we head on out the Warren and over the A249 onto Pilgrims Way where the flags and lights of the next indoor aid station can be seen.

Detling
Mile 82
11:35 min/mile
RANK 10
I spot Will and John cheering us inside and they come in to help assist us.

Few cups of water and help to refill my water bladder, John comes to help the team. I eat a couple of nuts and top up with black coffee. Will grabs my energy mix that contains the magic ingredients to keep my strong and fat burning.

A tap on my shoulder and to my surprise Mark Griffiths is here. He was pacing but his runner dropped unfortunately so he is here to see his mum Gwen. Gwen is one of the volunteers and tells me how great she is doing going NSNG. We chat about how easy it is once adapted and what I am eating on now. She thanks me for all the recipes shared and the best of luck.

It's great to see everyone and finally meet some my followers. Sunday reminds me I have a race to run and I realise I've been chatting for too long again....

15hrs and 51mins has passed. So we head outside to make our way back on the route. Goodbyes and thanks to everyone. John is now joining me on this leg so I run along side with him.


Pacer No2 John Fitzgerald

The last time I ran with John, I was pacing him for the London to Brighton Challenge. It is good to have another running buddy and John is a natural with crew support and now it seems as a pacer too!

He keeps me focused by talking about the day and the running I have planned later in the year, which is a clever distraction. He holds the gates open and helps me over the styles. He even moves large stones and branches away from the track for me and the other runners behind us. It is as if he is reading my thoughts, but I am just unable to put these things into action, as my reactions have become slower. I just follow him one foot in front of the other. It is all surreal but very clear and sharp too.

A couple of miles along the trail and through woodland again before reaching those dteps everyone talks of at Detling.... I wish I hadn't looked up, but you do, you always do... HUGE, STEEP, BIG and wide steps leading high into the dark woods. It is an eternity into blackness. I put my head down and hike up refusing to look up again. Over more stones and tree stumps, it is actually easier to use the sides where it is smooth and no steps.

I stop half way for a salt capsule and more water. Breathing in the night air. The rain is in the clouds already I can feel it.

What feels like a huge climb actually passes soon enough and I think with company it really wasn't as bad as I was expecting, so is a bonus. We are very high up in the hills and can see the twinkling lights of Thurnham and Hollingbourne down the valley.

The trail runs fairly straight on the edge of the hills and at one stage leads round a few bends, confusing us. Apart from our head torches guiding the track below, there is no way of seeing anything ahead in the distance. We go off ever so slightly but soon realise our error.

At Hollingbourne Hill and 88 miles into the route we reach the Pilgrims Way and a long stretch of flat road until approaching Lenham at 91 miles. The road is tiresome on my legs and they ache more than when on the trails, but it is also good to pick up the pace and judt run on auto pilot...

Lenham
Mile 91
Soon enough when we see the lights and signs ahead, and just as the rain starts to spit on us, we make it into the next aid station.


Yay! our running friend Jacqui Burne is part of the team here!

We hug her and she helps to refill my water and makes some black coffee. I nibble on a few nuts and melon and spot avocado that Jacqui made up. i tuck in to some and we chat how it has been today. I joke that I need to make it in by midnight, but now know this is out of the question. Jacqui asks if I am worried I may turn into a pumpkin then treads on my toe. Which I later found out, but do not recall any of this, it is all rather blurred and like looking back to a dream.

I am sure all this running long distance is like being on an acid trip... probably why ultra running is so addictive....

John says we are ready and need to get moving, I remember that part. thanking Jacqui and all the team we head back along the Pilgrims Way towards Charring.


I can see a few spotlights ahead and slowly we see it is two runners, the first I have seen since Bluebell hill, You can tell which one is racing as he has an awkward shuffle scuffing his feet.

00:00
The road is so long and without many bends, rocky and uneven in places then a steady incline. Few miles later I have a slight lull all sudden and eat some pine nuts and coconut chips, along with another salt capsule, in the hope it lifts my spirits. I let John do the talking and just follow him...

At about 95 miles we approach Sunday and Will parked up ahead along the lane. Feeling better and a few mouthfuls of coconut water, some olives and cheese, washed down with coffee, that is now cold. I start to feel perkier again.

Sunday is happy to take over again and we will see Will and John at the finish. Almost there, but not before the rain starts. It comes down so fast and hard, I am soaked before I even get my jacket on. We say bye for now and carry on down the road.


Dunn Street
Mile 98
RANK 8
The road stays much the same and smoother. A runner approaches in the other direction to come chat with us, I am confused if he is to pace someone and still waiting or just out to cheer the runners.

Turns out he is part of the team at the next aid station and came up the lane to meet us.

Nice chap, but I cannot place his name or remember much of the conversation.
We follow him to Dunn Street the last aid station. Few cups of water and a check of my bladder in the backpack. Still plenty of water left, so I just sip on some of Sunday's coffee and a few cherry tomatoes. Really not been hungry much the last 20 or so miles and the salts and water are enough.
The rain is still coming down hard and looks to be getting worse, so we thank everyone and make a move. I want to get this finished now and quickly...
I soon forget the wet and rain, it feels refreshing and therapeutic. Until reaching more tracks in the fields and over slippery styles. The water has mushed all the long grass and it clings to my ankles, making it impossible to run smoothly.
Luckily the track leads up into more woods and the trees have sheltered the rain. It is still uneven but less of a mud fest.
I hear a rustling from the hedges and a large black and white animal scurries across my path. "OMG what the F... is that!?, Sunday shouts out from behind me. Trying not to laugh too much, I explain that it looked like a Badger and has now gone. "Good" he replies...


The Finish
Soon enough the track leads out of the woods and down short lanes before heading across more fields. The arrows mark diagonal over the field then onto a road. No signs or marker can be seen in the dark and we figure it is straight ahead on the road in front of us. What feels like a long time running we soon see the familiar white and red tape from a tree.

Up and over another field and through high brambles and stinging nettles, Sunday shouts out in discomfort as the nettles sting his legs, I feel them but not so much through my tights. I look for another track but we are so deep into the growth it is impossible to see over them.

Once out I check he is ok. The rain is some relief but not much for him.

Garmin tracked 86 miles before dead battery


02:50
Lights can be seen and signs onwards to Wye, the finish. My Garmin has already died so I cannot guess how many miles are left. I think Sunday is bored with me asking how much further do you think?

My phone gets soaked even in my waist pouch and the Runkeeper paused without me realising it.

I was expecting an endless road with houses all asleep but soon enough lights from the station can be seen and a few spectators in the road waiting. We can see Will and he runs with us to show us the way. He stops to clap once we see the Centurion flags and I run around the village hall to the finish line with a slightly surprised team waiting...

I hug Nici and it takes a moment before she notices it is me.

At last the day is over and 102 miles accomplished. I finally made it through the North Downs Way, after two years on my to do list. My 4th 100 miler to date and 5 times of running 100+ miles.

All smiles with Sunday who sees me to the finish again

It is so good to get another buckle and complete the Centurion set. A shame it is not in one year to qualify for the Grand Slam but I am so pleased I have experienced all four.

I came in 8th place in the end which was a nice surprise as my pace started to slow with all the climbing and technical terrain.

North Downs is most certainly the hardest 100 I have run but also the best with my outlook and how I was feeling throughout...

Runners high! Stuart March photography


I would like to thank all my wonderful crew and support:
Sunday, John, Will, Mum, Dad, Steve, Tina, Sam and messages from Helen.

The fantastic team and volunteers that make Centurion events even better every time:
James Elson, James Adams, Nici Griffin, Edwina, Paul, Alma, Karen, Solange and Jacqui

8th position
20:52:15

Just as we are leaving I catch Shawn who sadly didn't make it today and had to pull out.

I later found out that Andy and Kevin suffered and didn't finish.

Tim makes it to the finish completing his first 100 miler race.

Katherine finishes yet another 100 as 2nd female.


My recovery this time around was much quicker than usual, perhaps as I had the South Downs Way 100 from six weeks ago in my legs? or good nutrition and being very fat adapted?

Two weeks later I lost a small toe nail but suffered with very little blisters. My achilles on both sides became rather inflames but soon subsided.

I ran a 40 mile training run and it went much better than I though it would. I struggled some in places yet not so much as I was preparing for. it seems my body and muscles are remembering and becoming better conditioned.

Either way I really enjoyed the highs and the lows and look forward to the next 100 miles....

Long may it continue

Ultra Luke
Running Free

Written by Richard Lendon - http://richrunnings.blogspot.fr/

On Good Friday, 22 intrepid ultra-runners began to converge on Hull for the start of the 3rd running of the Viking Way Ultra; 147 miles in 40 hours, from Hull to Oakham.
 
It was great to see so many familiar faces at race HQ, Premier Inn Hull West, in the evening – Mark and Alex Cockbain, Riccardo Giussani, Ben Davies, Jon Steele and Shirley Colquhoun, Allan Rumbles, Colin Fitzjohn, Andy Horsley, Cliff Canavan-King. Many others I knew by reputation.  After a communal dinner and with the race due to start at 7am, we all settled down for a good night’s sleep.
 
Or so we thought.
 
We were to woken to fire alarms just after midnight. Personally, I ignored them, although I did immediately think of the conch shell which is blown to announce 1 hour to the start of the legendary Berkley Marathons. The alarms sounded again and we were told to evacuate the building. Great.
 
I decided that the only tactic was to remain cheerful and see the funny side. After all Mark does call his events “The Hard Stuff”. In fact we wondered whether he had arranged for the alarms to sound just for a laugh! Some of asked if we could start now!
 
After over an hour outside in pajamas in very chilly conditions, we were finally allowed back to our rooms. For a final hurrah, the alarm sounded a few more times before allowing us to sleep at around 01:30.
 
At 5am, my alarm sounded. I didn’t feel like I’d slept at all. At least I’d be getting an early night that night. Oh, that was it….I wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all.
 
Viking Way 2014 
 
We sauntered down to the start and soon enough we were off on our journey. I started very steadily, having a good chat with Jon. Before long I found myself in a lead group with Ed Catmur, Luke Ashton, Cliff  Canavan-King and Andy Horsley. Cliff and I nattered away, whilst the others could barely get a word in edgeways.
 
Soon we were at Bilby, CP1, at 15 miles. Ed appeared to eat his body weight. He is very fast (15:44 at NDW100) so I decided to copy.
 
 
The next couple of legs through the Lincolnshire Wolds are the prettiest and most interesting part of the route with a few hills. Please bear in mind that the high point in Lincolnshire is the imaginatively named Wolds Top at 168m so I use the word ‘hill’ in that context!
 
Cliff, Ed and I seemed to be running fairly much together as we approached Tealby, CP2, at 30 miles. Luke was ahead of us but must have gone wrong as he entered the CP just after us. He was soon through with Cliff & I following.
 
Apart from pausing briefly in Donnington-on-Bain for a very therapeutic ice-lolly, we kept up a good pace through to Fulletby, CP3, at 50 miles. Here we had access to drop bags so we had a longer stop, changing socks and picking up gear for the night. Mark had outdone himself this year, providing hotdogs, rice pudding (with jam to accompany) and even cream eggs. Real Cadburys ones too, not home brand!
 
Living the dream!
Replenished it was down through Horncastle and then the long, flat, straight run to Woodhall Spa. Just before Woodhall Spa, I began to feel very tired and lethargic. I knew I had been eating and drinking well so thought it was one of ‘those phases’. Coming out of the town, I suddenly felt very lightheaded, and strangely emotional and tearful. With the next checkpoint only a couple of miles away, Cliff pushed on to warn them I was struggling. 
 
It was time to call Jenny!
 
Jenny and Jade were on their annual Easter break; this time touring Ireland. Jenny was driving but Jade was amazingly supportive and generally lovely. Our 2 girls really are wise beyond their years. Jenny pulled over and gave me some loving advice. With my resolve strengthened, I made my way towards Stixwold, CP4, 64 miles.
 
The checkpoint was manned by Drew Sheffield and Claire Shelley and well stocked with goodies. A couple of hot cross buns with lashing of jam seemed to work wonders, so I guess I must have been a bit low on fuel, or perhaps it was just the sugar hit. Or perhaps it was just one of ‘those phases’.
 
Off I trundled towards Lincoln. On the section towards Fiskerton I managed to go completely the wrong way. It was absolutely ridiculous to go wrong here as I live in Lincoln and know this bit like the back of my hand. Fatigue, pure and simple. Not wanting to end up back in Bardney, and seeing headlights, I opted for the cross-country route to the road. Lincolnshire really is very flat and featureless so although I was fairly sure where I was, I decided to wave down a car and check that I was actually still going in the right direction. Amazingly the first vehicle to pass was Mark and Alex Cockbain – I was on the road to Fiskerton. Happy days.
 
Back on route, I made my way along the 2.5 miles of riverbank, to CP5, just before Lincoln, 81 miles. A cheery welcome was waiting and I was soon on to Lincoln where it was great to see my son, James, who had come out after midnight to cheer me on. This was so good of him and it really lifted my spirits.
 
I really do know the next section well which is good because I can't remember much about it. I do remember the temperature dropping markedly. However, I arrived at Wellingore, CP6, 96 miles at 03:40. This was an almost identical time to when I had done the race in 2012, but I was in much better shape. In 2012, Mark had had to virtually force me to continue but this year he just told me that one of his goals for the race this year was to see me finish which meant a huge amount to me.
 
I was surprised to see Cliff here. Apparently, he had come into the CP with Luke, but had been passing blood in his urine and was in a lot of pain. He wasn’t sure if he could continue.
 
It was getting really cold now. Drop bags were available for the final time before the finish so I grabbed my veteran Montane Fireball smock and took plenty of time making sure I had everything I needed for the rest of the race. I had packed individual mini-bags for the 2 drop-bag CPs  with food, electrolytes, kit etc. This made life a lot easier. I also changed shoes and socks. After a good feed, and another cream egg, I was ready to go.
 
Cliff then decided he was going to come with me. I wasn’t sure that he should from a medical prospective but I think we both wanted the company. I was getting quite cold so we were quickly off.
 
 
Dawn soon came which always lifts the spirits but unfortunately, after crossing the A17, Cliff was obviously struggling and in a lot of pain. He made the sensible decision to stop. I was sad to leave him; he was great company and we’d been getting on really well.
 
I then steeled myself for the trek to the next CP at Foston. I was getting really cold and was shivering a lot despite base layer, t-shirt, OMM Cyber smock, Montane Fireball and OMM Kamleika, hat, 2 pairs of gloves etc. I really do feel the cold! I was also struggling tremendously to stay awake and at one stage was seriously contemplating sitting down for sleep. That would have been a very bad idea!
 
It was time to mobilise my support structure! Had a nice chat with Jenny who told me to keep on going, and then checked in with my Mum & Dad whom I was looking forward to seeing at the finish.
 
After a brief (ish) heavy shower. I approached Foston, CP7, 113 miles. I had dropped out here in 2012 and that certainly was not on today’s menu. Feeling much better, I set off on the long 18 mile section to Sewstern.
 
I was heading south towards Oakham now, it was getting warmer, I was feeling pretty good all things considered and I was going to finish.
 
This was a REALLY long leg and seemed to go on forever.
 
Going around Grantham, I popped into the Rutland Arms on the Grantham Canal and grabbed the best available food, a couple of pepperami’s and a Mars Bar, and filled up with water. This pub is in a great location and is sadly missing an opportunity.
 
The long, long, long Sewstern Lane was rife with cross-country and quad bikes, and nicely dug up into a veritable quagmire in places. Not fun.
 
I nearly bumped into a couple of people out for a walk who turned out to be Archie Stewart, fresh from his successful MdS, and his daughter Sophia. It was great to see them and I met another brief heavy shower with spirits lifted. Not for long, as I hit even worse sections of slippery mud, easily the most unpleasant bit of the whole event. I wasn’t having fun and I wanted to go home.
 
A graveyard for ultra-runners? Pretty much how I felt.....broken
 
Eventually, I got to Sewstern, CP8, 131 miles. I was feeling really tired and suddenly the remaining 16 miles seemed a very long way. Just before the CP I spotted my Mum and Dad with James.  My Mum insisted on ‘running’ the last 200m to the CP with me which was rather comical at the time. She then tried to help me with my bag. I asked politely to be given a little space! Once a Mum……
 
 
It was good to see them though and they were particularly amused by the number of chocolate rice crispy squares that I was able to eat in one go! Why do you think I do these events?
 
 
As I got up to leave another runner approached. It was Steve Gordon who must have been reeling me in all day. I wasn’t particularly bothered if he caught me. I had been walking almost all of the day and although I didn’t have much left, I knew I was going to finish. To me these long races are events rather than races. The race is 99% against oneself and I was winning that one.
 
Five minutes out of the CP, I suddenly decided I was bothered about finishing second. I had been in 2nd all day and I deserved to be 2nd! So I tried to run and it seemed to work so I kept on running. At this stage, I really didn’t want to go wrong so I very much had map in hand and was double-checking everything. 
 
I kept on running and I couldn’t believe how good I felt.
 
 
 
I was soon through  Exton and then down to the final checkpoint at Rutland Water.
 
141 miles done. 6 miles to go.
 
Pausing quickly for water and a couple of hits of cake, I ran along Rutland Water pleased that I had recce’d this bit.
 
A selfie after 143 miles of running felt appropriate.

  
Then it was along the main road into Oakham. It started to drizzle but I didn’t care. Mum, Dad and James were waiting just before the final corner so I stopped quickly to thank them.
 
As I rounded the final corner and saw the finish, I suddenly felt really emotional, and then it was over. I’d finished. I was happy.
 
147 miles, 36 hours and 9 minutes, 2nd place.
 
Mark and Alex gave me my t-shirt and medal. We’re talking serious bling here! The Mayor of Oakham was also here so I had a photo with him too. I was a bit excited now of course and called him “Your Excellency”. Mum insisted on an obligatory family photo.
 
 
 
 
And I went home.
 
And I was in time for tea (see here!)

Big thanks to Mark and Alex for all their tireless efforts over the weekend and for giving such a good vibe to the event. A real family feel. Thanks also to all those who gave freely of their time over the holiday weekend. Events like this just wouldn't happen otherwise.

Congratulations to all runners. Whether you finished or didn't, you toed the line. He who risks nothing......

Thanks 

 

 
 

Written by Richard Lendon - http://richrunnings.blogspot.fr/

So The Spine v3 2014 starts tomorrow at 08:00.
 
This morning I woke with nervous anticipation as the start looms ever closer. Not the sheer terror and panic before the 2012 race, or the brewing excitement and determination of last year but just a gentle anticipation of the task ahead.
 
I remember all the highs of last year and also some of the pain and huge lows during the race, but as time passes the highs become more memorable and the lows less important. They say this happens to women after childbirth.
 
'Newbies' will be feeling understandably scared; the fear of the unknown. Us ’veterans’ just nervous; we know what’s out there. It doesn’t make it any easier; we just know what to expect.
 
It’s been a very long trip to even get to the start. On the running front, an almost perfect first 6 months of year with finishes in The Spine (5th=), MdS (77th), Hardmoors 110 (7th) and Lakes 10 peaks (7th), followed by a less memorable second 6 months when I had to focus of getting my enjoyment and motivation back. On the personal front, a pretty poor first 6 months following by an even worse second 6 months. I have spent much of the year drowning under the weight of my depression and have pushed all my family to the limits of their love and patience. I know it has affected everyone around me and for that I am truly sorry. I also thank everyone for their love and support when I have most needed it.
 
My enthusiasm for life has been pretty low at times. I didn’t make it to the Spine Training weekend as my head was in a torrid place. Even as late as this Monday, I put all my Spine kit back in the drawers, not sure that I could face it.
 
But face it I can, and face it I will.
 
Over the next week, I (and I imagine all competitors) will have moments that encapsulate all possible emotions. There will be laughter. There will probably be tears. However, the finish and the whole experience is worth it all. Good luck to all
 
That which does not kill us makes us stronger 

 

 
  1. The Spine 2013 – Race Report
  2. The Spine Race 2014 Report. (Spiderman pulls through!)
  3. The Spine Race ---(Inside the head of a Spine Race Finisher)