Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunninglife.com

In 2010 I remember reading about the Trans Gran Canaria. Then James Adams went out to run it last year. I was looking forward to see how he rated it on his return and to read his blog entry on it. He was not disappointed! He said it was one of the toughest single day races he’d ran in. His pictures were also convincing. The views looked to be stunning. It looked good to me.

The race has been running for over 10 years now, and was growing year on year thoughnot on the same scale as theUltra Trail Mont Blanc. Like the UTMB this event was sponsored by The North Face. This meant that you would get something decent for finishing and also that there would be some big names there from the ultrarunning world. This would be my second international race after theSpartathlon and I was really quite excited about it from the day I entered it last year sometime. I would be leaving the damp, cold winter of the UK and flying into fairer climes.

After my run on the Offas Dyke at the end of last year, I’d been clocking up some good mileage. Most of it though had been on the flat road with Trans Europe on my mind. This wasn’t exactly great prep for a race that has a lot of elevation gain and is mostly offroad. In fact, a lot of the trail is supposed to be very technical in places. This was not a race I would be after any great results, as shown by the not exactly ideal preparation. What I was after here was just the experience. I wanted to enjoy running in the sun, in the mountains and to hopefully catch a beautiful sunrise. I of course would put everything into it once I had started. I am pretty strong at the moment, just probably not so great in the hills. I’ll get my excuse in now before I get going. Two weeks before the event I got a cold. I felt really run down as I was training at a pretty high volume so stopped running. As the days passed, the cold developed and eventually I got an upset stomach. I remained fairly positive and saw it as a welcome forced rest before the event. As I’ve learnt over the years, a week or two off when your fitness is reasonable never really does any damage. In fact it can be a blessing in disguise! As it turned out, when I got on the plane, I had run twice in two weeks. Not quite what I had planned but I wasn’t concerned.

I had booked my flights from Gatwick on the Thursday morning at 0920. This meant gettingon a train that I didn’t know existed – the 0420 from Bristol! Needless to say that with the adrenalin flowing I didn’t sleep much that night and the alarm for 0330 was a little testing. All went smoothly though and in a few hours time I was sat on the plane. I soon notice a familiar face. Mark Collinson who finished just 10 minutes behind me in the North Downs Way was walking towards me with his wife Fiona. There were a few spare seats on the flight so we could move around a bit and the three of us could sit together. I had heard that Mark was racing only a short time before. Up till that point, I wasn’t sure if there were any Brits in it. The flight went pretty quickly as we chatted loads. We also both discovered that we had both just bought a new bag in the last week and we both had it with us for the race even though we’d only used it once so far. We both had bought the Salomon Advanced Skin S-Lab 12 set. It is a very expensive bag, but we were very excited about testing it out over Gran Canaria. Mark had run the 124km race last year and Fiona had run the 42km race. Mark was doing the long one again this year, and Fiona was stepping up to the 96km event. Excellent stuff! I picked Marks brains for course information. Soon enough we were off the plane and travelling up the coast on the bus to Las Palmas. My cheap hostel I’d booked was within a 5 minutes walk of the bus station which was nice. I checked in with no bother and made my way up to my room which turned out to be cool, quiet, clean and comfortable. It was very basic, but that’s all I needed. The corridors always stank of cigarette smoke, but it would never seep into my room so I didn’t care. I dumped all my stuff off and immediately went for a wander out to the local supermarket to pick up some supplies. It was around 3pm and I was going to meet up with Mark and Fiona sometime after 5 when we would be at the registration area which was a 15 minute walk down the seafront. I found a backstreet café and popped in for a coffee. My Spanish is pretty non-existent due to never actually having been there so this was fun. Soon enough it was time to wander down to the registration. The weather was a little blowy and about 23 deg Celsius. Not too bad really. I queued for a while and eventually handed in my forms, picked up my timing chip and my race number and was ready. I then went and burnt some time in the rather dull shopping mall across the road, before bumping into Mark and Fiona. The pasta party was in a bit and Mark and I were willing to hang about for it. Fiona was tired so was heading back to their hotel for a lay down. We had a coffee while waiting before heading down to the Pasta party. It was ok. Certainly enough of it though! That night I slept pretty good considering I was buzzing a fair bit for the race.

The race starts at midnight and the buses that leave for Las Palomas which is thesouthern point of the Island and the start, leave at 2200 so I had the whole day to just relax, get my kit ready and drink lots of coffee. I really enjoyed my day of relaxation, practising my exceptionally limited Spanish, but in the background of my mind I just wanted to be running in the mountains. The weather forecast was ok for the Saturday. The following year they had had lots of rain which had made it pretty cold at times. I tried to have a doze during the day but it was a pointless exercise. I got back up and begun packing my kit up into my bag. The first water point on the course is at 18 miles so I decided to take lots of fluid with me. The full 1.5ltrs in the bladder and two 500ml bottles in the shoulder strap pockets. I got dressed and fully ready, and after taking advantage of the hostels wifi and having a quick conversation with Lou, I was on my way. I walked slowly down to the bus pick up point where there were a steadily growing number of other trail runners hanging around. I sat down and took it all in. Then I saw a few guys that looked British. Sure enough, one of them approached and introduced himself. Matt, Jess and a lady (Helen?) all seemed pretty experienced and lived up around the Yorkshire Dales. This, like me, was their first time at this race. We got onto the bus and then Mark and Fiona arrived too. Within the hour we were parking up in Las Palomas. As we disembarked we felt the strength of the wind. It was a little fresh and we had over an hour left before the off. We found a little bar we could sit in near the beach where the start was and ordered lots of tea and coffee and kept warm. I swear this is the hardest bit. The long wait before the start!

Then with about ten minutes to go, we made our way down to the madness on the beachand squeezed in behind the start line. I started up my Garmin to hunt for the satellites that would be getting well used at the moment, and hopped around on the spot trying to stay loose for the start.

After much hype and noise we were off, and within minutes we were away from the crowds and lights of Las Palomos and were runningalong the beach right beside the sea. Initially I am running near no-one I recognise, but soon the tall figure of Mark bounds up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. This is always a great part of a race for me. There has been much waiting and hanging around, but right now I am running, I feel great. I grin just for the moment and my grin broadens as we head further away from the light pollution and the number of visible stars grows with each footstep. Mark and I are going a fair pace right next to the lapping waves so that we are on the relatively easy to run on damp sand. A few people have wrapped their feet and lower legs in bin bags and taped them up so as to keep the sand out as if we are in the sand dunes of the Sahara. I have heard this is a complete waste of time and at the moment that certainly seemed the case. As we continued along the beach I realised that most people had their torches on except Mark and I. You just didn’t need them yet, as the moon wasn’t quite full, but was incredibly bright. Mark had a problem with his bladder as his tube seemed to be kinked inside preventing there being any flow. He wrestled with it for five minutes trying to improve the flow. Once he’d sorted it, he apologised for slowing the pace. I didn’t notice any pace change. We had now passed over the 200 metres or so of dry sand to get on the tarmac. There were a few people here sat on the road cutting off the bin bags that they had pointlessly taped around their legs. We were now heading inland. We would not be at the coast again till we finish at the other side of the island. Soon we dropped down into the storm drain which had a pretty uneven surface so kept us alert. There were many people out shouting and cheering as we passed. We went under many bridges which had lots of people on watching us. Not bad for after 1230 in the morning! It won’t be long till the people fade away and the gaps between runners grows till you are seemingly alone. This is what I love. I love to be alone in the mountains. There is something special about pushing yourself hard, seemingly all alone out in the wilderness. It’s very simple and rewarding. We passed under a bridge over some rocks and Mark fell and bounced up again. Time for the lights to go on I think! We were now on a dusty wide trail that was slowly gaining height. It was still very runable though so we pushed on. The dust was getting kicked up from the runners ahead and was being highlighted by our lights. The gaps were opening up a little, but there were still a few runners around us. It was nice to be running with Mark. Our pace was pretty sharp, but that’s what we both wanted seeing as it was one of the fastest parts of the course. Slowly but surely the gradient increased, till soon enough we agreed that a walk was in order. We then went round our first hairpin bend. I was glad to be in the hills now. This is what I came for.

After a while I was starting to find my groove. As we ran at the base of a climb Mark saidhe was going to walk, I felt good so said goodbye, and said I’ll probably see him in about half an hour. I was now alone. There was soon after this a decent length downhill. I went as fast as I could while staying smooth to save my quads as long as possible. The course has a lot of downhill at the end so will certainly be demanding a lot out of them later on. Almost from the start my Achilles were pretty painful. From previous experience I didn’t really know what to expect from them as the race proceeded. I have on more than one occasion finished an all day run and realised that the pain I had been experiencing for the first 20-30 miles that was promising big things in my feet or Achilles had in fact vanished. A phenomenon, which I am most confused about. I soon saw lights ahead that signified a village, and judging by my Garmin, was the first water point. I crossed over a narrow bridge that led to a water bowser surrounded by cheering people. This was the 18 mile point. I was feeling nicely warmed up and was well into my rhythm so didn’t really want to stop. I reached behind my back and felt my bladder. It felt pretty full. I had only half a bottle left on the front. The next cp was in 8 miles. It was supposed to really get much more mountainous from here on in but I guessed that I easily had enough fluid to get me to the next stop so just ran straight through the cp. I immediately begun climbing and once it got too steep to continue running, I walked and immediately took the opportunity to eat some food and drink more.

I had begun the race with my new Team Endurancelife multi-sports short sleeved top (a cycling top) with arm warmers thin gloves and a buff. Within minutes the buff and gloves had been stowed away and the arm warmers had been pulled down before I had begun heavily perspiring. I had not stopped and my back was completely sodden, so I was quite aware that fluid intake was (as usual) paramount to a good performance. I was quietly hoping that the day wouldn’t be a scorcher when the sun rose. Up till this point the trail had been wide and relatively untechnical. This was about to change as the marker tape suddenly directed you off the trail steeply up some rocky singletrack. I really tried to keep the pressure on as I walked and this was showing as I was generally catching and taking people. Things were feeling pretty good and I was really enjoying it. I was so excited to be in the hills for the sunrise. The star-studded sky was promising a beautiful day coming up.

I soon passed through the first stocked cp and topped up my bottles, ate a handful of cheese, cured sausage and ran off with more in my hands eating as I ran.

The terrain was now pretty demanding and was pretty intense mentally watching your footing in the dark. The hills seemed to be relentless with no real flat not too much down and plenty of very steep, walking ups. I powered on. I was having many little stumbles but not falling. It was surely a matter of time before I went down? I was now seeing the beginnings of daylight as I came across the top of a hill and begun a super steep and rocky descent a Spanish guy effortlessly came past me. I let him go and made my own way down. Just before the gradient eased off a little, another chap came past. It was now a little quicker so I sped up. Minutes later I stumbled and fell forwards. I broke my fall with my hands and my knee hit the deck. I got up quickly and checked the ground for anything I may have dropped before continuing. As I ran I checked myself over. My hands were relatively untouched with just a small graze on one palm. Just before I climbed some steps that would take me to the top of a damn I would cross, I switched my headtorch off. What a relief! As I passed over the damn, I looked around to take in the stunning, dramatic mountains I was surrounded by for the first time. Truly incredible scenery that I was extremely excited to be running through for the whole of the day. There was now a couple mile stretch of road. As I made my way up the hill I caught a small figure which as I got closer I realised was a lady. She was going pretty slow. As I passed her I looked across and wished her well. She thanked me in a English. I carried on for a while and then stopped to pack my Petzl away as she caught me up again, I realised that it was no less than the incredibly accomplished Lizzy Hawker. We chatted a little and I decided to also get my camera out and carry it for a while to take some opportune piccies for the next few hours. She offered to take a picture of me with the stunning backdrop that was developing as we spoke. I felt sorry for her as she was injured so was pulling out. Let’s face it that’s the only time I’ll ever catch Lizzy Hawker up! I said goodbye and moved on.

After a slight descent on the road the markers took me off up the side of a mountain again. That’s better. Much walking ensued as I quickly gained height and admired the ever-changing panorama that presented itself to me. Sightings of other runners were few and far between now. It was peaceful and quiet. I was tiring but still felt strong. My mouth was dry so I kept drinking. I seem to have a bad habit in races of getting a little dehydrated then playing catch up which I seem to be getting better at. I think it would make a lot more sense though if I could not get behind in the first place!

I passed through another cp after a steady climb on a wide steadily climbing trail. I had my chip read here before forcing myself to down about a litre of water, filling up my bladder and bottles, eating a few bits and taking on some electrolytes. I was feeling dizzy. The heat was affecting me. If I could just catch it now, I’d be alright. I left the cp and immediately was directed off the good trail straight up a steep and very long rocky, dust path. There was a little vegetation around so was provided with a little bit of shade, but I was already suffering from my past neglect. I kept taking sips of water and squeezing the sickly Overstims electrolyte gels into my mouth to re-energise my fading body. I felt dizzy and was swaying from side to side. Must keep drinking! I held onto the knowledge that as long as I got back in control, that this would pass and I would feel good again and would be running strongly. This particular climb just kept on going, but finally I made it over the top. Five minutes later I looked ahead to look for the path and could see none, just the red marker tape threading it’s way up a slope of large rocks to the very top of the mountain. It wasn’t very long but it was certainly hard on my weary quadriceps having to scramble with the aid of my hands up this wall of rocks. As I got to the top I turned and looked at what I had just climbed and took a picture, knowing full well that it wouldn’t show the severity of it. I then realised that although I felt exhausted, I was certainly not feeling the dizziness and lethargy of before. It had passed. Now to get on with the race.

The hills kept coming, and I kept the pressure on as much as my fitness allowed. I knew that the race route visited the highest point on the island, Roque Nublo. This is basically a very large upstanding rock formation on top of a mountain that could be seen from far away. I kept getting glances of it as I progressed and got closer and closer. I soon realised that I was now actually climbing up to visit this impressive landmark. I was currently running with a Spaniard. We climbed for a while before being directed left off of the trail heading straight for the top. We climbed up a small gully before being on the surreal landscape at the top. We were on a large plateau, which the rock formation was atop. It took a minute or two to cross this plateau to reach the cp which also had a chip mat. I stopped for thirty seconds here and admired the incredibly beautiful view. There were almost completely clear, blue skies now. You could see the sea and some of the other islands that make up the Canaries. I quickly took a couple photos before running back across the plateau. After stupidly not being able to find the gulley back down again for a few minutes I made my way down then rejoined the main trail again heading down with some light shade from the trees. I was feeling pretty exhausted now and was just plugging away one step at a time. I kept looking around at the surrounding mountains looking for the highest. The general rule was whatever was the highest mountain nearby, then that would be your next destination. I could see there was an observatory on top of a pretty high looking mountain. Surely…?

Within half an hour after making my way across the valley floor I had started the slow and very steep climb up towards the observatory that was sparkling in the bright sun. The footing was loose and dusty, but I soon got to the top knowing that there was soon to be a major cp where I would stop to refuel and top up my provisions fully. There was a long and very steep and therefore painful descent that followed. There certainly seemed to be a little more greenery around now, though it was still really dry and dusty. I then entered the cp. My bag was taken off me to fill the bladder and bottles. I walked into the tent and took a bowl of pasta, grabbed a handful of cheese and sausage and mixed it in and sat down a wolfed it down with some luke warm coffee. I put my bag back on before grabbing a soup and speed walking off with it. I had probably been in there 10 mins. Too long really, but not that bad. This was the 50 mile point. Hopefully in around 10 mins I would start to feel the effects of all this fuel ‘d just stuffed in. The soup was hot, but soon I had finished it and painfully started to run again. Around a marathon left and the last 12 miles was largely downhill. It would be painful but fast hopefully. So I just wanted to push the next 13 hilly miles really hard before the down commenced.

Sure enough I soon felt a little bit perkier. So sped up. These are the times when races are made or lost. You must go hard when you feel good, just not too hard. I was now overtaking numerous runners from the 96km race and even some who were in the marathon. All very positive, and helps to keep the pressure on. I was really enjoying working at a high level. I ran along a short stretch of road, then cut down a long descent into a very green almost tropical valley before finally running on the awful river bed for around 4 miles. My feet were pretty sore by now and running on the large uneven rocks was pretty difficult. I stopped to walk briefly a couple of times, but was still overtaking runners from the shorter races. I hadn’t seen anyone from my race for ages now. Then just as I was coming to the end of the hell of the riverbed, I was overtaken by three guys from my race! I let them pass on the riverbed, then as soon as I got onto a more runnable surface, I grit my teeth and told myself that I would now run the whole lot as hard as I could and not look back. Within minutes, I had passed all three of them and was hell bent on continuing in this vein all the way to the finish line. I did occasionally look back, but I needn’t have as the gap just grew. I was really hurting but knew that I could keep going till the end. I think after some time for reflection that this was probably one of the strongest finishes I’ve ever ran. It felt good to be wringing every last drop of energy out of my body in a controlled way. As I dropped down a long fast descent I could make out the finish are in the distance. I passed another runner, then as I got closer, I spotted another runner ahead. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice me straight away and bolt, but he did. He accelerated fast, but I was gaining on him, we were now on the seafront and there were throngs of people cheering us on. I was totally at my limit now and had nothing more to give. I was about 20 metres behind him now. I then realised that the we had to pass the finish line by around 100mtrs then turn back and run the final 100mtrs to the line. That was too much for me then. I was forced by my screaming body to slow and watch the guy ahead continue and climb the rather cruel ramp up to the finish line. I finished shortly after knowing that I had given absolutely everything.

Garmin download

I staggered into the mess tent and gawped around. I then noticed Fiona chatting to a member of staff. I discovered that she had just finished also. We grabbed a plate of food each and sat down. I felt ill and couldn’t really eat. I needed to just crash out. I really wanted to hang around and cheer people in, but I just felt so rough that I slowly walked back to my hostel, showered and then passed out till 4am.

The next day and a half before my flight was a blissfully relaxing time in which much coffeewas again consumed. I learnt that my time of 17hrs 43mins was enough to place me in 20th position! This was way above my expectation. I couldn’t believe it. It has to rate up there as one of my biggest performances seeing as it was an international race. Mark had gone around 2hrs quicker than last year and Fiona had come in 3rd spot! A phenomenal performance seeing as it was her 2nd ultra. Amazing stuff!

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunninglife.com

Last year I had applied for the Ultra Trail Mont Blanc, but unfortunately as this is such an oversubscribed event I was one of the unlucky ones to not get a place. Fortunately though I had scanned around the race calendar to see if there was a suitable replacement and had spotted a new race, the North Downs Way 100which was too be the inaugural race for a new setup called Centurion Running. James Elson was the Race Director, and had completed some classic US 100 milers and was aiming to model the NDW100 on the US races. i.e. Well marked, well stocked aid stations and most importantly, a belt buckle for those completing in below 24hrs.

I hadn’t really targeted this race, it was more a stepping stone to the Spartathlon. This wasfunny when I realised that I was looking at a 100 mile trail race not as a main target. How the confidence grows and the targets change! A couple years previously, a 100 miler would have been a major target that I would have prepared for over a fair amount of time. Now, it was a big race (100 milers will never not be big!), but there was a confidence that never existed before. I knew, barring a serious incident, that I would complete it, it was more a case of how quick!
How quick could I do this in? I wasn’t too sure really. I really wanted to beat 24hrs for the buckle, but beyond that I really wasn’t sure. On paper I reckoned I could go sub 20, but for some reason this seemed too quick, so I plumped with sub 22hrs. My year had been pretty good so far, but I had eased off the pressure a little lately so was unsure of my form. It was only when there was a week to go before the race that I started to really think about it. I was pretty excited and I was beginning to to realise that I wanted to have a good race for a final little boost before Spartathlon.
On the Friday after I had finished work, I picked up my kit which seemed pretty sparse, and rushed down to the train station to catch the trains to Farnham. I had organised to meet Claire Shelley at the station who would been in her car and would drive to the hotel where we were to share a room. I had met Claire at a few races, namely the Grand Union Canal Racewhere she stormed it with a fantastic 3rd place. She was supposed to be running, but due to injury she was doing the next best thing, crewing! After a little bit of poor route finding, we eventually found our hotel. We checked in and went straight down to get something to eat. We had a nice but overpriced meal a good chat, then went back up to the room. I did my usual ultra faff around sorting my kit out for a swift exit in the morning, had a quick shower then got into bed for a better than usual pre-race sleep.

The first of three of Claire’s alarms went off at around 4:30. I got up and ate a couple bowlsof muesli. I grabbed my kit and we went down to the car before making the not as scenic route back to the school which was being used as the race HQ. We met some familiar faces in there and milled around for a bit waiting for the briefing. We learnt at the briefing that the course was dry and in good condition. It would be fine to wear road shoes. I was wearing a brand new pair of unknown shoes I’d bought that week. They were a pair of Saucony Peregrines. Pretty low profile, lightweight shoes with pretty decent tread. They felt really comfortable, so I was happy to give them their maiden voyage on a 100 miler. Not the first time I’ve done it either, and it was fine then! I’m constantly experimenting with shoes. I never expect to find the perfect shoe, but I like to try different things, and I’m a bit of a magpie with new, flashy shoes!
After the briefing, we all started off on the short walk to the start of the trail. We lined up at the start, I got pretty close to the front, and in 10 minutes or so we were off. I wasn’t unprepared, but I certainly seemed to have prepared less than most that I spoke to. I had barely even researched the trail, and I hadn’t organised any drop bags for the cp’s. As previously mentioned, the course was supposed to be really well marked, and the supplies at the cp’s were supposed to be good so I was relying on that, traveling light and stress free. I like to run as clutter free as possible these days. I was carrying a few 9 bars, and Elete salt solution to add to my water to keep my electolyte levels at a healthy level during the race.
On the day there was to be a marathon, which would start later on in the day, and a 50 miler which had started at the same time as the 100 milers. It was a out-and-back course, so for the first 50 miles the 100 milers would have the company of the 50 milers, but when they would reach the cp at the 50 mile point, the 50 would leave the 100′s to complete the course alone and going into the night.
I initially was running with Mark Collinson, who I discovered five weeks previously had won the South Downs Way race, a 103 miler in 19hrs 42 mins! An impressive time, and even though he thought that he wouldn’t be able to perform at a similar level five weeks later, I was convinced that if you have the condition to run a sub 20hr 100 miler, then you certainly have the ability to recover really well within five weeks. We were chatting a fair bit, as we passed through the first cp, and realised that we were going a decent pace, maybe a tad too quick, but it felt good, so I stuck with it. There were only around 5 runners ahead, but I had no idea whether they were 50 or 100 milers. When we arrived at the next cp, I grabbed some gels, drank some water and ran off as soon as possible. I noticed that Mark was still at the cp as I ran off. I was now with a few other runners which I discovered were all 50 milers. I soon discovered that my pace was similar to one of the 50 mile guys, who I soon learnt was called George. We chatted a fair amount about all sorts and retained a fair pace which I was happy about. I’d half decided that I wanted to go off a little faster than normal and running with George seemed about the right pace. As we dropped down through Denbies wine estate, George pointed out a hill in the distance and informed me that it was Box hill. I was looking forward to climbing up Box hill as it was the only real climb on the whole course. Not to say that the course was flat as there was around 3000 metres of ascent. Not big climbs, but pretty lumpy to say the least.
We both reached the cp at the bottom of Box Hill where I loaded up on some cheese and ham wraps, topped up my water and packed a few more gels into my bag. The cp crew told me that I was the first 100 miler to come through. I was really surprised, but moved on with George pretty sharpish and tried to forget the fact that I was in the lead. After crossing over the river using the stepping stones, we soon hit the base of the climb. It was pretty steep, and stepped. It was really pretty warm now, and as soon as I started working so much harder, the sweat was pouring out of me. I seemed to be keeping on top of my fluids again, but there was a long way to go so I had to stay alert and keep taking sips from my bladder. I kept feeling drip down the back of my legs throughout the day, I kept mistakenly worrying that this was my Camelbak bladder leaking, but it was just the sweat pouring off of me! Soon enough, we were finished with Box Hill and were running through some more amazing singletrack through the woods. I was feeling pretty good still, but was aware that the pace was still pretty hot. I was intrigued to see how my body would cope with this slight change in tactics. Had I overdone it? Only time will tell! If I had, it would be a very slow and painful end to my race, though I suppose all hundreds are pretty painful!
The day was warming up more and more, but fortunately we were largely under tree cover. I was starting to fantasize about cold drinks and sitting down to eat a Burger King. This pretty much always happens during races now. Why I long for a Burger King and nothing else I have no idea, but it is a pretty consistent race craving.
All was going well as George and I ploughed on. There wasn’t as much chat now as we were both tiring and the heat was pretty oppressive now, but all was good. We soon arrived at the final cp. George was quicker than me here as he was only around 9km from the end. I was a little more relaxed as I was around 9km from the half way point. I topped up my water, grabbed yet more gels and ate some nuts and a banana. Within a few minutes I had caught George up again, so we ran together. This final stretch was not so well sheltered as we were running through fields, so the sun suddenly felt ten times more powerful. I was starting to feel it, so I walked a bit and told George that he should go on without me, in case any other 50′s were close behind. I only walked very briefly, but made sure to drink lots as I did so. I needn’t be too sparing with my supplies as the cp’s were pretty frequent.
I climbed over a stile and turned left down a country road. In about 5 mins I was at the midway cp. There were quite a few people here as it was not just a cp but also a finishline for the 50′s, so there a few friends and family waiting for them to finish. I was the fifth runner in and the first 100 miler. I drank a load of water and coke, George topped up my bladder for me, I grabbed some more gels and was off, for the return journey.
I was looking forward to this as I would now get to see almost all of the field run past me, which you wouldn’t normally experience in a race. I would also get to see how big the gaps behind were.
From leaving the cp to seeing the first 100 miler, the time was 18 mins. The runner was Mark. I didn’t think he’d be too far away. It was still way too early to really think anything about my current position. I must just run my own race and see what happens. As long as I put everything into it, then I’ll be happy (so I kept telling myself!).
It was really cool running past everyone, as I got lots of encouraging comments and grins. I tried to soak up as much of the positivity as I could as I knew that once I had passed the back marker, I’d be all alone again, and I’d be running into the dark. Due to the course being largely through woodland, this was going to be a pretty dark night. As the more intense heat trailed off a little, the gaps between runners was growing. I knew that soon I’d be seeing the final runner (not that’s I’d know of course!). I’d heard from the cp’s that the drop out rate had been fairly high. Pretty standard when the sun is blazing.
Interwoven through my thoughts (and non-thoughts) throughout the whole run were my future efforts in Greece. Was I on the right path? Was this race an indicator of form? Would I get it right this year? Could I deal better with the heat and stay well hydrated?
As the night closed in, I felt a slight sense of urgency as I was getting close to the Box Hill cp. I had earlier estimated that I could possibly get to the bottom of the hill before needing my torch. For some reason I always set myself a pointless challenge involving staying torchless for as long as possible going into the night. This time it looked like I’d be succesful! I was now at the top of the steep descent down the steps of Box Hill and there was still around 30 mins of useful light left. I let myself drop down the steps as fast as my sore thighs would allow. I ran along the flat at the bottom, and hopped over river using the stepping stones and then I was at the cp.

I was feeling pretty weary now and was happy to have reached this cp, I think I might have sat down for a minute as I ate another wrap and grabbed some more gels. I dug my headtorch out from my bag and put it on my head. It didn’t need to be on yet, but it would be very soon. I left after a little bit of faffing. Soon, I was back running through Denbies. There were lots of markers out for some charity walk, and soon I started passing a steady flow of walkers in the half dark, beautiful evening. I imagine I must have looked a bit mental!
Soon after passing through Denbies, the torch came on. The course was really well marked and it really helped that I had ran it 8-10 hours earlier. My memory is generally pretty shoddy to say the least, but for some reason I seem to remember hundreds of miles of trails pretty well. Remembering family birthdays is another thing though!
As the darkness closed around me, the real race began. Now for the pain. The head games. The constant draining of motivation. The almost overriding desire to just lay down and sleep. These are the things I think I’m getting better at, but still need to improve on a massive amount. I was starting to walk more and more frequently to do tasks that didn’t really need doing. My mind just tricks me into thinking I have to stop to check something or other, then I realise what is happening and slowly and painfully lurch forward into something that resembles a run.
Soon I was running up a hill to the penultimate cp. The course had been marked every mile or so with glow sticks (worked amazingly!), but as I got closer to the cp the glow sticks got more and more frequent till they gave me the impression I was an aircraft coming into land! Amazing. I messed about for probably too long and picked at the food absentmindedly, half expecting the second place runner to come into view. I had absolutely no idea what the gap was behind me, but was aware that whoever was behind would be getting told how far in front I was. A definite advantage! Never mind, I’ll just keep plodding, and soon I’ll be able to sit down.
I was glad with the knowledge when I left the cp that there was only one more cp before the end. Looking at the time, I was predicting a time of just over 20hrs. Even though this was way above my pre race expectations, I was a little disappointed that I was going to go so close to 20hrs and not beat it.
I fought to stay running for as long as possible before bimbling along for 30 seconds or so before starting up again, this broke up the time a bit, and I soon arrived at the final cp, where there was a roaring bonfire and loud music. This was far too tempting! I just wanted to lay down next to the fire and be slightly too warm and drift off, but I just downed a couple cups of coke and ran off into the darkness. Around 9-10 km remained. I had a bit of a panic on as I was getting a little paranoid that number 2 was catching me up. surely they would be with my ever decreasing pace! I kept turning around to check for a light bouncing alone in the inky darkness. I came out of the trees and ran along a trail for a while and just before I disappeared back into the trees, I glanced behind, and sure enough, there was the dreaded light. This gave me an added sense of urgency, and as much as my tired body allowed, I bolted. Soon enough though, I was crossing a field, and there it was again, only this time lots closer. He would catch me in minutes. He was traveling at a far quicker pace than me and I knew that I wouldn’t be any competition for him once he caught me. As he seemingly with ease ran up beside me, we chatted a bit. His name was Robbie and he knew my name. I apparently beat him by 2 mins in the Grand Union Canal Race this year! Then he was off. I had no answer to this and just did the best I could for the final 5km hoping that no-one else would do the same.
After a tough final 5km I saw Mimi, who informed me the end was just around the corner, and sure enough it was!
Phew! Second place was mine, and as I looked down at my stopwatch, it said 19:57. Awesome, I beat 20hrs. Brilliant.
I saw Robbie and congratulated him, and 10 minutes after me, arrived Mark in third place! top three within 20 minutes in a 100 miler!
I had a couple cup-a-soups and then crawled into a van and got some incredibly uncomfortable shuteye as I had about 5hrs to kill before my train journey home!
When I woke up and peered out the window, I saw that there were many more people, runners and crew stood around. I crawled out. I didn’t exactly feel great, but I wasn’t to bad either. The train journey back was painful, but thankfully uneventful.

So, as I write this a few weeks later and I have had some time to reflect on my race, I am happy to still be content with my second place. I gave it my all and I see it as one of, if not my best race yet. A win would be nice of course, but this has proven to myself that for me, it really is a quest to better my own fitness, mental strength, resilience and thus my overall satisfaction. There are of course two sides to what I do ; the personal, physical challenge and the other, equally important one is the outdoors element. The more trail running I do, the more I want to do. Some of the scenery I am so incredibly fortunate to witness, throughout the changing seasons, from dawn to dusk, wet, icy, snowy, bone dry, no matter how challenging, often gives me a real high that sub-consciously plasters a massive, insane grin across my face. Without this, running would be incomplete for me. The pain and the time that I put into my running is easily wiped out with just one of these moments. Anyway, that’s enough of the hippy talk!

As is usual for this year my recovery was swift, which was great as on the Thursday a friend and I flew out to Geneva for a 6 day holiday in Morzine in the French Alps. We took our mountain bikes and I of course threw in a few pairs of trainers. I’ve been to the Alps three times before ; twice on family holidays which I have really fond memories of, and about 6-7 years ago on a skiing holiday which was awesome. When we got to our chalet, I went for a run towards Roc D’Enfer, a mountain that I had eyed up on the map I had bought in the UK. I ran for 1hr 20 before turning around. I was blown away with the beauty (as expected!). The next day we both went mountain biking for most of the day. I had never ridden on such incredible trails and insane downhill runs. I was in heaven! I couldn’t see how I would ever get bored here! Over the next few days, there was much more mountain biking and running as the weather was incredible and dusty dry! Everyone was telling us how lucky we were as it had been a particularly wet summer!

Whilst walking into town one night we noticed a poster for a running race on the Sunday. It was a vertical km race called La Couratt’ de Nyon, starting in the centre of Morzine and heading straight up a mountain called Nyon. It was just over 7km in distance and as the name implies almost exactly 1000 metres in ascent! I’d read about these races and thought it would be a brilliant opportunity. Not exactly my format of race, and way too short, but I was in pretty good shape so thought I’d have a go. The winner finished in 52 minutes and I finished in 14th place (80 odd finishers) in 1hr 2 mins! I felt great after as well. I was surprised with my performance. The view from the top of Nyon was absolutely incredible, so I hung around for a while and took some pictures and then with much excitement I begun the long descent to the half way point to where my friend was waiting. We had lunch then I ran down to Morzine where my bike was locked up, got changed into my cycling kit and we went off to ride some more trails! What a fantastic holiday!

Next is, of course, my second attempt at Spartathlon. My target for the year. I feel much better prepared this time round and my training is complete. All I have to do now is run it, Easy!

I will of course blog it asap. This posting has for some reason been the most painful by far. I’m not sure why. I do hope that everyone is enjoying their running as much as I am!

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunningcommunity.com

Just over a week ago I took part in the Ridgeway Challenge, a 86 mile off road race on the ancient footpath named, funnily enough, the Ridgeway. It begins in Buckinghamshire near a place called Tring and ends in Wiltshire at Avebury of massive stone circle fame.
I hadn’t really targeted this race, but thought that it seemed to fit in just about around other events, and I guessed that I’d carry enough fitness to complete it. Also, if I could complete this race it would qualify me for the Ultra Trail Mont Blanc next year which is a race that I’ve wanted to do for some time.
There were two starts for this race. One at 10am on the Saturday for people who thought they’d take longer than 24hrs, and one at midday for those that would beat 24hrs. I had no real clue how long this one would take so I took a bit of a gamble and chose the later start.
I hadn’t done anything during the week leading up to this one as my knees were still feeling a little tender and I figured the weeks rest certainly wouldn’t have a negative impact on my performance.
One of the lessons I’ve slowly picked up is just how valuable rest is, even if I think I feel fine, the extra day or two here and there really does help. The difficult bit is that I obviously love running, so taking these breaks can be very frustrating. I have to keep reminding myself of the bigger picture.
I had to get up at 5 to have breakfast and make my way to the train station. Fortunately Andrea woke up and kindly offered to drive me to the station. Thank god she did as I only got there with five minutes to spare! I felt remarkably relaxed during the journey. I could even manage to read for an hour or so! I met another competitor on the train at London which was nice. Had a good chat about the usual topics : training, injuries, previous races, future races etc. Finally we arrived at Tring station, where we met a few other guys who were doing the race. Whilst we were waiting for the organiser to pick us up and take us to the start we noticed that the 10 am starts began trickling past.
Finally we got picked up and driven to the start. It was a perfect day for running, Sunny but not too hot. I signed in and picked up my race number and slowly began getting ready for the off.
I still felt very calm which was nice. I can only think that this was due to this race not being a real target and maybe the experience was starting to show!
At quarter to twelve everyone started milling towards the start which is at the top of Ivinghoe Beacon, which has beautiful views of the surrounding scenery. Now I was just excited and keen to make a start. I was a tiny bit chilly which to me means it ideal for running in as soon I’d heat up plenty!
Finally we were off! I started running with Colin who I’d met during the JOGLE training a few weeks previous and a chap called Alex who had never done an ultra before. I explained that I intended to break the running up with plenty of brief spells of fast walking. They both seemed happy with my strategy so we stuck together for the time being. Straight away we found our way fairly close to the back as everyone shot off. It’s always difficult at this stage to hold a steady pace, your own pace, and let everyone do their own thing. I felt pretty good with my strategy, as did Colin. I’m not sure Alex thought it was best for him but we stuck together for a while.
Eventually someone caught up and Alex started chatting with them. I realised that the pace was a tiny bit above what I had planned, so I slowed a little. Colin stayed with me and Alex disappeared into the distance. I felt very confident with my pacing today.
We got to the first cp where I stuffed my face with whatever delights they had there, filled up my bladder then set off asap. It amazes me how many people you can get past if you’re fast at the cp’s, this was no exception. We didn’t really see many other people till we got to the 3rd cp. This surprised me as I was holding a 20hr pace which would get me roughly in the top twenty somewhere if I could sustain it. I asked the guys at the 3rd cp how many had gone through. He informed us that we were about seventieth out of 92! Hopefully the tailenders would start coming into our sights.
Soon we were rewarded for our patience. we must have took about 20 people over the next 5 miles. And this continued all the way past the 4th cp till we caught Alex and his running buddy. We passed him a carried on our way. We both felt pretty good by this stage. It’s always good to be catching people, but again you have to try to keep control of yourself. It’s all about running your own race. Just as it was getting dark, we arrived at the 5th cp, which also was the half way point. Here we had access to our drop bags plus they had some baked potatoes with baked beans which I wolfed down as fast as possible as there were loads of competitors here we had caught up and I fancied getting back on the road before them.
Colin and I left together with headtorches on as it was now pitch black out. I like to run at night, but It’s always good to be able to turn the light of when day breaks.
We started on the long uphill drag out from the cp, soon overtaking a group of three. The hill went on for quite a while. I felt good enough to feel like running. Soon we overtook a woman by herself, then we were out by our selves, away from the light pollution enough to notice the stunning canopy of stars above us. I was so enjoying this race that I kept finding a dirty great grin across my face. This is what it’s all about.
We kept up the pace until coming up a hill we could finally see the lights of the next cp. This meant there was only one left after this one. We stopped and fortunately my stomach still felt fine, so I ate as much as I could without making myself ill. This strategy seemed to be working well so far, so with only 17 miles remaining, I wasn’t about to change it now. Colin on the other hand, was starting to get a bit of an uncomfortable stomach. I noticed that he didn’t eat as much as he should have. As we left the cp, I told him to try and eat something else he’ll just run out of gas. He ate a bite size chocolate bar. We pushed on, but I was a little concerned about Colin.
By the time we had got to the final cp, I felt great, but Colin was in need of a bush. I ate and had a coffee whilst he dealt with it. Eventually he reappeared not looking great. He said he’d been ill and told me to go on, So I got ready quickly and ran off into the darkness.
I now decided to push the pace a little seeing as I felt so good. The Ridgeway followed a road for a mile or so till it came to a T-junction. I span around looking for a sign post. As I hunted for the sign, a car pulled up and asked me Where I was looking for. I told him that I was looking for the Ridgeway west bound. He helpfully pointed me down a hill telling me to keep going till I found the hospital. Here I’d be able to pick up the path again. I thanked him and started off fast down the hill. The further I’d gone The more doubt started creeping into my mind. Finally I came to a sign that said “footpath to Ridgeway 2.5 miles”. Brilliant I thought, Let’s get back on the Ridgeway. After about 5 minutes running on this track I again Got a little concerned as the track looked almost completely disused. I kept on running.
I then lost the track and realised that I was on some farm land. I jumped a fence and was on a road. I hunted for another sign but couldn’t see one. Which way? I went right and ended up on a larger road. After sitting down for a minute with my map trying work out my location, I still wasn’t too sure. I rushed down the road a bit further and came to a village which thankfully gave me my location. Sadly I had been directed by the stranger the wrong way! Probably for a laugh no doubt. I was angry with him, but more so with myself. What a fool for not checking! I put all of my concentration into channeling my frustration into my running. I ran with speed back up the hill I’d been directed down. 10 minutes later I started to see the headlights of other runners. I was back on track. This made me smile. Now I had some serious overtaking to do. I guessed that I’d been bumbling around for around an hour. I straight away started to take people. no-one attempted to stay with me for a while. Then I heard some footsteps behind me. Someone was running with me which I was quite surprised about as my pace was still fast being fueled by adrenalin. We ran together for about half an hour till he informed me he was going to walk for a bit. I pushed on.
Soon I caught up with Colin. I was very glad to see that he was still pushing on. He was going well now, but told me that he had stayed at the cp for half an hour! I pushed on and took about four more guys before reaching the last cp. I ate fast. They informed me that it was 6 miles till the end. My stopwatch said 18hrs 57mins. To beat 20hrs I needed to run 10k in less than 1hr 3mins.
This seemed fast but I felt good and still highly motivated after my error. I left as fast as I could.
The final 10k was smooth and I took another 3 guys. As I entered Avebury my stopwatch reset itself so I lost track of my time. I squeezed out every last drop of energy all the way to the finish.
My time was 20hrs 2mins!
I was of course frustrated with my error and time, but overall, seeing as I hadn’t trained specifically for this race, I was really chuffed with my pacing, my speed and I really enjoyed the event. I recovered really fast which is always nice and a sure sign of fitness.
Between the Ridgeway and the next race which is the 24hrs, I have a gap of 6 weeks. I decided to take 2 whole weeks off of running after. This will be followed by an easy low mileage week, two medium mileage weeks, a long hard week and finishing with a week of rest before the race.
Once the 24 is done, that is the end of my season. My biggest yet! Then I’ll be slowly building towards the JOGLE.
I currently have another 5 days off of running which is very difficult, but I can feel myself getting stronger and all my niggles are disappearing, so I’ll stick to the plan.
I’ll Blog soon.
Happy running.

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunninglife.com

So finally after a long year of waiting after my first failed attempt at the Spartathlon, the time had arrived to give it another go. This time I felt a whole lot more prepared. I felt like a more experienced, relaxed and confident runner. This all leads to being a stronger runner. I also knew how the race was run and half of the course. On top of all of this, my year had been my strongest yet with consistent performances in the Grand Union Canal race and The North Downs Way race.  Recovery was markedly improved over previous years too. All in all, there was a lot of positivity buzzing around my head and this felt good. I was trying not to get too confident though as one of the many lessons learnt in Greece last year was that this was a race that should never be taken lightly. This is seen as the Ultra to finish when you speak to the incredibly experienced runners from all over the world that enter this incredible race.

Why does it have such a high attrition rate when on paper it may not seem so tough? Well, the answer is many things, but the one overriding, unusual (unique?) feature is the quantity of checkpoints. There are 72(?) of them and each of them has a board that tells you what time the cp closes. Usually being fed information like this can be alright as it can be a pretty healthy distraction, giving your mind something else to concentrate on other than the pain that is inevitable.The problem is that seeing as the cp’s are every 2-5km then you are almost constantly being informed of your progress whether that is positive or negative. Experience tells you that losing little bits of time here and there is pretty normal for a big one, but for some reason when you are constantly being reminded of this it creates a sense of panic. If you arrive at a cp to discover that you have just dropped 5 minutes since the previous one, for some reason, the need to try and make that back before the next cp seems like the only option, so you push on and reclaim the time. This in turn tires you out a bit and you will then lose time getting to the next cp! And so the cycle continues. The mental side to this race is incredibly difficult to overcome once you slip into this cycle.
Of course, the mental side to this race is not the only challenge to overcome. There is the 152 miles of mostly road that is of course pretty difficult, the heat is tough. And lets not forget the interesting challenge of the mountain that you have to drag yourself over at the 100 mile point in the thick of night.
I had booked flights from Gatwick on the Wednesday morning with a few other Brit runners. I couldn’t get in early enough on the trains so decided to travel up to London the night before and stay at some very good old school friends of mine, Rich, Si and Emily. I didn’t arrive till after 10 but we stayed up for a bit and had a drink. It was really nice to catch up. I got into bed at 3:30 and my alarm was set for 5:30. Nothing like a good bit of preparation before my biggest race of the year! When I arrived at Gatwick, I floated around the dull shops, burning time with a coffee. I soon bumped into Pete who is the British Spartathlon veteran, who I had met the year before. We chatted till our gate was called.
Now, just a quick bit of nonsense for you. My birthday is the 11 of November, or 11-11. Because of this, 11 has always been my ‘lucky’ number if I ever get asked. This year my birthday will of course be on the 11-11-11. My race number this year is, yes you guessed it, 11. The gate our flight was at had just been called. 11! I hope I don’t get to see many more 11′s around else I just may begin to think that there is something in it!

We met up with the other brits who were on the same flight. There was already a good bunch of us and I had met most of them which was cool. After a uneventful flight, we were in the airport looking for a sign that would direct us to a coach that would take us directly to the hotel. Normally you would have to use the public transport at this point, but due to the unrest in Greece because of the financial problems, they were having strikes. On the day of my arrival, the public transport was off so the Spartathlon association had put on a coach for all competitors. Fantastic!
Once we arrived at the hotel we immediately registered for the race then got a room. Another good feature of this race is that the SA book up three hotels right next to each other. They then cram you in four at a time into the rooms. You are living right on top of each other (well, almost!). This initially might not sound like the best of situations, and some people will book themselves into a separate hotel so that they can have their own space, but what it does is it creates this great camaraderie and also you really are living the Spartathlon for five days. After experiencing it for two years now, I wouldn’t want it any other way. It really develops the experience into a totally absorbing time.
I was in a room with James Adams who had decided to not start as he’d recently completed the incredibly gargantuan race across America so was going to follow the race and see it from the other side. There was a chap called Paul Mott who I hadn’t met before, and Dave Miles who is a good friend who I knew from the JOGLE. A good room. There was much hanging about before going to dinner and stuffing myself with the slightly odd meals that they concoct at the hotel. It isn’t bad though so I’m happy tucking in and drinking plenty of rather strong coffee. After an expected poor nights sleep we have the entire Thursday to just relax and get our drop bags ready. I had bought a load of energy drink powder with me and some 9 bars and some gels. I went to a garage next door and bought 12 bottles of water and then mixed my powder in. I then  taped a 9 bar to each one before dumping them into roughly evenly spaced boxes that are provided, one for each checkpoint. Finally I sorted out my OMM bumbag and clothes for the race. All this didn’t take too long which was cool as it left the rest of the day to relax before the not so relaxing day that was too follow.That evening, a few of us ate out at a nice restaurant before going back to the hotel and attempting to get some more sleep before the alarm went off at a ridiculous hour. No bother really as the night didn’t involve much sleep again and I was just waiting for the alarm!
We all sorted ourselves out and went down for breakfast before jumping into the coaches that would take us on the 30 minute drive to downtown Athens to the Acropolis where the race begins. After a bit of a wait, and a few visits to the toilet, the time had come, we were off!
I felt calm and content that at last I was running and that compared to exactly this time last year, I was a lot more confident. I knew I could do it.
We slowly snaked our way through the already quite busy streets where police were at each junction and stopped the traffic for us as we passed. No mean feat in any capital, let alone Athens!

Dave and I in the first 30 miles.

I had already decided that I was going to run this all alone as I had to do my own pace, but soon Dave ran up beside me and we started chatting. I felt fine with Dave’s company as we had run together a great deal over the JOGLE so I knew that we had very even paces. We chatted quite a bit as we headed out of the city.  I wanted to run at a slightly higher speed before the sun rose than I planned to run later on when the heat would rise. Everything felt good and I was content with our pace as we started passing through the cp’s, one by one.

Garmin upload

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunninglife.com

My build up to my first attempt at the Spartathlon had been going pretty good with no issues. I had planned to do a high mileage week and then take 2 weeks off to recover fully, as usual. The week was going to plan, then when I was running into work on the Thursday (2 training days left!), the top of my foot started to hurt, and got worse and worse till I had a bit of a limp by the time I got to work. I rested all day at work then ran home. Hmm, not the cleverest things I’ve done as it hurt straight away and proceeded to get worse. By the time I got home, I’d decided to cancel the following planned 2 days of training. My prime concern was that I had a fractured metatarsal. If this was the case, then there was no chance I’d even go to Greece. I went to the dr’s who advised me to go to the A&E the next morning. A nurse had a look and said it was a possibility but it would be best if I left it for a week and come back in if it hadn’t improved. I took it as easy as possible for the week, but it really didn’t seem to improve much. I was starting to lose faith in my chances to even start the race now, let alone finish it! When the week had passed, I decided that I needed it looking at again. This time I saw a Dr who had a feel and informed me that he believed that it was ligamentous though he couldn’t be sure. Within the hour I had a plan. My flight was on Wednesday, so I’d decided to go for a little run on Tuesday evening just to see if I could manage it. I ran for 40 mins and found that I could deal with it. Not quite 36 hours, but it’ll have to do! I was going! Finally coming to this decision was a great relief. I didn’t really fancy my chances but was happy that I was going for the experience. My confidence wasn’t completely battered, I still had a slight glimmer of hope.I had to wake at 5am to get the train to Paddington, Underground to Victoria, train to Gatwick where I met Mark Cockbain and Stuart Shipley. A few hours later, we landed at Athens and caught the bus to the London hotel. It was a hive of activity with competitors and organisers busying around. We booked in and got given our rooms. I was in a room with 3 Swiss guys. We dumped our bags off then came down for dinner. The food was a little odd, but good nonetheless. After this it was time to get into bed. I barely slept at all. I don’t think my Swiss room mates did either. The next morning I had a massive breakfast before registering. Mark, Stu and I then walked up the road to find a supermarket to buy some supplies for the drop bags. My original idea was just to have some supplies at around 4 of the 74 check points, but after chatting with Mark and Stu who both have a wealth of experience at this race I decided to have bottles of electrolyte drinks at 10 points. It was really pretty warm out, but I wasn’t too bothered. I was just happy to be there, We sorted out our drop bags for the checkpoints, then we were ready for the off. Instead of sitting about at the hotel, Stu and I got on a tram and made our way into Athens to have a very quick look around. I’d never been to Greece so even though we didn’t really have too much time, I was happy to get the opportunity. We were lucky enough to catch the rather bizarre changing of the guard outside parliament, and walk around the ruins a bit and see the stadium before rushing back to the hotel for dinner which consisted of a massive plate of dry pasta! I poured the side of soup over it to add some flavour before getting into bed for the final time before the race. The alarm was set for 0430 too give us plenty of time for the 0500 breakfast. I somehow managed to get a better nights sleep than the previous night. I had muesli for breakfast before putting our bags on the coaches and getting on ourselves. We arrived at the base of the Acropolys with around 30 mins to spare. Perfect to just take in the atmosphere which by now was buzzing. There were a few camera crews and many support crews as well as lots of people who’d come along to see us all off. There were a fair few Brits and we all chatted together and took loads of pictures. Finally the moment arrived. We were off!
I instantly focused on running at my own pace, and trying to ignore everyone elses. We ran for quite a while through the streets of Athens as countless police were at every junction stopping the traffic so we didn’t have to alter our speed at all. The sun slowly rose behind us as we slowly left the city. It wasn’t hot yet. In fact it was actually pretty good running conditions. I felt happy with my pace. My foot was hurting but I was doing my best to ignore it. One step at a time. As we hit the first few cp’s I realised that they were very poorly stocked with anything worth eating. I grabbed a few biscuits and chocolates that melted in my hands, leaving me licking my fingers as I left the cp. As we left Athens proper, we passed the industrial outskirts which were pretty grim. We then were on the old coastal road which was truly stunning. It was pretty hot now, but felt incredibly humid, which was making me sweat an incredible amount. The salt that was forming on my skin was a little concering. I’d sponge my self down at every cp, but by the time I’d arrive at the next cp (2-5km) I’d be covered in salt again! I tried to get lots of the salty crackers down to replace the massive salt depletion. As I pushed on I realised that I hadn’t been for a wee for hours. I was getting pretty badly dehydrated. I tried to drink more but was finding it increasingly difficult to consume solids and liquids. I went through 80 km in around 8.5hrs. This gave me a 1hr buffer which was good, but I was beginning to feel as though I’d ran a lot further than I had. My muscles were feeling pretty tender, my energy levels were pretty low and my foot was hurting quite a bit. It was as I walked away from the 80km cp with a rice pudding which I struggled to get down and hold down that the negative thoughts started entering my mind. The nausea and the dehydration were really not good at this stage of the race. Was it possible to get myself rehydrated while I continued at the same pace? I was starting to doubt it, especially with the nausea. I thought the darkness would be a welcome cooling but by this stage I was in to much of a mess to appreciate the advantage. I ran in the dark for a while which was fine, till eventually I picked up a torch at one of the cp’s. This took my mind off of things a little, but not enough.
As I was dropping painfully down a descent, the final blow came. It started to drizzle. Within 5 minutes it was really hammering it down, and in my weakened state I started to feel the cold. I stopped at a cp and considered pulling out, but this was a minimal cp. Not a good place to bale. I decided to push on till the next decent cp then reassess my situation. The next stretch of road was badly potholed so I miserabely kept treading in rather large puddles as I kept moving as much to keep warm as to keep in the race.
Finally I came down a pretty steep, very painful descent into a village with a cp under shelter. I pulled in and immediately sat down. My time buffer was down to 20 mins now and I still had almost 70 miles left! As I sat there trying to work out whether it would be worth continuing, my buffer was fast disappearing. I was broken. I had been staggering at every cp for around the last 40 miles as I felt dizzy. I was cooked! Enough.
I handed my number over and signed a form. Shortly after the coach arrived which was taking all the drop outs to the hotel at the end. I got onto the coach sad, sick but content that I’d made the right decision. On the journey back I was sick on the coach. I had covered around 85 miles in around 18.5hrs. Not good enough by a long shot. It was around 0330 when we got to the hotel. Myself and Kevin who had dropped out at nearly the same point, got a room and dragged our wrecked bodies to our room. I turned on the shower, but it instantly started to flood! Sod it! straight to bed.
Thankfully, nine days later as I write this, I still feel that pulling out was my only option. I could have carried on for another 10-20 miles possibly, but there is no way, that I could have completed considering the state I’d got myself into. Very frustrating, but I’ll chalk it down to some very good experience, and hopefully a lesson that won’t be forgotten in a hurry! As soon as I awoke from a pretty awful, sleep after my attempt, I’d already decided that I was to return next year. I feel confident that with the right preparation, I can finish. I think it needs a little more respect from me though. It’s a beast of a race and I have complete admiration for anyone that completes the thing. Actually, I think its amazing that so many people are willing to take on the Spartathlon at all!
I now have pretty much recovered fully. Just my foot to get better now, but it has improved lots, so hopefully in 1-3 weeks time it’ll be good to start thrashing again!
There’s no rush anyway, as I don’t plan to do anything else this year.
So, overall, with a little bit of time passed since the event, I feel quite irritated by the fact that I made such a simple but catastrophic error, but very happy that I made the decsion to go and gain some very valuable experience. I now have seen a great deal of the course and the layout of the event, cp’s etc. I’ve been expecting a DNF at some point and now I have it! Not great, but its all part of the constant education that this game is. I will be far better armed next year!

I do plan on trying to teach my self to run less on my heel and more on my forefoot over winter that could be challenging, which, after reading a bit into it, if I can get to grips with, could prevent some injuries.
I’ll keep you up-to-date with my progress (or lack thereof!). At the moment though, it’s all about rest and possibly popping out for a cider or two! It’s been a long year for me.
Cheers,
Happy running.

Written by Chris Rainbow - http://salebyjoggingcentre.blogspot.fr/

The Viking Way is a challenging 147 miles, from the banks of the Humber to the shores of Rutland Water. Apart from the Cathedral City of Lincoln, its route is almost entirely through thinly populated countryside, quiet villages and small market towns. It crosses an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, escarpments, fens, wolds and heathland on a meandering journey across Lincolnshire and Rutland.

Saturday 7th April, 147 miles

I'm barely holding it together as I reach Sewtern. Rounding a bend in the road, there's a small gathering of cars on a grass verge up ahead, and I guess it must be the Checkpoint. A couple of kids in bright coats run towards me, smiling and shouting. My superheroes. Joining me for the last hundred yards, Lightning walks beside me while Whirlwind holds my hand. Leon joins us with the words: 'You're doing great mate! Only 18 miles to go!'

A panic immediately ripples through me. 18 miles! I've convinced myself that the finish is 14 miles away. Hanging onto that thought. 14 miles. 3 hours.

'I thought it was 14 miles from here?' I ask. I'm pleading.

'No- bit more than that mate!' Leon replies.

Suddenly, I'm not holding it together so well.

I arrive at the Checkpoint to claps and cheers. But I'm sinking. The nausea I've been fighting on and off for the last 12 hours is pulling me under. People are talking, asking me questions, but the words are distorted, unclear, slow-motion. Someone hands me a plastic cup of coke. I take a sip and bend over double, dry-retching, my body rebelling. I rest my hands on my knees, try to be sick again. Tam's telling the superheroes to go back to the car - she doesn't want them seeing Dad like this.

I stay bent over for a while and then stand up straight. I take a few unsteady steps. Stop again. Leon's offering words of encouragement. I want to lie down. I'll lie down and everything will be alright. I can't lie down.

I start walking. Hardly a walk at all. Forward movement. One foot in front of the other.

I leave the road. Back on the track. 18 miles. I need to lie down.

One foot in front of the other. There's a desperation in my determination. But something else has entered the picture. A doubt. A small whisper of failure. For the first time since the start over 30 hours ago, I'm no longer sure I can make it to the finish.

I'd chanced upon The Viking Way Ultra in the middle of last year. My plan on tackling Lincolnshire's LDPs had started taking some shape, and as I'd spent an afternoon planning routes and a timetable for the year ahead, I'd stumbled upon the website. One part of me considered it didn't fit comfortably with my empty miling aspirations for the forthcoming year, but another part was immediately excited. At 147 miles it would be the longest single-stage race in the UK. Being the inaugral running of the event would also make it special. I'd met the Race Director, Mark Cockbain, a couple of times over the years and knew he'd put on a well-run, but gruelling, race. This wouldn't be one of the all-singing, all-dancing ultra fests put on by a big company, but a low-key, grass-roots event with serious athletes. It didn't take me long to decide to jump aboard.

I've never entered a race requiring you to fill out a 'CV' of your running experience before accepting you, but there's always a first. Entry would be limited to 30 competitors. Each one of those would have the experience to tackle the extreme distance, and be tough enough to be self-sufficent for 40 hours.

I listed my accomplishments. Although not a part of the ultra 'scene', I'd taken on several trips and challenges over the years and felt confident they'd show that I had the potential to hack it. A couple of days later, I received the e-mail confirming I'd been successful. I was in!

On logging back onto The Viking Way Ultra site, however, the excitement turned to trepidation. Looking through the list of entrants and their accomplishments humbled me. Every name was a stalwart of the UK ultra scene. Phrases like 'multi course record holder', 'UK representative' and 'double world-record holder' jumped from the screen. How would an unknown kid from Saleby measure up? There would be only one way to find out.

We arrive at the start area at 6.45am. Easter Saturday. I sup a last coffee, pose for photographs and listen to the pre-race briefing. I stand on the edge as 7.00am nears. Lively chatter runs through the assembled group. Everyone seems to know one another. I don't know anyone. I make a bit of polite conversation, check my pack, kiss Tam and the superheroes goodbye, and make for the start line in the shadow of the Humber Bridge. I'm about to embark on the longest journey of my life. I'm ready. The air-horn blows and we're gone.

I'd tinkered with a rough plan in the days before the race. Breaking the route into 3 equal stages, I aimed to start slow, reaching 50 miles in no faster than 10 hours. I'd incorporate walking from the start, hiking all the inclines and jogging everything else. I figured slowing over the next 2 sections would be inevitable. The 2nd 50 miles had little ascent, so I planned set periods of running and walking - 30 minutes on, 10 minutes off. I hoped the change of activity would help me maintain some sort of leg function, as well as breaking the distance into chunks that would be more manageable to tackle mentally. Having never run more than 100 miles in any one attempt, the 3rd section would be a complete unknown. My plan was just to keep moving. Hopefully I'd have the buffer from the 1st 2 sections to enable me to finish inside the cut-off of 40 hours. If I didn't, I told Tam, I'd hand in my race number and make my own way to the finish. Getting to Oakham library was the most concrete part of my plan. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd do it.

The early miles slip past effortlessly. I settle into a steady rhythm. Light feet, fast cadence. After starting well back, I'm gradually picking people off and I enter Barnetby, 14 miles in, just inside the top 10. Tam's parked by the roadside. I jog over to the fell wagon for one of Whirlwind's magic kisses before carrying on. The drizzly, overcast weather is condusive to running and I'm feeling great. The injuries I'd spent the last weeks obsessing over temporarily rear their heads, but then just disappear. I pass another 2 or 3 runners on the stretch to Caistor, and by the 2nd Checkpoint at Tealby, I know I'm in 3rd place. Amazing. Out of Tealby, I see the lead runners - Neil Bryant and Charlie Sharpe - a good half-mile in front. I make a vow to hang back, keep the pace easy. There's still a long way to go.

It's not for another half-hour until disaster strikes. Jogging along the road out of Ludford, I hear footfall behind me. Looking back, I see Neil and Charlie - they've overshot the turning, but are now back on track. Suddenly, I'm in the lead.

Throughout my running life, I've rarely led a race. It's a top feeling, don't get me wrong, but it comes with its drawbacks. Too much adrenaline leads to reckless decisions, a push in pace that can't be sustained, an early effort that throws previous careful plans to the wall. I'm determined not to let that happen.

We run as a three for a good few miles, before Charlie drops back slightly. Still sticking to my policy of walking the inclines, we travel efficiently through the hilly heartland of the Wolds. The pace seems easy. The company's good - Neil seems to share an outlook on running similar to my own and we pass the miles in conversation. All's fine - what could go wrong?

It's not long before we're almost at the 50 mile point, greeted by friends from the Club jogging alongside and shouting 'well dones.' I'd planned for a 20 minute stop at the 50 mile and 100 mile marks. These were the only points where we could get access to our drop bags. I'd make sure I changed into a dry base layer, pack my bag with gear for the cold of the forthcoming night stage, get a hot drink and scoff down my pre-prepared corned beef hash. All of these things would set me up for the next 50 miles.

But things don't work out. I sense Neil is keen to get off. I'm flustered. I can't squeeze all the kit I need into my bag. The hot coffee offered gets overlooked in the general busy-ness. I have no time to eat the food I know I need to. Before I know it, we're off. We run down the road for a few hundred yards before I know I've made a big mistake, and that I need to regain control of my own race or risk blowing-up and having to drop out. I tell Neil I need to sort my sack out - it's digging in uncomfortably at the base of my back - and encourage him to push on. He's looking composed and super-easy. It's a relief in many ways. I regain my run and make little effort to catch him. Coming into Horncastle, I know I need to get myself together. After the highs of only minutes ago, my rollercoaster has taken a real dip for the worst. I tell my assembled supporters that I have to let Neil go - he's a class above me, and by sticking with him, I risk losing it all. I walk a long section to the start of the Spa Trail, and now I'm back on it, determined to be sensible.

I settle into a routine of 30 minutes running, 10 minutes walking, and it isn't long before I'm through Bardney and heading into the night.

A few miles further on, as I jog towards Barlings Abbey, I notice a head-torch some way back. I'm being caught - that's for sure. Neil must be a good way ahead, I'm certain. As I run out of Fiskerton, I'm surprised to Tam waiting - we'd not arranged to meet here. With the time getting on - 9pm- I'd assumed she'd gone back home. When I pass, she tells me I'm the first through. Where's Neil? Maybe he got through before she'd parked up? But Tam informs me that she's been here for a couple of hours and there's no-one else gone past. Again, I'm in the lead.

I find out where Neil's gone a half-hour later as we're on the banks of the Witham, heading for the Lincoln Checkpoint. The head-torch that's been chasing me down for the last hour finally catches up, and it's him. He explains that he missed a turn, lost his bearings, but managed to see my torch in the distance and set off in that direction. We jog up the hill to the nearby Checkpoint - at 81 miles, just over half-way.

Although I've been eating little and often up till this point and have felt fine, a general queasiness creeps on me as I stand by the food table. I try and get a drink of tea down, but can't face any grub. This is not a good sign. As we get off, I tell Neil to go on and walk steadily towards the illuminated Cathedral, hoping the nausea will pass. Entering the outskirts of the city, I try a gel but am immediately sick. I cling to some railings near the Arboretum and puke my guts up. Afterwards, I feel a little better, but decide to walk through the city centre and restart my running/walking routine once I'm up South Common and out of Lincoln on the other side.

I know there's 3 people on my tail - we'd seen lights on the river bank at the last Checkpoint. Climbing up South Common, the lights come past. I don't know one of the guys, but recognise the other 2 as legends of the UK ultra scene - Pat Robbins, England representative for 24 hours and multi-record holder of the 145 mile Grand Union Canal race, and Mimi Anderson, a long distance phenomenon and world record holder for John O'Groats to Land's End. I wish all 3 good luck, feel some feelings of deflation, but buoy myself with the thought that being passed by runners of that calibre is no reason to be ashamed.

The miles to the 96 mile point pass in a blur. The nausea comes and goes and my pace ebbs and flows with it. My mood descends at one stage, but a phone call to Tam brings me back again.

I reach the Checkpoint with under 21 hours on the clock. I'm surprised to see the third runner of the passing group in the tent. 'My body's ok, but my head's gone,' he tells me. 'My head's ok, but my body's gone,' I tell him. I sit for a few minutes, sort maps and gear out for the final stretch and try, with only some success to get a No-Frills pot noodle down me. And then I'm up - shattered, sick, ready to go. I ask Cliff if he wants to come with me. He politely declines and I set off down the Ermine Road track, now in 4th place.

There's a meditative feeling about running in the dark. It's the small hours of Sunday morning. Gradually I'm jogging less, walking more, until I reach a point where my running action is slower than my walking action. I press on, hiking, the voices on my radio keeping me company, the head-torch giving me enough light, until the new day dawns.

With the light comes an uncomfortable feeling that I'm being chased down. Over the next 20 miles, it becomes an obsession. Every few minutes, I look over my shoulder, convinced that the pack is descending on me. Each time, there's no one in sight. But I'm prey for the hunters and I've no doubt I'll be captured soon.

A few miles further in and I'm walking along the banks of the infant Witham, near Marston. I'm feeling strong again, lost in concentration. The early morning stillness is broken by an excited shout. I look up and see a runner jogging towards me. Eventually I gather that it's Marvellous Mimi! By rights she should be miles in front of me by now. What's she doing here? We fall into step for a mile or so as she explains her nightmare of a morning. She'd gotten hopelessly lost and was on the phone to the Race Organiser asking for help, when I appeared. It's great to have a chat with a real person again after what seems like an eternity. I help her get her bearings on the map, point her in the right direction, and with much thanks she trots gingerly on towards the next village.

An hour later, as I leave Long Bennington and get onto the northern stretch of Sewstern Lane, I can still see Mimi up ahead. Even though I'm walking, I'm still moving fairly quickly. Part of me reasons that a big push over the last 30 miles might secure me 3rd place. Part of me tells myself I've got absolutely no resources left for any sort of a push, let alone a big one. More pressing, however, is the runner on my heels. Time and time again on the Sewstern Lane, I've looked back and seen the runner gaining on me. Dressed from head to toe in black, he's moving surprisingly quickly and sticking to the good, grassy ground in the middle of the 4x4 tracks. A mile from the A52 crossing, where I know Tam and the superheroes are waiting to greet me, I resolve not to look back again. I figure he'll pass me in no time.

Reaching the fell-wagon, it's so good to see my family again, but I can't let go of the thought of the 'ghost' runner catching me. I chat for a couple of minutes, say to Tam -'I'll just wait until the next guy runs through - he's been gaining on me for ages.' A few minutes later, he's still not through. I get off again, while Tam says she'll wait there until the runner comes through and meet me at the next road crossing.

Five miles later, we meet again. Tam tells me that they waited for 40 minutes and no one came past. I'm relieved in many ways, but also anxious. I saw that guy, not once, but every time I looked round. Am I going crazy?

Sewstern Lane is designed to break you. Coming at 110 miles into the route, it's an ancient road that has been decimated by 4x4 traffic, trail bikes and quads. Its steep inclines are rutted by tyre tracks and a thick layer of mud covers much of its length. Many parts are un-runnable. Some parts are hardly negotiable at all. It drains the rest of my strength and saps away any remaining positivity. By the time I reach Sewstern, the next Checkpoint, I'm barely holding it together.

In any good action movie, there's always a rope-bridge scene. The hero emerges from the jungle path, natives at his heels, to be confronted by a rickety bridge, suspended precariously thousands of feet above a raging river, hardly visible at the bottom of a sheer-sided gulley. He steps onto the bridge, breifly reassesses, then, looking back towards the advancing enemy, realises that if he's going to survive, he's got little option but to cross. As he clambers over, the camera goes to close-ups of ropes fraying. With each step, the framework of the bridge unravels. Until the hero takes one step too far. The fraying ropes snap, the bridge collapses, and the hero is left clinging to a solitary rung as he dangles by his fingertips against the walls of the cliff.

I'd stepped onto the rope-bridge as I'd entered Sewstern Lane, 20 miles ago. Even though I knew the rope was fraying, I had no alternative but to continue. The end always lays in front, not behind. Gradually, the bridge weakened. At Sewstern, it fell apart.

As I leave my family and friends at the Checkpoint, I'm dangling by one hand. But falling to the river below is something I dare not comprehend. Mustering unknown reserves of resolve, I continue. Between Sewstern and the banks of Rutland Water, I pull myself slowly to the top of the cliff. It takes an immense effort, but somehow I manage. At times I want to let go, fall in glorious flight to the water below. But I don't. I've come too far.

Finally, I'm waiting to crest the hill out of Exton where the sweeping panorama of Rutland Water will, no doubt, knock me for six. When I get there, there's a glimpse of water to the left, but it's hardly earth-shattering. I stand for a minute or two, force down a power bar and head down the hill, through the pub car-park, to the road.

Then something strange happens. I'm revived! There's a purpose in my step that i've not felt for hours. The finish is near. I'm almost done. I head out on the undulating path that leads to the Oakham road, and for the first time since the morning, I check my watch. Time has long since failed to be an issue - to finish inside 40 hours was my singular goal - but now I'm spurred on by the thought of finishing in under 35 hours. I push and push, and the minutes slip away.

Oakham awaits. Leon and Lightning meet me on a street corner and tell me the library is yards away. There's a small crowd gathered as I approach the finish. My family, Pat Robbins - the joint winner, Mark and his other half. I muster a final jog across the line and stop. I've arrived. The fourteenth footpath - the longest one- done and dusted.

* * * * *

The inaugral Viking Way Ultra saw 28 competitors set off from Barton. 75% of the field failed to reach the finish.

The race was won by Neil Bryant and Pat Robbins, running in together in an outstanding time of 29 hours 22 minutes.

Third place went to the incredible Mimi Anderson in 33 hours 52 minutes.

The other results were:
4th - Chris Rainbow, 35 hours
5th - Charlie Sharpe, 36 hours 23 minutes
6th - Paul Dickens, 37 hours 28 minutes
7th - Andy Horsley, 39 hours 45 minutes