Written by Phil Bradburn - https://untrainingultrarunner.com

The training went well in the run up to North Downs 100 (aside from a terrible week or so which I put down to training while in Spain during 30+ celcius heat and ridiculously high humidity. I turn into a big baby in those conditions.

With two of the four 100 mile grandslam races already in the bag, this race was all about surviving but getting it done as well as I could. You don’t get much time to recover in between these races which feel like they come at you like snowballs between the end of April and October.

The week before I sorted my kit and made what I thought was a reasonable fist of a perfect kit placement photo (but which Sarah Sawyer gave me only 8.5/10 for!)

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The day before

Susie saw me off at the Station. I find it best usually to get a one – way train ticket to the start, and have Susie follow the next day to crew and or pace me.

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I headed down to Farnham – the start of the race the night before. Staying in the Premier Inn which is just 15-20 minutes walk away along a small stream to the start. Perfect location as it is also near the Railway Station.

I was meeting up with Tim Lambert – who I was sharing a room with. We had both been saved by “The Dan Park” for our accommodation (for the third time I will add in my case – because I have not somehow got in the habit of booking my own hotel room. Silly boy!)

I registered and did my kit check – bumping into some friends along the way – including plenty of folks I know from twitter and facebook. I am so awful with names but I do know faces – and I find it hard to match them up all the time.

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In fact, since I am useless with friends names who I already have met many times, then I am going to apologise now for all errors and omissions!

I had a lovely capuccino (and don’t spare the choccie sprinkles!) made by the ladies in the van which I supped while I was chilling out in the sunshine. Best cappucino ever – FACT! Tim did a quick turnaround and we were soon heading back to the hotel and the Beefeater next door for a burger and chips.

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Back at the hotel we did some kit packing and repacking, and some general faffing around including setting a billion alarms.

Race Day

(thanks Zoe and Vanessa for early morning phone calls – Zoe – I didn’t want to mention at the time but I was on the loo! – and Vanessa – I was so dozy I didn’t recognise your voice at all!). So first mission of the day accomplished. Up and out of bed by 4am.

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We had all our stuff ready. I did some last minute recharging of watches and after a coffee, a selection of breakfast pastries (from Sainsburys about a half mile away the night before) and a 1 litre bottle of lovely frizzante lucozade we headed off to the race start for the briefing. I bet the hotel staff were puzzled by the heap of card keys left on their desk at 5am on a saturday morning once or twice a year!

Soon at the HQ, there was enough time to grab some extra safety pins for numbers and tags and then James was doing his usual briefing. Warning anyone not to mention that the race was 103 miles when it was advertised as “a hundred” etc. He has these briefings off to a fine art. Various hands went up when asked if anyone was doing the Grandslam (I raised my hand and looked around but I swear I couldn’t see 34 other people!), people raising their hands for their first 100. (MENTALIST!!!! Who chooses NDW100 for their first?!) and then soon we were all heading off (via the loo for me for a quick poo!).

Anyway… off we went down the road to get to the trail head at the start. On the way I bumped into Rachel Hessom – and found amazingly this is the ONLY 100 that she had not done yet so she was a NDW100 virgin! Rachel is great fun – and we’ve shared a few miles on these in the past.  At the trail head I chatted briefly with Paul Thompson and others before settling in around half way back so I wasn’t either going to get trampled or that I wouldn’t be encouraged to go out too hard.

Soon we were off.

Part 1 – Start to Box Hill Stepping Stones

The start of it is wooded trail. I felt I made totally the right shoe choice – Pearl Izumi N3 Road. Perfect. Some grip and lovely and cushioned too. I was loving it. Cracking on down the trail and feeling pretty comfortable. (my strava stats at the end showed that I was going out a little bit fast really….!)

At around 3 miles in Stephen Turner a.k.a. “#GateWanker” ran past. He always runs past at this point and usually opens a gate and them slams it behind him for a laugh :-p haha I also leapfrogged with Paul Thompson a little bit over the first few miles. He was running superbly well.

I didn’t bother to stop at Puttenham aid station around 7 miles in, I just ran straight through – briefly bumping into Steve Turner again (my turn to shout #GateWanker). Everything was going swimmingly. My watch vibrated each mile – always a surprise because the miles just seemed to be flying by! I swapped places a few times with Lee Scott and Paul Thompson and of course Stephen Turner flew past me once again!

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Newlands Corner signalled what felt like the first uphill section. Swiftly dispatched and on I went. Really not much to note other than I enjoyed running through Denbies Wine Estate with vines growing on the south facing hills, and down the hill towards Box Hill via the underpass.

Box Hill Stepping Stones (24.6) to Caterham Hill (38)

I reached the aid station. Needing water (I felt a little thirsty and my wee wasn’t the light colour I expected it to be). I did the same thing on the NDW50 two years ago…. So that’s a lesson I haven’t learned! I resolved to get more liquid down me. Which I did. Literally down me 

It was an absolutely lovely surprise to bump into Mark Thornberry – gentleman of the trails and an utter legend – who popped along just to support the runners. Brilliant to see you mate – and thanks for the photo too and brief chit chat.

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I got my bottles filled. Spotted Ian Brazier who just came into the aid station) and off I went again. As I took my time over the stepping stones (I’m clumsy ok!) I dunked my hat in the water and soaked myself. Oh – that was lovely!

Soon it was up. Poles out and tik takked away up the hill. They were not as bad as I remember them being and I was soon slaloming past various families cajoling their children up steps almost as high as their little knees!

At the top it was clear that it was turning into a bloody hot day. I bumped into friends Neil and Nick Dawson at the top of Box Hill and had a bit of a sit down while I was rewarded with an amazing Calippo – and what would be my first of the day!!!

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Thanks so much!!! Stuart March was up there with his HUGE camera and grabbed a shot of me as I jogged past – calippo in hand (orange since you ask).

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The wooded section at the top was lovely – nice to be in the shade again, and I was being careful for trip hazards. The next stop was at Reigate Hill. I was soon there. Desperate again for drink – but knowing that Zoe had stashed at the aid station with her a cold bottle of Moutain Dew (that stuff is Rocket Fuel!). As I was running to the aid station, I spotted a cafe and queued to get another calippo… while I was doing that, I spotted Paul Reader – who kindly queued up for me and brought me over two calippos. God – you’re a legend mate! Thanks so much – also for the chocolate milkshake. That was lush!

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Selfies with Zoe and a bottle of mountain dew later and I was off again.

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More climbing and more trails. It was only a few miles and then I felt absolutely knackered. The heat was awful. It was just the other side of Reigate Golf Club and I sought the shade of a tree and had a lie down for a few minutes. I couldn’t believe I was feeling so shit this early in a 100miler.

No sooner did I get back up and the rain started. At first, I was like “Oooooh this solves every problem I have….” and then the realisation that when it turned into a deluge, the trail was turning to a muddy swampy mess. Just after running through an underpass it started to rain even heavier. I chanced it by not stopping, but then got caught in a really heavy storm on the side of a hill by the M25…. pack off, jacket on, and on my way once again. All of the rain had made the trails pretty slick – wet muddy chalk. Not great to run on! It was really sapping my energy. I phoned my wife and asked her to have my trail shoes ready for the half way point.

The rain soon subsided and this rest of the section went pretty well – I got some energy wave going so I was flying along at points until I reached the aid station at Caterham. I had my serpie cap on and I think that got me a paper bowl of slighly melted by absolutely delicious ice cream which I accessorised with some chewy toffee crisp type bites. Wow – amazing they were! On leaving I needed to have my customary call with nature….. (TMI!) I found a log and made use of it!

38 – 51 miles (Knockholt pound)

I had volunteered at Caterham on the NDW50 in 2014 and I knew that the next little bit involved a bloody steep climb up a bit of a hill. Nothing much happened at Botley – I went in grabbed a few handfuls and left just as Gary Wayman arrived.

I entered the woods across the road and after a few seconds the heavens opened. I stopped to put my jacket on and it then deluged even more. Luckily I was in the woods because otherwise I think I would have been washed away! Some other folks were trying to brave it out but the rain got heavier and heavier.

I also ran into Dave Stuart with kids who were handing out hi-fives to passing runners, and percy pigs and friends along with coke. With my bright pink calf compression sleeves on they could see me a mile off! I took the opportunity to stop for a few minutes before carrying on down some treacherous steps.

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Soon I bumped into Stuart March taking more photos and he warned about the slippiness of the trail ahead (I managed to slide and stab myself in the hand with the barbed wire fence).

Soon I was closing in on the Knockholt aid station, I called ahead to Susie and she was waiting with Rob and Dom and his wife Helen at the checkpoint. I wolfed down some pasta, some lucozade and put my legs up to try and easy some of the solidness.

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51 – 62 (Knockholt to Wrotham – with Dom)

Soon I was ready to go. I decided not to change my shoes because this next section would be fine (I had recced it) and I wanted to minimise any change of shoe issues! Dom was pacing me for this next section. We knocked out a few miles and then I spectacularly stubbed my toe on something in the track down the side of the farmers field. Bloody tell that hurt… and I was worried that my foot would swell up. I just carried on and got on with it. It was a combo of run walk for the first little bit because of the climb, but soon we were on a section I had recced a few weeks earlier and I knew there were some miles of fast running conditions – so that’s what I did.

We surprised my crew – and they ran out of the pub in Otford High Street (GUYS! – one job to do yeah!???!  ) and then they had to run up the hill after me with some luzocade and crisps. Dom was doing a marvellous job of pacing me and I was so pleased that I had recced this section too because it allowed me to think ahead on my pace and when I could take advantage.

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We powered past another runner with a handful of vaseline he was shoving down his bum crack – we exchanged knowing glances with his crew, and we headed to some frankly hideous steps. I don’t know why, but they were a pain! I got up them and eventually we peaked out at the top and we enjoyed some running through fields.

This next section is one that I had not recced but I had a rough idea from driving around the other week (albeit on the road). We eventually headed down and to a road to cross it and we turned right down a hill. I had been talking about going under a bridge I think, and we both on autopilot ran down hill… quite fast…. For about half a mile.

Mistake.

No red tape. No signs and we questioned our choice, turned around and ran back up. We should have turned left! There was the piece of red and white tape flapping in the breeze. Dammit!

Anyway, no harm done, it was only a few minutes, and we got back on track. Eventually we came down a few hundred feet in the right place and I put on a bit of a burst, absolutely flying along (well….. 10-11 minute miles anyway!) and on to the aid station at Wrotham at 60 miles where my wife and Rob were waiting for me.

I had a cuddle. Changed my shoes. Changed into a long sleeved merino base layer. Put my headtorch on and made sure Susie had hers too for her pacing duties. After all that, I was ready to go, and realised that I hadn’t been into the checkpoint yet! OOps…. Susie said she wouldn’t have let me do that – and of course she wouldn’t – but it was a reminder that I was getting mentally tired already. I thanked Dom and Helen and arranged to see Rob at Ranscombe (around 70 miles – with McDonalds!). Apparently my GPS tracker had stopped – my iphone battery had run out. I wasn’t having a good time with batteries today!

60 – 82 Wrotham to Detling

Off we ran. Me and Susie recced this section so knew most of the way to Holly Hill – the next checkpoint. Everything was as expected. Trosley park – easy running… a treacherous downhill chalky mess of a “path” and then good quality trail again. It was dark through the heavy tree cover. A handful of runners past me on this section. More trail and some steps at Holly Hill (which I swear on my recce were not as steep!)…. Half way up I felt a pull in my leg as I overextended my stride up a step. Agony. Susie had to give me a quick massage of my leg before I could move again.

Soon we were at the aid station. A quick coffee which we managed to spill over each other and we were off again. I knew this whole section now until Ashford. Brilliant. I knew exactly what to come. The wooded section went on forever! I was worried about missing the right turn over the stile and kept going on about it. It was significantly muddier than when I had last been through the previous weekend.

Eventually we turned and I put down some good running for a few miles. I knew that I could do that all the way to Ranscombe (bar the couple of hills up and a steep downhill). So I banged out the miles and we passed quite a few runners – and this was really my last good section of running that I did looking back. We hit Ranscombe car park and then soon Rob arrived with my McDonalds (susie had messaged ahead). 6 chicken McNuggets (YUM!), fries (lovely – but couldn’t finish) and a coffee that I poured down myself (oops!) and managed to get a few mouthfuls before I poured the rest away. I managed to forget to pack my charging cable for my Fenix 5X – I had left it in my bag that was at the end!

I had lay in the car for 15 minutes or so and when I got up and walked out of the car park I was shivering quick badly. Susie was really surprised – I don’t think she had seen me like that. Obviously with the darkness, and the time of the day and that I had stopped for a short spell had brought my temperature down and I had to get my jacket on and get moving swiftly to generate some body heat.

Soon we were across Medway bridge – I ran and didn’t stop! – and then under the motorway bridge and along Nashenden Farm Road. We saw Rob again – we didn’t need anything – and then headed up a bloody hill! Another one. I walked quite a lot of this section to Bluebell Hill aid station – I didn’t have much in the way of go left…. And we got to the aid station, I had a quick coffee and immediately got moving again.

After seemingly ages we ended up just past the petrol station and climbing the most hideous bit. In training (and I run around here all the time) this hill is really not that bad and I have run up it! That wasn’t happening tonight and I stumbled up slowly using my poles. Miles and miles this seemingly went on for before we topped out and got a few bits of running done. I struggled this whole section. I also had to change my Petzl NAO+ battery. It ran out. That surprised me because I had run on the same settings from 8:30 – 5:00 am with in on Thames Path and also had similar experience on SDW100. Maybe I didn’t charge it up fully….

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I got passed by alot of runners. I was falling asleep shuffling along and I was getting messages into my head about stopping. ARGH! No…. I had to have a few sit down breaks and Susie did her best to get me moving along. I was slow. I was not enjoying this bit. Eventually, and despite everything we soon hit the downhill that signalled that Detling was close. Over the bridge and I could see my mate and next pacer Andy Cairns waiting for me with Rob. I had to have a sleep – and must have had 15-20 minutes in the aid station. I saw Tim Lambert there and was a bit surprised. I couldn’t compute why we were both there at the same time for some reason. Stupid brain!

82 – 91 – Detling to Lenham

Anyway, off I went with Andy and he got it absolutely right. He knew I wasn’t running much and he knew this whole section too – having trained on it with me and run NDW100 too. Frankly hideous sections – including Detling (but you know….. It was nowhere near as bad as other bits in hindsight). Andy encouraged me to trot along a bit when I could and he reminded me that when the sun comes up I would get energy. He reminded me to eat (lesson – I need to take more snacks) and gave me warnings about my footing.

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Eventually we started to head downhill and I got some running in for the first time in hours. This whole section took forever. We headed down into Hollingbourne, saw Susie and Rob and headed off again. I had a couple of mini pork pies which I couldn’t seem to swallow. I forced it down with water and wondered why they just tasted of pastry (Susie later told me that is what they were like for her too – and that they were gross!).

Next aid station was Lenham around 91 miles. I knew that Rob Cowlin – the legend – would be there. Interspersed walking and jogging – and eventually the aid station appeared on the crest of a small hill. Slick aid station pit stop. A quick coffee – Thanks Spencer and Rob – and off I went – I shouted “Andy – come on catch me up….” more for my own amusement  It was around 7 miles or so to the next aid station so I wanted to get moving.

From this point I knew I would finish. The sun was up. I was running where I could. Walking at a reasonable pace. I felt brighter. We eventually got to Dunn Street aid station, called my number and decided to crack on to the finish at Ashford. Only 4.5 miles left.

98.5 – 103 miles – Dunn Street to Ashford Julie Rose Stadium

I actually ran and ran and ran. I hadn’t eaten since some chocolate at Lenham but the need to finish was greater. I ran and ran and ran some more. I power hiked the hills. I felt the heat rising already – the sun was out – and ran everything I could.

I knew the end was close.

I was going to finish this absolute super bitch of a race.

We hit the tarmac. Some roads. Then pavement. I couldn’t remember exactly the route but I knew if I kept running the finish would soon arrive. I passed quite a few people – at quite some pace – (my stats say 9:28 mins / mile for mile 102!)

And eventually I could see the rise in the road before the stadium. I hiked the rise…. And then ran. I turned into the stadium, spotted the turn onto the track and bounded onto it.

I could see there was a chap in front and a runner and possibly a pacer coming up to the first corner. I wanted to finish. I overtook the first guy.

Andy said I couldn’t overtake the other two on the final straight.

I said “I know…… I’m not a total CNUT, but I will overtake on the final corner before the final 100metres! Watch!”

With that I powered on….. Drawing on all my reserves I rounded the final corner, passed the runners, head down, sprinting for the line. I swear I was getting faster and faster on the track. Eventually over the line! (my stats say the track section was 7:13 minute / mile average!)

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OMG I finished. I couldn’t believe it!

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28 hours 23 minutes 33 second. 107th / 239 runners who started the race. Only 147 runners finished. Superbitch of a race indeed! Next up Autumn 100 in October.

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In conclusion….

The race really didn’t go my way. But then when does anything that lasts about a day. It is impossible for 100% of everything to go right.

Why?

Fatigue – I felt heavily fatigued between Bluebell Hill and Hollingbourne. So much so that I was throwing time away and I really didn’t give a shit about it at the time. I had convinced I would be timed out in the last 20 miles.

Food and drink – I still didn’t get this right. I don’t eat enough. I MUST take more snacks. What definitely worked though was the pasta at half way, and mango I took with me and the lucozade drinks. Yum yum!

How I dealt with the heat and then the rain  – I don’t like heat so don’t train in it. I don’t know if that makes any difference, but I was totally bushwhacked by Reigate Golf Course (around 35 miles) and then the rain turned the trail into a slippy chalky mess which was a nightmare in my road shoes (I should have changed earlier).

So there you go. By far the toughest race I have ever done in my life (I don’t want to over play it – it is more due to me never having tackled anything more brutal – to be clear – NDW is nothing in comparison to the really tough stuff like the Spine / GUCR etc)

What helped me push through?

  • Grandslam. If that was a stand alone race I wonder I would have gutted it out. It is almost like a double or nothing…… I had two of the four races in the bag already and I didn’t want to throw that away.
  • Susie saying to me in one of my low moments – “Do you want to continue?” – which just made me MTFU and get on with it.
  • My amazing crew and pacers who had taken time out of their lives to come and help me and be there with me for a day.
  • A message from Sarah Sawyer before the race that reminded me that if that race didn’t go my way, then I was well capable of gutting it out to the end.
  • Bloodymindedness. I had done the training. I trained like a demon. The day just didn’t go to plan. I just had to get on with it. I chose to enter it. I must finish.

On this occasion, the NDW took everything I had. It felt pretty bleak at times and I am so grateful to all of the volunteers along the route, the other runners that I shared conversation with, and most of all to my wonderful wife Susie, and my other pacers Andy and Dom – and crew driver meister – Rob Small. Wow. You guys Rock!

I have renamed North Downs Way – “SuperBitch”. To be clear…. If I ever ever say that I am doing this race again burn my credit cards and then burn me and bury me in a ditch!

Thanks to ….

Rob Small for driving all over the North Downs dealing with my diva demands for McDonalds and other food.

Dominic Bowen for pacing from 50-60something miles. It was a blast!

Susan Bradburn my amazing wife who did about 22 miles with me and gave me repeated instructions to MTFU.

Andy Cairns who did such an amazing job to kick my ass from 82 to the end and get me moving again when I thought my running was over for the weekend.

Paul Reader for being a legend and queuing for two calippo for me at Reigate Hill. It was amazing to see you pal and was good to catch up briefly – thanks also for milkshake. 

Paul Commons and Karen Grieves for turning up unexpectedly at the end. Brilliant.

Zoe Norman for giving me hope at Reigate Hill on a hot day with a cold bottle of mountain dew and Percy pigs and sweaty hugs (my sweat!)

Stuart March for numerous hi-fives and I imagine amazing photos as usual!

Dave Stuart and kids for Percy pigs and coke at mile 40ish.

Rob Cowlin for a man hug at Lenham 91 aid station and Spencer Milbery for the coffee.

Tim Lambert for pre race chit chat the night before and Dan Park for once again sorting my accommodation 

Sarah Sawyer for a pre race message which I kept recalling in the darkest parts of the race.

Mark Thornberry for being a cheer leader at Box Hill stepping stones.

Mimi Anderson for great training advice as usual 

And everyone else who I have been stupid enough to forget. Including those friendly faces Neil and Nick Dawson at the top of Box Hill who bought me a calippo and had a chat!!!!

And everyone at Born to Run facebook group and friends who followed my progress and gave me encouraging messages.

Strava – https://www.strava.com/activities/1121569153

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Written by Phil Bradburn - https://untrainingultrarunner.com

It has taken me a long time to write this blog post. About a week! It is hard to know the reason for that, but in some ways I think I have been enjoying the internal glow and satisfaction of having finished it, but at the same time not really knowing what to say or how to say it. My blog is 95% so that I record what I learn about each race and what works and what doesn’t. It’s helpful if I go back to do races. I suppose there is a spin off “benefit” to others if they find anything that I right even slightly helpful.

I have already spammed my social media accounts with pictures of the race, and various tidbits of analysis (like how I managed to run round the track at the end of the 100 miles in just 2 minutes 8 seconds (8:34/mi pace!) or that somehow it was the first race that didn’t prominently involve involuntary body functions.

Anyway, I think I am now ready. As it stands, I am recovering well. Again as with the aftermath of Thames Path 100 (back in April 2017) I am taking 2 weeks off running so make sure that I am absolutely as fixed as I can be ahead of another training block and before the next 100 mile race (Coming up at the start of August).

I was delighted with my performance on Thames Path 100 (22hr 26 minutes) and I didn’t know how things would work for me on the South Downs. The SDW is of course pretty hilly, and despite the fact that I have done hill training and they are no longer quite so fearsome, I knew that I would be hiking up them and running as much of everything else as I could manage.

I think what plagued my thinking slightly was my experience on the SDW100 back in 2015 (that was my first 100 and it was an awful experience back then – even though I finished in cut-off – so much so that I vowed NEVER to do one again…..). As I write this blog – I’ve now done 4 in total. So this is either because I don’t learn or I actually love it.

I was lucky enough to be able to share a hotel room with my mate Dan Park once again. It is becoming a bit of a norm now – that I put out an SOS about lack of accommodation and then Dan rescues me each time. I think he is quite simply a top dude and every time I spend time with him I learn so much more about running these silly long races. Hat off to you mate.

So on Friday afternoon I found myself in Winchester Premier inn. I got there early to chill and relax. I grabbed a coffee and observed an increasing stream of people who didn’t fit the usual profile of prem-inn patrons line up and check in at the desk. I soon got chatting to a few folks and was pleased that both of them finished their debut 100s.

I soon met up with Dan, and after a coffee with a few mates, and bumping into the amazing Stephen and Jo Turner we waited for Steve Navesey to pick us up to take us to register and do kit check the night before the race. Steve and Bev are amazing. They selflessly and seemingly run other runners back and forth between hotels and the start line. They’re brilliant. Great friends. Thanks so much – you’re awesome – and the cake and coffee is on me when I see you next!

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Kit-check the night before the race is great. It’s more relaxing, and it’s a great opportunity to meet up and catch up with friends before the race the next day. We lined up first of all to go through kit check. I had double checked all my kit against the mandatory list, and was ready to show whatever I needed to demonstrate that I had in my possession. This time it was baselayer, waterproof jacket and headtorch and emergency light. Check! Onwards with the poker chip in hand (to denote I had passed kit check) to line up to get my number.

I waited in line, grabbed my number, changed my mobile number that I had previously registered and scrawled my details on the back of my race number. Everything sorted, I had a quick look around the centurion store (managing to resist the temptation to buy more kit) and then headed back to the hotel with Steve and Dan and the others.

Back at the hotel we had an evening meal with a couple of other new friends and discussed the race ahead. For the record I had burger and chips. Delicious it was too! Then off to bed and eventually to sleep after setting every alarm known to man for about 4:30am and incremental minutes either side of that. At least there were two of us – me and Dan – who could set our alarms. I had everything charging up for the next day (Top Tip: Bring an extension 4 gang socket – so many electronics to charge from phones to GPS watches to torches these days!)

4:3o am! It soon came around. We faffed for a while. Got our stuff sorted. Dressed and then headed down for our rendezvous with Steve and the others. Short drive (but a long walk if you didn’t have a lift) to the start line.

I met up with some of my mates – including Paul Commons – after dropping my finish line bag in the van. Refilled my water at the taps inside of the pavilion and excitedly and nervously chatted with my friends.

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Soon enough it was time to get lined up on the start line and listen to the briefing. I find this goes really quickly and I never take very much in.

The horn blew and we were off! I started my music and got my head down. Determined to enjoy every second of the race and that this wouldn’t be such a painfest as the first time I did the race back in 2015.

The fact is however that 100 miles is a bloody long way and lots and lots can go wrong. The weather forecast had been changing all week from a wet start and 17 degrees to completely dry and mid 20 degrees. It was already worrying me. On the South Downs there is so little (i.e. none!) shade as it follows the “ridge”.

First off was the trot around the field and then the inevitable bottleneck before we entered the south downs way proper. It was exactly as I remembered it from two years previous. This time, my watch batteries were fully charged :-p I took it easy and my plan was to jog the inclines, power hike the ups, and run as much of everything else as possible. I bumped (almost literally) into Stephen Turner about 5 miles in and he even opened a gate for me J As expected that was the only time I saw him. He’s such an amazing runner.

Soon enough I was at checkpoint 1. Around 12 miles in. The race felt quite quick and it seemed to take much less time than the previous time I did the race. The route was easy to follow, and I was having a blast. At the checkpoint I grabbed a handful of food (wraps and some fruit) because I had not had breakfast with the early start, and walked out of the aid station up a slight incline. I am amazed at how many people take so much time at aid stations. Soon after we rounded a corner and the views opened up onto the south Downs. I remarked to another runner – “This is why we are here”. Such a stunning view.

The next checkpoint was only 10 miles away. I kept it going, but I was feeling the heat already and finding it quite hard going. Perhaps it was the Thames Path 100 still in my legs, but I really wasn’t feeling as fresh as back at the end of April. Anyway, I found myself dropping back a little on the pace and walking some of the lighter inclines that I expected to be running. Anyway, I wasn’t too bothered. 100 miles is a long way and there was plenty of time to put in some good running.

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I absolutely loved the downhill section into Queen Elizabeth Country Park. It is a really wide expansive grassed hill and I had a blast. I really opened up my pace and absolutely flew down there. Arms out to the side and absolutely having a blast with a wide grin on my face. The suffering that I was already going through was temporarily relieved. I soon got into the checkpoint where I saw Michael White helping at the food station, and then I spotted Karen Grieves in the background and then I heard “Hey Phil – you ignoring me?” And it was Mark and Sally Cameron – who I have never met in person – but are friends on facebook and often chat about stuff. He also has a few books out – which I have enjoyed reading.

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All that was on my mind was a drink of cold coke. I felt dehydrated and I just wanted more of it. I chugged it out of my water bottle rather than the small cup I had. It was the fastest way of getting it in.

19059545_10155438279858383_2954876093230022123_nI lingered a minute or two at the aid station, grabbed more fruit and then cracked on towards the next aid station. I soon noticed another runner ahead who had a familiar gait and shouted “Hey, look who it is!” It was Lee Kelly. He was powering up the hill while telling me he wasn’t feeling great. I checked he wasn’t in any really bad way and then pressed on. Knowing that it was likely I would see him later and that he would probably pass me.

I knew my pace was off by about 20 minutes already but I just needed to keep moving and to not overcook it in the heat. There was a brief respite through the wooded area and soon enough I was at the next checkpoint at around 30 miles. It always feels nice to be at this point in the race. There is a lot still to run and it is sufficiently early that you know that you still can run! I adjusted my shoes (they were not quite tight enough) and then headed out again in the blistering heat. It really didn’t feel long before I got to the checkpoint at Cocking (36 miles). My stomach hurt. I needed the loo and as I entered the checkpoint there was already someone giving a weak justification to why he didn’t want to carry on. I found that a boost weirdly…. Because while the conditions were tough, they are no reason to quit. I hate it when people quit for no reason.

I replenished my water at the checkpoint and after a toilet stop and the opportunity to wet my hat and my two buffs (one around my neck and one around my wrist) I headed off. I was barely outside of the checkpoint and I spotted a sign advertising fresh ice-cream! Hoping it wasn’t a mirage, I went inside and selected strawberry ice cream and a cold coke. I fumbled around for my money and in the meantime a lovely lady bought it for me. What a lovely gesture – you can’t know just how much I appreciated that ice cream as I walked up the hill. Yummy!

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I soon bumped into Georgina Townsend. We ran a section of Thames Path 100 together a few weeks previously, and we got to walking up the hill together and then broke into a little jog. It was nice to share some miles. We pressed on when we could and took walking breaks up steeper hills. It was such a lovely section of the race. I rarely enjoy running with other people in an ultra, but Georgina is a rare exception. We shared battle stories and I asked her about her recent race that she won (Liverpool to Manchester double – 100) amazing.

We breezed through some checkpoints but I had been cramping up badly in my calves briefly every time I started to run again. I took S-caps and kept an eye on things. Anyway, I had this really weird ankle cramp at around 40 odd miles and literally almost tore Georgina’s shoulder off while I was dealing with the spasm! I also took the opportunity to order from my crew “a non gassy fruity drink like rubicon mango but not like that”.

Soon we bumped into some Serpentine runners – my London club – who get EVERYWHERE! We pressed on with them, and on the couple of miles before the 50 mile checkpoint I dilly dallied up a hill and let them all press on into the distance. They were nowhere to be seen at the 50 mile checkpoint. I recognised a chap who I was volunteering. I volunteered there last year with him, and he did a great job of listening to me moaning for 3 minutes while I sat down before I got moving again. I found it difficult to eat anything but fruit. And at one point everything tasted so odd to me. Nothing tasted like it should have done. I felt this from around half way point on the taste – so my tastebuds must have gone mental.

I knew that it wasn’t long before I could meet up with my crew and pacer (Samantha Mills) at the point near Washington. It was a lovely surprise to see Sam earlier than expected and we ran into the aid station together. I took the opportunity to get my legs up for a few minutes. Have some pasta and generally sort myself out. I was off the pace that I planned and I felt I was having a shit race. I really wanted for this not to be a sufferfest, but the fact is that it pretty much felt awful from mile 5 onwards. I needed to snap out of it. Soon I would be with my crew and getting that lovely drink that I ordered…….

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When I turned up I was consumed by disappointment in finding that I didn’t have a drink waiting for me but instead some fruit. I hope I contained it enough but the brain doesn’t do well at regulating emotions and social niceties during Ultras. So hopefully it came across that I was very grateful for the fruit (the mango fingers were yummy!!!!!) and that I loved my crew dearly for being there but that I really really wanted a fruity drink. I think they sensed this and they tell me that I held it together reasonably well J I had a cuddle with my wife Susie and moved on with my sticks and my pacer.

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I pushed on. Had general moans. Had a few sweaty hugs with Sam when I was feeling shit and just soldiered on. I ran where I could. I walked where it was an incline to protect my legs for later. The next sections I don’t remember much until I got to Botolphs aid station and the most delightful welcome. My friends Sarah Sawyer and her husband Tom (both of them bloody amazing out of this world ultrarunners) were at the aid station. Sarah noticed me from about 50 meters away and ran out to greet me before guiding me into the aid station. It was lovely to see her and Tom. I introduced her to my pacer Sam, and we had a sweaty hug (sorry for that Sarah!). The best coffee from Tom and soon we were on our way. Sarah did a great job of keeping things positive at the aid station. We have a joke about matching parkrun and 100 mile times. I said that things weren’t going to plan but that I was pressing on and would see what I could do.

So, we were at 62 miles. Next up was Beeding Hill. I marched up there with a renewed sense of purpose click clacking with my sticks. This whole section now to pretty close to the end is really familiar to me because I have done a lot of recce runs over the run up to the race. So I knew what was coming up and where I could reign things in and where I could put down the pace. I was determined to get close to Clayton Windmills (no longer an aid station) before it got dark. Soon we came up to Truleigh Hill YHA. I knew there was a café inside so asked Sam to pop in and get me a calippo. I put my legs up on the bench and lay on the ground. I got my calippo, opened it and then dropped it in the soil. Yuck! Sam cleaned it off for me by pouring a coffee over it – which led to it super freezing (Mbenbo effect!). A few runners pressed on past me, checking I was ok, but I was happy to see them continue on ahead of me.

Soon I was on my feet again and enjoying my calippo. After a little while I broke into a trot again and then soon enough we were at Devil’s Dyke and the next crew point. I was overwhelmed with love when I found that my crew (Rob Small and my wife Susie) had brought me 4 cans of apple and raspberry J20 AND a bottle of mountain dew. Yum yum! I tried to burp such was the speed that I gulped down a can and then pressed on again. At some point Sam picked up a buff from a gate and realised it had been “soiled” yuck!

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Did a bit of running and then made it to Saddlescombe Farm checkpoint. 66.6 miles in. The sun was starting to go but last time it was dark when I was at this checkpoint so I knew that I was doing much better than my debut 100 miler (result!!!!) I still wasn’t eating much and Sam had noticed this. (The sign of a great pacer!) She insisted that I think what warm food I wanted to eat at the next crew point (72 miles in – at Ditchling Beacon). My order changed from quarterpounder meal with coke, to chicken nuggets with a white coffee. I started dreaming of it.

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I made it past Clayton Windmills and it was starting to go dark so I got my headtorch on in preparation. I was starting to feel sleepy and at a couple of points I called Sam to stop. I had some caffeine shots and then cracked on. Soon we were at Ditchling Beacon. I changed out of my wringing wet tshirt into my long sleeved merino top and had a lie down on the ground. A friend of Steve Navesey offered me a seat in his car for a brief shut eye while I waited for my crew to turn up. It was here that I saw Alzbeta Benn who was here to pace Lee Kelly for the next section. There were also some people who were covered in glitter and were surprised to find lots of runners and cars (which were not involved in dogging!)

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Soon Rob and Susie turned up with my McDonalds meal. How lovely it was. Salty fries and lovely chicken mcnuggets. I had the coffee. Had a minute or two sleep in the back of the car and then headed back out. I managed to put on some good pace for this next section. I overtook a few other runners and felt that having an longer break at Ditchling was time well spent. I felt great for the first time in the race. It was a bit cooler and it was dark.

I kept things moving and this was all lovely and familiar territory. The whole thing just went like a breeze though it was getting harder to keep the pace on for any stretch of time. I passed through Housedean aid station a few miles further on. Soon enough we were at Southease aid station. It was 84 miles in. I managed to bump into Georgina again at this point. I knew that it was touch and go for sub 24 hours but I vowed to press on and see what I could do. We headed up the hill  which felt easier than in training and then managed to put on some bits of running here and there. We saw some lovely flowers.

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Eventually Sam said that she had a surprise for me at Firle Beacon around 86-7 miles in) Susie was there and she was doing to pace me from there rather than Bo Peep. Sam said some lovely words to me and made me cry a little bit and then passed me over to Susie.

We pressed on and my recollection that it was downhill from that point for a while was dashed when I found we seemed to keep heading up inclines! I was in no mood for this! J Anyway, soon enough it was a downhill section and I was running again. We went past Bo Peep crew point and Susie grabbed something for me from the car. (the bottle of mountain dew). We carried on moving. This section was still familiar to me and I was enjoying the benefit of recce runs and the knowledge of what was coming up – and the fact that I knew we were going the right way.

Soon we came down into Alfriston and into the aid station. I didn’t stick around and went in just to give my number. I pressed on. I was on a mission. I wanted this finished. Pushing on we eventually made it to Jevington – again I didn’t go in I just gave my number….. and breezed past. I didn’t even refill with food or water. I just wanted the finish line. From this point there is only a handful of miles. Mostly very hilly ones. I swear the hills are steeper than ever at the end. I was struggling but I was pushing what I could. After what seemed like forever, we finally reached the “trig point” and the descent into Eastbourne.

The descent is tough on tired legs and I wanted to avoid twisting my ankles so I took it steady. Soon we were on the tarmac, and having watched the video on the centurion webpage about the last section I knew every twist and turn. I ran the whole way. Must be around two miles.

I didn’t slow. I didn’t stop. I didn’t walk. My quads were in constant pain from the hill bashing and I was determined to run all the way to the finish line on this section. Pavement. Cross the road. Pavement. Hospital. Runner. Cycle Path. Runner. Runner ahead started running. Then the sports track. Cheers. I ran. Susie peeled off. I went progressively faster around the track. Flew under the gantry. Stopped Garmin. DONE!

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2 minute 8 second lap of the 400 metre track at the finish 

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My time……… 1 day, 1 hour, 1 minute, 1 second. Holy moly. How the hell did I do that! Ok, I missed out on sub-24 hours… but under the conditions I was pleased with this. It was over 4 hours faster than the first time I ran SDW100 back in 2015.

I suffered from the start. Too hot for me. I hate heat! Having remnants of a cold, and partial hearing in one ear wasn’t going to make for an ideal race. I knew I was off the pace from the start. I really had to grit this race out the whole way. I can’t tell you just how much of an effort it was to keep moving. I never wanted to quit but it was just the biggest effort to push on at times.

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Once I got inside I had a lie down and had a little snooze!

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So, half way through Grand Slam with the toughest 100 next up – North Downs 100 (104) in August.

In no particular order thanks to:

The volunteers who made the race possible – filling cups of coffee, filling up water bottles, dealing with all the diva demands (not me this time – I was happy to find that the apple was already cut into slices 

Susan Bradburn – my wife – who paced me from Firle Beacon onwards. The last 12 miles or so I think. She did a great job of encouraging me along at the best pace I could manage at the time. She had the biggest moaning section to deal with. Those hills towards the end are vicious on already tired legs. She opened all the gates without fail and was absolutely marvellous.

Samantha Mills – who was epic with her pacing. She was awesome. She was happy to sing, dance and talk at me which was exactly what I needed. She was fun and I can’t tell you how much I laughed on the inside when you picked up that shit filled buff hanging on the gate (mwuahahahhahaha!). You also almost made me cry with what you said near Firle Beacon. Thank you sooooo much Samantha. I look forward to returning the favour sometime.

Rob Small – for being an amazing dude for driving and ferrying my wife and samantha around between crew points, checkpoints and responding to my emergency diva demands for some nonfizzy fruity drink (second time this year I have crazed that kind of thing) – oh and a bottle of mountain dew rocket fuel. And McDonalds chicken nugget meal with coffee at Ditchling Beacon  My crew and pacers were marvellous. Nothing too much trouble. I know I have forgotten so much already but real highlights were HOT McDonalds at Ditchling Beacon, Cold drinks at Devil’s Dyke, Hugs at various other points. Awesome the lot of you.

Mark Cameron and his wife at Queen Elizabeth country park – sorry I didn’t clock you at first, my excuse was that I was already in a world of pain and suffering with the heat and remnants of a cold. Was really nice to see you both. Sorry if I was a bit zombified!

Dan Park for giving me a last minute spare bed in his hotel room. That’s the second time this year you’ve responded to my lack of bed  Thanks so much and it’s been a pleasure to chat before the races rather than spend all my time on my own inwardly panicking about the race and not getting up in time.

Sarah Sawyer and Tom Sawyer with your band of merry volunteers at Botolphs. The greeting from Sarah was so lovely and her excited chatter made sure that everyone remained positive and energised. Best manual timer and greeter ever! Thanks so much!

Alzbeta Benn for the sweaty hug (my sweat not yours!) at Ditchling Beacon.

Karen Grieves at various points along the way. You rock!

Bev Navesey and Steve Navesey who ferried us back and forth from the hotel to the start line – both on friday night to register and also in the morning. You guys are epic. Thanks so much. Was great to see you along the course too. Next time I see you – the coffee and cake is on me!

One of the nameless crew (now identified as Mike Churchyard ) who on noticing I was having a 2 minute kip on the floor at Ditchling Beacon offered me a seat in his car instead. Perfect! Thanks so much for that.

Liam Gibson – who popped up in so many places and provided some much needed cheer as I struggled on through the race.

Stuart March for photographs (of course) and many high – fives along the course.

Nici Griffin and James Elson and the rest of the centurion team for putting the race on. You guys rock!

Mimi Anderson for coaching advice as usual.

And so many messages of support from my friends.

Learning Points:

  • My feet are fine. No blisters. Nothing. All perfect. Same as on TP100. My decision to buy up all the remaining supply of Pearl Izumi N3 in size 10.5 is clearly the right decision!
  • I was originally going for sub 24 hours. But pushed and pushed all the way even when it became very much on the line. I know that people give up in the head when targets like this go. I don’t let it happen. I pushed. When 24 hours passed, I changed my target to 25 hours and despite running the last 2 miles solidly I only missed by 1 minute 1 second 
  • Knowing the route was great. No navigation errors and I knew when it was easier to push the pace, and when to not stress it. I had recce’d most of the section between Botolph’s at 61 miles to Alfriston at 92 miles.
  • I hiked the ups, and ran the flats and downhills. I jogged the slight inclines. Seemed to work reasonably well.
  • Those bloody hills towards the end are nasty!

Written by Phil Bradburn - https://untrainingultrarunner.com

It is fair to say that I wasn’t sure what would happen at Thames Path 100. Apologies in advance for a lengthy post!

I had a spreadsheet. Three pacing scenarios (1. Everything is out of this world (22hrs). 2. Great (24hrs). 3. Horror Show (28hrs). But I had no idea which one would play out.

This is the first 100 miler I have done any specific training for rather than my “turn up and grind it out” approach that I took to both SDW100 (2015) and Autumn100 (2016) both of which I finished within the final hour allowed by the races.

I was lucky to stare a hotel room with Dan Park – which meant that instead of worrying about the next day, it was a total blast having chit chat about the race and various other stuff. It also meant that I didn’t have to worry as much about getting up in time (what’s the chance that we would both miss our multitude of alarms?).

Caught up at the start with some friends – many of who are Centurion 100 regulars – Sarah SawyerAndy BainDan ParkJoanna Turner and some new to the events Paul Commons and Louise Tidbury – plus others.

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With Paul Commons (L) at the start of TP100

After the race briefing we were off. I knew from volunteering last year that the distance has “bonus miles” so knew to treat distances as approximate between aid stations.

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The first 22 miles were great. I started off comfortable pace and found myself knocking out 9:30 – 10:30 minute / miles. Keeping things relaxed and chilled and knowing that many people would make the mistake of going out hard and fast either by design or accident. Met with Kate Scott at aid station 2 (Wraysbury) and went in and out and didn’t mess around too much. Thanks Kate and kids for the amazing cupcake! And sorry about the sweaty hugs!

Another highlight was not far from Dorney rowing lake when I bumped into Zoe Norman who gave me a much needed hug and some percy pigs wrapped inside a napkin. Thanks so much for the lovely message inside, which I read later on during the race. So lovely and thoughtful.

By mile 30 – I was having major stomach issues. This is something that besets me everytime I run alongside water – canals, rivers, (but never so far along the coast!). Luckily there were toilets which I was able to use at aid station 3. I spent around 15 minutes here. But I felt much better afterwards.

During mile 30-40 I suffered badly with things digging in my back from my racepack. I stopped a million times to adjust things, but nothing helped. I was really annoyed because I had tested this out during a couple of training runs and thought I had a way of avoiding these problems. I spotted Karen GrievesPaul Pickford and Lee Kelly on a section along the river through a town (which one – who knows!)

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During some of the miles in the mid 40’s I had what felt like an awful race ending experience. Everytime I tried to run, my calves cramped and spasmed. ARGH! so painful and I imagined every time ending in a heap on the ground. I ended up walking 3 miles at some frankly hideous minute / mile pace. I pleaded with any runner who ran past me to spare me an S-cap – salt tablet. Thankfully a lovely lady gave me two. I was so thankful – but sadly didn’t note her name or number. After a mile or so, I was running again. No idea whether those things work, or whether all in the head, but I will take either!

I put in some decent miles up to Henley aid station (51 – ish – I was already on 53 on my watch). I was so pleased to pick up my pacer Paul Pickford. Paul make sure I didn’t piss around. I changed my top for a long sleeve merino one, drank my specially requested bottle of “fruity, non-gassy, drink”, and put my headtorch on (with the knowledge that I would need it before Reading aid station).

Off I went. It was great to have Paul along with me. By half way in a race I always want to chat with a friend of my choosing. I am the ultimate in antisocial runner (sorry to anyone I ignored in the first half because I was listening to music).

Reading aid station passed by – and then from that point I knew the section from A100. Running when I could. Taking walking breaks when I wanted to. I found having a little stretch out of the quads and calves helped everytime I got started on a run.

Feels of doom on the way to Whitchurch went much faster than during A100. I boomed along. Came across a yarn bridge !! Into the aid station around 67-69 miles. Didn’t mess around. Coffee. Then I had my first diva request that my apple was cut into pieces ha ha !

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I walked out of the aid station. Walked the steep incline, and then managed to crank out some decent pace – including on the uphill sections. We bumped into Stephen Turner and had a bit of a chat. This was a beautiful section of tarmac followed by trail. We managed to overtake a few runners here. I knew the route from A100 – which helped because I knew where to put down the pace and where to take it easy. Soon enough we were in Streatley. No messing around. In and out of the aid station – seeing Fiona McNelis and Lee Scott at the aid station. Lovely salty potatoes too!

From Streatley to Wallingford (73 – 80 odd) – I knew it was simply a case of knocking out a short ultra to the end with just over 30 miles to go. I knew the next section fairly well, walked some, ran some. Before we knew it we were at the Wallingford aid station. We had also picked up another runner who was tagging along. Happy to stick with us and pick up the pace when we did.

The next section was the worst (up to 85-87 miles) Through the dead of night to Clifton Hampden. OMG those fields go on forever! And my feet were protesting the undulations and lumpiness of those fields. I was starting to have sense of humour failure. We finally reached the aid station. Saw Lee Kelly doing the manual timings. Tried the loo again. Nothing much going on which was hugely frustrating!! ARGH!

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Then this next section I knew fairly well because I paced Paul Pickford here last year to the end. I knew where the easy bits were…. the hard bits and roughly the aid station locations. Ground out some decent pace on sections (Paul noted I was doing 9:30 / minute miles (albeit only for quarter of a mile) at a few points). By this point, I was being caught by some other runners but then played cat and mouse.

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with my pacer – Paul Pickford (L)

Abingdon aid station (93ish miles) was a flash….. grabbed some grapes and I was out of the aid station before Paul could even fill his water. I was on a mission.

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I ran where I could. Walked some sections. Finally made it to the final aid station before the finish. I knew from last year that the distance was around 4.5-5 miles from the aid station at Lower Radley (95-98 miles). I gave my number without even stopping. I flew through the aid station.

This next section I was keen to put the pace on a bit. I shared with Paul Pickford that Dan Parkhad confidently predicted I would finish in 22hr 35minutes and that I had laughed at him. Paul said “Dan might be spot on!”. So, off I went. Running where I could. Walking the rest. I did trip over a couple of occasions and walking afterwards for fear of ballsing up the race.

Finally, we were on a good section of towpath along the (by now narrow River Thames). I ran for a mile or so and then decided to take a walk break. Had a bit of a jog along when the fancy took me.

Soon, we were at a couple of places I really recognised from last year where previously supporters had been offering congratulations. Soon we saw Kat Miller who shouted “Come on…. get a wriggle on, your missus is at the finish line”.

So, a jog I did….. then when I saw the blue inflatable finish line I put on some pace….. I squeezed through the gap in the railings and I somehow found some power. I laid it all out knowing there was about 100 metres maximum….

then rounded the corner towards the finish line gantry…..

then “OMG Phil – someone is sprinting you down!!!!”

FUCK – I progressively throw everything I had at this…. I am not competitive but I was buggered if I wanted the embarrassment of being pipped at the finish line. LOL.

Thankfully I came across the line first. And then dumped myself in a heap on the ground!

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22 hours 26 minutes. In fact – 9 minutes faster than he confidently predicted!  

 

Here is the Strava Link

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Thanks to my lovely and amazing wife Susan Bradburn for being at the end waiting for me with a bottle of Erdinger Alcohol Free for both me and Paul Pickford.

 

Samantha Mills for being a total bloody star for bringing Susie down to the finish and for driving us back home. Lee Kelly for helping place my pacer Paul Pickford.

Centurion Running for organising such a great event – and the volunteers who make it so special!

Mimi Anderson for fab coaching advice. You’ve helped me transform my running.

and how could I miss Paul Pickford for being the best #gatewanker ever! who beasted the shit out of me for 50 odd miles. I hope to return the favour at GUCR. You were epic mate. The best pacer ever!

So, that’s my first sub 24 100 mile finish. Over the bloody moon! I actually felt a bit tearful at the end that I had not only done it – but the time had 22 in front of it! And 66th out of 297 starters.

Great start to Centurion Grandslam – now just SDW100, NDW100 and Autumn100 to make a good fist of 

Sorry if I have missed anyone – I haven’t slept since Friday night!

What I learned:

  1. Not pissing around at aid stations works for me
  2. I wore Pearl Izumi N3 roads for the race – which was totally the right choice
  3. Paul Pickford is an awesome pacer
  4. Another race when I have stomach issues running along a water course.
  5. Training actually works 
  6. My friends are amazing (I knew that already!)
  7. My socks worked – Steigen ones with body glide also on my feet. No blisters. Wow. First time that has happened on a 100 miler
  8. My fenix 5X battery only lasted 15 hours before I had to charge it. (YIKES!)
  9. Getting some running done at night for as long as I fancied at a time was great.
  10. Running comfortable pace was perfect. That’s how I started and finished.
  11. Got to make better efforts to stop things sticking in my back in my race pack.
  12. Somehow I still had go in my legs at the end! How else could I sprint finish?!
  13. My Petzl NAO+ lasted on the lowest reactive setting pretty much all night (8:30pm – 5ish am). On one battery!
  14. Remember to work out how you will get home from the race finish before the last few days before the race!

Written by Richard Stillion - https://richyla.wordpress.com

Chiltern Wonderland 50

Centurion Running 16/09/2017

1st Male:       Jon Ellis        6:36:58

1st Female:   Rachel Fawcett       8:41:42

http://www.centurionrunning.com/races/chiltern-wonderland-50-2017

Wonder: to be filled with admiration, amazement, or awe; marvel (often followed by at)

Land: something the government wants to put loads and loads of houses on; or put HS2 on

I only finished the Ridgeway three weeks ago and here I am at the start-line of the Chiltern Wonderland 50 mile race.  I’m not the only one either – Victoria Louise Thompson is doing the same.

I was told that in my last blog that it was too cheerful and positive, so I will try to have a bit of a moan in this one.  Only a small moan though.

The race is a 50 mile loop returning to its finish where it started with a course that takes in some outstanding countryside.  Weather was forecast to be pretty good in all and temperatures 14-15c, which certainly for me is ideal.  So, good course and good weather is a double bubble.  Sadly, what was bursting the bubble was my IT band.  It was flaring up at the end of the Ridgeway and so I didn’t run for two weeks.  Last weekend I went for a run and it flared up again, so this race looked like it was going to be a damage limitation exercise.  I certainly wasn’t expecting to finish.  Anyone wondering what the IT band is – it stands for Irritating Band simply because it is very, very irritating when it doesn’t work properly.  In a nutshell, if it’s not good, then you can’t go downhill very easily.  Uphill is fine.  On the flat is so-so.  So, there’s my whinge.  Woe is me, I have a hurty leg.  I’ve scoured the internet for a good anatomical analysis of it and this is the best explanation:

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Hurty Leg Explanation

Right, to Goring Village Hall.  With a new back room extension.  Kit check, number collection, say hello to James (RD) and wait for the briefing.  Have the briefing, then wander down to the start which is on the Thames Path (the fourth leg of the A100).  Hooter thing goes off promptly, but I’m wedged at the back (deliberately) and don’t move for a minute or two.  I realise that I haven’t switched my Garmin on and it croaks around looking for a signal.  I get to the actual start where James is stood and I say I can’t start until I have a signal.  He gives me a withering look, so I walk off rather sheepishly in the direction of the others.  A dog walker is stood watching us pass and he asks me if I should perhaps start running.  I explain I have quite a way to go and I’m in no hurry.  So about 4 miles along the Thames, winding up into Hartslock Wood then along to Whitchurch, only we turned left up the hill rather than right into Whitchurch – Louise Ayling was doing a grand, authoritative job of seeing us across the road and making sure we were going the right way.

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Random Cornfield for Nici Griffin – I know how much she likes them..

Eventually we came to a very pleasant vista looking out across the Thames towards Reading.  This was a steep descent and something which set the precedent of the day of me shouting and a-cussing as I couldn’t get downhill, whilst watching plenty of people whip past me.  I could have tripped over my lip I was sulking so much.  I eventually resorted to going downhill backwards which relieved the pain, but it was so slow and let’s face it – I looked proper stupid doing it.

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Stupid Downhills

I got to the first check point and there was chip timing here – not noticed Centurion doing that before, but I haven’t run with them since last November.  Delighted to see Nikki Mills there and had a quick chat about war wounds with her.  Despite only a couple of minutes chatting, I was surprised how cold I’d got.  I always carry a merino wool t-shirt in a dry bag on these runs and sometimes question if it’s worth it – but clearly it is, if I get into trouble I’m going to be cold very quickly.

The second leg was pretty much the same moving okay-ish, going uphill fine and spitting my dummy out going downhill.  I was seriously thinking of dropping at Bix, wondering what was the point of slogging 50 miles in pain?  However, on arrival at the checkpoint I saw the bus driver and thought no, keep going – let’s get to at least halfway.  The route and conditions were just too good to call it a day.

I noticed quite a few ravens calling and one in particular sounded very excited at one point.  I watched it for a bit and sure enough – there were sheep and lambs in a field and I think one was on its way out.  The raven was flying around and at one point even jumped on the lamb – presumably to test whether it still had any strength left.  I love corvids – intelligent, but they’re pretty evil.

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Looking back from Cobstone Hill

I became a bit fixated with Christmas Common at this stage.  I love Christmas.  It’s great.  Anyway, above Watlington, this was the highest point of the race and around the halfway mark.  We came to a steep climb and I thought, ooh, this is it.  It wasn’t.  It was Cobstone Hill.  A steep climb with a working windmill at the top.  I was hoping to get a good photo of said windmill when I got to the top, but it was shut off and there was a sign outside it which said: “No admittance, don’t go in, you’re not allowed”.  Or words to that effect.

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Windmill.  But you’re not allowed near it

I got chatting to a chap about children near here and we were comparing notes on how our kids are running rings round us already.  It helped pass the time and took my mind off the ITB.  We got to the checkpoint and Louise Ayling was here.  Again.  I couldn’t be bothered to drop and in fairness, I doubt she’d have let me.  I asked how far it was to the next check point and when the cut off was and she said I had three hours and 7 miles so why was I still stood there talking!?

So, halfway done and mooching around country lanes until I saw the sign of Christmas Common.  There was a guy here (Ian Robertson?) directing us with the traffic and he had a centurion helmet on a pole.  Nice touch!  I was told by someone that there was a nice downhill section coming up.  Joy.  More pain!  It was stunning though.  The rain predicted for 2pm hadn’t emerged and the sun was shining over another bit of Wonderland.

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Descent from Christmas Common

I’d been leapfrogging Victoria quite a bit (not literally – just passing each other) and there was one point where we were in a sort of narrow gulley – I think we were all concentrating so much on not tripping over anything that we’d have missed the turning which, thankfully, James noticed and called us back.  Much appreciated.

I was slogging it out and really wanting to get to Swyncombe and some familiar territory.  Just before Swyncombe we joined the Ridgeway and I knew where I was going for a bit now.  Except I didn’t.  I hadn’t checked the route at all and thought I was just doing the Ridgeway bit to Grim’s Ditch.  But after high-fiving one of the little fellas at Swyncombe Aid Station, I made my way out and found we weren’t going on the Ridgeway but going through St. Botolph’s graveyard.  I like St. Botolph’s church, it’s quite unusual in that it doesn’t have a steeple.  It also has a pizza oven at one end.  A long climb ensued and the predicted rain from earlier came down.  I found it quite refreshing to be honest.

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St.Botolph’s.  No steeple, but with pizza oven.

Up until this point of the race it had largely been damage limitation and I was constantly calculating when I could just start walking at 3mph, but after Swyncombe, two things happened.  1) My ITB seemed to loosen enough for me to put a hobble on and 2) The downhill gradients seemed to be a much gentler descent and, in fact, runnable.  So, finally I could actually start doing a bit of running in places.  I was wondering when Grim’s Ditch might turn up, but the course was going all round the houses.  I finally came to the Ridgeway and saw it was the down and up field – I first thought it was the Sarah Morwood “flying” field, but thankfully I didn’t have to do that bit.  So, down and up, into the wood and over towards the golf course.  There seemed to be loads of race supporters here waiting for their own runners, but they all gave me encouragement.  A quick bimble across the golf course, past Nuffield Church, onto the view of the White Horse Vale, then, to Grim’s Ditch.

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White Horse Vale with changeable skies.

Anyone who reads my blogs – and I have a strong fan base (not) – will know that I love running down Grim’s Ditch.  I was worried that I may not be able to run it today, but thankfully it was, indeed, runnable.  I didn’t even trip on root (did you see what I did there?).

The aid station was at the bottom of the Ditch and lo and behold – Louise Ayling!!  She said something which I didn’t catch so I turned back to hear and she said – why are you coming back, you need to go that way!  Marvellous, no frills, get out and finish.  I did need my bottles filling though and Ken Fancett was helping out.  I thought I might pick his brains for a few top tips and asked him how he managed to keep from being injured.

“I don’t know!”

Fair enough.  The guy’s a machine though.  Legend.

I think through force of habit I thought I was going to go along Grim’s Bank, but I had to turn left along a road instead.  According to the literature, this was going to be one of the fastest sections of the course.  Marvellous, a bit of flat running.  Needless to say, I turned off the road to go directly upwards.  This happened a few times, but there was indeed some extremely runnable sections.  The light was fading so the head torch came out – just in time as the track I was now on was full of rabbit holes.  It was getting to the point where there were four miles to go, then three miles left, and I was thinking that surely I must be able to see Goring by now, but nope, not a sign.  The light faded fast and it was full-on dark when I entered a wood.  Usually at this point of a race the Central Governor kicks in and says, no need to run, you’ve finished anyway.  Today, however, it was the opposite.  I’d spent a lot of the race bumbling about and the CG decided that we should run and get the thing finished.  So that’s what happened.  We have to get things in perspective when I say I flew to the finish, but it’s how I felt.  Just running through the woods and then by some fences which I was praying were the back gardens of Goring houses.

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Couldn’t take any photos in the dark, so here’s a photo looking towards Stonor Park.

I think I came out by the train station and was about to head straight downhill when a chap on a seat shouted out that I needed to turn down a street and turn right.  Very nice of him.   There seemed to be lots of people about clapping and congratulating which was really nice and then I rounded a bend, past the pub and towards the Village Hall where a marshal directed me inside to the finish table.

Chris was there asking why I hadn’t fancied a sub-7 hour run!  I had a medal – I say medal, the thing is huge, put over my neck, followed by the race finish photo.  I was trying to look like Monty Burns doing an “Excellent” pose, but it just looks like me smiling.  Read into that what you will.

Corinne was there with a cup of tea and a bite to eat and there was Eileen Naughton bringing me my bag.  Again.  She was doing the same three weeks ago on the Ridgeway Race.  Same hall, same bag!

So, a nice sit down and a bit of reflection.  Nici came over and gave me a hug.  Also, James came over and gave me a hug as well.  I managed to have more of a chat with Nikki now that I wasn’t in the race and getting cold.  It’s nice to sit and reflect on the race and have a chat post-race, but at the same time, I’m also somewhat exhausted and wanting to go home.

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I saw Ilsuk when I left the hall, he had a complete change of clothing on so I assumed he’d finished a while back, and, checking his time, he had.  A great run from him.  The drive home was misty which I guess meant temperatures were getting low.  I did the usual post-race routine of getting cleaned up, crashing into bed and spending a sleepless night with adrenaline surges and leg pain keeping me awake.  My whimpering thankfully didn’t keep the wife awake.

I’ve mentioned the people I knew the names of, so thank you to them, but thank yous also go to absolutely everyone involved with the running of the race from start to finish.  James and Nici, aid stationers and Mr March.  For some reason, I never remember to mention Nick Sheffield, so must amend that herein.  Everyone who I’ve failed to mention – thank you.  Finally – the course marking.  Top drawer – I think it was James, MrMillsSir, Nick Greene, Russ Bestley, Drew Sheffield and Paul Murray.  I only got stuck a couple of times, but given where the markers were, this was understandable, but it was only a question of a bit of back tracking probably less than a hundred metres or so, so for 50 miles of course marking, it was spot on.  And the course was stunning.  If I hadn’t mentioned it before.

Race dedications go to my children.  My inspirations.  Especially what Euan said the night before – he’ll know what I mean.

And a special mention for Victoria – we shared the pain on this one.  We both decided that running the Ridgeway, then running a 50 miler three weeks later must never be repeated.  Well, not until next time.

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Written by Rachel Fawcett - https://fawcettfitnessrunning.blog

Chilton Wonderland 50

The school holidays dawned, I had recently completed SDW100 and was therefore completely indestructible, I put myself onto the waiting list for the CW50 to give me a summer holiday goal to train towards, I got all place; all was good with the world.

….then I went training with the local athletics club, a really good half mile interval session with some great runners. I was indestructible remember, so when my hamstring tendonopathy started to play up, it didn’t matter because I could take on the world: I didn’t stop, I had to finish the session. As a result of those intervals I couldn’t walk properly, run properly do anything properly.  I am clearly an idiot. I tried to give the place in CW50 back so that someone else could run this incredible route, but it was too late. At this point I had a proper girly strop at Supportive Husband who made appropriate noises to try to make me feel better before I looked properly at Nici’s response to my request to give the place back…it was too late, but she was sure it would all be ok and that she would see me at the start line. Right, strop back in its box and determined head back on, rehab, here I come.

Before I knew it I found myself in Goring Village hall happily absorbing the greetings, running banter and general positive vibe which Ultras seem to bring. I was facing 50 miles of Wonderland; muddy paths, woodland trails full tree roots, some stunning views and a few obligatory hills. The weather was looking good allowing me a bit of stretching in the Autumn sunshine knowing that rain was due in by the afternoon. Standing next to the Thames (the hilly bit apparently), I decided that I don’t much like rain so had best get as much of the course done before it came in, the starter horn went off and I committed to keeping up with what can only be described as a cheeky pace.

I felt surprisingly relaxed, I hadn’t done any of the planned training, I hadn’t done my usual build up to a race but I had done something I don’t usually do, I had rested. I was puffing like a steam train, probably because I hadn’t stretched my lungs for a while, but my legs felt strong. I soon became aware of Charley behind me, the pace was pretty tough and I was willing her to just get it over and done with and overtake. Half way to CP1 a bunch of us found ourselves simultaneously shouting to the pack in front that they were going the wrong way leading to us all confessing that it was quite a tasty pace but we were all chasing the rain.

IMG_1112.JPGCP1 arrived surprisingly fast, hamstring felt like it was about to explode but somehow I knew it would ease. Centurion events stand out with their well stocked stations and unbelievably encouraging crews, I imagined all Ultras would be like this but my small experience has shown me that they aren’t which is what makes the Centurion CP’s so special. Before I knew it, my water container had been stocked, I had shoved some food in and was off.

It’s at this stage where I would love to give a blow by blow account of where I went and what point I arrived at which CP. The truth is that it all has all blurred into one, I’ve seen photos with me in them and have no recollection of where they were taken. The pictures I have in my head are of tree roots, a windmill at the top of a stinker of a hill, some views which we all said ‘wow’ at the same time, the back of Jim and James’s trainers, some steps which none of used words to describe (just lots of ‘ouch’ ‘ooh’ and ‘aghh’) and an extra hill.

Yes, an extra hill, thrown in totally for free….and we weren’t the only ones. The brilliant things about Centurion events is that the routes are really well marked, so a lack of markers should be an indicator that all is not well. It took us to the top of a nettle infested hill to figure it out, but it was a mark of just how we were carrying each other along when we shrugged it off and cracked on trying to find the right route.

But this day wasn’t about where we went and how I felt at each point, it was about two things for me; the magic of trail running and people. The route was fantastic, how on earth did they find these glorious twisting paths linking the Thames Path, the Chilton Way and the Ridgeway. I love nothing more than running through woods and on muddy paths where I can lose myself in my thoughts and feel a bit more connected to nature. This route had that in bucket loads. The nettles were in autumn mode and couldn’t really be bothered to sting properly, the hills were so scenic that they were worth all the climbs, even the mud felt manageable.

And then it was about the people. Charley, Jim and James. I couldn’t tell what we chatted about but we chatted for about 45 miles. We laughed at downward steps and me confidently turning right having been told ‘it’s left here’. We all took a tumble at some point and we checked on the tumblee. We got over the extra hill and congratulated ourselves on our extra milage. We waved heartily at the lovely supporters who weren’t there to support us but cheered us anyway. This is the Centurion Army, not just the people who refuse to let you stand on your own at the start and insist on chatting to you, but also the people on the trail who look out for you. These are the strongest memories for me.

Coming into Goring we realised that it was actually a race and so Charley and I upped the pace only to hear a shout from behind ‘you need to turn left’, luckily I got it right this time and we embarked on the dog leg around the back to the village hall. We had clearly gone off too fast but Charley can shift rapidly and still find the energy to chat positive words. The sprint in was brilliant, not what I expected to be doing in a 50 miler but to come in with under a second between us was incredible.

I always learn something from races. This time I learnt just how far I can push myself when I am surrounded by hard runners who don’t take prisoners. There were lots of opportunities to lose the route on this race and I knew that, if I dropped back, I was liable to get very lost and disheartened so motivation was high to stick with this incredible group of people who just kept driving hard. I stupidly asked near the end if the upward slope we were on counted as a hill (and therefore could we walk) and was told in no uncertain terms that we were too close to the end for much to be counted as a hill and that we just needed to run hard from there on in. Yup, they were a tough crowd.

In summary, it’s the best race I’ve ever been lucky enough to be part of. It was such an enjoyable day due to the route, the organisation and obviously the people; running, supporting and volunteering. Anyone looking for an Ultra, this is definitely one for the list.

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Written by Samuel Bolton - https://samuelsultrarunning.wordpress.com

I suppose this is more of a breakdown of my thoughts on the race and a way of helping me remember some of the more eventful bits rather than a full race report. I hope you find it useful.

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I try to run races that have some significance to me in terms of where I’ve lived, the beauty of the course or their uniqueness. The ST24 definitely fitted the last category.

Race ethos

The idea of the ST24, from what I understand, is that you physically deplete yourself so much you stop thinking about the everyday occurrences in your life and start to think about what really matters to you. The use of a running track is no accident. In meditation you’re taught to focus on signal objects such as a pin head or your own breath, this race used a 400 metre track.

I also like the fact that there is no plastic goodie bag of crap and advertising at the end.

Planning

Run 3 laps and walk 1. That way it would hopefully stop me from going off too fast but also having something to concentrate on to break up the monotony. Concentrating on the 3/1 tactic became my pin.

5 hours for the 1st 25 miles, 5 ½ hours for the 2nd, 6 hours for the 3rd and 7 ½ for last. 100 miles in 24 hours.

I’d attempted to run 100 miles once before at the White Rose Ultra but dropped out at 83 miles as it passed my house. Afterwards, I had a terrible feeling of failure and beat myself up for a bit about not being strong enough mentally to have finished. “It’s all learning though”, I told myself and “sometimes you need to fail to succeed”. I’ve learnt a massive amount about racing 100 miles from the WRU 100 and crewing for Nick Thompson on some of the Centurion races……grit in your shoe, you have ups & downs, food makes you tired and you come through it, sort hot spots straight away, eat and drink constantly, you feel better when the sun comes up, start slow and get slower…..

Crew

What crew? Lucky me and my friend James applied and were accepted together. Every other runner seemed to have a gazebo, tent, sleeping bag, table, flag of their country etc. We stuffed a carrier bag of food and clothes under the cover of an industrial grass roller to keep it from getting wet. We crewed for ourselves and later, thankfully James crewed for me. Russ Beasley was also a big help and a lady who gave me some sudacrem which almost certainly saved my race at that point.

The race

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The ST24 ultra in some ways reminded me of going to an all-night dance club abroad.  You randomly end up talking to someone from Belarus for hours, sweat so much that when you go to the toilet you slide off the seat, you drink your body weight in water and dance (run) all night. People finally spill out into the day light, a distant memory of the person that entered the club smelling great and with their best gear on. You go back to someone’s house party to carry on but by this time everyone is more tired and less coherent. Some people pop pills, some have cups of tea, others pass out in the corner, only to get a second wind later. For anyone who has run this race or something similar, you’ll know what I mean.

The plan

I made sure I ate and drank something every 4th lap. My friend Nick told me that ultra running is really just an eating and drinking competition and in some ways he’s right. At points in the race you know you really need to eat or you’ll start to go downhill and you’re body and mind will start to rebel.

I ate and drank whilst I was walking. I’d learnt that you can lose a lot of time at aid stations. Over the whole 24 hours I only sat down once to change my socks and twice to go to the toilet.

Now this seems crazy, but this is truthfully what I ate and drank. Every mile (4×400 meters =1600 metres/1 mile) I was very methodical and had a cup of either water, coconut water, coke, electrolytes, energy drink, ginger ale, tea and/or crisps, a banana, apple, pretzels, twiglets, peanuts, soup and baked beans. I’d say that’s easily 100+ portions of food and/or drink.

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I didn’t eat the sandwiches. This was the races only fail. Who puts butter on a jam sandwich and even worse, who puts butter on a peanut butter sandwich! I think even Sri Chomney would have vetoed that.

The people

The lap counting system is kind of flawed but kind of brilliant. Instead of having a tag on your leg that records a lap every time you go past, they have a volunteer allocated to about 4 people who you shout to or they shout at you every time you pass the start/finish line. These volunteers are brilliant. Imagine trying to keep your concentration to count 4 different runners as they go past you every minute or so for hours on end.

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I have to say the counters were one of my highlights. They were so positive all the way through. My third counter did a 7+ hours stint from about 9pm until way past 4am, giving big whoops and yells every time I passed. When she rotated, I nearly cried. I don’t know what it was like for them, but for me it felt like you shared a real concentrated experience. I’m so sorry I can’t remember everyone’s name but I’m almost certain I wouldn’t have got past 100 miles if it wasn’t for their joy and selfless encouragement.

That’s one of the great things about a track ultra, you share the whole experience with every runner and every crew member. On a regular ultra, if you’re like me, you might see the leaders at the start and picking up the trophy at the end. On a track ultra you see the whole race unfold in front of you, from the runners that go off way too fast and blow up, to the ones that take it steady and slowly move up through the field.

Transcendence?

I think every runner must have a different experience. My most depleted run was crewing on the Thames Path 100. My runner had pushed on and finished and I was left to stumble back as elderly ladies passed me with a walking stick. The last 3 miles took me 2 hours that day, but they were the 2 miles I remember the most fondly. That feeling of total exhaustion but total satisfaction, of a long time goal completed.  Helping a friend finish a 100 miler.

This time it was different. This was more a sense of lessons learnt. At the WRU100 I gave up at 83 miles because I didn’t know any different. I was tired, very tired and I hadn’t yet felt the massive disappointment of not finishing a 100 mile race.  I had that knowledge of disappointment pushing me on and also knowing that you need to break 24 hours in 1hr sections. Just treat it an hour at a time and forget the total time, otherwise the thought of it will eat you up and you’ll quit.

Hallucinating? Lots of people say they do on ultras.  At times in the night I thought I saw my wife but quickly realised it was just a person with a similar shape and form. Was this hallucinating? I don’t know?

I do know for the last two hours I purposely didn’t listen to music, switched off strava and tried to just focus on my running. All I could think about was finishing over 100 miles, my wife, kids and how great everyone had been. Is this transcendence or is this still my selfishness?

I passed 100 miles with about ½ an hour to spare and spent the last ½ hour of the race watching everyone potter or even sprint round the track trying to reach their individual goals.

My 10k race splits 

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I did finish the race with real sense of calm and satisfaction. I’d banished the demons of not getting past 100 miles at the WRU before. I was absolutely knackered, I was so happy to have finished the bloody thing and I was chuffed to have shared and witnessed such an experience with so many committed and genuinely lovely people.

Thanks

A huge thank you goes to Shankara and all the volunteers, especially the 4 that counted me through, I’m so sorry I can’t remember your names but you were an absolute highlight. I’ve made a promise to myself that I’ll come back and volunteer myself.

James Young, Roz Glover, Artur Venis, Russ Beasley and all the other runners and crew for helping me through the run with your positive words and actions.

Nick Thompson and Andy Lang, you seduced me into ultra running and I owe you a lot.

Nige , Andy W, Jeff and the whole Meltham AC family….you rock.

Caz, George, William and family. I love you.

Kit

Shoes: I wore Nike Pegasus 28 trail which in hindsight were a little too hard for the track and my feet were quite swollen by the end of it. I should have worn my Hoka One One Clifton 2, but I was worried they would be too bouncy and coupled with a bouncy track, may end up blowing up my knees.

Socks: I wore Teko Super Cushion Marathon Socks which were great. I did get some blisters but I think that was down to swapping to an old pair of cushioned walking socks from Trespass after about 11 hours as I couldn’t find my 2nd pair of Teko’s.

Chaffing: I’d go Sudacrem over Vaseline every time and put plasters on your nipples, especially if it’s raining.

Clothes: Change into a warmer top before it gets dark and put on a warmer hat. I saw a lot of people go downhill over night. You need full waterproof jacket and trousers too. Plus a change of everying.  Trust me, you can’t bring too many items of clothing.

Food: Keep eating and drinking constantly. Have a food plan and stick to it.

Music: Keeping the Rave Alive – DJ Kutski

Running: Have a broken down race plan, ideally broken into manageable segments but don’t make it too complicated and don’t stress if it goes off course. You have lots of time, especially at the end of the race. If it really comes to it and you’re really struggling, have a sleep for a couple of hours, set 2 alarms and ask someone to wake you up. Believe me, loads of people did it this year. Some finished top 5.

People: Try to talk to people. They will become your allies and potential race saviours. If not, you might be theirs.

You: Enjoy it and try to take it all in.

Track biodiversity

“Parakeets, they’ve got Parakeets! I’m glad I saw them now rather than the end when I thought I was hallucinating.”

The track is surrounded by trees and so blocks the wind. I spent most of the early laps identifying them. I can confirm there is a mix of oak, ash, sycamore, hawthorn, holly and other native broad-leaved species.

Over a 24 hour period, I also witnessed a group of mushrooms growing from basic mycelium to full fruiting bodies!

Written by Jasmine Sandalli - https://medalmagpie.blog

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It’s been a while since we last caught up. Happily, this time, I’ve actually managed to finish a few races – unlike during my radio silence around this time last year. Unhappily, the reason for my radio silence this time is a little less trivial than a couple of DNFs.

Could I say that life “got in the way”? I mean, I could, but it would be a little disingenuous to life to suggest that my responsibilities are to running above all else; a little beyond my efforts to prioritise running over the everyday, at least. This time, Life earned itself a capital L: family pulled rank. So, apart from a feeble cursory mile a day to maintain my run streak (an exercise which has barely anything to do with actual running these days), my run diary has had very little to show for itself.

Meanwhile I’ve hit something of a plateau, both in running terms and in life terms. I don’t get excited about anything any more, I just feel a bit numb. Not anymore, at the moment; it can’t last, I have to remember that. So I plan things to look forward to – we’re getting married in 9 months for Christ’s sake – because I want to feel the thrill of anticipation again. Plans can be made, but I no longer believe that they will really come to pass; I convince myself something will pop up and take precedence. So I’m not afraid of anything, either. I’m not afraid of failing to meet expectations because I have none. I just don’t care about anything enough to worry about being disappointed.

If Life hadn’t pulled rank on my race calendar I would still have passed August without a race – it was a conscious decision to “rest” and also there just weren’t enough weekends, as there often aren’t. March through July saw two fifty milerstwo 50ks, and a trail marathon in 30 degrees of heat. I dragged myself through those, barely, and decided that I wanted to finish the third of the Centurion fifties feeling like I actually had enough in the tank for the fourth and final race. See, now I look back on it I realise that’s an ambitious race calendar for someone who is actually fit, never mind for a training regime that consists of “I might as well be running to the tube since the buses are so unreliable”. That’s two solid junk miles right there. More than once, I’ve done it in Toms espadrilles and holding my Kanken bag over my back to stop it from bouncing. It is transport, not training.

Should I keep finding challenges in the hope of regaining that spark, flinging muck at the wall until it sticks? Or should I hold back, take aim? Deciding to run the Farnham Pilgrim Half Marathon on a day’s notice was to aim what spinning round to take a blind shot in action movies is; and weirdly, just like in action movies, it only bloody worked. Knowing I’d done no long runs, knowing I’d barely even managed to run off road a week before the Chiltern Wonderland 50, I decided I either needed to stop running altogether (i.e. break my run streak) and hope that rest would give my legs half a chance of lasting the distance, or I needed to fire things up a bit, go for broke. So I posted a message with the Chasers to find out if anyone was doing a social trail run on the North Downs, and the answer came back that yes, twelve of them were, and also picking up a medal for it. The idea of running the full marathon was just a little too far-fetched, even for an emotional nihilist, so I plumped for the half and got back to the pub in time for lunch. I ran with my club, as part of my club; I was the slowest, as usual; I danced around the course like a loon, and I had a fucking good time.

It’s a beautiful course, a circular route around the Farnham end of the NDW taking in bridlepaths and connecting trails, scooting around ponds and through golf courses (as one often does in Surrey), and generally pissballing about in the woods. And very runnable too – between the need to shake my legs out and the need to get back to the pub I pushed myself fairly hard, finishing in a not-unrespectable 2:08, and I can’t say I really busted a lung either. There’s definitely no speed in my legs, which I know because trying to get them to turn over was like flipping tyres, but my heartrate never felt too taxed. It was just enough to fire me up for the CW50 in six days’ time. Definitely the right call not to go for the full, although every time I saw a 100 Marathon Club shirt FOMO gripped me like a fever.

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The following week I kept up my daily run streak with the minimum mile a day, as I had been pretty much doing for weeks. The difference, I noted, was that where that mile usually ran between 9:30 and 10 minutes, sluggish and rhythmless, the miles in the week after Farnham suddenly threw up a couple of 8:15s and felt more joyful, more like a workout than I had had for a while. It helped being back on office hours rather than event hours too, so those runs occasionally happened at lunchtime instead of at the end of a strenuous working day on legs worn to a stump. Had the gamble paid off?

Come race morning, although there was still a dull ache gnawing at my muscles, there was something even more dangerous – a flicker of anticipation. I was more nervous at the start of this race than I think I’ve been for any other race ever, for the most part because finishing it meant keeping my hopes for the grand slam alive and that comes above all else this year, but I think partly because – for the first time in a long while – I actually cared about the result. The thirteen hour final cutoff limit (proportionally split across the checkpoints) would be hovering over me all day, but I would be focusing instead on two other times: eleven and twelve hour timings which I had worked out and written on my checkpoint plan. One would be a measure that I’m doing well (and more importantly, perhaps too well) and the other would be the more realistic boundary. If I’m too far ahead of the first one I know I’m beasting myself; if I slip behind the second I’ll have no hope when my legs finally give in and I have to hike. Those numbers would guide me through the day like a virtual pacer.

I ended up on the same train as King of Centurion Ilsuk Han, who is usually either running or volunteering their races but rarely misses them, and a gaggle of other runners who all seemed to know the route from Goring Station to the race HQ in the village hall. Ilsuk also helpfully pointed out that the train I (and most other competitors) had planned to get home wouldn’t actually be running, thanks to some last minute engineering works at Reading; someone mentioned two rail replacement buses to Maidenhead and I zoned right out. I didn’t have the energy to worry about how I was going to hobble home after folding my cramped legs into a bus seat for three hours; I just had to think about getting back to Goring in the first place.

Nonetheless Ilsuk represented, as he always does, a good omen. We met on my first attempt at the North Downs 100 and later discovered that we had friends in common through Fulham RC, and it seems that every time I run an ultra these days he’s there. He’s such a warm, friendly and knowledgeable man I can never help but be comforted to see him. He buzzed around the village hall introducing first timers to regular faces, gathering lone runners wandering around aimlessly and making sure everyone had a friend at the start line; and he does this every time. A real unsung hero of the ultrarunning community, he is a true representative of the spirit of our sport, not to mention a shit hot runner in his own right. Even so, he privately admitted that he was just as anxious as the rest of us, and when we lined up at the start he didn’t go off with the frontrunners, choosing instead to stay with the midpackers and the newbies. Whether that was an act of kindness or just his way of dealing with nerves I don’t know, but I for one started the race with excitement just outweighing fear, and set the tone for the rest of the run.

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The route takes in one long loop around the Thames Path, the Chiltern Hills, the Ridgeway and explores the unmatchable countryside of Buckinghamshire, Oxfordshire and Berkshire. The Ridgeway is definitely up there for my favourite ever trail route and the added treat of the Thames made this race a big star on my calendar. The first ten miles to checkpoint one at Tokers Green flew by, partly because of the stunning views but also thanks to a runner named James I got chatting to, only to discover that we’d run much of this area together once already on the Druids Challenge two years ago (a race I’m gutted not to be running this year). Feeling much less leg-heavy than I have been recently we went hell for leather on every single downhill, of which there were plenty thanks to the undulating but runnable elevation. I could easily have passed on the snack table, but I knew that I needed to lay the foundations now for sustainable energy levels later, and crammed my pockets with chocolate chip cookies.

Downhills we were bossing together, but James was obviously fitter than me on the uphills and eventually he pulled away; it wasn’t worth overstretching myself to keep up with him at this stage with forty miles still to go, so I just pootled along at the steady pace I’d been maintaining so far. Predictably, I was way ahead of my eleven hour pace already – in fact we passed the checkpoint in 1:49, ranked 138 and 139 out of what would end up as 187 official finishers. In fact, if I’d sustained that pace I’d have been on for just over a nine hour finish – yeah, no. If I didn’t take the decision to dial back now my body would do it for me later, in much more dramatic fashion.

Before long I was caught up my a chap called Steve and we began running together. I don’t remember exactly what I said now, but I do remember hearing him chatting away to another runner behind me and as usual bigmouth struck again; I couldn’t resist butting into their conversation. It set the tone for the next forty miles – we spent the whole rest of the race together talking about everything under the sun. Steve was an ex-squaddie, ex-paratrooper, self-made businessman with a penchant for bloody silly races, and between Tokers Green and Bix he recounted the tale of his four attempts at the Lakeland 100: two successful, two not, considering a fifth go to settle the score once and for all. I’m telling you, that man knows the Lakeland 100 yard by yard, so if anyone’s planning to run it you need to look him up. As one would expect from a military man, his meticulous preparation included a week spent in the Lakes recceing every inch of the route in daylight and dusk. I really didn’t need the iPod.

We left Bix aid station together by which point I’d actually gained two places and he, having paced the first section somewhat more conservatively than me, was up nearly twenty. We were coming up against much more meaty hills than we had done so far, and even had to pause the conversation for power-hiking every now and again. But the course was just so stunning. For totally different reasons, I still can’t quite decide between this and the South Downs Way for a favourite so far – certainly the SDW50 was a better experience and the fastest finish so far, but if you want fairytale woodland and runnable rolling terrain I think Wessex might just edge out Sussex. Ask me again in a week.

Having got through a potted history of our running careers, the conversation turned to politics, economics, history, sociology, the EU referendum result (obviously) – and two people with more diametrically opposing views you would be hard pushed to find. The fascinating thing for me was that, although our positions were poles apart, our values tended to align. We spoke as two people who felt equally let down by the parties they supported, who sought the same reassurances from two different approaches, who feared the same threats and chose different weapons to combat them. It sounds like a mad thing to say but as much as I was enjoying the run I really enjoyed our discussion – we had, I like to think, a good honest respectful debate, a sharing of perspectives, a chance to find commonality, and ultimately the biggest thing we had in common was a love for endurance tests and the courage to be humbled. I rather think that if the referendum had been debated over the trails there would have been a lot less mudslinging. There you go, that’s my future campaign slogan: Less mudslinging, more mud.

Having put the thorny issue of politics to bed we reached the Ibstone School aid station just before twenty six miles and spent a few minutes to refresh and reload. I was already struggling to get calories in but I force fed myself cookies and cola, and I had been steadily working on a bottle of Tailwind all day as well. All the aid stations so far offered Tailwind as well so I knew when I finished my bottle I’d be able to refill, and would more than likely be relying on it for the end of the race. Slightly stiffer than before, and having lost a handful of places, we carried on our way. By this time I was still within my eleven hour pace but by a smaller margin than before, and a margin that was shrinking by the mile. Still though, plenty in hand for a finish. As long as it didn’t all go wrong.

Steve had planned to meet his wife around mile thirty with a mysterious and hitherto untested smoothie concoction which would save or slay him. Oats, oat milk, fresh fruit, protein mix and chia seeds – it sounded bloody amazing. But having never tested it in anger before he had no idea if it would give him the boost he’d need for the last twenty miles or if he’d be in the bushes for the rest of the race. Only one way to find out.

He made a brief stop to pick up the drink while I carried on, making use of the momentum I had now that the pain in my feet had passed and simply become numbness. Pain? Ah. It wasn’t until this point that I realised I’d been running through pain for about ten miles already, such was the quality of the company and the distraction. Well, this would get interesting – pain doesn’t often feature for me, and it certainly doesn’t stop me as often as fitness, low blood sugar and temper tantrums do. When he caught up again I asked him about his war stories – the military ones rather than the running ones – and he obliged with some hilarious, some frankly terrifying and a fair few eye opening accounts of the life of a non-commissioned officer. Having heard that it wasn’t hard to imagine someone capable of finishing multiple 100-milers in the Lakes; the mental strength required to withstand the rigours of ultra-running being bread and butter to someone who has survived para-training.

At least I lasted longer than my watch…

We had slipped a few more places by the time we reached Swyncombe, and I really started to feel the distance by this point – a quick stretch on the cool grass and a moment taken to put on my waterproof jacket both turned out to be excellent decisions as the rain we’d been promised all day finally made an appearance. I had slipped past my eleven hour pace by this point, but still well within the cutoffs and about to hit Grims Ditch, one of my favourite trails ever. Another lady caught up with us at this point and started swapping 100 miler stories with Steve, which was a fascinating exchange to say the least – there really is no point in spending time with this amazing group of people if you can’t take the time to learn from them. I shut my trap (at least until the conversation turned to cars, which I couldn’t resist bowling into) and listened to them like I was listening to a podcast.

The final aid station would be at the other end of Grims Ditch and just over nine miles from the end. A long old stretch to finish on, but it did mean the last intermediate cutoff to worry about was cleared and we passed it with over three hours to go. A slow walk would have made it, but I really didn’t want to cut it that fine. Sadly, I wasn’t entirely in charge of that decision – my legs were screaming and I was doing my level best to tune them out. I succumbed to the chair, just for a few moments, and stared mournfully at the empty Tailwind barrel wondering why I hadn’t filled my bottle up earlier. Luckily the volunteers there had made up a batch of the best white bread butter and cheese sandwiches you’ve ever seen, and with some effort I chewed my way through a couple of them and washed them down with Coke. It was a bit awkward to swallow, and I noticed then just how dehydrated I’d become despite the inclement temperature. Next race I’m sticking a signpost at thirty miles saying “EAT NOW DAMMIT, YOU’LL THANK ME LATER”. As it turned out Steve’s smoothie had been an unqualified success, so much so that I’m tempted to try it myself on my next long run. Liquid calories that don’t taste too sweet are surely the way ahead.

We left the aid station still optimistic, and at the very fringes of daylight, a little bit smug about the fact that we hadn’t had to use our headtorches yet. Within a couple of miles however dusk fell – plummeted really, as it does in the woods – and I was cursing myself for not fishing out the torch when we stopped at the aid station. Talking was becoming increasingly difficult to me as one by one my various functions closed down. There’s almost no chance I’d have finished the race if it wasn’t for Steve; not only had he very kindly offered me a lift to Gatwick Airport on his way home, where I’d have a fighting chance of getting a train since the Reading line was down, but his tireless storytelling and patience dragged me through the deepening gloom. To say we were hiking now would be flattering the pace we kept up, but he insisted on staying with me instead of pushing on and getting the job done. I decided that I couldn’t reward his kindness with whinging so I kept my negative thoughts to myself and kept moving forward, mutely. You can’t complain about pain in front of a soldier.

The last couple of miles back to Goring were profoundly dark, and our torches were doing bugger all to cut through the blackness. We had been joined by one of Steve’s friends and a couple of other runners by this point, all moving in single file along the single track, all just looking for the streetlights and the end. When it finally arrived my feet and legs were burning – just half a mile of pavement to go, and it felt like walking fifty miles of hot coals. Unable to restrain myself any more I started audibly whimpering, choking down tears just to get to the end. We decided to cross the line together as a group of three – when it finally came it turned out to be the side door to the hall and we had to file in one at a time, but we were reunited on the other side. Twelve and a half hours, and we were done. I was dizzy, slurring, in agony, but relieved.

Ilsuk was still in the village hall doing the rounds, despite having finish a couple of hours earlier, while I forced down some coffee and tried to sit. While we recovered we saw the last few finishers stumble including two guys who finished just inside the cutoff and at least two that, heartbreakingly, didn’t. To struggle that far knowing that you wouldn’t even get the medal is a special kind of tough. I came to enough to force down a sausage in a roll – it took a good half hour to do so – and settled into the warm of the car, suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude. And then, horror. I still had Wendover Woods to do to complete the grand slam, and that was so hard the cutoff was two hours longer. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?

Thanks to Steve’s hospitality I was home within a couple of hours and out the next day for my one mile hobble around the block to shake out my legs and keep up my streak. But come Monday morning – a heavy day at work which started with me carrying my own staging around because my crew had been accidentally cancelled – the hobble became something much worse. Somehow, despite my legs taking the brunt of the battery, I had actually pulled muscles all across my chest and ribcage and breathing became a serious issue. Like, I could talk or breathe but not do both issue. All day on my feet with a trailer shoot I hoped I would just shake it out, but by the time I got home I knew for certain there was no chance of me running. Pain in general has never stopped me before, but chest pains, that’ll do it. The streak, and my heart, were broken.

So I relinquished it in the hope that I might still save another, much longer lasting streak – I’ve run every Ealing Half Marathon since it started in 2012 and I have no intention of giving that up so easily. My one day off turned into two days, and having booked off the Wednesday as lieu time I finally got a chance to catch up on some rest (and a load of Air Crash Investigation). When Sunday came around I felt, though not entirely in shape for a road half marathon, like I had a chance of not embarrassing myself, and like I had at least enough breath to finish. Proudly wearing my QPR shirt I settled in in front of the 1:50 pacers, hoping to stay in front of them but prepared to let them go. I resolved to enjoy the atmosphere, return every high five and every shout of “YOU RRRRSSS!”, smile all the way round, remember that I do this for fun. And bloody hell, it was.

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I actually managed to keep the pace up for a good ten miles before my body refused to respond to the command to push harder. It was painful, but I could run through it – i just couldn’t turn my legs over any faster. The real turning point however came just after mile eleven; just as I tried to give another burst of energy, my chest cramped up like an imploding star. I could barely breathe. I kept running, but I let my pace ease up until the cramp passed. That’s it – you don’t dick around with chest pains. The pacers finally overtook me and I let myself glide to the end, saving my last bit of energy for a leap over the line – there wasn’t even enough to sprint. As I landed, almost knocking over guest commentator Susie Chan in the process, I smiled. I had done it in 1:51 and change, and only five minutes out from my all time PB (a time set with at least half a stone less weight).

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Embarrassing as my CW50 time was, I have to concede that it’s a lot better than I deserve having invested so little time in running recently. This shouldn’t be about pity or excuses or self-flagellation, but equally I want to recognise that a little anticipation goes a long way. Either I’ve become complacent or I’ve stopped caring altogether; either way I must be able to do something about it. Perhaps right now running can’t take priority over everything else; it could still take priority over 90% of everything else. Perhaps I’m not fit enough to enjoy a fifty mile trail race at the moment; I have two months to change that. And if I don’t, I’ll have thrown away all the hard work that brought me this far. Perhaps I underestimate what I can do, setting myself unwieldy and contradictory targets, because I don’t want to admit there’s such a thing as an unattainable target.

Perhaps I’ve forgotten this is meant to be fun.

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Written by Pascal Fallas - https://www.pascalfallas.com

On Saturday 10th June 2017 I ran my first ultra marathon. Those who know at least a recentish version of me know that I am a keen runner. Keen here probably equates to a mixture of insanely passionate, obsessed, class-A-level-addicted and so on. I have run several marathons over the last 12 months, each one nudging the finishing time marginally downwards. My first, on the South Downs in Sussex/Hampshire left me close to destroyed, but also elated beyond pretty much anything else I’d ever done. Subsequent marathons have seen me finish in faster times but nowhere have I come close to replicating the, frankly, life-changing journey and sense of achievement following that first one.

So, early this year it was time to plan for something else that would push me beyond what I knew my body and mind could do. Staying local for logistical ease and to honour a promise to my other half (then in the final throes of a PhD and busy), I signed up for the Norfolk 100km race, run by Positive Steps. And then pretty much continued to run as I had been doing during the previous months, the only real adjustment being pushing the long run at the weekends a little further than I might normally.

But 100k? Approaching 2½ marathons?? What on Earth?! 

(In case you’re thinking that I do such things to impress, the reality is that any and all attempts I make to explain what I get up to are met by a response on a spectrum between incomprehensibility and pity, alongside a not insignificant dose of - usually - good natured mockery. One person actually got angry with me.)

Despite being a local event, it was still an early start to make the short journey to the start at Castle Acre, near Swaffham. Once the instructions and bag-drop logistics were dealt with we set off for the day, with feathery rain over the initial miles keeping things pleasantly cool. Most people seemed content to set a very gentle pace, which facilitated random conversations with a series of changing partners – in my case, a headteacher I’d once done some work with, a colleague, a lady worried about how her fragile back would hold out over the distance, and a chap who managed a good-for-age qualifying time for London but then forget to register during the entry window.

The Peddars Way turned out to be narrow, overgrown and uneven in places, but otherwise very runnable and the first checkpoint at Harpley arrived strangely quickly. After a brief pause I settled back into an easy and sustainable rhythm: everything felt good. The light rain cleared to dry but overcast skies, and the temperature began to slowly but perceptibly increase. 

The next 10 or so miles were spent chasing among the backs and packs in front of me, in gentle undulating rhythms, with skylarks heard everywhere (but almost never seen), braying pigs and startled lambs for company. Easy, lovely running. Eventually we broke off the country paths to float through Ringstead, before the first view of the sea on the descent into Holme.

Having broken the back of the ‘first marathon’ and covered a good third of the course I took a little longer at the second checkpoint and filled up with sausage rolls and jaffa cakes, and refilled my water. By now mentally done with the straight and steady footpath, I was grateful for the shift to expansive coastal vistas and flora/fauna variation over the coming section – which I already knew to be the most beautiful stretch of the course. 

Setting off once more from Holme, we quickly turned sharply eastwards and ran for some time on boards across the sand dunes. Beneath the hints of sun behind the cloudy skies we passed some frankly staggering coastal views - desolate, massive expanses of sand and marsh, with raptors hovering almost everywhere you looked. The sun really started to break through during the shortish detour inland to Thornham so, with the time probably moving on its way towards midday, it was a small relief to turn off back into woodland on the lead up to checkpoint 3. I’d run most of the race up to this point with a colleague but our pace had started to diverge by this juncture and we separated at the checkpoint.

Soon after this I found myself pacing out over the damp sandy expanse at Holkham, under a sun gradually growing more fierce. Actual running was difficult, but from time to time the sand compacted enough to make it possible in short bursts. I slowly chased down the person in front of me, who turned out to be working at the university I went to many years ago. More connections. He was in training for an even longer event in the summer so wasn’t pushing the pace, and it became a welcome opportunity to take stock and recover some energy before heading into the final third of the race. Moving among the many sunbathers, swimmers and general beach denizens, we chewed the fat for the mile or two to Wells, before parting at the start of the long sea wall which leads into the town proper.

In had by now developed into a blistering day and, on my own once more, I pushed on, picking up the pace again and didn’t see any other runner for a long time. This really wasn’t a position that I’d wanted to find myself in when endlessly thinking through the race in the weeks beforehand. I hadn’t been particularly worried about injury or energy, but I certainly experienced some fear about missing a turning, getting lost and adding unnecessary mileage, pushing a potential finish time way into the evening – or even putting a finish inside the cut off time at risk. I had planned on keeping another runner in sight preferably for as much of the time as possible. But with these sorts of distances and the smallish field of people willing to undertake them, it was inevitable that things would stretch out somewhat. So I found myself alone.

But not really alone. Dog walkers and hikers were passing all the time, some curious about what I was doing, incredulous at how far I’d come and usually sympathetic (with the odd visible wince) about the remaining distance. The path continued to wend and wind and, contrary to my worries, there was little opportunity to err throughout the whole of this section. Instead of being concerned about going off-route, I was otherwise engaged by the visit of calf cramps, old and familiar companions, who would stick around, intermittently, for the remainder of the course. I get these far too often – usually during the latter stages of a hard-paced marathon, where they have a tendency to take down any designs on a good-for-age qualifying time that might be floating around at the time. By the time I got down to the checkpoint at Stiffkey, the pain was stabbing my legs with some regularity and I had to introduce longer periods of walking than was ideal – which was a touch frustrating as my energy levels still felt good.

Aside from this (and the lack of a runner to chase down), everything was going well and I didn’t stick around long at the checkpoint, munching down some peanuts and crisps, but probably not as many as I could have done with, due to the almost complete lack of appetite by this point. (Most of the food I carried in my backpack ended up surviving the whole race.) So, onwards and upwards and outwards along tracks which bent across marshlands towards the sea and then (rather viciously) took you back inland towards Cley, just at the point when you can actually see the beach you’re destined for a handful of metres across the way. And running back inland meant – as it did several times earlier – running into a strong energy-sapping headwind.

At Cley I actually lost the path. I found myself, oddly, in a pub garden which was hosting a wedding reception and I must have been a severely incongruous, muddy and sweaty sight in amongst the beautifully attired people getting hammered in the afternoon sunshine. I was pointed (roughly and hopefully) in the right direction and found a little door in the corner of the garden which had a sign leading back to the coastal path. Thoughts of sitting down and drinking beer forever wafted into the 99% of my being that isn’t the hugely stubborn 1% which won out and decided to get the damn thing done. After all, by now there were probably only a dozen or so miles remaining, although it was hard to tell exactly as my watch went its happy way to oblivion around this point. Then, for the first time in hours I was met by another runner, coming back towards me on hiking poles.

He too had lost his way, but had been working on the basis that the final checkpoint was in Cley itself rather than on the beach so had been wandering around the village in search of it. A robotics engineer from Poland, now living in London but a previous resident in these parts, he too was suffering with cramps. I set him right and we headed off back out towards the sea along the exposed mud path. Although he forged ahead and we took slightly different routes across the shingle beach section, we ended up completing the final section of the race together.

After a brief stop at the checkpoint, the shingle began. All my reading about this race beforehand had mentioned this section. Notorious and widely reviled, the difficulties of running (or trying to) along a shingle beach for 4 miles had been flagged up to me well in advance. And right at the end of the race too. In reality though, it wasn’t too bad, at least by the time I hit it. The tide had withdrawn enough to expose some sandy patches and so I chose to run right down by the gently foaming sea for as much as I could, ducking under extending fishing lines and occasionally dodging waves. The late afternoon sun was the strongest it had been all day and was searing into my calves (my god, what a state they were in over the following week) and around my neckline and hat, but by now my mind was only locked, lazer-like, onto the finishing line.

In a nice touch, the organisers set up an impromptu checkpoint at the end of the beach, at which the polish engineer and I took stock and prepared for the final section, which no-one could quite decide was 5k or 5 miles (or perhaps even another distance). We set off quickly, up and down some of the hilliest landscape on the whole course, a quick waltz through Sheringham and then back out, up and over Beeston Bump, where (unbelievably!) we were passed by a runner I’d last seen somewhere before Holkham. He very politely apologised and carried on his way. This was the first person I’d seen from behind me since about lunchtime. Right at the end!

The Race Director met us at the top of the Bump, congratulated us and then merrily informed us that we hadn’t quite finished. So, a short descent from the peak, then a gentle (ha! With those calves?!) jog along past some caravans and across a road before entering (ecstatically!) into the grounds of Beeston Hall School: the finish.

It took me 12 hours and 45 minutes and I finished in 12th position, which I was delighted with. At the very end, we drove to Cromer and I plunged into the water, letting the bitter North Sea work its glacial wonders on my battered legs. 

A quite amazing experience that – naturally – I swore never to do again. But I will. Of course. Well, maybe not the exact same race (although maybe), but there’s something magical and transformative about days like this. After the soreness and blisters go away and the toenails repair and regrow, all that remains is the extraordinary memories of being free, being wild, testing yourself and pushing through whatever expectations you had of your ability. It makes you want to destroy routine and normality and convention and limiting self-belief, again and again and again. 

Finally, it’s worth noting just how well organised an event this was. The course was well marked where it needed to be and the checkpoints were fantastic - staffed by cheerful and hugely encouraging volunteers and packed full of the good stuff. For more information on the excellent range of Positive Steps events (including some of more sensible distances), visit their website: https://positivestepspt.co.uk

Written by Debs Martin-Consani - http://debsonrunning.blogspot.fr/

A slow scan of the marquee, assessing the carnage of 250kms in the Italian Alps.  There is a man openly sobbing as he takes off his shoes and socks. Someone is face down the table next to me.  Crews and volunteers are scurrying about attending to the need of broken runners.  The Tor des Géants signature dish of pasta with tomato sauce is served up by the tonnes. Layer upon layer of clothing are piled on, before departing for another cold night.  
 
I arrived at Valtournenche life base with the view of have a quick turnaround.  Quick change.  Quick bite to eat.  Two hours later I was still sitting there.  Moving things around in their protective plastics bags.  Repacking the same things in the same rucksack I’d carried for days.  Trying to squeeze everything I didn’t need or couldn’t carry back into the iconic yellow duffle bag. Have you ever seen a toddler with a toy shape sorter trying to squeeze the rectangle shape in the triangle space?  That was me.  Physically, I was ok.  Legs and feet were not too shabby.  I’d just lost the ability to think for myself.  
 
This was the dream.  This is what I signed up for.  And nothing short of a limb falling off would have made me want to stop.  I had only given myself one shot to get this right.  The build up to the start line was bad enough, as I was highly-strung for weeks.  The fear was quite overwhelming.  I wasn’t bothered about the distance of 330km, that was a piece of piss.  Nor even the vertical gain of 31,000 metres.  It’s advertised as 24km but everyone knows that’s just adding up the peaks.  It was my general well-being that concerned me.  I get so delirious and incoherent during ultras.  Not in a zen-like trance woo-woo way.  I mean completely off my tits, stumbling about kinda way.  I could train myself to deal with race profile, but not the fatigue and sleep deprivation that came with it.  It was to be a great exercise in self-care, something which is not my forte.
 
I was lucky enough to get  race place through my support from Montane.  I vividly remember my email correspondence when Montane first considered sponsoring this event.  Although the event had the reputation as one of the world’s toughest and it was a great match for the brand, there was just no way I was tough enough to do it.  It just wasn’t for me. The same way I was never going to do the WHWR (3 times) or Spartathlon (tick) or 24-hour running (6 of them).  Let’s just say I lack commitment to my non-causes.  
 
So I made it to the start line and started to calm down.  Just get it done, that’s all.  I had no aspirations about time and position.  With 10 years ultra-running experience, it has been a long time since not finishing was my biggest fear.  
 
Courmayeur to Valgrisenche
 
The race was late starting, as everyone had their GPS checked before entering the pens.  Then we were off, weaving through the busy streets of Courmayeur.  The town really embraces the race and there’s a real community spirit all along the course.  The streets were packed with cheering people and the sounds of cowbells.
 
Off the roads and onto trails, we were soon going up.  Bottle-necked or boxed in, there was no point stressing about it as it would soon thin out. Easy easy that was plan.  The weather was sunnier and warmer than predicted.  Thank goodness, because I’d got myself into a right tizzy the night before about not having enough winter clothing.  Or at least not having enough space in the yellow duffle to pack everything I needed.  I think the guy behind must have been wearing all his clothes or had forgotten he was in for the long haul, because he was sweating so heavily he was dripping all over my ankles!
 
Col Arp at 2571m was the first mountain pass and a sharp introduction to what lay ahead.  Then the path widened and the field split up, so everyone could get into their groove.  Although I’ve always been against taking photos during races, this was to be an exception.  With space to stop to capture the moment, I took out my GoPro.  I would have helped if I hadn’t left the SD card in my case at the hotel.  Doh!  iPhone shots will have to do then.
 
All pretty quiet and peaceful down in La Thuile then we started to bunch up again towards Rifugio Diffeyes.  It was busy with trekkers and noisy with cheers and cow bells in my face. I don’t really recall much of the journey  to Pass Alto and down to Bivacco Promoud.  But I remember feeling the effects already on the long zig-zag climb to the third peak of the day, Col Crosatie.  I had to force myself to put fatigue aside and focus on the ropes on the exposed sections.  Descending into a beautiful sunset and had moment of sobering thoughts passing the memorial for Chinese runner Yuan Yang, who lost his life there after all fall at TDG 2013.  Although the memorial is a lovely gesture, it’s a harsh reminder that we are never in control of our destiny.  
 
As night-time arrived I felt drained when I hit the Planaval checkpoint.  Another 7km of flat or undulating trail to the first life base in Cogne.  I was enjoying just uninterrupted running and the silence and peace that darkness brought.  I was snapped back round when I misjudged the teeny step up on a bridge and decked it.  Bleeding knees and skinned hands already.  Joy.   
 
Cogne was a flurry of activity.  It’s the first of six life bases, which are about 50km apart on the course.   Life bases are generally much busier than checkpoints as runners are reunited with their precious yellow bags and therefore hang about longer than intended.  I found a quiet space away from the crowds to sort out what kit I would need for the next section and to keep on top of footcare.  
 
Valgrisenche to Cogne
 
It was easier to the follow the route during the dark, as my headtorcg picked up the reflectors route markers.  I followed the undulating path all the way to Chalet de l’Epée and welcomed the warmth inside.  I stopped for a few coffees.  I needed the caffeine, the heat and a short break.  I milked it for way longer than I should have.
 
I ended up following fellow Montane athlete Stefano up to the top of Col Fenêtre.  I didn’t even realise it was him at first, as I was just transfixed by the reflectors on the back of his Salomon shoes.  It helped me keep a consistent rhythm.  We crested the top and I pushed on down the steep scree and slippy descend, ending up on my ass a few times.  Stefano was wearing S-lab Sense, which was a brave choice.  He’s probably still there.
 
A pleasant long descent into Rhêmes and I met up with fellow Brit and Scot, Kirsty Williams.  She looked in good spirits, even if she was wearing her leggings inside out.  
 
It was then a long slog up to Col Entrelor. I did most of ascent with another guy, but we never spoke.  Heads down in the darkness, apart from brief glances up to see how far up those headtochers were.  The chap stopped for a rest a few hundred metres from the top - or maybe it was to shake me off his heels.  I kept going until my headtorch battery ran out and I stopped to change it.  Even just stopping briefly made me chill down real fast.  I was bonking and in dire need of sugar, but I was adamant I wanted to get to the top first.  Stupid mistake, as I was staggering, shaking, slipping and was practically crawling when I reached the top.  I had to sit down at the makeshift checkpoint tent and suck down a Gu gel.  The volunteers gave me some coke which had turned to slush and gave me brain freeze, but I felt better almost instantly.  I had a angry word with myself about keeping on top of fuel.
 
Watching the sunrise behind the mountains with the long descent into Eaux Rousses, it was good to have the first night behind me. Monday was a new day and a new box of treats.  Despite studying the profile of the race from the comfort of my sofa, it means nothing until you’re actually in the thick of it.  Pulling out the race book to see what delights awaited, I nearly fainted when I saw 3299 metres.   I knew it was coming up, I just wasn’t aware of the sequence of monster climbs.  I chatted to a few runners in there, including another Scot John Moffat.  I guess everyone lingered a little longer delaying the inevitable.
 
Time to bite the bullet and get the show on the road.  On the long series of switchbacks, I passed a Spanish girl who asked if my leg was ok.  I had even realised it was cut and covered in blood.  Maybe I did it whilst stumbling about the last peak?  Who knows.  It didn’t hurt, but my ankle really did.  Out of nowhere I had awful pain on the outside of my left ankle.  I couldn’t run on it, which was quite distressing.  
 
Soon Lakeland legend and Ireland’s finest, Paul Tierney caught up with me.  I was really surprised to see him, as Paul eats mountains for breakfast.  He was having a tough time and had stopped for a few breaks/naps.  We climbed most of Col Loson together.  Him moaning, but he’s Irish so everything he says comes out hilarious (not a hate crime, Paul!) The climb got real steep and tough near the top.  My lungs were on fire and struggling to breath. I was literally hanging over my poles on the long and very slow stagger to the top.
 
There was a bunch of guys near the cairn/trigpoint (what are they called in the Italian alps?) but I had to plonk my ass down and take a break.   My chest hurt real bad.  I think it was a combination of cold air, exertion and generally being a bit too high for a sea level lungs.  
 
Paul had pushed on.  Probably the prospect of being stuck with me forced him to get his shit together, but I caught up with him again at Rifugio Sella.   I had some oranges and some bizarre conversations with a couple of Greek guys before embarking on the never ending switchbacks to Cogne.  Switchbacks were definitely going to be the theme of the week.  I appreciate it’s better than the alternative, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.    I could see where I needed to be.  I just wasn’t dropping any height and it wasn’t getting any closer.

 

 
It was really heating up and I felt like a burst ball when I arrived at the second life base in Cogne.   I tried to eat some food, but it was struggle.  I tried to sleep, but that wasn’t happening.  It was too noisy and my mind was buzzing.  I know I’m quintessential British and therefore a bit prudish, but I saw enough body parts in there to last me a lifetime.
 
As sleeping wasn’t an option, I had a quick massage and the physios strapped up my dodgy ankle.  Quick wash - my one and only wash of the week - got changed and set out again.  After wasting 3.5 hours there!  3.5 HOURS!
 
Cogne to Donnas
 
I left along the long dirt track and road, before turning off on to the next climb.  It was pretty warm and I started to feel quite tired.  Typical, eh? Paul stormed past looking revitalised.  I knew he would go on and have a fantastic race - and he did.  
 
I wanted to push on to get over Fenêtre di Champorcher to see the sunset, but I was done in.  I arrived at Rifugio Berdzè a freezing, shaking, bonking mess.  It was less that 300 metres to the summit, but it looked steep and I was all over place.  I had to go straight to the bunk room, but I couldn’t sleep because it was freezing.  The snow on the ground outside might have been a sign.  I stupidly chose the bed next to the door, so it was drafty and people were coming in and out.  I put on all my clothes, including hat and gloves and managed about 30-40 minutes sleep before my wake up call by the volunteer.  As there a two hour time limit at checkpoints, volunteers ask how long you would like to sleep for.  This ensures you don’t overstay your welcome and gives you time to sort yourself and supplies out.  
 
Down in the main area, I had few strong coffees and got my headtorch sorted for the night ahead.  This is when I first met my new French friend Rodolph Mercanton.  He was laughing at me wrestling to get my waterproof trousers on, while trying to stop my teeth rattling in my head.  We made the final ascent together, chatting away.  I was then complaining I was too hot, as wearing everything I had.
 
It’s then long 30km ‘downhill’ to Donnas.  Which surprisingly has a lot of uphill too.  And quite possibly the longest 30km of my life.   Down rocky paths, through fields, clambering over boulders and crossing some dodgy suspension bridges.  I could hear the ferocious sounds of the rivers and knew in the darkness I missing out on some spectacular waterfalls.
 
Through Dondena and Chardonnay, I expected the third life base at Donnas to be the next stop.  There was another aid station at Pontboset, which really unreasonably annoyed me.  I wanted to sleep and I had another 10km to go.  I know it’s a mountain race, but I also got unreasonably annoyed at more uphill when I knew we had to drop to down 300 metres.
 
I’d never used an altimeter or elevation as a measurement before.  In racing and training I’ve always gone by distance or overall ascent.  Another reason why this was so far removed that anything I had done before.
 
I arrived in Donnas just before 4am.  Two hours later than I expected too.  Generally, everything took two hours longer than I expected it too.  I declined offer of food from the volunteers, found a bed and collapsed.  Lying there listening to the sounds of synchronised snoring.   How was I ever going to sleep with all this snor… zonk!  Out cold.  Not wake-up calls, no alarms. I just wanted to sleep until I woke up.  Two hours later I woke up startled, sat up bolt upright trying to work out where I was.
 
My face felt like it was on fire.  The room was really hot and my skin had been exposed to some pretty harsh elements, with warm days and cold nights.  My lips were so sunburned and swollen, I look like someone from those botched plastic surgery programmes.  People pay good money to look as weird as I did.
 
After spending a further 90 minutes faffing about packing things, changing, eating and rearranging what I packed, triple checking I had all the mandatory kit, I set out for what would be the longest section.
 
Donnas to Gressoney
 
I knew this was going to be big section and could take up to 24 hours.    I was less daunted by the prospect when I was greeted with a beautiful crisp and clear morning.  Through the town, the toots and cheers from passing cars gave me a nice boost too.   
 
The undulating trail up and over to Perloz was beautiful.  The village was quiet and quaint, but was soon awoken with the loud sounds of cowbells, which signaled my arrival.  The charming gents who manned this checkpoint were a delight.  They spoke no English and I speak no Italian, but somehow we managed to have a highly amusing conversation.  
 
The sleep had done wonders and I felt more energized.  Hiking up to La Sassa I met another Brit, Paul Drew.  We chatted quite a bit at the checkpoint, before I pushed on.  We would meet again later in the race.  Quite a few times.
 
The climb up to Coda was simply stunning although my footing was pretty unsteady on the boulders, so knew I was on the danger side of depleted reserves.  Dining alfresco at Rifugio Coda, with backdrop of beautiful mountains was probably one of the highlights on my race.    As was the view over magical greeny-blue waters of Lago Vargno.
 
The race profile makes this section look slightly undulating at best, but there’s a reason why it’s notoriously known to be the toughest section.  It’s fecking relentless!  When I arrived at Rifugio della Barma, I planned to make it a flying visit, but on learning that the next checkpoint was 5-7 hours away, I decided to bulk up on pasta and soup.  Just as well I did, as their pasta was the best!  You learn to appreciate the little things when you’re out there.
 
My French friend Rodolph arrived as I was leaving, but soon caught up and we stayed together for a bit.  Even the short climbs were tough and my brain was struggling to manoeuvre on the downhills.  There was a really steep few hundred metre climb before Col della Vecchia which was a tipper for me.    I was getting really cold, really hungry and sleep deprivation was taking it’s toll.  As darkness was falling, I keep pushing to get to the checkpoint.  I should have stopped and sorted myself out as it took way longer than I anticipated to get there.
 
By the time I got to the makeshift mountain checkpoint I was a wreck.  The volunteers were amazing and got me blankets, heaters, sweet coffee and a place to sleep for a hour.  I was completely gone, but they truly saved me.
 
I left feeling reborn and embarked on the journey to Neil, which would take about two hours.  It was a fairly pleasant descent to Neil.  I met up with Paul Drew again, who told me his brother, Craig was crewing for him and had been waiting in Neil since 4pm.  It was now nearly 10pm. Like me, he was wildly underestimating journey times.
 
I had a short stop and pasta refuel at Neil before rejoining Rodolph again for a the ascent of Col Losoney.  I was starting to scales things down into recognisable chunks.  Less than Ben Lomond to do I kept telling myself.  I do laps of that in training,  And 13km to the next life station, then that’s the biggest section done.
 
I was joined by another French runner, Nicolas Moreau who took it upon himself to sing me songs, which was lovely albeit slightly surreal.  He not only helped to raise my spirits, but also push me back up every time I fell or stumbled backwards.  As my cadence was slower than usual hiking pace, I was finding the balance quite tricky.  
 
There was a long gradual descent to Gressoney.  On fresh legs, that would be a flier.  On my legs it was on the tolerable side of arduous.  I arrived at the life base in Gressoney, a mere 20-21 hours after leaving the last one.  I found a bed in sports hall and tried to sleep.  I think it may have been a squash court, so everything echoed.  It was too uncomfortable and it was bloody freezing.  Someone was using a machine to polish the floors outside too.   I did manage some broken sleep though.
 
After a rest of sorts I sat in the dining area trying to sort out my kit.  This was a biggest downfall in my race.  Not having someone to do the thinking for me.  Unsupported was proving harder than I thought, but I was still getting the job done.  It was after all, all about just getting the job done.  
 
Some whatsapp chat with my Centurion team mates informed me that Spain’s Javi Dominguez had won and smashed the course record in 67 hours 52.  Truly amazing.  I couldn’t help thinking this guy had finished and was probably celebrating in Courmayeur and I was only 205km  in - sitting eating breakfast and lubing up my feet at the same time.  Then Marco sent me a picture of Cairn, so I was sitting crying, eating boiled eggs (I’ve been Vegan for years!) whilst lubing up my feet.  What a sorry sight that must have been.
 
Gressoney To Valtournenche
 
With 205km complete, I had Gressoney mentally marked as the over half-way point.  It’s the fourth of six life bases, so passed the point of of no return.  I’m lead to believe this is the life base with the most drop outs, so if you get out of here alive you’re on the home straight.    You just need to get out.
 
After 3:40 hours, of which possibly an hour was spent sleeping, I headed out to the beautiful morning.  We had been truly blessed with such great weather.  The sun was shining, the skies were blue and the view over to Mont Rosa was stunning.  I stopped to take a picture  and then my Garmin froze and switched off.  Despite carrying a battery pack, I could get it to power on.  Surely not being able to Strava is a legitimate reason to DNF ;-)
 
It was a good hefty climb to Col Pinter and I was joined on the final ascent by three Italian men out to see some of the race and they insisted on keeping me company to the top.  Two were in front, with one behind ringing his cowbell and shouting “Allez.  Allez.  Go Scottish”.  On day four of this epic adventure, you can only imagine depths I had to go to to deal with this.  Even better when one of the men front commented: “But you are very young” and the cowbell ringing behind responded.  “No.  No way”.  Steady on, mate.  We stopped for selfies at the top and I left them - still chanting “Go Scottish” and ringing that cow bell.  Despite my obvious ageing, they made me smile a lot and put spring back in my step.  As did the lady who stopped me on the descent just to give me a hug.  
 
It was a long, but enjoyable trail down to Champoluc.  It was really heating up and the sun was piercing my skin.   I stopped at an unofficial aid station, which was a restaurant that had put on a big buffet for runners for no other reason other than they wanted to be part of the race.  I tried to get my Garmin to switch on with power, but no joy.
 
Through Champoluc and into the real checkpoint, which was pale by comparison to the restaurant, I went straight through heading to Saint Jacques with Rodolph.  I lost him on the climb out of the town, as I was really warm and a bit wasted.  
 
I stopped at the river to soak my buff and wet my face.  I was really tired and wanted to lie down, so I lay back listening to the sounds of the river and watching the shapes the clouds made.  I remember doing this with my Dad as a child and I wondered if kids still did this. I was brought back round when I realised ants were crawling all over me.  
 
The climb to Rifugio Grand Tourmalin was a real struggle.  I was beyond tired and was dragging my sorry ass up the hill.  After what seemed like an eternity, the refugio appeared in the distance and the familiar sounds of cowbells.  
 
Do you want food? Just sleep.  Do you want hot drink? Sleep.  Anything before?  Just sleep.  I could have stayed there forever, as it was a the best bed ever!  Who knew sleeping in a dormitory for 45 minutes could feel like total paradise.  
 
I woke feeling quite refreshed.  Down in the dining area, I joined Paul Drew and ate some pasta.  He had been looking out the window and was very apprehensive about the killer final ascent over the mountain.  I turned to see what he was looking and noticed that it did look particularly nasty. But I pointed out he was looking in the right direction, as I could see the runners out the window behind him on a less precarious switchback route.  
 
With new found energy, I tackled with final ascent and started on the descent to Valtourneche.  As daylight was fading, I got out my headtorch and decided to call Marco and Cairn, who had recently arrived in Courmayeur.  I soon as I heard their voices I started crying, even though it was the best I’d felt all day.   Physically I was holding it together. Mentally and emotionally, I’d lost the plot.  
 
Paul soon caught up with me again and we did the last few kilometres together before headed into the life base.    He was pretty excited about the pizza his brother was going to get him.  Craig failed to find a pizza in Italy.  He was going for a sleep and I was adamant I was going in for a quick turnaround and out again.  
 
Valtournenche to Ollomont
 
My quick turnaround turned into two hours of pissing about with my kit and messaging on my phone.  I just discovered my friend Jamie was pulled out of the race on day two with potential kidney failure.  Marco assured me Jamie was ok, as he had been in regular contact with her.
 
I should have just slept, because as soon as I got going, fatigue and breathlessness came over me and I had to stop at the next Refugio for some sleep.  The cold night air was continuing to hurt my chest.  Every breath hurt, so was resigned to shallow breathing.
 
I was joined by the endurance machine that is Harriet Kjaer. She was going for a 30 minute power nap, so I cut my planned 60 minutes in favour of some company for a while.  I enjoyed spending the next hour or so chatting about life and running.  I’ve met some seriously badass women through the sport, but I think Harriet is a rare breed.  She has a wealth of experience in mega-distance running and was fascinating to talk to.  We were so busy talking, we missed a turn and realised a while later we hadn’t seen markers for some time.  Back tracking a kilometre or so, we were amazed we missed it as it was so clearly obvious.  
 
Fenêtre du Tsan was the gift that kept on giving.  It was a relentless undulating slog.    Every time we started losing height, I wanted to have a tantrum.  After what seemed like HOURS, I reached the top and started on the switchbacks down.   
 
I was now getting passed by the speedsters in the Tot Dret race, the new 130km race which started in Gressonay at 9pm on the Wednesday.    I step off to let them passed.  I expected to see loads of the 400 runners, but there weren’t that many.  I later learned that only 80 finished, as the cold on the Thursday night ended most of their races.  This could be hear say though.  
 
The sunrise over the mountains was so beautiful, I had to stop at take a few pictures.  When I arrived at Rifugio magia, I stopped for some coffee and watched the flurry of Totdret runners appear and leave.  Just sitting there.  People watching.  Like I was sitting in Starbucks or something.
 
I was joined on the next few ascents by Susan from the USA, so the time just zipped by.  She’d done the race in 2015 when it was stopped due to bad weather on the third day, so had returned to get the monkey off her back.  She has also been out recceing the course, so it’s safe to say we had different race approaches.  This was the only time it rained during the race and I was actually quite enjoying it.  
 
After being a bubbling wreck on the phone to Marco and Cairn the night before they were coming out to meet me in Oyace, just to say hello and offer some moral support.  I left eating too long - as always the checkpoint was way longer than I expected it to be - so I was a bit worse for wear when I got there.  I spent an hour with them before Marco told me I wasn’t making an sense and should try for sleep before my two hour checkpoint allowance was up.  And he also had to get Cairn out as he was eating all the chocolate tarts that were provided for runners only.   
 
I found a bed and set my alarm for 50 minutes.  Sleeping a cot bed in a room of about hundred noisy people was becoming easier.  I felt so sick when I woke up, so I sat on the edge of the bed with my head between my knees trying to stop the world spinning.  A nice chap gave over to see if I was ok, which I thought was really kind… followed by ‘sorry to ask, but are you leaving soon.  My friend asked me to ask you for the bed’  The awkwardness on his face gave me the giggles.
 
Up I went to Col Brison.  Just a Ben Lomond up I reminded myself.   From the top you could probably drop a stone down onto the Ollomont, which was 1100 metres below.  It was that steep.  Which could only mean one thing.  A gazillion switchbacks!
 
Ollomont to Courmayeur
 
Night time fell just before I hit the final life base in Olloment  I expected to get there feeling happy and relieved knowing that the dream was to be reality, but I was void of feeling.  If anything I was just relieved that I wouldn’t have to squeeze everything back into that yellow duffle bag again.  
 
I was feeling pretty apprehensive about the night’s forecast and freezing temperatures.   My Centurion team mate Neil (who was ahead in the race) had sent pics from Rifugio Frasseti in a blanket of snow, so I knew I had to prepare for cold.  I shunned the communal changing area in favour of a cramped toilet cubicle.  I was trying to gauge what I would wear for cold day in the hills in Scotland - then add an extra layer.  Then trying to think what I would need for the next day, with a frazzled brain. What seemed like an eternity of faffing, packing and spending too much time messaging on my phone I exited the small wooden toilet cabin looking like snowboarding Barbie!  
 
Then proceeded to go for a 30 minute nap and a mega feast of soup, pasta and sweet black coffee.  Every pairs of eyes in the room was on the guy devouring a pizza which his Mum had brought him.  
 
Heading out under a blanket of stars for the last night it was so peaceful and still.  I felt cold, but there was no part of me that was specifically cold.  Hand were ok.  Feet fine.  Face and head covered.  It was just a  full chill and shiver that I couldn’t shake.  Another recognisable chunk to break it down.  Just a Ben Nevis to go.  ‘Just’ the UKs highest mountain on the 4th night out. Just.
 
After an hour or two of hiking I arrived at Rifugio Champillon.  I went inside for hot soup to warm up.  Just an excuse to get out of the cold.  I probably overstayed my welcome, by simply sitting there with the thousand-yard stare.  After what felt like 15 minutes, but was probably closer to 45 minutes I forced myself to leave reminding myself It was only another 400 metres.  The sky was so clear and I seemed so high up, I couldn’t make out what were stars and what were reflective race markings.  I was just getting colder and colder.  I just didn’t have the energy to fight the cold. Throughout the race I probably wasn’t eat for a normal day of living, let alone long days in the mountains. I tried to listen to a comedy podcast to take my mind off it, but that just became irritating.
 
I reached the top and heading down the switchbacks, stumbling as I went.  My poles were out in front like speirs, using them to catch me every time I fell.  It was fairly effective.  When I reached the farm/checkpoint at Pointelle, I was really burnt out and wanted to sleep.  There weren’t any beds there so I would need to push on another 10km.  I was hoping to miss dawn, as that’s always the coldest, but hey ho.  Off I went.  I got colder, incoherent, dazed, confused, angry, frustrated and on the cusp of hysteria.  By the time I reached Saint Rhémy en-Bosses (which was unsurprisingly longer than 10km away) I was a mess.
 
As always the volunteers were amazing and really helped he. I was given some soup, pasta and a seat next to the bar heater.  I couldn’t eat the soup because my hands were shaking so much.  I wanted to leave, as I was worried I would have to go through another night, but I was ordered to have some sleep.   And when I woke up after 10 mins, I was told to sleep some more.  Another 30 minutes and the volunteer was standing over for my wake up call.  I had slept with my hood up and had dribbled a puddle of saliva inside it.    
 
After getting sorted, I used the facilities (an actual sit down toilet - bliss!) and caught myself in the mirror. I barely recognised myself.  My face was so swollen and my eyes were so puffy, I couldn’t even see my eyelashes.   If I hadn’t already made a complete spectacle of myself at that checkpoint, I got myself locked in a toilet.  After what seemed like an eternity of shouting, four men used a large knife to unlock the snib from the outside.  I left fairly sharp after that.
 
The cold night had really ruined my lungs and I couldn’t stop coughing.  Even running on the flats was a big effort as my legs felt like lead and pack seemed to have doubled in weight.  But I forced myself to run, mainly through sheer panic of having to go into another cold night.
 
Hiking up, I started counting to 21 over and over again.  Cairn’s birthday is January 21, so it seemed like a good number to focus on. Despite being drained of energy and enthusiasm I couldn’t help marvel at how beautiful everything was.  I was still taking photos, so that proves that I was absolutely FINE.  
 


I passed Merdeux and the climb became more arduous.  I stopped in a Rifugio Frassati fairly swiftly downed a few cups of coke and got going again.  

With all the snow fall, the ground was really slippy, slushy and muddy.  It was hard to stay upright on the path.  Going uphill was one step forward and two slides back.  I was getting braver with the cows (I have a big fear of cows) on the course and walked straight through a herd of them without so much as a second thought.  It may have been courage or a blatant disregard for my life.  Bit awkward though as one cow was being mounted at the time.  And I’m not entirely sure she was up for it.  
 
Up to the last and one of the highest peaks on the course at Col Malatra.  I knew the final push involved a rope climb, which was a riot.   You know the monkeys from Jungle Book?  That was me. Swinging about trying to hold on to the rope, find my footing and clutch my poles in my other hand at the same time.  There are many better ways I could have approached.   The family behind me, who were praying I didn’t fall on top of them, took this picture of me and kindly emailed it.
 
There was a real muddy descent, which found me on my arse a few times.  At the next checkpoint, which had the enthusiastic bell ringer from Tourmalin I was told I had 15km to go.  I expected there to be another almighty climb, but there was only a short ascent and then it was all downhill.  Which was great, but there no sense of urgency from me.  For most the week, I’d completely forgotten I was in a ‘race’.  I stopped to speak to people, had a sit down to have a drink and enjoy the view.  I helped some young girls who asked for directions.  Lord knows where I sent them.   I even phoned Marco to find out where I was.  That seemed perfectly legit to me.
 
Down through the valley, I couldn’t stop coughing.  My lungs hurt so bad and my head ached.  Reluctant to take any painkillers,  I thought I would stop for a lie down and close my eyes.  After what seems like a few minutes, I opened my eyes to see a family standing over me looking very concerned about my state.  I tried to explain the race, but they weren’t aware of it.  I got up staggering, mumbling and confirmed I was ok slurring something about just being a little tired.  Covered in mud from previous falls, I definitely looked homeless.
 
I was so close to the end, but I couldn’t push myself.  My legs didn’t hurt, they were just tired.  And brain couldn’t talk to my legs, so everything felt wired up wrong.  I jogged a bit, coughed a lot and fast hiked.  Just don’t stop I told myself over and over again.  Many times that day I was convinced I was in Scotland.  In my head, I ‘knew’ I’d been there before and spent ages trying to remember who I was with.  
 
And then there it was.  Courmayeur.  I was back again.  I’d made it.  I burst out crying.  Basically the theme of the race was only to cry when I was happy.  With tired legs, it’s a good hour from Bertone downhill on the switchbacks.  Counting to 21 over and over again to try and keep some sort of jogging rhythm going.  Smiling at everyone who cheered for me, even though it cracked my sunburnt lips every time.
 
Closer to the town, Sarah McCormack (Irish Queen of hotpants) appeared in her usual effortless bounding style.  She said I didn’t have long to go and Paul was waiting at the finish line.  I hit some roads and then through some parks before joining the pedestrian area in the town.  My lungs were screaming but I couldn’t walk now, I had to save face.  Someone shouted that I had 1km to go and I didn’t think my lungs would hold out for long.  I passed the familiar shops and restaurants, a sea of blurry smiling faces and the sound of cowbells.  I could see Marco, and Cairn was in the middle of path poised ready to run with me.  Then I was over the yellow runway to the end.  Job done in 127 hours.  Which I hope is not an omen, as I don’t fancy chopping off my arm with a penknife.    I never knew at any point where I was in the race, but I finished 18th female (I think) and 162 overall.  Nearly 900 started and 461 finished.
 
I doubt I will do many things in life that could possibly compare to the Tor des Géants.  It was an amazing experience.  There were moments I felt I was just torturing myself, but I never wanted to stop.  The drive to finish overpowered everything.   Prior to the race, I always thought this was going to be a personal challenge and a solo adventure, but I was never alone.   From the people I met in the race, the supporters out on the course, the volunteers who sorted me out when I got in a right mess, to the dot watchers back home, so many people played a big part in my journey.  I’m truly thankful to everyone.  
 
The aftermath wasn’t as painful as expected, but the swelling I had was immense.  I can’t quite describe the fatigue and hunger I had in the week after.  It was like having necropsy and worms, whilst my head was in La La Land.    
 
Maybe one day I will return.  For me, it’s one of those races you need to do once to learn how to deal with the enormity of it and then go back and approach it differently.  I’ve never had to deal with sleep deprivation before, but I know now why it’s a recognised form of torture.  Managing sleep comes with experience.  Despite only ever wanting to finish, I’m over-thinking all the things I did wrong.  But it is what it is.  I’m a Géant.  That’s what.  
 
Special thanks to Montane for planting this seed, the opportunity to be a part of something truly magnificent and all the great kit.