Written by Benjamin Kissel - http://kiwirun.blogspot.fr
Over three hundred runners surge under the Centurion start line at nine in the morning. Jens, Ross and I, who have just met this morning, join them.
It's game time.
After struggling with confidence in my running over the past several months today is different. Today I know I've put in the leg work, having just completed in March my first two hundred mile, or to be exact, three hundred and twenty three kilometre month of running. I'm a little nervous I'll feel the fact that I haven't tapered for this race as it's technically a training run for my first hundred miler in a few weeks. I'm a little nervous that this is my first serious distance with my Brooks Cascadia trainers that I've not fully agreed with previously. I'm a little nervous at the fact that despite a very healthy month I've spent the last few days pigging out. Basically, I'm nervous.
I put the nerves to one side. I tell myself that today is different. I tell myself that today is not a day where I'm willing to take no for an answer. I tell myself that today, rather than beating myself up before I even start...today I am in charge of my own fate. Today is the day I will believe in myself.
I can feel the sinews in my legs snap, crackle and pop in anticipation of what is to come and I can't help myself letting out a small whoop of excitement as we cross under the the starting banner. I mention to Jens that it's good to finally get going and not be worrying about it any more. He agrees.
As is normal on a lot of trail races almost instantly in order to exit the recreation ground we need to pass through a gate. Three hundred and fifteen runners trying to get through said gate is a bit of a squeeze so almost straight away we're all stopped and crowded around trying to get through. A quick right turn and we're going down an uneven back road in Worthing and I note that it's quite a struggle just to make sure you don't stand on the person in front and trip them up. Not to mention yourself and probably several dozen others behind you...
We seem to have lost Ross a little behind us but Jens and I continue running together and chatting away. As I was leaving the bed and breakfast earlier this morning two blokes were leaving and I wondered whether or not they were going to the same race as they were kitted up. After sorting out payment, or rather promising to send money as I only had card, I left on the fifty minute walk to the start line. Less than twenty metres up the road however, said two blokes were waiting in a car to offer me a lift. If anyone ever tries to tell you trail runners aren't nice people here is bona fide proof of the opposite as they would have been waiting a few minutes to offer a stranger a lift whilst not even certain I was going to the same place. We then arrived quite early so had plenty of time for me to eat my four banana breakfast and just chill out and chat before the race.
Almost straight away we're out of Worthing and into the fields. Straight away I feel more at home and the nerves start to go. The first couple of kilometres are fairly even with a little up and down and the field starts to thin out a little so we're not having to worry about stepping on the people around us. We round a corner and then see the first decent climb of the day. It looks fun. We slam into the bottom of it and slow to a fast hike. There is absolutely no point trying to run hills this early on in a race as doing that means you inevitably pay for it at the end and it can often cause a perfectly capable person to not complete a race simply as their body gives up later in a race.
So we make our way up the hill and I'm feeling a bit warm. It's always tricky to gauge clothing as the first few kilometres of a run or race you end up overheating but then you want to be dressed for later down the line and not have to bother with changing every five minutes. In this case, though, as we're hiking up a hill it's a perfect time to do exactly that. I manage to hip my bag off, followed by my mid layer which gets stuffed back in my bag and onto my back. All without breaking stride.
We've been chatting about all sorts of things as you do and after a while the conversation turns from just being about running kit and training to why we're here. I explain I'm a Kiwi originally and as is normal he's a bit confused by my accent not being too thick. I explain my acting background and also the fact that it was so damn hard to introduce myself to people when I first moved here as 'Ben' in a Kiwi accent sounds like 'bin' in an English one so people tended to think my parents were unreasonably cruel. This elicits a laugh and we talk about what it's like to be an immigrant as he is from South Africa. Both of us are of a similar mind that it's so easy to get stuck in a rut of just hanging around with people from your own country when you first arrive and only spending time in the pub and in both our cases that has led to trail running as a good measure of escapism from the daily grind. I take a moment to look out over the misty fields of the South Downs and can't help but smile at the choice.
We crest the first hill, having climbed around a hundred and thirty metres in this first three kilometres of the race and are treated with a nice downhill. Sadly it's short lived as it followed by another undulation back up a bit higher before we get our first solid downhill of the day. It's nice to get a bit of pace up, having been climbing for most of this first forty minutes, but it's bittersweet as it's far too early to really enjoy the descent as I so love doing. So we keep a fairly even pace, not wanting to destroy our knees. Once we reach the bottom of this one we're straight back into another hill; only this one looks particularly daunting. We look into the distance at a long line of runners weaving their way up the hill and settle down into another fast hike. I try to make sure I use my hands on my thighs to push myself up the hill and to try and use my arm muscles to take some of the brunt of this ascent. I've no idea how much this helps but even if it makes it two percent easier on my leg muscles then that's two percent I'm going to use.
As we're climbing up Ross comes up behind us to say hello, having been pacing a bit more evenly behind us for a while but now moving a bit more speedily uphill. As it is a hill, though, he takes the opportunity to stop and walk with us. He's feeling good and all three of us are still talking pretty excitedly, having now found our rhythm and started to really get stuck into racing mode, having found our running legs for the day. After a time Ross continues on up the hill and I comment that he's a man on a mission, whilst Jens notes that he seems to be pacing this race pretty strategically.
When we reach the top, having gone straight up around a hundred and fifty metres in two and a half kilometres, it's quite a relief. I then excitedly notice that the flat section we are now running on was also the hardest section of the Steyning Stinger race I did last year. I remember at the time noting that it was worth the long slog up the hill just for the view. Today, the view is still just as lovely having earned it again with fields and farmland roaming off into the distance on both sides of us. As before it gives me a real boost seeing this. Unlike before, though, I feel fine having done the climb and don't feel it was too strenuous. Last time I was destroyed at the top of this hill. Today I'm just excited. What a difference a year can make, eh?
Jens pulls out a little laminated copy of the course profile and checks what we have in store. Jens also has good news. Jens informs me we have about nine kilometres of downhill. I'm pretty okay with that. Again, it's a little frustrating to be moving at a slower pace than I would like to on a downhill however I do need to save my legs for later so begrudgingly do. As we're about a hundred metres away I tell Jens that I'll run ahead to fill up my water as I know he's wanting to head straight through this station, having brought a bladder as well as bottles, whilst I only brought my bottles. He kindly tells me not to bother as he'll stop anyway for food so I don't need to sprint.
As we approach there is a volunteer who very nicely takes my bottle from me and fills it up from a jug. On the last hill I've taken out my SiS electrolyte tabs and put one in the bottle, nearly pouring the remains of my water into the tube, which could have escalated into a fizzy mess but thankfully didn't. As soon as the bottle is full I jump over the the food table, grab a biscuit and a handful of small crackers and head out again straight away. Not too far ahead I see Jens running off but turning around to check for me. As I'm just behind him he slows to allow me to catch up. We cross the road and stare into the maw of a veritable lion of a climb, the track rolling straight down the centre like it's tongue. We slow straight down into a hike and both of us comment that it's a relief to help with getting the food in. I comment that my mini crackers are going to be absolutely disgusting by the end after sitting in my sweaty palm for too long and we're both pretty excited to be through the first checkpoint and a little over eighteen kilometres of the race. Once we finish our food we're both gasping for air having struggled to get it down and keep moving at pace up a hill and joke that eating is harder than the running today.
This climb does indeed become rather relentless and Jens again gets out his course profile map, which he's pretty pleased to have brought as he had wondered whether it may be overkill but is actually proving extremely useful, and points out that this climb is a little over three kilometres and about two hundred metres of climbing. Thus confirming it is indeed a bit relentless. Once again we are joined by Ross for a section of the climb and all get chatting again which definitely makes it considerably easier and takes our mind off the hill. Soon enough we reach the top and are able to get a bit of pace up again and Ross asks about nutrition and whether we are taking anything extra today. We're all in agreement that we want to try to stay off the sugar train if we can until later in the race and don't want to take too many gels or anything like that. They both have some sodium capsules and Jens also has some crushed up crisps but generally I think we are all aiming to rely on the aid stations and play it a bit by ear. The last thing I want is a sick stomach today.
The other concern I've been having is my shoe choice. My normal Brooks Adrenalines are great but don't have a lot of cushioning. I did bring my waterproof ones for this race but they have quite a small toe box. As I wear two pair of socks and have just got some really thick and cushy ones I just feel like I'm risking blisters if I try them so opted for the uncertainty of the Cascadias. I'm really starting to worry about the decision though as they are starting to hurt, being a different design from what I'm used to running in. I can also feel a hot spot coming on and need to be careful as one blister in the wrong place could easily end my day.
We also talk about goal times again, having done so in the car on the way to the start. We're all hoping for similar times although my absolute bet time is around where they are expecting to finish and I know at some point I'll be saying goodbye and letting them go on to run their own races as I slow down and run my own. For myself, I like to have a three tiered goal. My outside time that I'll be unhappy if I go over, what I expect I can physically do and a dream time that I don't think I'm capable of but hope for all the same. I need to finish the race in under twelve hours in order to catch my train home and would be a bit unhappy with anything over that. Eleven hours I think is fairly realistic and, for me, a sub ten hour finish would be a holy grail of an achievement although damn near impossible. In saying this, we are indeed on pace still to go sub ten so the dream is not over yet.
There are a couple more undulations on the tops of the downs and the wind is really picking up. The weather report suggests it's going to be mind weather with some rain coming in later in the day around seven in the evening. I start to feel the wind a bit after having taken my mid layer off earlier but am not quite cold enough to put it back on. It's been quite hard to gauge this evenly today as it's been quite cold and windy up top but every time we are down in a valley it's nice and warm. So I leave the mid layer off and resolve that I'll put it on later when it gets colder still.
Soon enough we're back onto another downhill section, though and are heading on our way off to checkpoint two at Saddlescombe Farm. We've caught up with Ross again and are chatting away then right near the end of the descent into the aid station there is a steeper section and, without agreeing to do so, we all let rip briefly. There are deep ruts in the trail so Ross takes a line down the left, Jens takes the right and I slam it down the middle. It feels good to let loose, even if only for a moment and also to have people to do so with. When we reach the bottom there is a horse rider whose horse is looking particularly jittery so we give it a wide berth, go through the gate, across the road to call out our numbers and head into the tent. Ross comments that he's pretty glad he didn't get kicked in the face and I wholeheartedly agree.
This one has quite an array of food. I again fill up my bottle, however leave out the electrolytes as I've still only half finished the last lot; although this time I do take the chance to top up my second bottle as that is also down to about half. I scan the table and head straight for the savoury foods. There are quartered ham sandwiches, which I grab two of and a couple of cherry tomatoes and call out to the boys that I'm going to start walking and will see them in a couple of minutes when they catch me. I head off through a gate and there are again horse riders coming through so I hold the gate open for them to pass and as I'm going through Jens catches up and calls out that I'm a gentleman.
We're straight back into another uphill and are both relieved that the Centurion team seem to have placed the stations quite strategically at the bottom of a hill so you can take a bit of a walk and eat your food. I get through the sandwiches and although the margarine is good for helping to get the sandwiches down with a dry mouth it is a little sickly but, no matter, they go down a treat. Then I pop a little ol' cherry tomato in and I swear a little bit of heaven opens up into my mouth. I gobble down the other one then am gutted I didn't grab more. The food gives me quite a boost and I feel some of the tiredness going away. I also notice that the previous soreness from my shoes is getting better and the hot spot doesn't seem to be developing so it's looking like I may be in the clear on that front as well. There is now another nice downhill section which is then followed straight up by, according to Jens' course profile, the third major climb of the day.
As usual, Ross catches us back up again on the hill soon after and, with Jens a little ahead talking to another runner, I run with Ross for a while. Soon enough, he's feeling a bit stronger and decides to press on a bit further so I run ahead to catch up with both him and Jens and we continue running on up the hill. It's the third climb of the day though and I'm now really starting to feel it so am glad when eventually they slow for a bit but can feel that I am just about at the point where I need to let them go and slow down myself to avoid hitting the wall. Eventually they do continue running along and I'm sad to see them go but glad they're feeling strong enough to do so. I mentally wish them both a good race, knowing it's unlikely I'll see either of them again today.
In an odd turn of events, next to Jens' disappearing back is another runner who I'm sure I recognise. I jog ahead a little to catch up with him and realise that it is indeed Nick, who I ran with for quite a long early section of the Country to Capital in January before being at the same point as I am now with Jens and Ross and deciding to let him continue on. At the Country to Capital I then went into a pretty bad spiral into a wall so I'm pretty hopeful that's not going to happen today. I think I'm easing off at a good point to allow that not to happen.
I say hello and between the last time we met and now we found out we actually know someone in common, myself through work and him through sailing so I fall into step with him on yet another race, although am thinking I'll probably need to let him go again soon, knowing that he's faster than I am. This time around though, he mentions he's tested out going out hard at the beginning rather than evenly pacing and has ended up spending the last few kilometres walking. Soon enough we reach the top and get moving again, breaking into a canter and almost straight away find that things are not all okay.
Unfortunately Nick's knee has been giving him a bit of grief and seems to cause him a bit of soreness now. Then his knee jerks back and he has to stop. I stop as well, hoping it's just a little niggle but his face suggests otherwise. We walk a minute or two again then try for another run but to no avail as his knee seems to be tweaking in all the wrong places. I ask him if he's okay and he grimaces back at me although I don't see any fear in there so can tell mentally he's still coping okay but probably just a bit on the frustrated side. We carry on walking a bit and I check the GPS map on my phone and mention that we're only about six or seven kilometres from the halfway aid station so he should be able to take it easy until there, get someone to look at it and hopefully get the all clear to carry on.
Unfortunately Nick's knee has been giving him a bit of grief and seems to cause him a bit of soreness now. Then his knee jerks back and he has to stop. I stop as well, hoping it's just a little niggle but his face suggests otherwise. We walk a minute or two again then try for another run but to no avail as his knee seems to be tweaking in all the wrong places. I ask him if he's okay and he grimaces back at me although I don't see any fear in there so can tell mentally he's still coping okay but probably just a bit on the frustrated side. We carry on walking a bit and I check the GPS map on my phone and mention that we're only about six or seven kilometres from the halfway aid station so he should be able to take it easy until there, get someone to look at it and hopefully get the all clear to carry on.
I feel incredibly guilty doing it but at this point I do ask once more if he's okay then carry on myself down the hill, shouting back that I'll no doubt see him when he catches me back up at some point. I'm extremely hopeful that will be the case and that his knee is alright. I catch up to the next person and run with him for a while, a friendly Brazilian chap on his first sizeable ultra and we spend a few kilometres together although quite happily end up just enjoying the scenery for most of it.
The next section is pretty steadily downhill for a fair few kilometres and I realise that I'm definitely now onto a section I've run before. In the summer last year I came down to Eastbourne after work one Friday and did a solo sixty kilometres back along the South Downs Way. It's quite nice to recognise the area and in particular to be going down rather than up this hill as I remember it being one of the most horrible slogs at two in the morning last time. We reach a small but really steep climb and I continue on ahead, mentally bidding adieu to the Brazilian guy and wishing him a good race. I reach the bottom at the main road and turn into the farm house that has been set up as the halfway, marathon point aid station at Housdean Farm. I quickly top up my bottles, grab a sandwich and three cherry tomatoes and am off on my merry way once more.
The next section is pretty steadily downhill for a fair few kilometres and I realise that I'm definitely now onto a section I've run before. In the summer last year I came down to Eastbourne after work one Friday and did a solo sixty kilometres back along the South Downs Way. It's quite nice to recognise the area and in particular to be going down rather than up this hill as I remember it being one of the most horrible slogs at two in the morning last time. We reach a small but really steep climb and I continue on ahead, mentally bidding adieu to the Brazilian guy and wishing him a good race. I reach the bottom at the main road and turn into the farm house that has been set up as the halfway, marathon point aid station at Housdean Farm. I quickly top up my bottles, grab a sandwich and three cherry tomatoes and am off on my merry way once more.
I go over the bridge crossing the road and on the other side see Laureda, who I know from having bumped into on both the Steyning Stinger and the Endurancelife CTS Exmoor Ultra last year and have kept in touch with since, coming back the other way. I know she has been struggling with injury in recent months so know that seeing her coming back towards me is not a good sign. I give a wave and she gives back her usual big grin, before a look of surprise realising it's someone she knows and then finally a look to say that unfortunately she is on her way back to drop out of the race.
I stop for a couple of minutes and she explains that her injury has been playing up the whole race and I agree that it would just be silly to continue on as I know that she has a really busy few months ahead with a three month running holiday coming up and there's no point in breaking herself just for this race. She does give a big smile though at the fact that she's got to the marathon point and we say our goodbyes. I'm absolutely gutted for her but know it's the right decision and glad to see it looks like she's made a well informed decision rather than just trying to push through and risk serious health issues.
I stop for a couple of minutes and she explains that her injury has been playing up the whole race and I agree that it would just be silly to continue on as I know that she has a really busy few months ahead with a three month running holiday coming up and there's no point in breaking herself just for this race. She does give a big smile though at the fact that she's got to the marathon point and we say our goodbyes. I'm absolutely gutted for her but know it's the right decision and glad to see it looks like she's made a well informed decision rather than just trying to push through and risk serious health issues.
I carry on back down the other side of the bridge and round into a field extremely vibrant and full of rapeseed and note that for the first real time in this race so far I am on my own without another runner in my immediate vicinity. As much as I've really been enjoying the company it's also quite nice to have a time on my own and do some checks mentally. How are my legs? Fine. Feet? Fine, no blisters and the shoes are feeling comfortable now. Stomach? Pretty good now I've got some more cherry tomatoes in it. Mind? Absolutely resolute.
I feel amazing and ready to tackle the second half of this beast. I check my phone and let Jess know I'm okay and doing well. The thought that she is keeping an eye on my progress and her unrelenting support and help; coupled also the thought of my families support means a lot and I'm reminded of it at this point. I put it out of my mind though, preferring to run a mental game for now and I'll tap into the emotional reserves later to mentally get me through and provide a boost when I'll need it more.
I also check the pace calculator that I'm using as a rough guide for the race, which is based on last years results and incorporates the inevitable slowing down of a runner and note that sadly I went through the last checkpoint around ten or fifteen minutes slower than I needed to to reach my sub ten dream goal. But that is the point of those goals and I still don't give up entirely as I'm feeling pretty damn good so can maybe claw that back a little.
I feel amazing and ready to tackle the second half of this beast. I check my phone and let Jess know I'm okay and doing well. The thought that she is keeping an eye on my progress and her unrelenting support and help; coupled also the thought of my families support means a lot and I'm reminded of it at this point. I put it out of my mind though, preferring to run a mental game for now and I'll tap into the emotional reserves later to mentally get me through and provide a boost when I'll need it more.
I also check the pace calculator that I'm using as a rough guide for the race, which is based on last years results and incorporates the inevitable slowing down of a runner and note that sadly I went through the last checkpoint around ten or fifteen minutes slower than I needed to to reach my sub ten dream goal. But that is the point of those goals and I still don't give up entirely as I'm feeling pretty damn good so can maybe claw that back a little.
The next section is pretty straightforward with a lot of time spent on my own and just enjoying the scenery and being in such a stunning place doing such a nice race. As we're coming away from an aid station there is, you guessed it, another climb for quite a while up to about forty seven kilometres and the wind is definitely getting a bit more full on. I take a moment to put my mid layer back on as it feels like it's about time to do so and continue on my way. At this point up the top here there is a section of paved but broken farm road, with fields on either side and rolling fog coming over us. It's a really nice section to move along with again the bright yellow flowers to the right. It's a fairly nice little mental boost. I reach the end of this area then there is a left turn and it's a few kilometres of downhill running to contend with. I still want to just open up on this section but still know it's really silly to even consider it and to be honest it is starting to hurt quite a bit as my legs continually slam into the ground below.
Eventually I reach the bottom of the section with a long straight farm track heading off to the side and remember last time I was at this point here on the night run feeling absolutely dead and that I should give up, having only done about thirty kilometres. Today I feel pretty damn good. That last descent has definitely taken a bit out of me, being quite lengthy, but I don't slow and press on down the farm road still running as I know there is going to be a climb at the other end which I can use for a walk and recover. Which is exactly what I do. When I reach the gate at the other end I'm quite pleased with myself for having kept going. The climb following is actually very tiny so I'm soon back on the flat and again go over a bridge which I remember last time thinking there was a nuclear fallout going on due to the dust particles in the middle of the night. As it is then followed by Southease station I reach the gate then go up and over the overbridge, taking a moment to have a quick stretch on the steps on the way up before coming down the other side and seeing another runner just go straight across the tracks. Bugger. Should have been using my eyes rather than my memory on that one clearly.
He takes the piss out of my mistake and within a minute we reach the Southease aid station. I head over and have a nice cup of coke, fill my bottles and get my now usual quarter sandwich and three cherry tomatoes. As I'm fiddling about with my bottles I look up and low and behold there is Nick, obviously having got through the knee pain which I'm really pleased about. I ask how he's doing and he says he's fine so long as he takes it easy, which must have been pretty hard on that lengthy downhill just a while ago.
I set off again and find the same runner who was laughing at me going over the tracks rather than through them now incredulous that I'm eating a sandwich. I point out my theory of staying off the sugar train as long as I can as, put simply, doing it this way leads to less vomiting and also more sustained energy. I once again check the pace calculator and once again am only ten minutes over where I need to be so it looks like going under ten and a half hours is still possible. I don't dare hope when there is still so far left but it's still going okay so who knows?
I set off again and find the same runner who was laughing at me going over the tracks rather than through them now incredulous that I'm eating a sandwich. I point out my theory of staying off the sugar train as long as I can as, put simply, doing it this way leads to less vomiting and also more sustained energy. I once again check the pace calculator and once again am only ten minutes over where I need to be so it looks like going under ten and a half hours is still possible. I don't dare hope when there is still so far left but it's still going okay so who knows?
We're soon onto another hill, but this time it isn't willing to end after a few minutes like the last couple. I fall in with a couple of guys who are workmates, one of whom has done this before, and we're all feeling pretty good now being into the home stretch with not too much over a half marathon to go. As one of them has done it before he points out that this hill is long. The gift that keeps on giving. This one is about two hundred and ten metres climb over the next seven kilometres, with a smallish dip in the middle. I'm still feeling good though and, dare I say it, am actually enjoying these hills as it's a guilt free walking break. Not to mention the fact that it is using different muscles so doesn't hurt in the same way. We slog away at this section for a good hour or so and just near the top Nick catches back up and plods along ahead, feeling more comfortable doing his running on the uphills and the walking on the downhills. I wish him luck.
Soon after the dip near the top of this section I'm feeling a bit better so go on ahead and catch up to Nick instead and decide to run with him for a while, fancying some company again. He almost straight away says that he's not a very good running buddy and I tell him I'm not too bothered and quite happy to use the run and walking pace for a while to save my legs for the end. In reality he's still managing quite a good pace. We end up getting quite a good rhythm going, basically a few minutes running and a couple of minutes of walking. I also get him to hold my bag so I can put my jacket on as I don't expect we're going to be going through very many valleys out of the wind until the end so figure it's about time I fully rug up. Nick's a little annoyed with not being able to run much of the downhill section but to be honest I'm quite happy with the pace, feeling like it's quite sustainable rather than still trying to keep going hard and then blowing up.
Again though, we reach a lengthy downhill section and I decide to continue on to capitalise on feeling good so press on ahead. My legs are still in a good place so I allow them to have a little taste of speed on this one and eventually make my way into Alfriston for the second to last aid station. This one is in a church hall so I fill my bottles and then have an epiphany when I realise I'm indoors and that means they have a toilet. There's not even a queue and it's not even disgusting like most toilets are along the route of a trail race. But anyway, you probably don't want to know about that.
I leave again, grabbing just a sandwich this time as there are sadly no cherry tomatoes, and move along my merry way. I check with a marshal first the distances and I've got around four and a half miles until the next one then it's around five until the finish. Unfortunately I'm operating in kilometres, which normally I'm pretty good with working out the conversions of, however I have just run over one and a half marathons so my brain isn't working that well. It takes a few minutes to do some pretty basic maths.
I leave again, grabbing just a sandwich this time as there are sadly no cherry tomatoes, and move along my merry way. I check with a marshal first the distances and I've got around four and a half miles until the next one then it's around five until the finish. Unfortunately I'm operating in kilometres, which normally I'm pretty good with working out the conversions of, however I have just run over one and a half marathons so my brain isn't working that well. It takes a few minutes to do some pretty basic maths.
I also check the pace calculator and have about an hour to the next checkpoint and another hour to the finish. To be more specific there is one hour and fifty five minutes left to do approximately thirteen or fourteen kilometres. Somewhere around seven kilometres an hour. This wouldn't be impossible normally but as there are still two big climbs to go I'm still expecting to be struggling for a ten and a half hour finish. But things are looking pretty damn good for a solid finish either way.
It's a pretty solid climb now and I just put my head down and trudge up it, gritting my teeth along the way. At some point along here Nick and I again join forces and this time stick together on the downhill over the other side. Again we give it a few minutes running to be followed by a couple of minutes walking. This downhill section is actually quite steep so it's probably a smart move not to hammer it too much as that, whilst tempting, would probably do a number on these now quite considerably sore legs and make the final section a damn hard slog. So instead we play it a bit safer and coast our way into Jevington and the final aid station. Nick decides to cruise on ahead, saying he'll see me on the next downhill but I expect this may be the last I see of him this close to the finish.
I quickly go in, fill my bottles and it's clear a lot of runners have followed Nick's lead and just gone straight through as I'm the only one here. I'm offered and accept a cup of tea however it's quite hot and I don't really want to hang around. Especially as I'm informed it's four point three miles to the finish. I try to work it out but neither me nor the aid station volunteer can work it out so I give up and go with seven kilometres. Another runner comes in and asks for one. I offer him mine, which I've taken about one sip out of and he looks at me as if I've flung a dog poo at him and declines. I shrug and put it down on the table, use the bathroom quickly, grab three cherry tomatoes and am off again, not sure if I should have bothered to stop here. The peace of mind at having a full bottle of electrolytes is good though.
Around the corner and I'm on to the final climb. Fifty five minutes to go and seven kilometres if I want to go under ten hours. It's not going to be possible but ten and a half is looking like I almost have it in the bag. There aren't really any other runners around at this point and it's now where I realise that at the top of this hill, the one I can see just ahead of me, I'll be able to see the finish line. I'm the type of runner who likes to run with their heart. Often the thought of the support of my family and friends can be a huge support and boost me through. There have been some points through the day where it has crossed my mind but I've purposely avoided thinking of these things, preferring to run a mental game until I needed a boost of positivity.
That time is now. This is the payoff moment. On this final climb I allow myself to remember all the help and support I've received lately, particularly from Jess. I think of the events that have led to me getting to this point, with a pretty full on year and a huge amount of issues with my confidence in my running after pulling out of the Wall race in June last year at one hundred of one hundred and eleven kilometres, followed by a disastrous navigational error at the Caesars Camp fifty mile run meaning I did an extra ten kilometres and dropped from halfway up the field to last place, eventually death-marching to the finish just over the cut off. But today is the day I put that to bed. Today I listened to my body rather than doubting it. Today I put that self defeating voice in my head to one side. Today I believed in myself from the beginning. I can't help myself but I get a bit emotional as I crest the hill and see the final trig point, signifying my final descent into the finish line.
I pass by, still feeling emotional but now moving over the top of the hill I feel butterflies in my stomach as I can see the athletics ground in the distance. I turn left down the singletrack and finally it's time to let go and descend like the ape I am. I crank up the pace and take off, arms akimbo. My body flies down the hill but in my minds eye I soar above it. I slam down the track, eventually seeing Nick in the distance and call out to him that we are nearly there then soon after pass another runner and whizz ahead, my shins being whipped by errant vines on the side of the trail. It feels amazing to finally allow myself the opportunity to really descend with abandon. It's a shame when I reach the bottom soon after with heart in my throat.
I ease the pace considerably as I come out onto a street and move back into suburbia. The runner I just passed is not far behind me so I slow a little and start a conversation. I check my map and tell him that we only have two or three kilometres to go an that we're currently at nine and a half hours. It looks like we may make it. We soon reach the final marshal who confirms we only have a little over a mile to go. I turn to him and ask if he wants to just run it in together which he looks quite happy to do. I figure this saves trying to keep up with or race anyone plus we have someone to talk to on this final section. We take a bit of a walking break at one point and round the final bends chatting away. He tells me he hasn't done any races in a few years as he got married and had a child and that, whilst a lot of people make it fit, he didn't want to. I tell him that's commendable putting his child first, that not everyone would and I actually mean it. It's a nice reminder and particularly poignant at the end of a race that running isn't everything and you need to make sure you keep a healthy balance of all the different aspects of your life.
With that we take a wrong turn, the first of the day, which I'm pretty pleased with, quickly rectify it and head in onto the athletics track for a victory lap and cross under the finish banner.
In nine hours and fifty four minutes. Proof that if you believe in yourself...sometimes dreams can come true.
I collect my medal, go inside and am informed by Nici, one of the organisers, that there are showers which is absolutely amazing. I do have a shower but unfortunately have severe cramps as I'm getting out which means that getting dried and changed is logistically a horrible, painful and compromising situation for me; not to mention probably pretty funny for the rest of the people getting changed. To top it all off I get a call from Jess to tell me that she's surprised me and is here to see me finish. Unfortunately though, I was a little early.