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

Race Winners:

Male: Marco Consani 15:03:43

Female: Sarah Morwood 17.22.15

Winter 100 was originally later in the year – November/December time. I’m not fully sure why it has changed dates, but it may well be due to the fickle Mother Thames spilling her banks and causing havoc with the race route. The race was brought forward and the Thames Path 100 date was put back for the same reason.

But what’s in a name, would your feet hurt as much if called by any other? Asked pioneering ultra runner William Shakespeare.

Basically, it meant we had more daylight and the weather should be more agreeable. In fact the weather was supposed to be warm with a deluge for hours and hours, with a nice Sunday. It turned out to be warm, with a warm wind and about an hour’s rain in the middle of the night.

The route

Think of a cross and at the centre is Goring Village Hall in West Berkshire. It’s a great concept as the Ridgeway and Thames’ Path National Trails cross here. Basically, you take it in turns doing out and backs from Goring to run up the Thames Path to Little Whittenham, out to Swyncombe on the Ridgeway, then Chain Hill on the Ridgeway and, finally, Reading along the Thames Path. Each leg is 25 miles in total.

This is a unique race for Centurion as their other three 100-milers are A to B routes. The bonus of this race is that you can return to your drop bag three times in the race. The downside of it is that dropping from the race every 25 miles is rather tempting. Tiredness kicks in and the joy of Goring Village Hall can be all too tempting, almost like Sirens singing you to your doom! So, major plan – get in, turn around and get out. ASAP.

Six weeks ago this was me finishing the Ridgeway

I’d torn my hip flexor up pretty badlly, so my physio had a huge job on her hands to get me sorted and fit enough to do the 100.  Thankfully, she gave me the all clear, but I was still in fear of it tearing again.  Thankfully it didn’t, but it was going to be a very tentative run.  My biggest aim in this race, apart from finishing, was not to sit down, as I blamed that for my hip-flexor injury.

I didn’t sleep amazingly well the night before, but that’s pretty standard. Goring isn’t too far away from home for me, so I didn’t have to be up too early. Start time was 10am. I parked up and went to have my race-kit check, I picked up my race number and sat down and waited for the start. I briefly chatted with Katharine Ganly and also to Paul Ali who compiles the Ultra Tales e-zine. I’d not met Paul before, but sent him a few blogs for Ultra Tales so he introduced himself (he went on to have a fantastic run and a PB).

The Grand Slam

As I mentioned earlier, Centurion Running put on four 100-milers and if you do all four in the calendar year, you are a Grand Slammer, for which you are awarded a commemorative buckle. There were 17 from an original 45 that were going for it and 16 finished, so congratulations to them.   It’s not just doing the races, but staying fit and injury free that makes it difficult. No mean feat.

Spur One Little Whittenham

We came out of the village hall and crossed the road to assemble for the start outside the Morrell Rooms.

Bang on 10am we were off. I waited for everyone to go past. My only ambition was to finish, so I was more than happy to plant myself at the back, I was hoping for around 5 hours for this section. I couldn’t believe how quickly everyone went off. The ground had had a bit of a soaking in the past few weeks, so with many runners planting their feet, things quickly got a bit squelchy in places.

We went past some rather bemused looking people with shotguns, clearly we were disturbing their fun…

I felt pretty tired already and the cloying, churned up mud wasn’t helping. It was going to be a long slog. I did eventually reach Wallingford and the first aid station. I didn’t stop too long, just had a nibble and water refill, thanks then away. A kind local near here told us the right way as it appeared that someone had moved a marker further up the road. I was possibly still 3 or 4 miles out of Little Whittenham when Ed Catmur went past on the return, so he was already 6-8 miles ahead! Marco Consani wasn’t too far behind. I got out of their way and clapped and encouraged them. Ed was clearly in the zone, but Marco looked like he was on a Sunday jolly and gave me loads of encouragement. I could eventually see the Centurion marquee that marked Little Whittenham. My choice of food here was boiled eggs with a salt dip.  Sadly, quaffed with coke it meant for some hearty eggy-belches on the way back. The forecast for about the first 6 hours was to be a hearty deluge, but the rain never came. It was actually very warm and a warm wind blowing as well. The return leg was generally uneventful except for a muddy bit, which had seen the best part of 150 runners slop over it going out, then coming back as well. I hit the ground with a slop and a nettle sting for my trouble. No one about, no harm done! I came back to Goring in about 5.15, so not bad, but I just didn’t feel great. The guys in the village hall – Mark and Ashok – were amazing asking if I wanted my drop bag, cup of tea or anything else. I felt a bit like dropping at this point, but I was quite surprised to see someone handing Nici their race number and dropping for real and I just thought, no way, not yet. I’d developed a hotspot on my heel, so slopped some Vaseline on and out onto spur 2.

Spur 2 Swyncombe

If I was looking forward to one of the spurs, it was this one. Really bucolic, quiet and I love the downhill gradient of Grim’s ditch. You set off from this spur on the river bank opposite the one you’ve just come in on, I had a brief chat with a local chap who was trimming his hedge and he asked what we were all doing and he wished me luck. I left Goring and headed to North Stoke which was only four miles. You pass through South Stoke, then under a railway bridge and out onto a meadow where an enormous goose house-meeting was going on – vast numbers of them. It was in this meadowy bit that Marco Consani went past me (coming the other way) – already 20 miles+ ahead and again gave me loads of encouragement. He had clearly just taken the lead as Ed Catmur went past not far behind. It’s along here that you leave the Thames and just by is a WWII pillbox. There are plenty of these along the Thames, but this is one of the few that I can understand its placing. If the Germans had invaded and decided to storm up the Thames, some of the pillboxes look, to me, like they would be in completely the wrong location to stave off an attack. I digress. Through North Stoke churchyard and into the village hall for a check point. As it was only four miles, I topped up my water and moved on and found myself on Grim’s Bank and on up through a largely gentle uphill gradient to Grim’s Ditch. Consulting that wealth of factual accuracy, Wikipedia, no one seems to know why the bank or ditch were constructed, but I find the place enchanting.

Through Nuffield and its golf course and into a muddy field. I saw Kath Ganly coming the other way here and she shouted:

“Luck up, you’re missing something beautiful!”

Well, I thought she was being a bit strong here, I know she’s beautiful, but demanding I look up and appreciate her….oh hang on, she was pointing over my shoulder.

She was right it was beautiful. Trail running takes you along some fantastic scenery, but a lot of the time we’re heads-down trying not to trip over stuff, but we need to remind ourselves, or in this case, be reminded, to stop and have a look at our surroundings once in a while. Good shout Katharine!

Not long afterwards I reached the Swyncombe Aid Station. They’d gone for a Hallowe’en theme which was great. It was a crepuscular time of evening, but not fully dark, which I’d hoped for, but it seemed a shame as they were just putting their multi-coloured lights on and it would have looked great in full dark.

So, headtorch on and turn around. Back onto the golf course trying not to get lost on it. Onto my favourite part, the downhill on Grim’s ditch. The shrill cries of the ubiquitous red kites and buzzards had been replaced by the cries of tawny owls and hoots of barn owls now it was dark, as I made my way down trying not to become a casualty of a tree root. Sadly I failed and jarred my big toe on one and I swore like a good ‘un. Not content with this I then did a full trip, with 360 twist, somersault face plant. It was quite impressive to be honest, but where’s an audience when you need one? I just ran downhill enjoying the experience as I had done 6 weeks earlier. When I reached the bottom, I must have been about 45 miles into the race and I suddenly felt completely drained of energy. I met Traviss Wilcox here and I would pretty much tread on his coat tails all the way to the finish for the most part. I walked to North Stoke checkpoint and took on sugary stuff in an attempt to get some energy. Thanked the guys there and walked for a bit and hoped the food would kick in. It didn’t really, I managed a bit of a jog through South Stoke and then the outskirts of Goring until I reached Goring Village Hall.

Half Way

Back in the village hall my blister was sore, the ton of Vaseline I’d daubed on it had failed to have an impact and once again the voice of drop started to creep in.

“How’re you doing?” asked Gary Dalton

“I feel a bit tired” I muttered

“Well, of course you do, you’ve just run 50 miles! Do you want a cup of tea?”

And that’s all it took. A few words of encouragement and I knew I’d be heading out. I also had a bit of soup, both pumpkin and chicken which Gary and Ashok kindly brought for me.

I was looking for some help to put a blister plaster on when James Adams went past. I don’t know him personally but I know him from blogs and FB posts.

“James, you’re quite rude!”

“Am I?”

Note to self: Richard, this is why no one likes you and you haven’t got any friends.

It came out horribly, the irony that it was me being rude by accusing someone else of being rude. What I’d meant was that I knew from his FB posts etc that he was someone who wasn’t afraid of speaking his mind. I wanted some help putting a blister plaster on as the blister was in an awkward part of my foot to do on my own. However, I’m aware that my feet would now be pretty manky and I hoped that if I asked someone to help me and they didn’t fancy it, they would simply say no rather being too polite. That’s what I meant. Just came out rather wrong! Suffice to say James helped me with the plaster for which I am very grateful. And sorry for saying that, I’m so embarrassed.

Spur 3 Chain Hill

I put my base layer on then went out into the night across the bridge through Streatley and a long road before going uphill to the Ridgey part of the Ridgeway. Quite a few runners were coming down the hill at this point and I said well done and someone said “keep going Rich!” It was full dark – how had they known it was me? It must have been Paul Ali as he was the only one that knew me, but I’d only just met him at the start! Maybe it’s my distinctive monotone that sounds like I’m delivering a haunting eulogy when I’m trying to give a cheerful Christening speech. Who knows? The runners had past and I could hear foxes barking away.

A long climb took me to the top and it was around here, many years ago, at the Battle of Ashdown that the local boy – King Alfred – made good by sending the Danes back to Reading and there they stayed and peace was made between the Saxons and the Vikings. I’ve seen metal detecting nerds around this area. I like a bit of history and I wonder if these guys find anything to do with that period.

Plodding onwards I went under the A34 (underpass) and before long I came to the Bury Downs CP where I was met by a headless chicken. Well, a chicken with Rich Cranswick’s head anyway. He was of course in his chicken suit, but he said he couldn’t see a thing with the head on. Bury Downs is a remote windy hole of a place, usually pretty cold, but it was unseasonally warm with a very mild wind and Rich said he’d got any number of base layers on, so he was literally a roasted chicken. The food of choice for me here was a simple cheese and tomato wrap – absolute ambrosia – went down a treat, sometimes it’s the simple things in life.

Out to Chain Hill CP and lots of lights (runners) coming the other way, and lots of encouragement from all. Chain Hill CP was lit up well with rave music going on and the guys were all wearing hula skirts. One of the guys asked me how I was doing and I said I was finding it harder and harder to run and that walking was taking over. The guy replied that that’s what happens at ultras and then he went on in an incredibly passionate way about keeping going even if it meant walking to have that buckle in your hand at the end. I hadn’t really thought too much about the finish buckle, but what he said and the way he said it helped me greatly later on. I’m not sure who he was but a massive thank you to you. (I know from FB posts that Barry Miller, Justin Lovstrom and Martin Pether were there).

It was a bit of a hike back passing through Bury Downs again and back up to the Ashdown area. I know the Ridgeway pretty well, but I found myself going uphill and waiting for the bit that starts heading down towards Streatley. Well, this hill keeps on giving, I thought. And giving. Hang on, this isn’t right. I’d gone the wrong way. I clearly didn’t know the Ridgeway as well as I thought. Thankfully I knew it well enough that I was in the wrong place though. I started to run back to re-trace my steps. I reckon it was a mile or two wasted. Like I needed that. I was relieved and calm to find the right way again, but annoyed as I was hoping to run down the hill to Streatley, but any energy was now gone. It was now raining, but this only lasted about an hour and considering the deluge that was forecast I didn’t mind at all. Having stuffed no end of food down my neck, my stomach had now decided it wasn’t happy and started to cramp a bit. I’ll wait until I get back to Goring and sort it. No you won’t, said my stomach. Okay. Thankfully it was dark!

Spur 4 Reading

Back in the comfort of Goring I was surprised to see Chris Mills, who was doing his first 100 miler as well. He had looked to be running really well earlier, so I hadn’t expected to see him and thought, wow, he’s bossed it. I asked him if he’d finished, but he said he’d had to drop sadly (ITB problems I think). I turned to sort some stuff from my drop bag and the urge to drop reared its head again. Would it be so bad? 75 miles isn’t too shabby. It’s warm in here, you haven’t sat down yet. Look at that comfy chair. Drop. Yes, drop.

“Chilli?”

“Pardon? Oh, yes please.”

I didn’t really want to eat, but knew it would do me good (and it tasted excellent). Whilst eating I started thinking about the passion the guy from Chain Hill had spoken of about finishing and holding the buckle. Finishing the chilli, I knew I was heading out the door. I changed my shoes to road ones and then one foot in front of the other – I’m going!

There’s a nice river bank walk out of Goring followed by a field, you go under a railway bridge (where I saw a rat scurrying about) and then a trail – full of sloppy mud. With my road shoes on I was slopping about all over the place and getting really annoyed and mincing my way through it. Thankfully it didn’t last too long and the ground started rising up through Hartslock Wood where the ground was firmer. Daylight was coming thick and fast when I came across these:

It reminded me of Boxhill, but these weren’t a very long flight thankfully. Along a road and down to Whitchurch, but then I had to turn back up hill to the check point. I still hadn’t sat down and my back was compressing quite badly at the base.  Just sitting down would take the pressure off, but there was no way I was risking injuring my hip-flexors at this stage. Suffice to say I was looking haggard and one of the runners who I assume was on his way back for a sub-24 finish tried a bit of banter with me saying something about, “look at you, I bet you were all keen and eager when you signed up”. I didn’t answer and it felt like a tumbleweed moment as there were quite a few in the room at the time. I saw him look up as if to say, “oops, sense of humour failure”. To be honest it was more just a senses failure. I just couldn’t think of anything to reply with! I managed a bit of food and drink and got my coat.

Across Pangbourne Meadows and through a housing estate in Purley, then I came across a sign with Welcome to Reading on it, must be near the end one would think. Well don’t be fooled, it would be like a Welcome to London sign in Slough.

Down some railway bridge steps then onto the river path again. This bit was pretty scummy to be honest, loads of junk food cartons and cans. Stark contrast about a mile along the river on Reading Promenade – some absolutely amazing houses. And then, finally, Reading. I still had to get to the other side, under two bridges and then over a bridge to the CP. More stairs up but worth it for the tomato risotto balls (apparently made by Lisa – thank you Lisa). I thought they were Scotch eggs at first. They were excellent. I moaned at the lady volunteer how I was finding that I was running out of energy after about four miles so she very kindly got me a doggy bag to carry some food. Thank you, thank you.

My wife had been following the Live Updates on-line and she wanted to know when I left Reading, so I text her and said I would be about four hours until I finished. It was a long slog, but I thought that now every step I took was heading to the end. I didn’t really like the Reading trek and I’d got a bit of a sulk on but when I got back to Pangbourne Meadows I thought, look up and enjoy the Thames meandering along and the trees changing colour, this is what it’s all about.

My final Check Point was back in Whitchurch where there was some very welcome flapjack – probably my favourite bit of food in these races, I again asked if I could take a few bits with me. I thanked everyone there especially as they were probably pretty desperate to get home at this point!

And then up through the wood again and finally it dawned on me something I didn’t dare believe until now – I was going to finish. The sun was out and walking through the wood made me feel really happy.

I dropped down to the boggy bit, squelch squirch, under ratty bridge and across the field swishy swashy – felt like I was going on a bear hunt.

And finally, the home straight along the willow-edged river bank to Goring.

“Is that daddy?”

What? Oh, amazing! I hadn’t expected to see them, but my wife and two of my boys (one was still playing football) had come to meet me. Usually this is a cue for waterworks and the Thames could have flood its banks had I blubbed, but I didn’t feel like crying, I felt, utter, utter joy. I can’t think of any other words for it. I actually smiled. Yes, read that last sentence again. I smiled. I even ran for about 10 metres. Then stopped and walked. Around a bend holding my boys’ hands and we ran up to the finish. I shook James Elson’s hand and went to check in with Nici.

“Did I win?” I asked

“Well take your time” she joked “you’ve just been getting value for money!”

Then she got up and gave me a hug, which was very kind as I must have smelled very ripe.

Ashok then gave me my buckle, I could finally hold it in my hand and I remembered what the guy said from Chain Hill. He was right.

As I was nearly last, there weren’t many people left so my family could come into the village hall. I could finally, after 28 hours and 23 minutes, sit down. Aaaaaaaaaaah yes! Ashok Daniel and Claire Shelley (I think) were really kind and got my boys a few treats and for me, a very welcome cup of tea.

It was great to sit down and look around. I waffle on to my wife all the time about the Centurion guys and it was nice for me to be able to point them out  to her – that’s James, that’s Nici, there’s Dick Kearn the GUCR RD, James Adams – he’s run across America, Drew Sheffield he’s run round Andorra. It was pointing these guys out that got me thinking how many miles have they travelled on foot between them and how much they have raised the profile and standard of ultra running in the UK (just take a look at the Centurion website to see how thorough everything is covered).

And so, with that thought in mind, I creaked out of my chair, shook hands with James again and thanked him for the place in exchange for hours volunteered offer.  I had blisters, my quads hurt, my hip flexors were in agony and the base of my spine comressed.  I won’t even mention the chafing.

So, that was it, I had, if unspectacularly, finished my first 100 miler. I am absolutely delighted that Mrs Hip-flexor and Mr Quad managed to patch up their trial separation and see me through to the end – it was no small part down to my physio Anna Jenkins – massive thanks for sorting it Anna. I would love to have a stab at running a bit more and go for a sub-24 hour, I know walking is part of it, but not half of it! I will probably have to join a running club to do that, I’m far too lazy to do the tempos and pyramid stuff by myself. Sadly, joining a running club will probably mean I have to talk and interact with people. Just imagine.

What did I like and not like – the out and backs is the answer to both questions. I hated thinking that I’ve got to go back the way I came and keep going, but by doing the out and backs you could see more runners and I think I can count on one hand the amount of people that didn’t encourage each other when passing, just a quick “keep going”, “well done” is all it took. I’ve mentioned as many people as I can and I hope I’ve got their names right, but what I’ve tried to convey is that due to the nature of the out and backs, this ultra was very much about the people (runners and volunteers alike) keeping each other going. I also liked and disliked going back to the village hall. It was good that we could have the same stuff in the drop bag, but it was really, really tempting to drop and it took a gargantuan effort every time to get out the door again – Gary really helped one time and Nici was making sure I wasn’t stopping long at one point – sometimes you need a boot up your backside to get you out again. And it wasn’t nice seeing people drop and handing their number over.

Thank-you time: Many thanks to James and Nici, we don’t see what goes on behind the scenes, but the races from the front run as smooth as clockwork, I can’t fault a thing. Massive thanks to all the aid stations, I think I’ve mentioned them all and everyone who helped me at Goring – Mark, Shawn (I think), Ashok, Claire, James and Gary. Thanks to the markers, sweepers, double sweepers and the IT guy who keeps the updates going. And if I’ve missed someone – apologies but thank you. Thanks to my wife for bringing the boys out, it really put the icing on the finishing cake seeing you all. Finally, thanks to the runners for all their words of encouragement on the way round.

I’d like to dedicate my race to two people:

My dad – for keeping tabs on me from the other side of the world

Tariq – my pacer that never was. A very fit cyclist, he wanted to come along and pace, but sadly tore up his Achilles in training for the pacing. I wish you a speedy recovery – I can’t help feeling partially responsible!