Written by Steveland Surridge - http://ultrarunningdaddy.blogspot.co.uk
Last Saturday I ran the most difficult race of my life, the North Downs Way 50. I knew it was going to be a toughie, four weeks after Manchester marathon, which itself was four weeks after Canalathon 100k. I went into the weekend feeling good, I felt strong, and even though training has been somewhat inadequate, I considered those races ideal preparation. Looking at the elevation profile of the race, I knew the hills were going to be the sticking point, but I figured I'd deal with them when I got there.
The day before the race went rather well, with Lyzzi and I "passing" our marriage interview with the registrar, and having a nice meal at a pub local to the race start. Back at the excessively nice room, Lyzzi had a bath and told me to come and feel. No, not like that, I was feeling where the baby is, and after a couple of moments of nothing happening, I gave a little prod of encouragement. What happened completely blew my mind. I put my hand back on the bump, and immediately felt a kick with such force that my hand literally jumped off! Previously, there had been no indication to myself that anything was happening in there, and I thought my introduction to Pumpkin's physical presence and movement was going to be a little more gentle. The first kick is a moment I will never forget, I'm sure I've already mentioned that I'm quite emotional, and it should come as no surprise that (yet again) I bawled my head off. No words will capture what I felt in that moment, such a greeting that will possibly never be beaten except from the first outside light that our child witnesses.
With the sheer joy of that moment fresh in my heart, I set off at 8am on Saturday morning from the start of the North Downs Way at Farnham to make my way to Knockholt Pound and untold glory (a medal and a t-shirt).
As I've already told you, it was literally the most difficult race of my life. Within a few miles, the newer model of my old, beaten up, faithful ultra trainers had started rubbing and I knew the signs that they weren't going to cut it for the day. The only other trainers I had with me were my zero-drop Salomon trainers that I really hadn't put anything more than 10 miles in as I'm nothing of a forefoot striker or barefoot kind of guy. Still, at the first point agreed with crew at mile 14ish, I changed into them and although the blister damage was done with a huge blood blister on my left foot and a huge regular one on the right, I immediately felt a million times better.
But as is the case with ultras, there's always something lurking to catch you off guard, or even if you're aware, it'll catch you when you least expect it. Within a few miles I felt knackered, downtrodden, and generally really f'in miserable. My pace hadn't been particularly crazy, I'd been walking the major uphills, hammering the downhills because that's what I love and am usually pretty nifty at. In short, following all my previous ultra experience. Even doing so, I'd noticeably slowed. My crew made an unplanned stop at 21 miles, which pretty much saved my race. I sat down on the floor, changed socks, cramped up really badly in one leg, punched it off, cramped up worse in the other leg, rolled about a bit in agony, and after massaging it all off, put some calf compression on that I hadn't previously had, and decided that if I could get up without anyone's assistance, the race was back on. 5 minutes later I was hammering it gloriously downhill for almost an uninterrupted beautiful 2 miles. My body got back into it in a big way, and, more importantly, my head.
Box Hill. What can I say about Box Hill? Steps. Lots and lots of bloody steps. After 24 miles, you're suddenly assaulted by this behemoth of an incline that is just relentless. Still, at least the trees gave some shade from the hideous Sun. Did I mention views? This race has a tonne of them. Many are literally breathtaking, and at the top was yet another of these waiting to be had. Along with a half hour wait as my crew were looking for blister plasters for me. I can't complain, they brought me the plasters, I got a rest, and then carried on a lot faster because of it.
From there it was all a head game. My legs and feet had found their stride, I just had to will myself to keep going. Mile by hilly mile went by, slowly but surely. Aid stations came and went, crew points passed, bridge over the M25 occurred somewhat abruptly. All the while basking in the disgusting heat that only the best of British can offer us. On any other day, ANY other day, I'd have been grateful, but not that day. The sun could kindly have done one. But it didn't.
From the aid station around mile 31 to the end, I kept passing people. Admittedly most of them had passed me on Box Hill while I chilled out, but mentally it felt great and kept my spirits high. The last 9 miles were hard, lonely, slow. At one point I looked to my right and had possibly the most spectacular view of the entire race, I stopped. I drew a breath, and I shed a tear. The past couple of months hit me all at once, the racing, the baby preparations, the proposal at a cross country race that I'm still really surprised I got a "yes" to. The significance of it all, and the insignificance of a solitary soul out on the trail late on a Spring Saturday evening.
The ending gantry was in sight, but I knew from previous conversation I had a fair way to go. Now there was some semblance of civilisation again after several long, slow miles I managed to pick it up to the end. Across the field, out on to the road, round the corner by the pub, people cheering. Turning the last corner there was one last uphill, a last sadistic twist of the knife by the (admittedly brilliant) race organisers, Pausing for breath just out of view, I mustered the strength for one final climb and ran like a slow motion action hero jumping out of a building about to blow up. Well, that's how I pictured it. Maybe it was just slow motion, in real time, not out of a building, or like an action hero.
I finished in 11:42:40, just a little outside my somewhat ambitious target of 10 hours. A word of warning if you ever consider entering this: the hills will find you out. Train for them, train long and hard on every hill you can, because they will find you, and they will kill you. This was my best race finish to date, the best t-shirt and medal I'll receive for possibly a very long time, and the most proud moment of my life.
Until today. Today, I found out the gender of Pumpkin. That's the most proud I'll ever be of myself. But it's not for anyone else to know yet, just me, and my support crew.