Written by Thomas Bubendorfer - http://rubbishrunner.blogspot.fr

I had heard of the Spartathlon well before most people. A magazine had a feature about the race from 1983, detailing the run of the athlete who ended up in fourth place. It must have been the first time I had become aware of the fact that there were races longer than even a marathon. I never once imagined I would ever be on the startline of any such race but the fact that I still remember the article 30 years later shows that it must have left a deep impression on me.

We were following in the footsteps of Pheidippides, an Athenian messenger who had been sent to Sparta to ask for help fighting the Persian invasion in 490 BC (and he did NOT drop down dead at the end). The race route was a reconstruction of his original route and even the fact that there was a 36 hours cut-off was down to the historical connection as Pheidippides had left Athens in the morning of one day and arrived in Sparta the evening of the next, which was interpreted as no more than 36 hours,

Thomas B, Thomas K, Don, Anto, Brian. Photo by Sparta Photography Club.

As you might now, my preparation had been severely hampered. Just as I was about to increase the intensity of training I injured a muscle in my hip that meant I missed all of July and half of August. I did a fair amount of cycling but as soon as I was able to start running again I realised just how much fitness I had lost and the 4 or 5 weeks or training I had left were never sufficient to make up for the lost time. Still, 5 or 6 weeks ago I was convinced the race would start without me but the next few weeks went very well, so making it to Athens with a reasonably trained body was actually a minor miracle in itself.

With Stelios. Photo by Niamh Swan.

There were plenty of Irish and Austrian team mates (I'm never quite sure what I can count as "my" team so I just include both - it's even better this way) and I knew a fair few of the British contingent as well, plus my friend from Taiwan, and I really hoped the best for every single one of them. We arrived at the foot of the Akropolis about half an hour before the start and upon seeing the fuss that was made about the runners commented to Brian and Don they should enjoy the celebrity lifestyle for the next 20 minutes. 10 seconds later a local man approached me, introduced himself as Stelios and told me that he had been following my running career for years and knew me better than any of the Greek runners. Talk about receiving an ego boost just before the start!

The start itself was rather low key (something like 3-2-1-go) and we went off without much fanfare. I hung back towards the end of the field and took it very, very easy. I had a few words with Anto but soon found my own rhythm. The first mile took 9:30 despite being rather steep downhill - excellent! One full mile into the race and I still had not done anything stupid!

The first few miles lead us straight through the centre of Athens. The police had stopped the morning commute traffic for us and if the drivers minded then we did not notice it. Some people waiting at bus stops shouted "bravo, bravo" for encouragement while others had that typical commuter-zombie stare into nothing.

Photo by Niamh Swan.

The elevation profile for the first 50 miles looks reasonably flat but that is entirely misleading. There is an early hill, still inside the Athenian suburbs, that is higher than the Hell of the West, though with fresh legs nobody was having any troubles yet. After the residential areas came more industrial ones and then the major dual carriageway leading us out of the Greek capital. So far the scenery had not been much to look at but after 10 miles it gradually changed into a much more idyllic landscape, we got off the motorway onto the old coast road and things improved significantly. Local school children were waiting along the road, excitedly holding out their hands for a high-5 and shouting encouragement. I had heard that this race means a lot to the Greeks - it sure showed!

Of course the sun rose behind us and after a couple of hours the rise in temperature became very much noticeable. The forecast had been for 28 degrees, and while this wasn't too bad for this latitude it sure seemed rather hot to someone used to half that during the lousy Irish summer we've just had. What was a problem for everyone was the unusually high humidity of 80%. It had been raining a couple of days before and now we got to feel the aftermath.

When running a race I never make pace charts. I always run by effort and with so many years of running in the legs know my body pretty well. I kept things very easy. Looking at the chart I can see that I never ran faster than 9 minutes for a while except for one single downhill mile that felt even easier. I don't know where I was in the field but I'm sure it was well inside the lower half. I had done the same in the World Championships in Turin before gradually working my way forward, and the field today consisted to a very large degree of the very same runners, with the overall quality being very much comparable.

Somewhere around the half-marathon point I caught up with an old friend, Ken Zemach from California, who 5 years ago had used a holiday in Ireland to run the inaugural Dingle Ultra (as you do) and we ended up running most of the first 30 miles either together or in close proximity to each other before he pulled away to finish strongly. It was really cool to run into him again in this race and we chatted for a little bit before I went ahead again on the next climb (just like the old times!). I was reasonably sure I would see him again soon enough.

Photo by Niamh Swan.

Just before the marathon point Niamh was at CP10, her bus taking a little break. I was feeling pretty good but the heat was starting to get to me. Cyril, Anto's dad, was here as well before they had to jump into the bus as it was leaving. CP11 in Megara marked the first marathon in 4:09, pretty much what I had expected, maybe a couple of minutes fast. It was at that point that I noticed that my shoe choice might not have been 100% ideal. My Skechers GoRun shoes are very light with very little cushioning, the way I prefer it, but as I found out here on dirt roads they let grit come into the shoe itself. I had only every used them on roads where that is not a problem. As I did not have a second pair (I never change my shoes in a race), I just had to get on with it. A mile or two outside Megara there was an empty portaloo and I went inside. I wasn't desperate for a pee but I sat down and got rid of the unwanted little stones inside my shoes - a blister was the last thing I needed at this point with 200k yet to come! Since I was in here anyway I did use the loo and noticed that my urine was rather dark (and if you think that is TMI then you don't know the first thing about ultra running - monitoring the colour of your urine is just about the most crucial thing you do outside running and nutrition). Most runners ran with either a backpack or a water bottle. I did not. I hate running with extra weight and every ounce counts, so I ran without. The CPs were on average 2 miles apart and I figured I could easily make do with what the race provides at these points. In the heat of Friday, however, I was obviously getting dehydrated and I resolved to drink more from here on.

Eddie Gallen. Photo by Niamh Swan.

The course was getting very hilly but I really enjoyed this jog along the beautiful Mediterranean countryside. I did, however, look left a few times across the Aegean sea and had to think of those poor people who were paying with their life savings and far too often their lives to cross that very stretch of water. Was what we were doing here entirely self-indulgent? Was the pain we were about to go through voluntarily a sign of being pampered by too many trappings of civilisation? Well, there are worse things than trying the lead a fit and healthy lifestyle (ok, healthy apart from when we're running an ultra, probably) and there is nothing shameful about trying find your own limits. And anyway, just by running here in this country we were supporting people that needed and deserved support in rather troubled economic times. I put my mind back to the race.

I had an ingenious idea to deal with the heat by putting ice cubes into the bandana I was wearing. They usually lasted until the next CP where I would replace them with new ones, at least on those CPs that had ice. Apart from that trick, I could feel that the heat training I had done in the previous 3 weeks was working - Ireland might have been cold but running with 4 layers had simulated hot and humid conditions very well and I could see that I was coping with the heat better than many others around me.

On a downhill a lady running just a few metres ahead of me stumbled and fell over. Three of us helped her up and she was fine, just said "that was rather silly of me" in a very English accent. It wasn't until the CP just around the corner that I saw her name on her bib - this was Mimi Anderson, the record holder for the run from Malin Head to Mizen Head. I told her I was a fan of her since that run and she thanked me but when I mentioned that I would have expected her to be far ahead of me she said how much the heat was getting to her. To be honest, she did not look good and I did not feel too optimistic about her finishing.

Just a few minutes later I passed an older runner walking/running rather slowly and his bib gave him away as Eric Clifton. Wow, imagine, meeting two legends within a few minutes of each other! He told me that he was used to the temperatures but the humidity was killing him. The fact that we were over half an hour ahead of the cut-offs clearly did not fill him with too much optimism. He made it to CP28 before sadly having to end his race.

The cut-offs. Spartathlon is often described as the toughest race on Earth. It's not the terrain, though that is indeed challenging. It's not the heat, though it is indeed hot. It's the cut-offs. There are 75 CPs along the way and every single one has a closing time and if you're late at even just one of them your race is over. To make things worse, considerably worse, the cut-offs during the first third are particularly tough, leading to many runners ruining their race by storming off far too fast and running out of energy well before the end. To be honest, I was never too worried about having to cover the first 50 miles in 9:30 even in the heat and humidity, and then having over 27 hours to cover the final 100 (ok, 103) miles seemed eminently doable. But I was well aware that the average finisher rate is about 30% and that just about everyone who has run both Badwater and the Spartathlon has said that finishing the Spartathlon is tougher.

Photo by Niamh Swan.

As we were nearing Corinth we had to run past another industrial area and the oil smell from the
refinery wasn't particularly pleasant. Here I passed Harald, an Austrian team mate. He was suffering from cramps and I gave him one of my s-caps, in case the cramps were caused by a lack of electrolytes, before saying good bye. He later confirmed that the tablet had really helped and he managed to get all the way past the mountain but his race was over at CP52 in Nestani.

I had been hoping to meet Niamh in Corinth, the first really major CP and the end of the first section. Before the CP we had the treat of crossing the Isthmus canal on the bridge and my God, what a sight! I deliberately walked the bridge without running a single step, not because I was feeling tired but because I wanted to get as much a view of this spectacular sight as possible. The prize we had to pay to get to this were about 5 miles of running on the side or inside the concrete drain of a busy dual carriageway while the traffic was zooming past us - definitely my least favourite part of the course so far. Unfortunately Niamh's bus had left Corinth early and I did not get to meet her. I knew it would be Sparta until I saw her again, still over 100 miles away.

When I asked for ice for my bandana trick the lady obviously misunderstood because she handed me a tub. When I opened it it was full of rice! My first instinct was to go back and asc for ice but then I realised that I was actually quite hungry - no wonder, it was getting close to dinner time and I had not eaten lunch, except for small bites of fruit or biscuits along the way! However, my body was not too eager to accept solids. I ate a little less than half of the meal before giving up; any more and I risked getting re-acquainted with the content of my stomach, something I'd prefer to avoid. Corinth also provided a slightly disappointing encounter, team mate Tony Gschiel confirming that he had had to pull out.

Photo by Niamh Swan.

Once you leave Corinth, the cut-offs immediately become a lot softer. I had built up a solid 70 minutes cushion by the time I left that CP and even though I slowed down a bit, especially with that food in my stomach that I found hard to digest, within 3 or 4 CPs that had expanded to 2 full hours. The terrain had changed significantly, after the constants ups and downs of the Attica peninsula the next 15 miles were completely flat. I could feel the exhaustion building up and started introducing regular walk breaks into my routine as I was making my way towards Ancient Corinth and its spectacular temple. Around the 60 mile mark, I had a very much expected encounter as Ken Zemach caught up with me. I made a joke about only 93 miles being left and eventually he pulled away. He confirmed later that I wasn't looking great but good enough to suggest that I would definitely finish, though personally I find it impossible to predict at this stage how a runner would cope. Sometimes you would pass a runner that seemed dead on his/her feet only for them to pass you again a few miles later bouncing along happily. Sometimes someone you would be overtaken by an incredibly fresh looking runner only to see them looking half-dead at a CP in the not-too far future.

Jan Uzik. Photo by Niamh Swan.

Sparta is to the south but the road had turned northwards to get us into Ancient Corinth past an impressive looking mountain, a route choice that had infuriated the legendary multiple Spartathlon champion Yannis Kouros who insisted Pheidippides had turned southwards here. A shorter Spartathlon route would have done me just fine, to be honest, but I know that great care had been taken to reproduce the roads the antique messenger would have taken 2500 years ago and whoever had agreed upon the most likely road had disagreed with Kouros.

The little village of Assos had turned the Spartathlon into a major party and the local support was
brilliant. The next CP, and the next street party, was at Zevgolateio, where I learned that Anto's race had not gone to plan as he was standing at the CP sans bib but at least the other Irish were all still in it. Shortly afterwards the long climb into the central highlands of the Peloponnese peninsula begun and from here we definitely headed southwards, and would be doing so for a very, very long time. The road rises very gradually but steadily and many, many miles of constant elevation gain were ahead of us. The landscape changed and soon we were surrounded by mountains and civilisation often seemed far away.

The rural roads were supposed to be lonely but there were plenty of cars. I had long ago realised that the vast majority of traffic were not locals but crews of runners. The rules of the Spartathlon were very clear, crews could only support their runners at a handful of major CPs along the way but that rule was clearly ignored by many. I could see runners being handed goods on the road on countless occasions. The rule makes a lot of sense. The way it is being ignored causes a lot of traffic as we were overtaken dozens of times by the ever same cars as they kept leapfrogging us a hundred times. I wished they stopped doing that. I prefer running on roads without constant car encounters.

As the sun went down and the temperature became more pleasant (it would remain over 20 degrees well into the night though) and the light begun to fade, I gradually realised that I had made a mistake when I had unthinkingly followed someone else's advice on facebook by depositing my headlamp at CP35, Ancient Nemea. This would be the halfway point of my race at 123 km. I had reckoned I would get there somewhere between 7:30 and 8 o'clock and reckoned the light would have easily been sufficient until then. It realised that not only would I get there later than anticipated, the light here in the South of Greece was fading a lot quicker than in Ireland and I would be surrounded by darkness much sooner than expected.

It was a pure stroke of luck that it was almost a Full Moon, so maybe it would not get too dark? But it was cloudy and the Moon was rarely fully visible, so that did not help. Also, the road was getting considerably more lonely. Until 100k navigation was never required, I could always follow the runners in front. From here on I would often not see anyone in front of me for long stretches and on the occasional crossroad I would have to check the markers myself. Thankfully the marking is excellent and navigation largely idiot-proof, but during the night it would be much easier to take a wrong turn. The main worry, however, were those cars. They knew the runners were around, of course, and mostly drove very carefully. It only takes a second, though, especially as the drivers themselves were bound to be exhausted in the night.

Photo by Niamh Swan.

There was one very steep mile of climbing into the little village of Chalkio. It was here that I saw that I was hiking very effectively. That runner must have been way ahead of me just a mile or two ago and but I left him in the dust striding past him with purpose while he was taking one exhausted steps after the other. CP34 was the last one with any semblance of light and for the last stretch into Nemea I just followed the light of the runner in front of me, American Bob Hearn. I ran about 5 metres behind him hoping he would not feel stalked but he never said a word. As we got into Ancient Nemea we were greeted by a dozen kids on their bikes. It must have been past their usual bedtime but once again a community had turned this into a street party and the CP was buzzing. As soon as I got in I was handed my goody bag straight away and it felt good to be able to strap on the headlamp after so many miles in the dark where I clearly felt I was doing this wrong. I also sat down for a few minutes and had some pasta to eat. I did not feel overly hungry but I figured I needed some calories. Unlike the rice earlier on I managed to eat the entire tub, though I did have to force myself to eat it. I also had a bottle of my protein/energy drink in there which I was going to bring with me and consume on the road over the next couple of miles.

It was still quite warm but Ken Zemach had warned me a few hours ago that the weather was going to turn overnight so I took out my rain jacket but left it in its pouch that I clipped on to my race number belt. I left the long sleeved shirt in the bag and gave it back to the volunteers. It would be transported to Sparta for collection on Sunday.

I was half a mile up the hill out of the village when I realised that I had left my spare batteries in the bag! They must have been hidden underneath the long sleeved shirt and I since I never saw them I never remembered to take them out. I wasn't too worried. I set the headlamp to the lowest setting that should last for days and was surprised by how bright it was, brighter than most other runners' light. I was unlikely to require the spare batteries and I certainly wasn't going back to the CP.

Exhausted already

I left the Nemea CP shortly before 9 o'clock. I was now on the second half of the race and took stock. It had taken me just under 14 hours to complete the first half. I was over 2 hours ahead of the cut-offs and I had 22 hours to complete the second half. Even with the mountain, the night and the fatigue of the second day all still to come, surely, surely, SURELY I was going to finish this race. Even with my comfortable cushion the cut-offs were still messing with my head.

I didn't know it at the time but I was now in 91st place, having made my way past three quarters of the field after starting pretty much at the back. Even had I known, I would not have cared. My goal today was to finish, everything else was merely a bonus. I would have been absolutely delighted with a top-100 finish but that really was a very minor concern. Coming DFL in 35:59:59 would have done me just fine, thank you very much.

We crossed a hill towards present-day Nemea but did not enter that town itself. Instead we were led onto a dirt road that led us deep into a very dark valley, with some high mountains looming far ahead of us. What worried me most were the flashes of light I kept seeing in the sky. I knew rain had been forecast but I had heard nothing of thunderstorms. Crossing the mountain in the middle of a thunderstorm was just about the worst nightmare I could imagine - during the Hardrock 100 race this year in Colorado one runner very nearly had been killed when lightning struck very close to him high on a mountain pass. I had no wish to put myself in a similar situation. However, I reckoned since it would still require me several hours to reach the mountain the thunderstorm had plenty of time to blow itself out. I wondered if the lead runners were running right through it right now, though.

still able to run

When being transported back on Sunday we could see that this area was stunningly beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. In the middle of the night, however, this was kept a secret from us. It's a shame, really, that we had to run through those ugly industrial areas near Corinth and Athens in bright daylight while this gem was kept hidden under a veil of darkness. Actually, it wasn't quite as dark any more. The thunderstorm might have been raging further on but I was now running under a clear sky with the almost Full Moon providing plenty of illumination. In Kerry I would have turned off my headlamp under such conditions but here I was afraid I was going to miss a turn if I ran without my own light source. The course marking was still excellent with yellow (in places orange or even pink) markers on the road and a few glow-sticks every now and then showing the way. It really was pretty much idiot proof.

The miles dragged on but I was entirely on autopilot and barely noticed the time passing, just kept putting a foot in front of the other while taking the occasional walk breaks to give the tired leg muscles a rest. I remembered back to my first marathon, almost 11 years ago, when I had to stop running after 18 miles after being hit by some violent cramps and run/walked the final 8 miles into the finish, which I always described as "NOT the most fun I've ever had". Today I had been run/walking since about mile 60, not because of cramps but of exhaustion, which meant a whopping 93 miles of exhausted run/walking was in store, which is on an entirely different level altogether. However, I had never expected this to be easy!

The dirt road meant I was once more getting grit into my shoes and the feet didn't particularly like it, but stopping and shaking out the shoes here would have been pointless, I had to get off that stretch first. Thankfully things were progressing nicely and I was feeling reasonably good, quite in contrast to 2 or 3 runners I was passing, one of which told me that her race was over.

Eddie Gallen

I was just about to run into the village of Malandreni when without any sign of warning my headlamp suddenly went dark. It's a new headlamp that I had bought only 4 weeks ago, specifically for this race, after some recommendations on facebook. My previous headlamp had been a €3.99 job from Aldi that had been entirely sufficient for all of my winter training (and even the Connemara 100) but I did not fancy heading into the mountains in the middle of the night in a foreign country with such a cheap piece of equipment and purchased a supposed quality piece of equipment. However, it meant I was not used to it. My old headlamp would gradually dim once the batteries started draining and there would literally be hours of use left once you noticed the dimness. My fancy new Led Lenser was different: as soon as the battery output dropped the damn thing just shut itself off! I went through shock, confusion, anger and despair in very quick succession, desperately trying to come up with a solution. So far I could not even open the battery compartment, still being unused to the thing. After a minute on the roadside I decided to make my way into Malandreni without extra light, the moon being exceptionally bright and the markers clearly visible even without headlamp. Once in the aid station I sat down, eventually managed to work out the opening mechanism and was ecstatic that it started working again when I took out and re-inserted the batteries, only to be crushed when the light stopped again after 10 seconds. I asked around for spare batteries but had no luck. Eventually I decided to run on regardless. The mountain was still 20k away and maybe some solution would present itself along the way. As long as I was on the road the moonlight was sufficient to keep going and I flashed the light on for a second every time a car appeared, just to make sure the drivers would be aware of my presence (having it on for more than a few seconds would require opening the compartment and re-inserting the batteries to revive it, something I managed to work fairly quickly). The sky was brilliant, but I had a metaphorical dark cloud hanging over me. How would I get over that mountain?

Thomas Klimas

Going deeper and deeper into the valley we passed a succession of pretty villages, Sterna, Lyrkia and Kaparelli, all with their aid stations and street life. It was now past midnight but the race would go on for much, much longer. At each aid station I would ask if they had spare batteries but no luck. One Dutch runner had one spare AAA battery but I required 3 and had to decline. The crew for one of the British runners was a bit rude when I asked, something I could have done without (I guess they were tired, but still!). I passed a lady running rather slowly, eventually recognising her as Sharon Law. She told me she was toast and it had taken her ages to get here from the last aid station. We got into the next CP together and the first thing she told the crew was that she was done, and my assurance that we were over 2 hours ahead of the cut-off cut no ice with her. As they tried to talk her out of it and I was sorely tempted to ask if I could borrow her headlamp but thought the better of it - I moved on while they were still arguing if she should drop. Looking at the results now I can see that unfortunately she did.

myself

Then the climbing started in earnest, but still on road for a good while. We were making our way up the steep serpentines, climbing steadily higher. After feeling very much alone during the last hour or two I don't know where all those runners (ok, walkers on this section) suddenly all came from but there was plenty of action going on. The legs hurt, even when walking and the effort showed. I passed a few runners (walkers - ok, I'll let go) and got passed myself a few times, sometimes by the same people again. We could see the bright lights of the motorway that went on the other slope and eventually, after what felt like at least an hour, the two roads almost converged, with the motorway passing on a bridge overhead and heading for a tunnel and us still climbing higher and higher. Eventually, after an age, we reached the last CP before the mountain, which was seemingly manned by a British ex-pat crew. I sat down and played my last desperate card, asking once more for spare batteries, having pretty much given up all hope. The guy, I think he was the station captain, thought he might have some and sent his daughter to look through a box. I could see her coming back empty-handed and my heart dropped but she went away again and then again once more. I ate or drank something small (I can't remember), wondering if the race was over here and now, or if I should go on regardless. Then, after maybe 10 minutes but what had felt much longer, she returned with an entire packet of spare batteries, and just the kind I needed. I could not believe my luck! I inserted the batteries and lo and behold, I had light again! I could not thank them enough, I was so grateful but I had to go, entirely unexpectedly I was back in business and now I had a job to do. I was about to head further up the road when I was directed to my left instead. My jaw dropped. Oh f*ck! That stony, barely visible mountain path that was heading straight upwards, was our route now. When they said there was no road, they had really meant it!

Brian Ankers

Just to emphasise the task at hand, this mountain pass we were ascending was higher than Carrauntoohil, Ireland's highest mountain! Pheidippides apparently had run into the God Pan here, though the thing I wonder most is how he got over this path without a headlamp in the middle of the night, something I had gotten dangerously close to emulating. As a road runner I did not feel entirely comfortable on this stony path, badly lit with our headlamps. I worried about falling off the mountain because after 100 miles I wasn't entirely steady on my legs any more and I worried about dislodging a stone that might injure a runner further down the mountain (for some reason the idea that I could be hit by a stone from above never crossed my mind). The legs hurt and all you could do was to keep going and ignore the pain. I was just thinking "I would not fancy that in the rain" and 5 seconds later I felt the first drop! Sorry about that, it was clearly my fault. At least there was no sign of any thunderstorm.

Actually, the top came sooner than I expected. I caught up with Eddie Gallen right there. He had gone past me when I had been waiting in the previous CP but my climbing legs had been in better shape apparently. However, once we started the descend on the other side he soon came flying past me and disappeared very quickly.

Would I have attempted the climb without a headlamp? I honestly don't know! When my light started failing I had pushed out that decision for as long as I could and in the end I never had to make it, close thing as it was. In any rational circumstances, would I think that climbing a steep stony path in the middle of the night would be a good idea? Of course not! But at that point, having already covered 100 miles on foot and with a single minded determination to finish this race I may well have decided to risk it. When I told the guy at the CP "you are a lifesaver!", who knows, it might even have been literal! Anyway, it shows that if you're lucky enough you can get away with being a complete and utter idiot.

Brian and his reflection

Anyway, those problems were now behind me and the light was bright and shiny. I did not run on the path down, partially because my shoes did not have much grip and I was sliding barely within control as it was and on three or fours occasion very nearly lost my balance and fell, but also because I did not want to fry my quads. I still had to cover over 50 miles and another mountain range. I eventually got to tarmac again, which marked the end of the mountain section. At Sagkas village, the first CP past the mountain, I was surprised to see Thomas Klimas in there. His 100 mile PB is over an hour faster than mine and I expected him to be way ahead of me. We had a little chat, I left slightly ahead of him but he overtook me not much later. I did not expect to see him again before Sparta.

The next major CP was Nestani and I realised that I really had not thought things through. I had left my second drop bag here so that I would be able to deposit my headlamp instead of having to carry it all the way to Sparta but it was still pitch dark here and would remain so for several hours, so ditching the headlamp was not an option. Instead I picked up a new top, namely my orange club t-shirt that I intended to wear at the finish, and a bottle of my sports drink. I also had another light meal, potatoes, but they were fried and nowhere near as edible as the boiled spuds I have personally made so popular as ultra endurance food in Ireland.

It was now raining heavily. In no time at all the roads were waterlogged and with the difficult lighting conditions I could not see the puddles properly and stepped into several of them, completely soaking my feet. It was not particularly pleasant and greatly increased the risk of bad blisters. So far my feet had held up admirably and I sure hoped that would continue. On one section I could not see a road marker for at least a mile. I was still doing my run/walk thing - can you imagine how hard it is to force yourself to run when you're not sure if you're heading into the right direction and might have to backtrack? I had just told myself "if I don't see a marker very soon I'm going to panic" when, to my intense relief, I spotted the next one.

Heading through the region of Arkadia in the pouring rain just before first dawn was weary work and the miles dragged on but they still passed. At about half past six I got another shock when my light started failing once more! That's when I finally clicked what was going on. My lamp has a mode where it automatically adapts to the external light conditions, and since it was pitch dark the lamp beamed as brightly as possible, thereby eating into the batteries much faster than anticipated. I think it's a design fault because there is no indicator on the lamp itself to show what mode it is in, you have to tell from the behaviour of the lamp itself, and since it was brand new I was not used to it. I never ran long enough in training to drain the batteries and was not aware of the setting. It goes to show the dangers of using very new equipment for such a race, it can catch you out in completely unexpected ways. Thankfully dawn was about to break and I managed a couple of miles even without lamp just fine and then it got bright enough anyway. Jesus, I really had gotten away with that one but I had cut it mightily fine!

The final mountain

I kept calculating in my head what pace I required to make the final cut-off, 15, 16 then 17-minute miles and when I was at 20-minute miles I knew I was going to make it bar injury because even when completely and utterly exhausted I can still walk faster than that, even over the second mountain range. Somewhere around CP56, much to my surprise, I saw Thomas Klimas again, and once more I got ahead of him by leaving quickly. That was not a ploy to pass him - I always tried to minimise my time in those stations. With 75 CPs in the race, even if you average less than a minute per CP you're still wasting over an entire hour. Stay for 5 minutes and you can probably kiss your chances of making the cut-offs good bye. I had done the same in the World championships in Turin where I beat a lot of runners who were nominally faster than me but who spend less time on the road than myself.

However, Thomas quickly caught up again but this time, instead of disappearing beyond the horizon once more, he started running with me and suggested we work together. We were 60k from the finish and I readily agreed. After close to 24 hours of lonely running I welcomed company, and misery clearly loves company.

At first this was working really well. We pushed each other and definitely spent more time running than walking than we would have on our own. We were three hours ahead of the cut-off and save as far as making it to the finish was concerned but we wanted to get this over with and worked fairly hard. The next major CP was at Tegea, just as the next mountain section was about to start, and according to the road book there were meals available there. I was starving and really looking forward to that but when I asked for food all they had were the usual fare of biscuits, crisps and fruit but no "real food". My heart sank, I ate what I could but was mightily sick of the standard fare. I had some soup (not sure if that was here or at a nearby CP) but that contained too few calories to make a difference and I think from here on my energy levels plummeted and never recovered. What did not help was that the road started climbing again.

this is what total exhaustion looks like

The first mountain is tough but it's the second one that breaks you. With 27 miles to go we were overtaken by a strongly running Isobel Wykes who quipped "nearly there". Shocked pause. "I can't believe she just said that, with over a marathon still to go!" Another pause. "For F*ck sake!!!"

In contrast to the other mountain we stayed on a major road for this one and it wasn't pleasant. Some drivers were driving very fast and much too close to comfort to us. "I can't believe nobody ever got killed in this race" said Thomas K, and I agreed. Several parts of the way, including the one we were on just now, did not feel safe.

Every bend in the road revealed nothing but another climb and by now we had stopped pushing each other and just kept moaning and complaining to each other how tired we were and how much this was hurting. We discussed what new hobby we would take up as soon as we would reach Sparta because neither of us was inclined to run another step in our lives again, ever. Too bad neither of us likes fishing.

We could see some lightning right in front of us and the thunder reached us within a few seconds, so this was maybe a mile ahead, much too close for comfort and to make things worse we were heading right into that direction. And indeed, 10 minutes later we were making our way through the pouring rain while watching some lightning strikes right above our heads. This definitely was not safe! The general idea was to get out of here as fast as possible, the only problem being that "fast" was not something either of us was still capable of, so we just kept going, ever so slightly worried, but eventually the rain eased and the lightning stopped and we had made it through!

matching strides

But Good God we were so tired! Somewhere around CP 60 Thomas had managed to sneak a look at the name sheet and saw us in about 63rd place (not entirely sure about the exact number). This was much better than expected and rather pleasing. On this mountain now, however, we were both dead on our feet and quite a few runners had passed us. We caught a few that were in even worse condition ourselves but we were definitely going backwards in the field, not that either of us cared too much. We were far too tired to care.

CP after CP we plonked our bodies into a chair for some time. The idea to get out of CPs as quickly as possible had lost its appeal, we were only living from CP to CP, never thinking further ahead, always groaning in disapproval when the sign noted the distance to the next CP being more than 3 km. At one CP a lady asked "what do you want" and all I could come up with was "I want to go home". My God, this was pathetic!

Eventually, after a long slog of several hours, the road pointed downwards and we could count the number of remaining CPs on one hand. "To the next sign" became the new mantra , which was as far as we would run before walking again, and the process was repeated countless times and progress was almost reasonable. We had lost a little bit of time with regards to the cut offs and were generally about 2:45 ahead at most CPs. I had thought that the cut offs were fairly easy at this stage but had forgotten to take the total exhaustion into account that would hit the runners on this final section. I was glad we had such a comfortable cushion; being only one hour ahead would have completely wrecked my nerves.

At one CP a lady told us "it's all downhill from here, no more climbing", which was great news. Alas, we went along for maybe a mile, turned the next corner and "you've got to be f*cking kidding me!!!", the lady had been lying, that definitely looked and felt like another climb to me. Thankfully, this one really was the last one.

Photo by Nikos Lamprinopoulos

A good thing too, because I was having real troubles with my right calf muscle. It had gotten really painful over that last couple of hours. This was not normal fatigue, there was something else going on and I really worried about an injury taking me out of the race so late, which would have been utterly heartbreaking. I told Thomas that it was really bad and that I did not dare to run on it any more in case I would injure it. He had the option of going alone and I would not have thought any less of him but he refused to leave me on my own and agreed to walk the last 10k or so into Sparta. What a friend to have!

The rain had completely stopped by now and it actually got quite hot again. We were glad it had not been like that all day. Running in the rain is something we can both cope with easily but a second day of heat and humidity might have been too much to take, who knows.

At one point we could see Sparta for the first time. It looked absolutely beautiful, what a stunning setting, but it also looked still very, very far away. The race course still has one more minor sting by leaving the national road and taking a slightly longer route, though getting off that road was definitely a positive development. The last CPs passed by reasonably quickly but two 4.7 km sections both elicited further groans and complaints. The last marathon must have taken us about 6 hours. I never thought I'd ever move so slowly!

And then there were only a few kilometres to go and Sparta was right there! Thomas' hip started hurting and he had troubles walking while I still barely dared to run but was able to walks at a good pace so he would run slowly and I would walk fast and we still averaged the same pace. Under the bridge (unfortunately the "welcome to Sparta" banner was not on this year), over the bridge crossing the river and into Sparta itself. CP 74, the final CP was right here. (CP 75 is the finish itself)

Photo by Nikos Lamprinopoulos

"This Is Sparta!!" Did the guy make the same joke to every runner? Quite possibly, but it did elicit a smile from me, and there was not much that would have made me smile at that point! The last section is different. People are shouting at us from the balconies "bravo! bravo!", kids are cycling with us (I was actually worried they'd get hit by a car, That would have put a dampener on things). We could not see any markers but reckoned that those people cheering us on would let us know if we were headed into the wrong direction. Then a right turn, and not long after another right turn and the flags betray the proximity of the finish. A minute ago I had said to Thomas K "I don't know if I'll be able to run at the finish but I promise I will try". Turns out I did not even have to try.

Seeing the statue of Leonidas at the top of the hill is the most potent painkiller known to mankind. Pain, what pain? I have never felt better! We ran up the road, half of Sparta cheering us on, shouting more bravos. It is the best finish in the world! Nothing has ever even been close to that. I can't even begin to describe it. You'll have to see for yourself.

Niamh was there, time for a quick hug and a kiss and then on to the statue. Your race is officially finished when you touch the statue of King Leonidas and Thomas and me held hands as we touched his feet at the same time. This is Sparta indeed!

For the next 90 seconds we were at the centre of hero worship. We received a gift each from one of the local children, as well as a medal and a trophy. They put an olive wreath on our heads and we took in the acclaim of the crowd once more before the next runner appeared and it was his turn to be celebrated.

Pain? I felt no pain. There was no pain, just pure joy and euphoria, a solid 11 out of a scale from 1 to 10. As someone else has said "I don't need to tell you just how much it means to finish this race. When you get there, you'll know"

Don't tell anyone but ... I can't wait to do it again!

25 and 26 Sep

Spartathlon 2015

33:29:04, 73rd place

Written by Melissa Arkinstall - http://www.run247.com/

This has to be by far, the biggest medal that I've ever received in all my years of running and triathlon....I think that it's bigger than an Olympic medal! "You're going to have to earn one of these the hard way"... said Lindley Chambers, Race Director at Challenge Running (www.challenge-running.co.uk). Hey, he's not kidding, but I smiled all the way through the task.

This is the first year that the Chiltern Way Ultras have taken place. There are two distances, 100k and 214k, both following the National Trail known as the Chiltern Way. The full route goes from Hemel Hempstead, Chalfont St Giles, the edge of Marlow, Hambleden, Bix Bottom, Ewelme, the Ridgeway, Stokenchurch, Great Hampden, Aldbury, the Dunstable Downs, Sharpenhoe Clappers to Harpenden and back to Hemel Hempstead; with the 100km race starting in Little Hamden winding clockwise back to Hemel Hempstead.

So, what is the route like? Well, you are running through an AONB for the majority of the race, so with the exception of a couple of streets around Dunstable and Luton, this is proper trail running turf. The scenery is stunning, rolling fields, farms, woodland and a stunning loop over the Dunstable Downs, all punctuated by quintessential English villages (willpower required to resist a pub stop)...and only a couple of brief encounters with the M1! It may not have the climbs of the Peaks or Lakeland Fells, but don't be fooled, the course is 'lumpy' (approximately 5000ft of ascent on the 100km race), and I think that this took a few competitors by surprise. The majority of the trail is in good condition, but there are occasional deep plowed fields and 'bramble alleys' to negotiate. Fine for road shoes on a dry day as we had, but if you were running this event after a soggy week, something a bit grippier would be well advised.

NOTE (please).... You must, must, must be able to read a map (and remember a compass!), as although the trail is signed, some way-marks aren't obvious or are overgrown. This isn't a fast course where you get your head down, follow the arrows and run; it is constant navigation, but not of the mountain marathon variety! However, don't let this put you off, I am not the world's most confident map reader and I was slightly worried at the start by tales of the 214k runners adding some huge mileage to an already big day...and night..and day! However, with a marked OS route blown up so that you can see every turn, with a bit of care, you'll soon be whizzing across the grid lines. In fact, all the concentration on map reading actually makes you forget how far your legs are running and adds to the sense of achievement at the end. GPX files are also provided and are a really good back up, but, battery life is finite and given the nature if the course, there is a definite (214k) and very good chance (100k) that you'll be night running with a spent GPS.

A great little confidence bonus was that we were all given 'trackers' to attach to our race packs. This meant that

• a. Lindley can have a giggle watching all his runner's 'signal dots' dashing around doing random detours on his phone
• b. supporters on the course can see when you are nearing a checkpoint
• c. If you did get epically lost, you can make a call and be directed back onto the route, phewee!

There are checkpoints approximately every 25km, manned by lovely, happy (despite being sleep deprived), volunteers, who will help sort out water bottles. Medics are on hand to tape feet and feed you an array of goodies, my favourites of which included Freddo Frogs, Hula Hoops and my favourite, pink cake at CP3 (8 for the 214k).

The race HQ is at Feldon Lodge in Hemel Hempstead. An ideal base where the organisers will be ready cooking up hot dogs, bacon butties and for veggies like myself, tomato soup and peanut butter on toast for the ultimate post race comfort food! There are bedrooms so that you can grab a few hours of shut eye before driving home and if you are lucky, you may even get the Rocky theme tune played as you come down the long driveway into the finish!

The first running of the race had a small field and quite a few DNFs ...only one person made it round the whole 214k!! So, the gauntlet is well and truly thrown down to those who want a real challenge in 2015, when the organisers are planning to make the event bigger and even better! I'm definitely putting this one on the calendar next year...hope to see you there!

To find out more about the Chiltern Way Ultras please visit: www.challenge-running.co.uk/chiltern-way-ultras

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunninglife.com 

My year had started off really quite manicly with the Spine, quickly followed by the Frostskade 500. Due to the financial and time commitments this demanded the rest of my year was going to be relatively quiet. At the end of June I had the Mont Blanc 80km because it is a local race so no travel or accommodation expenses. At the end of the season I have the Trail des Aiguilles
Rouge which is another in valley race, but that was it. I was absoloutely fine with this as I knew that there would need to be some sacrifice for the start of the year. That all changed when I got an email from Richard Felton from Profeet to say that I had won a place (I entered a draw a month earlier) in the Swiss Irontrail in Davos. The race was to be held mid August and included
a 21km, 41km, 81km, 141km and the daddy, the 201km. Which race should let the organisers know you'd like to do, asked Richard. There was no question in my mind that it had to be 201km so that is what I said.

Now I had said yes to this thing I thought it was time to check out the stats from the website. A smile crept across my face as I read about it. 11,480 metres of ascent! Certainly not the biggest out there but far from a flat race. It passed through many towns and villages too which would make it a bit of an exploratory adventure. I didn't even know where Davos is. Switzerland is not a
large country and I live within a few miles of it, but when I checked it was over the other side. I live near the West, Davos is in the East. It would be around a 6-7hr train journey.

Work were incredibly understanding and gave me three days off for it and with little time to spare, the Irontrail package arrived which included the Swiss Ticket. This is a great part of the entry fee in my opinion. The Swiss Ticket gives you free public transport from your point of entry into Switzerland to Davos, then back again (not flights).

As usual my preparation was minimal, though I felt mountain fit. The race stats didn't scare me and the distance was exciting and new. I felt as though it would be a distance I would be more comfortable with. THe cutoff was a very healthy 66 hours which I felt was very doable and barring incidences, I felt was well within my abilities. I also kept in mind how difficult and how slow I
was moving at the UTMB and this was over 30km further with around 2000 metres of extra ascent (and descent) so this was never going to be easy!

The weather in the Alps this Summer has been patchy if I was to be very positive about it. We've had lot's of sunny days, but there have possibly been equal amounts of gray, rainy days. The weeks leading upto race day didn't disapoint either! Plenty of rain in fact. I wonder if the trails I'd be on in Switzerland would drain as well as the trails here in the Chamonix valley. I generally
am ok with a bit of foul weather as I believe when others start finding it difficult I excel. Then again, 201 km is a long way and if the weather slows things down it could be a very long day in the mountains!

I got my transfer to Geneva Airport train station early on the Wednesday morning, stamped my ticket and boarded the first of three trains. This was all very Swiss, being very clean, and perfectly on time. On the final train I got talking to Hideo, a chap from the UK who was running the 141km race and Anke, a German lady who was in the 201 and had successfully completed it the previous year too. As we got closer to Davos the landscape was jutting up all around which to me was far more pleasing and beautiful. It had been raining for most of the day and there were huge amounts of water on the ground. A river was very close to bursting it's banks and looked as though it had a litle already. Then we heard an announcement over the tannoy informing us
there had been a landslide which had blocked one of the lines. I don't think I would be keeping my feet dry for long!

On arrival I went on a cafe hunt as there was only a short wait before I could register, this is where I bumped into Mark and Fiona. I believe I first bumped into this lovely couple a few years back on the Canary Islands for the Trans Gran Canaria. They (sensibly) don't really use the internet so it's really good to catch up with them as it really feels like you have news! Once
through registeration, I walked off to find my accomodation which would be a hostel for the night. The race didn't start till midday the next day so there would be a nice leisurley start to the day which would make a change. I wouldn't even need to set an alarm! I ordered a pizza and had a really nice local beer as I relaxed down stairs in the common area. I was in a six berth room
but there was just another couple in there from Finland. When I decided to call it a night, I was surprised to discover that the Finnish couple had already gone to bed!

I woke with no alarm in the morning which always fels a treat and crept out of the room trying not to wake the Finns who were still sleeping. The breakfast buffet was included in the accommodation, so I sat there and ate more than my share of cereal, ham, cheese and bread till I felt a bit bloated. I now had to go and pack my bag and get changed for the race.

With just over an hour before the off, I shouldered my bags and began the 20 minute walk into town to the HQ and start area. The previous night I had got quite wet walking to the hostel, so it was nice that it was dry on the stroll in this morning. For the 201km race we had two bag drop points. I very rarely bother with bag drops, but for some reason I decided to use the second
one at the 140km point for a pair of shoes (Salomon Ultra 3 SG) and fresh socks. I doubted I would need them as I very rarely remove my shoes during races, and I think I have never changed shoes.

I met up with Mark and Fionna and then met Carmine de Grandis who I had spoke to a few times online. Always nice to meet people properly! We missed the briefing and then the small field of around 150 were off.

We briefly passed through town and were soon on a gentle incline up which meant I could still run at this early stage in the race. I felt very fresh as I had taken nearly two weeks off of any exercise at all, and I let myself enjoy this moment because not too far in the future things would be very different! I loved the fact that this was a more intimate affair compared to the UTMB. Don't get me wrong I loved the UTMB as I knew what it was and I accepted it's madness and electricity and let it flow over me, but I will always love the smaller races. I love being alone with my thoughts for long periods which I knew that with this size of field and stretched out over a course with a 66hr cut off, I would surely have plenty of 'me time'!

The first 10km or so was either road or very good trail. I was fine with this as it made it easier to try and find that 201km rhythm. Being wide enough also meant it was easy to pass people without accelerating. After a while the gentle incline rounded off and the first descent of the day begun. It was very short, but still I took it as easily as possible. I really was aware that this was a race of balancing speed with preservation. A runner caught me up here and chatted briefly. His name was Mohammed. He and his girlfriend had been over in Europe touring around for a while and this was going to be the end of their holiday. Minutes after the descent started the trail changed angle again as we headed up. I wished Mohammed luch and pushed on.

Although the route had mostly been uphill up to this point, it was now that I would say the hill begun. I happily left the wider trail and was suddenly on some beautiful woodland songletrack. This was a real fun section where I had to stay disciplined and not race off as it was such good. The trail soon got steeper and steeper till my hands were on my knees pushing hard. As I slowly
zig-zagged my way upwards the cloud got closer and closer. I could no longer see anyone ahead as they were already deep in the damp murkiness of the cloud. I too was soon deep within the gray cloud. The temperature had dropped plenty but I was still perfectly comfortable as I was working so hard.

I was wearing a brand new pair of La Sportiva Helios shoes which feel just so incredibly comfortable and have the most bizarre tread which I initially thought was a bit gimmicky, but in fact seems very effective on all terrains in all conditions, though this would be a real test. I wore shorts, my super soft La Sportiva Merino top with arm warmers. I was packing plenty of warm kit in my Salomon pack so felt prepared for pretty much anything.

Once on to the top I mistakenly followed some permanent trail markings downwards and after a few minutes I realised that this wasn't right and turned back and was soon back on the course. The drop down to Bergun was long, slightly technical in places and plenty of fun. I felt like the race had just begun mentally now as the first major climb was behind me. I was feeling good and was now back out of the cloud that had enshrined the peaks so I could look around at this beautiful new scenery. Taking in the scenery is a rather dangerous affair as you are running down a mountain so my view admiring was kept to a minimum. That's what the ups are for!

The descent was long but eventually I entered the town of Bergun and here was the first decent cp. I ran into the sports hall and scanned the food and decided on a plate of spag bol. I had decided to eat very well on this event. I was in no particular rush especially in these early stages. Set the foundations for the later stages. I was approached here as my GPS tracker was faulty. They had a play with it but it was not working, so I was told that I would be getting a replacement in 20km. Not ideal as this would mean that I would have had no tracker for the first 56km. Trackers are great for loved ones to follow you, but also can cause huge amounts of worry.

The trail after Bergun was nice but very wet in places due to all the heavy rain over the recent days. My feet were soaked and unlikely to be drying out much over the duration of the event which could make things painful. Before I arrived at Samedan in just over 20km, there was a large climb followed by a smaller (though still pretty large) then a nice little drop down to this first major CP with the first of our two bag drops, though I hadn't taken advantage of it. I felt ok at this stage but there was a soreness in my thighs which seemed a bit too early. This has happened before and I remained calm, but there was a whisper of concern in the darkness of my mind. My 15 months of living in the alps had been great for mountain fitness and the primary benefit was
that my quadriceps could take the huge downs that they couldn't when I was in the UK. I was cautious on the descents from now on and was very keen on my diet as I focused on electrolyte intake and simply making sure enough energy was going in. Other than that I just hoped that it was just a passing bad phase.

The two climbs that preceded the major CP where tough though energy levels were consistant which buoyed my hopes of a strong overall race. The descents where still tough on my thighs though and my hopes of this being shortlived sensation were fading a little. I was a little weary and grateful to enter the town and weave my way through the narrow streets following the tape
finally leading me to the sports hall which was the location of the CP. I walked in and reported my tracker immediately, handing it to a chap who said that it had been turned off for the entire race so far. I then grabbed a large plate of spag bol and some coke and sat down intending to make sure I ate and drank well but didn't waste time just hanging around. The pasta was gone very fast and I topped up my bottles before collecting a new tracker as apparently my original one was faulty. I took a handful of cheese and a piece of chocolate cake and walked out. As I was leaving I saw the 141km race runners in a seperate room registering. I believe it was around 2030 as I left and they would be starting at midnight so I had a 3.5hr headstart on them.
Once I had consumed the food in my hands, I stiffly broke into a trot. Mercifully the first km or two was along a flat section of cycle path that took you out of town straight to the base of the next 1100 metre climb.

It was on this climb where the final overall winner Denise Zimmermann was just a short distance ahead. I was not aware of here calibre, and stupidly assumed that if I kept my pace consistent on this climb I felt I would pass her. It was a rather steep ascent and as I worked hard with my hands pushing on my knees, Denise kept the gap, but then took her phone from her pocket and
started a five minute conversation. During this period she actually began to drop me. This continued till she had a second phone conversation where she again was not slowing at all or sounding out of breath, as I was puffing and panting like a steam train behind her. As she disappeared into the gloom of the quickly oncoming night, I switched on my Petzl and prepared myself for the first night alone in the mountains. Rough calculations were being bounced around in my head to try to calculate how long this thing was going to take. What time of day would I be finishing, if I were to finish? It was now a distinct possibility that I would be out for two whole nights. That may mean I would have to grab a little sleep somewhere.

I leaned into the next climb that would slowly and a little too painfully take me to the cable-car station Murtel. Here I entered the building feeling incredibly sore and tired, determined to have a little break before pushing on again. The altitude here was 2700 metres and although the night was beautifully clear, the temperature had dropped dramatically as I gained height. It was below
zero and although I was still not wearing too much the exertion on the huge ascents, created plenty enough heat to keep me warm. All except my hands as usual.

On entering the building, I saw the usual table of food, which I was alredy getting a bit tired of, but I forced myself to eat something no matter how unappealing. Then I noticed one other runner was already here. Mattias was having a lie down before continuing. I asked how he was doing and he said he was good but needed a little sleep and his hands were frozen so he was
trying to warm them. The temptation was too much then and my hands really needed to have some blood back in them before I set off back out there, so I grabbed a blanket and lied down. I was probably only there for around 15 minutes and I didn't sleep, but the calmness was soothing and felt wonderful.

I think it was possibly around this time that my competition / survival balance became a little weighty on the survival side. I don't like to DNF and if that meant finishing in a time a lot lower than predicted then so be it.

After my brief lie down, I got up and prepared to leave, putting my warm gloves onto my now warm hands. I thanked the crew and said goodbye. The initial section of the descent was very poorly marked but I found my way down with a whole load of soreness in my thighs, which did ease a little but I must stress only a little. My thighs were shot! I was shocked about how
quickly my legs had blown, but I really needed to just accept the fact and not dwell on it. The physical aspect was bad enough alone, so I really didn't need to add a negative mental aspect to it.

As I wound my way down the mountain in the dark, I was just over 80km into this race. Around 120km remained! I noticed a torch behind me, and when I looked again, it had closed up the gap considerably. I was guessing it was Mattias who I had left behind at the last station. Soon he was with me, and instead of pushing on without me, he stayed with me. Mattias is Swiss
and fortunately his English is excellent so we chatted away about how our races were panning out. The night was almost through as a faint glow appeared on the horizon. Below us we could make out the murky black of a lake surrounded by occasional spots of light. On the far end of the lake was a small town which was Maloja. This would be our next stop. Just before leaving the trail and we lost the markers and ended up wasting some time running through town trying to find the CP. Finally we found it. Another decent stop and I packed my Petzl away as it was just about light enough as Mattias and I left together to begin the next big climb out of town to Lunghinpass at over 2600 metres. It was quite fresh at this early hour but my hands seemed to be ok now.

I noticed a runner moving very fast behind and we guessed that it must be the first of the 141km race runners. He looked incredibly strong as he passed us. What I'd give to feel that fresh! As we neared the top the temperature really dropped and then it begun to snow. By the time we had reached the CP tent on the col the ground was covered. Mattias did a quick photo stop
and then we were on our way back down. Next stop - Bivio. I was certainly using the CP's well now making sure I was well watered and fed before I left each one. Mattias was certain we were in 6th and 7th place. I was amazed and wondered whether I could hold on to a top ten position. We were now past the half way point and it was all beginning to seem a little more likely that
I would reach the end.

There was nearly 30 tough km betwen Bivio and Savognin, the location of the second and last major CP with bag drop. This is where I had my shoes and socks. During this section my feet were getting very sore. It felt a little like huge underfoot blisters were forming but I knew it was the early stages of trenchfoot. The descents felt really bad as it would pull the skin back as I
braked, and sharp rocks were agony. There was such a long way to go this was not the time to ignore and push through, such is my usual tactic. If these blisters actually formed, it could well be the end. I needed a plan. With 10km to go till the prospect of a dry pair of socks and shoes, I slowed right down even though this was a fast section of the course. After 2 painful hours and
one torrential downpour of rain, I hobbled awkwardly into town.

Morale was a little low as I was a little dubious about removing my shoes and socks and looking at my feet. I sat in the first seat I saw as I entered the CP. I was smashed. There were showers here so I removed my shoes and socks and rinsed my feet off before drying them thoroughly. They were badly wrinkled up. There was too far remaining to ignore this. I decided to rest here
and let the skin air out before continuing. After messing about with my kit and eating, I found the quiet room and had a sleep for an hour hoping that when I awoke my feet would be in an improved state.Thankfully they were. I sorted myself out and put on my fresh socks and shoes before thanking the crew and walking out into the bright day. The muscle soreness had now faded a little and overall I was feeling more positive than I had for a while. There wasn't too much of the day left so I pushed on taking advantage of it before I would be plunged into darkness again.

The next section was undulating and took me through a few pretty villages which helped the km's pass by a little smoother. I think that even though there was still a sizeable chunk of the course left, I could smell the end which also gave me a boost. I overtook a few runners from some of the smaller races here which also helped. I knew that the next major CP at Lenzerheide
Was the start of the final major mountain climb up the Weisshorn.

My Petzl was back on as I arrived at the CP. I spent a little while in here making sure I was ready for the climb ahead, before leaving alone. It was cold again in the early morning, so I was happy to almost immediately get stuck into the climb. I zig-zagged my way up through the trees for quite a tiring while before the trail straightened out and roughly contoured around the
side of the mountain for a couple of km's. I broke out of the treeline and was instantly engulfed in thick fog. I struggled to find any markers as my Petzl just lit up the fog directly in front of me. The wind was weak but was enough to keep the fog moving and giving the occasional window of visibility. Half an hour later and the night was crystal clear again as I left the fog behind. I
could see lights ahead but nothing behind yet. I stopped and looked around occasionally and was stunned by the beauty of a silent electrical storm, completely encapsulated in a glowing cloud far, far away. It was silent and I felt relatively good. I passed a ghostly cablecar station and continued towards the light ahead which I assumed was the next station with a CP. I passed through the CP fairly quickly, keen to reach the top of the Weisshorn.

After a small descent I lost the trail for 10-20 mins. I could see torches over to my left but was unsure how people had got there. I backtracked and finally saw the marker I missed and took the good trail. It soon was heading up again and after around 10 minutes, the final section that would take me to the summit was in front of me. It was very steep and carried on for longer than I anticipated. There was a small amount of fresh snow on the ground again and the temperature was sub zero again. The very top was completely fogged out again and I really struggled to find my way down as it was so thick. The fog was just capping the top 100-200 metres so soon I could speed up and start to enjoy the descent which was long and steep. I passed a few runners coming down here. I was exhausted but was finding that reserve that is seemingly always there but I can't always find. I was really enjoying this and for the first time my pre race target of a top ten position was feeling possible.

I again stopped briefly at Arosa which was the last decent CP. There was just over 20km remaining and one last blip of a mountain on the profile. It was daylight now and the Petzl was packed away for the last time. It was sunny but there was some showers as I worked my way to the end. Although my feet were ok from the soaking from the earlier stages, there was now a new pain in my metatarsal. It felt skeletal this time and was forcing me to favour running on the edge of the foot to lower the impact on it.

A basic CP was at Jatz which was the low point before the final climb began. I had a coke here and started walking up the road before hitting the trail again. It was here that I started to really feel quite energised and as I pushed the pace up a little to test out this surge, I was surprised to feel that there was more! I was still walking but I felt great. All the stiffness and soreness had faded away and I was now quickly gaining on runners far ahead. I passed 3 runners and ahead I could see runners struggling up the steep final ascent that would take us to the top of Strelapass, the final ascent of the whole course. I couldn't wait to get stuck into it with this new found energy. Once I hit it, my strength held and I quickly passed 4 runners who were going the speed I was guessing I had been ascending for the majority of the race. After around 25 minutes of the steep final climb, I topped out and was then facing the final descent into Davos. I passed a few more runners here and one of them was in my race. My foot was slowing me a little but I was so close to finishing now I cared little about it.

The trail turned to tarmac and now my foot really hurt and my run was a bit of a hobble. I stopped to walk a few times, frustrated that my energy surge which was still flowing could not be tapped due to my foot. I just cared about the runner I just passed catching me back up, but every time I looked behind he wasn't there..

Town was soon in view and soon enough I was running along the streets with the descent behind. I turned onto the main street, turned into the square and crossed the line. I immediately told them my number as I wasn't wearing it due to it tearing off, and was told I was 9th in just over 47hrs. What a fantastic race! I loved the distance, and the mountains are just glorious. My performance was pretty aweful really, what with just feeling pretty crappy for the whole thing except the end, and my time feels pretty soft for what I think I'm capable of. Overall though, to come in the top ten is just brilliant. With 70 finishers and 74 DNF's it's obviously pretty hard too. I would certainly recommend this race even though there were a few issues with marking, lack of variety in the CP food and some problems with my tracker. I have emailed them some feedback as I believe they really want this race to be a huge success and will listen to everything. I may even like to return so I could put in a better performance. We need more mountain 200km races in the world!

It is over two weeks since the race now and my foot is still pretty painful, though the swelling has gone and there has been lots of improvement. Chamonix has been manic over the past week as it has been UTMB week which has been fantastic. It has been really nice to not be a runner and meeting up with friends. What a great sport this is! I have one more race this year which is a local on at the end of September. I will not run it if my foot isn't 100% and to be honest, although it does look to be a fantastic race over an amazing course, it won't matter too much really. It will soon be winter an then it's ski time!
Happy running.

Race Report by Dion Leonard, winner of KAEM 2017

Photography by Hermien Burger Webb

A few thoughts from my last race...

In 2012 I bought my wife Lucja a book titled ‘World’s Toughest Endurance Challenges’ and jokingly said to her whatever page she opens up to we’ll do the challenge. The page opened to a race in South Africa called Kalahari Augrabies Extreme Marathon.

The ‘Kalahari Augrabies Extreme Marathon’ (KAEM) is a self-sufficiency, 250 kilometre (155 Mile) race held over 6 stages during 7 days in the Kalahari Desert. I had never run a real marathon or an ultra marathon before I began this race in 2013, and little did I know back then how much buying that book would have an impact on our lives.

In November 2017 exactly 4 years since my first KAEM I was on the start line of my 3rd KAEM. It had been 15 months however since my last desert race, one where a little dog (aka Finding Gobi) would join me during the race and would change both of our lives forever. I was pretty nervous at the start and worried that my rushed last minute training for the race wasn’t going to see me through the full distance. However, the chance to run in a stunning and secluded location in South Africa’s Kalahari Desert and Augrabies National Park which grants special entry permission to race entrants was too good an opportunity to say no to. I went with the thought that if nothing else I would enjoy the adventure and sunshine on offer.

After having run stage 1 enduring plenty of sand, rocks and a long hill climb to the finish I came across the line in a comfortable 2nd position, and was pleased with how I felt after being long away from running competitively. At the beginning of stage 2, and what was going to be a much easier and quicker stage, I was keen to put a marker down for the day and really see what the main competitors’ pace was. From the word go it was a hectic pace, neck and neck until the first checkpoint but then I went for it and pushed hard as the temperature also started to rise. I was thrilled to go on and win the stage, my first ever stage-win at this race in 3 years of entering it. This meant I now had a small 7 minute overall lead. I wanted to increase this lead going into stage 4’s 70km long stretch, so on Day 3 I kept the pressure on and pushed hard again. The terrain was stunning, with a technical gorge descent, desert sand beds and a climb at the end of the day that made for hard work all round, but it was the temperature that really pushed everyone to their limits and the dropouts rose during the day. I ended up increasing my lead to 1hr 20 minutes. Our campsite was beside the Orange River separating South Africa from Namibia and I enjoyed the afternoon swimming and washing my clothes for the long stage the following day. On day 4, the front runners of the race, myself and main competitor Tomas Sundman had the unfortunate pleasure of starting the day last in the middle of the scorching lunch time heat. This is our penalty for being quicker and to make sure that we also end up running in the heat and dark of the night. I wasn’t clear on how to attack the day. I had a solid lead and didn’t need to push myself too hard but as I started the stage I felt strong and lead through the early checkpoints. Unfortunately Tomas had to withdraw at checkpoint 3 due to heat exhaustion and dizziness and upon hearing the news I realised I could take my foot off the gas and enjoy the 70km stage a little more. The early evening thunderstorms were extraordinary to watch as I ran through the runners ahead of me and I spent some time talking to them on my way to the finish. The race was effectively over as my lead increased to 3 hours so the remaining stages involved me chatting to the other runners and checkpoint staff. To run the final short stage back a couple of days later into the Augrabies National Park as the race winner was something 4 years earlier I would never have dreamt of, let alone achieved.

The Kalahari Desert has the most amazing and beautiful scenery. It’s the perfect location to run in, and this race should be on everyone’s bucket list. Running with Giraffe, Zebra and Springbok in the top end of South Africa is simply breathtaking and life changing.

I met some truly inspiring and incredible people during the week, from all walks of life doing this extreme event for their own reasons. I’m so grateful to have been involved with KAEM. The organisers and volunteers do a world class job organising the event, and it’s a tribute to the race having been held 18 times, the second oldest multi-stage race behind Marathon Des Sables.

Thank you to everyone who emailed me during the race, supported and has followed my up and down running journey. Big thanks to WAA Ultra who not only make awesome running clothing and gear but continue to support me.

Written by Deidre O'Riordan

Since the start of my trail running adventure, my imagination was captured by the enormity of the Kerry Way Ultra. And I looked upon the ultra runners who undertook this challenge with awe and envy, knowing that I had little chance of ever attempting such an epic 200k trail race. So when the 55k Ultra Lite was announced I pounced on the chance to experience just a taste of what it’s like to run the Kerry Way. I have to say that I signed up one night, my laptop on my knees in bed and my credit card in hand, a very dangerous combination as I tend to be easily enticed by beautiful landscapes and the odd notion that I too could run such heroic trails. But, so far, my odd notions have carried me across the line at some pretty tough races, Ballyhoura Mountain Marathon, The Wicklow Way Ultra and the Mont Blanc Marathon so the Kerry Way...sure why not!

Fast forward to a wet and foggy Saturday morning in Sneem and the unlikely sight of a bunch of already damp runners, tightly huddled under Mrs Doyle’s small Hospitality tent, having a ‘how many ultra runners can you fit under an awning’ competition, passing the time before the race start....as you do! The rain is clearly not having a dampening effect on our mood as the banter flies back and forth at a faster pace than I’ll be running in a short while.

Time for a group photo of the mad people who are about to run all day in the rain for the craic!.... count down....cheer.... and we’re off! Up a soggy lane onto an even soggier lane and on into the first mud bath, followed by a veritable mud fest!! It was as if all the rain and water in Ireland converged upon Kerry that day churning the trails up into the deepest, thickest, stickiest mud ever!!! From the get go shoes and feet were sodden with water, and weighed down by mud and cow shite...yep, looking down at my legs I couldn’t discern the mud from the shite! And you just have to laugh as you wade through yet another field of sludge, slipping and sliding, trying not to fall on your arse and failing..and on and on....is there no end to this feckin shite we collectively think...cursing and laughing at each other’s efforts to run, stumble and shuffle our way through.

Eventually, the runners spread out and I found myself on my own, some runners still visible ahead and behind having reached the open mountain above Kenmare. And in the distance a familiar figure waves...a struggling 200k ultra runner, exhausted and suffering with mangled feet from a gruelling run all day and through the night. Unable to run by a team mate in need, I decided to walk with Duncan off the mountain and into Kenmare where we almost hijacked a lift from a very helpful lady on her way to work. Leaving Duncan to his lift, at this point I started to think my race was over having lost a lot of time and overtaken by a bunch of runners. But there was no way Niall and Pat were going to let me quit at the Kenmare check point, thanks guys. I was swiftly packed off with a few wine gums and sent up the ‘hill from hell’ out of Kenmare! Who in God’s name put that never ending (expletive, expletive, expletive!!!) hill right there?!? Shower of sadists!! And so, powered by expletives and the happy company of the two Pauls, I made it up and was once more on my way, leaving the lads behind me.

The next section was stunning, savage and brutally beautiful with churning black clouds lingering over the mountains, brief splashes of sunlight painting the landscape golden, heather purple and rain drop sprinkled slivery webs, swaying in the gorse. Here I was totally alone, no one in sight and it was glorious!! I ran and stopped to look and soak in this visceral beauty and ran on to stop again and again to look and become part of it. This is why I am a trail runner, for these moments of feeling fully alive and in the right place doing what I’m supposed to do as a human being. Ah feck am I turning into a hippy!!

And then there was pain...dull aching pain in my left hip and stinging pain in the soles of my water sodden feet. There was much less mud from now on but still some rivers to wade through keeping my feet constantly wet. The rivers however were delicious to aching muscles and it was very tempting to linger too long ..but the mantra...’just keep moving, keep moving, keep moving’ kicked in and playing mind games with myself I could keep running...’run until the next tree then you can walk...sure you’re here now why not run to that gate then walk’ and so on and on. Eventually casual walkers began to pass me by in the opposite direction giving me nods, some pitying stares (well I was covered in mud and shite!!) as well as much welcome words of encouragement so I knew I must be getting closer to civilisation again. This spurred me on across the final stages of the Old Kenmare road until I reached Torc waterfall where I just had to stop and like take a selfie like...which will forever stay unseen...the mad head on me!!.

I’d like to say I thundered down the steps and wowed the ascending tourists with my nimble feet and nonchalant speed and in my deliriously weary head that’s what was happening...but in reality, I shuffled slowly and achingly down step by tortuous step, a bedraggled and muddied figure with my own cloud of flies!!. At the bottom of Torc I found myself in a moment close to the edge, on the brink... tipping over...tears welling...holding back a sob....not knowing which way to turn?...up the road?...across into Muckross?...brain just gave up! A handy signpost just here would have been like heaven on a stick to my weary, befuddled brain. Luckily, some homing instinct (either that or the call of beer!!) drove me across the road into Muckross where I accosted an unsuspecting cyclist, shouting at them for directions to Killarney town. I must have looked like some crazed, feral thing as she shouted back directions with a look of ‘oh jaysus!’ on her face as she swiftly pedalled away.

There followed the home stretch that just kept stretching....on a long path through Muckross where I caught up with the worn and weary but heroic Jason. We feckin cursed our little feckin heads off all the way up the very long, long feckin long feckin road, keeping each other going, to the feckin brewery and the finish line for an amazing finish of the 200k for Jason and what turned out to be 58k for me!!!

The story doesn’t end there as the craic at the breakfast on Sunday morning is as much part of the Kerry Way Ultra as the race itself...bragging rights have been won by all, war stories are swopped, tales of mud and shite, and mangled feet are displayed like trophies. And all the pain is forgotten, like childbirth!! Sure we’ll do it again, why not...see you next year lads!!

Written by Stephen McAllister

200km distance, 9 check points, 20,000 feet of climb across mountains, fells, woodland, trail, bog and the occasional bit of road or runnable
trail, a Master Class of Trail Running.

Having heard about the Kerry Way Race since last year I had set out this as one of my highlights for the year and it didn't disappoint, it was through and through the most enjoyable race I've taken part in.

This race is self sufficient, meaning preparation is key. You have 9 checkpoints along the way each with a drop bag (if you remembered to pack one) and a few options to snatch some food in the shops during daylight or chance the Fish & Chips in the evening.

My plan was simple, pack an equal amount of food + drink in each bag with a combination of energy bars, gels, sweets and oats/slow release energy. Plus I made sure I had spare socks, clothes etc in each bag in case the weather turned. I packed much more than I needed but felt its better to go in and have than get stuck at night without any food. Plus anything that you didn't need you could just throw in the bag and collect at the end of the race. While they had water to spare the race couldn't guarantee water so on the safe side its wise to pack a few bottles throughout.

For training I focused on getting in the miles and working on the trail up in the woods. This race has a bit of every trail so you need to be a solid all rounder to do well. My weak point and one area which its hard to replicate is training on the rocks and the technical descents. A fair amount of the course is hard trail and a lot of technical running similar to the Lakelands especially quite early on and also on the closing stages of the race.

To the start about 40 brave souls took up the gauntlet this year and with no clear favourite this was very much an open race. With a 6am start on the Friday, we set off still in darkness. My plan, just go with the flow and wait till day light before checking where I actuallywas or what lied ahead on the route. After the first hour I was told if your trying to follow the route by map “Your Screwed” and insteadjust look for the Kerry Way sign posts and trail markers, which to be fair were pretty solid for most of the trail, although just relying on trail signs for a day and a half starts to mess with your head if you
haven't seen a sign in awhile or thought you missed one.

Having prepared to experience all 4 seasons, you'd couldn't have picked better weather for running and almost felt spoilt as we just had good weather for the whole weekend. Each checkpoint was a good 19km (ish) distance apart so you had a fair amount of ground to cover and a whole lot of climb.
Going through the black valleys, my sugar levels just tanked, I felt nauseous and couldn't get into any rhythm and had trouble adjusting to technical running. I quickly watched Mark & Paul put on their best mountain goat impressions and bounce through the valleys. By the time I'd reached the next checkpoint all the lads I was with had pushed on ahead and I just went back to plan B, take it easy, drop back and just enjoy the weekend and run within myself rather than push it.

The views throughout were just stunning, each climb you'd felt an injustice if you didn't take a stop to admire the land. After then leaving the valleys, getting some sugar in the system and settling into a gentle pace the route from Glengar to Glenbeigh was easy going with a few more runnable sections and a change to softer trail to run on. Although a few folk missed a couple of crucial turns to banking in some extra bonus mileage.

On arrival to Foilmore we were warned that next section to Waterville would be interesting. A two part journey into purgatory. Banding together with two lads, Billy & Darren the first section was a long trek across a fell where false ridges where ever present. After a dozen climbs and 2.5hours on the fell we realised we had only covered 8km and had another monster of a fell to cross. After a lot of swearing we started the second climb. With the second climb came nightfall and reminiscing about times on The Fellsmen without a second set of eyes you could easily lose track on the fell and go miles off course. Especially as you couldn't trust the fence line as a safety net for this climb.

Coming into Waterville I was forewarned of the Charlie Chaplin Statue but still after 100km in the bag its a odd sight to see. Next up heading into Caherdaniel, we felt revigerouted and with a few more runnable sections was able to start making some progress into the night although tiredness and fatigue were starting to play tricks on us.

Arriving at Caherdaniel, my stomach dropped and a tactical pit stop in the bushes was almost fatal as my legs almost gave way. To settle my body I took a cocktail of imodium, ibuprofen and pro-plus, while this sorted my body out for the next hour I felt like I was on an ACID trip with my head going every way but Sunday and unable to think straight.

At first I though I was losing the plot when the ground around you started to move and hundreds of eyes were watching you. Only did I realised there were sheep every where. While it was a grand ride I needed to focus so I knocked but x2 gels and got back into the race to coast into the next checkpoint at Sneem.

Given a bike escort into the checkpoint we were once again picking up the pace and it was now just a case of ticking off the mileage and taking it in our stride. With dawn only a couple of hours away a second wind would soon kick in and a finish was all the more likely. The course became much more friendly and while we didn't make use of the more runnable sections it provided a great rest bite for what was to come.

After leaving Templenoe the route to Kenmare was simply a frustration as you would loop round and round, across numerous hills before coming into town at which point the sun had come into full swing. With a mix of soft trail, a fair amount of road it would have been a great spot to eat up the mileage, however we opted for the cautious option knowing that the last section was a 30km stint.

Arriving in Kenmare we had the chance to see the end of a triathlon taking part and could focus on one last push to home. The route, a monster of a climb up a road hill and then along a ridge back towards the start. From there just a long technical run back off the hills towards Killarney. At this point we split up and just went for broke knowing the finish was in the bag and just had to push on.

Coming into Killarney a lad from Israel caught up with me and asked if it was alright to finish ahead of me on the line, seeing as he had his flag at the ready it seemed no bother to me. I had a comfortable finish just under 36 hours, went off to get some food from the chip shop only to find out they hadn't stopped my tracker so I lost a couple of spots by the time I got back. Early on I decided I was going to hang back and enjoy the ride rather than race it and enjoyed every moment of the race through and through knowing I had much more left in the tank if need be to go hell for leather.

A great bonus the following day was a lunch buffet at the Malton in Killarney, where you could catch up with all the other runners, share war stories and get some food back in you before setting off. It made for a much more friendly feel as you all felt as one team. Although if I went through what Mark Bissett had to I'd have taken a firing squad (bonus miles, no head torch for sections and being frog marched back into the forest for night running, a true machine)

In short I highly recommend the Kerry Way Ultra, has a wide range of trail, great support and the Irish know how to look after their runners. The only thing I will say is you will also be a master on the stair master by the end of the race. Instead of gates the Irish give you 100's of stairs to climb across and the on the last section on the ridge you have to jump from rock to rock and I mean jump or just fall in the stream.