URCCoaching

Written by James Belton

2 years ago when I was training for my first marathon (Eryri) I hit a bit of a barrier. All my training was being done on the streets around Stockport and Manchester, and I really wasn’t enjoying it. At one point I actually promised myself not to do anything like this again, but that all went out of the window after crossing the finish line of that race. In order to get more enjoyment from running I started looking for trail marathons and one that appeared in the search results was the Giants Head Marathon. Unfortunately the dates didn’t really work due to other races I was looking at doing but it meant that I’d now heard of White Star Running and, most importantly, had seen the types of races they were putting on.

The Ox races are a series of races (Half marathon, Marathon and Ultramarathon) all held on the same day at the Rushmore Estate in Wiltshire. Having had my first crack at an ultra last year (and failing to finish it) I had decided to have a go at the 35(ish) mile Ox ultra….partly (mostly) because the medals looked cool. After a far from ideal build up to the race due to various injuries and niggles I was a bit apprehensive when it came to setting off on what turned out to be a 6hr drive in bank holiday traffic from Manchester to Wiltshire. Since the middle of March I had only managed one run over 10k due to ITBS. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea….especially since I’d also signed up to do the 11k Dark Ox night race the night before as “a bit of a warm up”. Having finally arrived and set up the tent we were quickly caught up in the friendly atmosphere on site. A few hours later and we were lining up at the start line of the Dark Ox, and a little under an hour later I was back. Medal number one of the weekend had been bagged.

6.30am arrived all too soon, having seemingly forgotten my plan of running the Dark Ox gently and saving my legs for the main event. After a short race briefing by Andy we were off and into the woods of the estate. What had started off as a foggy morning was now really warm and as we emerged from the woods onto the top of the first proper hill we were greeted by beautiful views across the countryside. I seemed to have fallen into a group of runners that, although not running together, were around each other for the bulk of the day. The miles were ticking by and before I knew it we were at 13 miles. At this point I was surprised to see one of the other ultra runners heading towards us. It turns out he was actually about 5 miles ahead of us as there was a loop from 13 miles to 18. I filled my water bottles and set off on the loop, returning back to the water station around an hour later, by which point they were running low on supplies as all the marathon runners had now caught up having set off only an hour after us. I took half a bottle of water and set off again. After one more downhill section that took us into very picturesque little village there was about 15km of gradual uphill and I was starting to get pretty thirsty. Unfortunately a few of the water stations along this section appeared to be running low of water as well. Thankfully the weather felt like it had cooled down and there was a bit of a breeze but a number of other runners appeared to be struggling a bit. At this point my ITBS was starting to make itself known, especially on the down-hills, but I was chuffed to have made it this far without any pain. With some mental arithmetic I worked out that there was only about 5km left.......this is where the wording of the advertised race distance (35-ish miles) becomes relevant. We came into the water station that we were expecting to be at the foot of the final hill only to be told that there was around 3 miles left and it turns out that the bulk of this was uphill. White Star Running have what they call the “Lovestation” at their races. The idea of this is that you stop off and have a bit of cake, a hug and a drink….of cider. This is a stroke of genius and I could have stayed there for hours. By this point the campsite was now in view so we were near the end. Karen (Lovestation lady) referred to the remainder of the route as a “slight undulation”, which actually meant “bit of downhill before a short but steep uphill” and over the line to another awesome medal, more cider, pizzas and the party atmosphere.

I crossed the line in 7hrs and 20mins. Slower than I had hoped for but was still happy considering the lack of training in build up to the race and the extra couple of miles. In reality, the course profile makes the route look hillier than it is. I think my legs would probably have struggled a bit if it was a whole lot steeper so it was actually quite a relief.

White Star Running really know how to put on a great event. The marshalls are all brilliant and everything about the weekend was just a little bit quirky.   I’ll defin

Written by Karen Nash - http://karen-ultras.blogspot.co.uk/

This would be the 5th race in the Runfurther series and my 5th race too! I have not yet decided whether or not I can do the Grand Slam. In August will I be around for LTof B or on the continent getting ready for the GRP? In the autumn will we still be here for me to enter Jedburgh or will we be off to New Zealand? and is it worth going to the Isle of man to run 30 miles?
Still for now it is The Ox and back to the Dorset- Wiltshire borders. I say back to because I spent about 4 years in Shaftesbury as a child and so have some fond memories of the area. I have played on Win Green, walked along the drove roads, explored the woods at Tollard Royal, spotted Fovant badges and more.

After our recees earlier in the week I was concerned about how much hard surface there was and the fact I do not own any road shoes and had left my hokas at home. I even spent some time on the pre-race evening wandering around in different shoes trying to decide. There is not all that much tarmac but the lanes are hard and stony.

 


Very few sections were grass and there was almost no mud. Locals were bemoaning the hills but for those of us from the north it seemed like every hill should be runnable and none were big and steep making it worthy of a walk. We spent the afternoon reading, relaxing and soaking up the sun as we hydrated on Win Green hill.


Mid afternoon we moved round to the event centre at the lodge house to the Rushmoor estate and Tollard Royal golf course.


The camp site was already in full swing and we quickly spotted Andy Splatcher in the field. It was very laid back and we joined him quickly. Once his tent was up Bob, Andy and I went to put up the flags, banners and display boards.


The registration etc was outside and so were our boards so I am glad it was dry. The ground was rock hard from lack of rain and great flints in the chalk soil but we eventually got all the flags up. We met the organiser, handed over Clif bars and registered. It was not long before Dick arrived and also Carmine plus a whole bunch of Mercia/ Newport/ Shropshire runners.


The Dark Ox runners set off on their 6 miles at 8.30pm and many were back well before it was dark? I was concerned that our route had too many options for short cuts but was persuaded that the organiser would have this in hand and anyway we had timing chips on our shoes so surely they would know if corners were cut. The cool eventually drove us indoors and to bed.


Morning dawned with thick mist but gradually this lifted and it seemed it would be warm and sunny. Even though the course was marked out I was glad I knew the route and so could judge how far I had gone and what sections were coming up. As we had made all our RF preparations the night before we seemed to have masses of time to socialise before the 8.30am start. We herded together near the finish for the briefing and then out onto to road to start. A drone flew overhead filming the early stages. I knew it would be fast and flat and I was not proved wrong. After a few hundred metres of road and then track we were off in the woods.

This was actually our recee

I spotted Chris D and Carmine shooting off ahead and on one descent Splatcher came past me for a short while. I spotted Kate and we ran together for a while chatting. After 4 miles we left the woods and climbed to the first drove road where we followed a mixture of tracks and lanes to the next woods.


All was going well but the speed suddenly caused my 'toe problem' to flare. Andy had stormed away leaving Kate and I to wonder what he was on, now I had to let her pull away too.


Then another lady came by. Before 10 miles and in a lovely wood I suddenly found myself on the floor. I guess I tripped. Immediately my whole right arm was sore and there was blood from several cuts around my elbow. Not to worry- you don't run on your arms. Then I tried to stand up. I had hit my head but could not figure out what was wrong at first. My thigh had landed across a big tree root and it had given me a dead leg. For minutes I could not even stand up and for the next 8 miles running was a real trial and not pleasant. I tried not to cry. Other runners were lovely and concerned as always. the one who made the difference was Mercia Jon who made me laugh when he asked 'Is there anything I can do?' When I replied 'No, thanks.' His reply was 'not even a piggy back?' I had to try after that and was so glad of his company. I spent the miles from 10-18 trying to sort myself out and make up all the places I had lost while I lay on the floor or hobbled. Around here the 3rd lady passed me too. Oh well. The strange loop in the middle of the race came and went and I slowly settled into a better pace. I was eating a drinking well and things were improving. I was not looking forward to the big drove road heading west after 21 miles but several things cheered me up. First at the CP I was told I was 3rd lady- surely a mistake, but no, the next CP confirmed it. Second I ran most of it with Jon. He was great company and we chatted and both tried to push the pace and get the miles done. It was a real shame that he started to cramp and I lost his company but this was not before we started to catch up and pass other runners. Finally I took lots of pain relief (something I should have done earlier) and was able to ignore the bumps of my fall.

A shame the runners did not see the Fovant badges

Towards the end of this big track the marathon runners joined us and so there were even more people to try to catch - always a motivator I find. As we left the drove track and descended on softer paths I made up places and started to feel good.

It would have to be a very narrow car

Before the last big climb I took more paracetamol and spotted Splatcher just ahead. He was tiring- not surprising after such a good run of 100 miles at Apocalypse just the week before. I stomped the uphill and overtook him and others. I knew there were only about 4 miles left and some of those were a wonderful grassy ridge that dipped to about 800m shy of the finish hill. A quick check of my watch showed I could easily get under 6 hours so I even managed to run most of the last hill. I crossed the line to find the prize giving underway and no time to go to get the spot prizes.


 Kate was nowhere to be seen and I was shocked to see the 'young' lady be given first place? But I had been told I was 3rd so how could this be? Surely Kate and the asian looking girl were 1st and second. I hoped neither had pulled out injured. It seems the younger girl had 'got lost', wasted lots of time, cut out a chunk to make up for the lost miles, told a CP she would run a few extra so her garmin showed the correct amount and so had run across the line as first. I could not see how anybody could get lost on such a well marked course and could not believe she did not confess at the prize giving. She had cut out several miles and not been through at least two CPs. I complained to the RO and he gave me 3rd prize of a framed certificate and a flagon of cider.


 I then found Kate and he promised to sort it out and give her 1st. Tonight the results show Kate 1st, the others 2nd and 3rd and me 4th. The 'cheat' now has a time including seconds but I have no idea how it was arrived at as the timing chip would show her to be first.


 It is a shame this took the edge of the event for me and others. There is so much about the event that is really good and the marshalls were great. Chris D is not in the results at all yet and all the Mercia/Shropshire crowd were moaning about aspects of the organisation. Hard to believe the RO paid for timing chips but only used them once, at the finish and at no point had marshalls taking numbers out on the course. It would be a good safety measure and could prevent short cutting. Bob was also mad that they ran out of water and would not get more 'because there were not many runners left now'. He paid the same entry fee and needed the water just as much. We did get a rather large medal and interesting T shirt but I think I prefer a meal as we cross the line. The golf club let us use their showers and so I got to wash off the blood and wash my hair again! We had a great evening sat in the field chatting away before we camped again ready for the long drive home on Monday. Bob has now done 4 races in the series and I will have good points from the race. Need to get ordering the RF reward for 4 races gear!

Written by Andrew Benham - http://uphillstruggler.blogspot.fr

Mud Crew's Roseland August Trail – the RAT – is the jewel in the crown of Cornish trail running and an event that draws larger crowds each year. A true festival of endurance with multiple distances to choose from and a campsite at the finish line complete with bar, food stalls and even an after party for those with energy to spare.
 
The black, red & white RATs– 32, 20 & 11 miles respectively – are point to point races, with competitors bussed to their given starting point from where they run back along the coast path. For those looking for an even greater challenge the RAT Plague awaits. Starting at five past midnight on the Saturday morning this 64 mile race takes in the entire Black RAT course in both directions, running from Porthpean near St Austell to St Anthony at the tip of the Roseland Peninsular and back again.
 
Having first run the Plague in 2014 I'd had a couple of years to forget how hard it was and so decided to come back and see if I could get around a bit quicker. Arriving in the early evening I set up my tent, register and get stuck into a lovely stone baked pizza from one of the food stalls, watching an organised Yoga session in full swing for those in need of some pre race flexibility. Later, we're treated to a "Meet the Elite" motivational talk and Q&A with ultra runner of the year Dan Lawson, plus GB team runners Pat Robbins, Sharon Law & IzzyWickes. Then it's back to the tent for an hour or so of not sleeping before we gather for our briefing and are sent out into the night.
 
Starting a race at midnight is an odd concept and one that adds a new dimension – we start sleep deprived and run our first fresh faced miles hindered by the darkness. On the plus side the darkness masks the hideously steep unrelenting nature of the first few climbs and descents. On a single track trail we follow in each others' pool of light, a snaking line of head torches moving into the night with quiet chatter and hard breathing the only noise louder than the lapping of the ever present ocean.
 
The hills rapidly make their impact and the field spreads out as we encounter small villages – first Pentewan and checkpoint one, then the classic fishing harbour of Mevagissey. At ten miles or so we approach Gorran Haven and checkpoint two. Quietly filing into the Café I say a quick hello to some friends on crewing duties, refill my bottles and head out again. The night is warm and I'm moving well. I'm joined by another runner shortly after leaving and we stay together for a few miles, though as the night wears on and fatigue starts to set in I drop back and run alone to checkpoint three. I help myself to several cups of coke while a volunteer kindly fills my bottles and, with the long night starting to tell, I'm off out into the darkness again. 
 
 
Looking back to Nare head
 
 
Soon I'm climbing up onto Nare Head, one of the highest parts of the route. The headland has a long flattish plateau at its top and reaching here, with the faintest grey light starting to appear behind me, I feel a surge of energy that builds as the night turns to day. Just before day break I'm joined by another runner who surprises me (I only yelp a little!) as he appears from an unexpected direction having got off course and taken in an unintentional extra hill. This guy's name is Phil and we settle in to running together into the morning. As the sun risesand the light turns golden my energy levels soar; here the topography is a little easier on the legs and we skirt the edge of a beach before more pleasant running along stunning low cliff tops leads to the picture postcard village of Porthscatho and our next checkpoint. I know that friends – Loyd & Justin – will be marshalling here and they give us words of encouragement, telling us we are well up the field and looking strong. We're keen to get going; Phil andI leave together, the last few miles before the turn around covered fairly fast. Here we start to encounter the race leaders on their way back. I'm counting them off as they pass and we exchange words of encouragement as we make our way. 
 
Dawn at Portscatho
 
Approaching St Anthony we're treated to amazing views reaching out over both sides of the peninsular, short rugged cliffs to our left fall into the azure sea; farmland to our right dropping down to the natural harbour of Carrick Roads; the town of Falmouth at its far side and boats already out sailing in the mouth of the estuary.
St Anthony is not a true checkpoint, just a place to dib and get going. My stomach has other ideas though and so a longer than anticipated toilet break leaves me running alone for a time before catching and joining another runner on the way back. We catch Phil on the way back into Porthscatho and we all run into the check point where the offer of bacon rolls is welcomed enthusiastically.
 
Now the heat is starting to build and we retrace our steps, trying to run as much as possible on the easier ground before we reach Nare Head again and our first hard climb since day break. I'm actually glad we have some climbing to do as it’s a welcome change of pace. 
 
We start to wonder when the first of the black RAT runners will pass us; we turned around about an hour before they were scheduled to start so know it can't be long. A couple of features of this race serve to enhance the overall experience: each race starts slightly later in the day so that each group of runners approaches the finish at roughly the same time. And for those on the plague – we are issued with bright green vests so we stand out from the rest. As a result, throughout the day the number of people passing us running shorter distances increases, as do the words of encouragement we receive. When the first few come through though its hard not to be jealous at their light springy pace as they run – yes run! - up the hill past us!
 
By now its hot andI'm dreaming of the Water Melon I know will be at Portloe. We arrive in good time and, with this being the start of the 20 mile Red route, are greeted by a large number of supporters and runners just getting off the bus. Phil wants to change socks and has some shin pain – the medics are on hand to offer some advice and a cold spray. I head straight for the fresh fruit and devour about half a water melon and several oranges. We are cheered by words of support as we leave the village and then we're off onto the coast path again, winding our way towards home. 
 
At Portholland Jessica and Duncan Williams, disguised as Punks, are on hand with Red Bull and pastries, all part of the Mud Crew service. Scrambling across the rocks here at night was a world away from the seaside holiday vibe going on as we return. A mile or two further on we reach Porthluney Cove, the road lined with well wishers, a beach full of tourists and a castle behind us, its hard to resist the ice creams on sale at the café but there's no time to waste. 
 
Approaching Gorran
Rolling hills lead down to pretty little Hemmick Beach where a possy of children act as cheer leaders from the sand. Then its up the steep relentless climb to the top of Dodman point, past several frustrating false summits to pass the monument at the top. I'm switching places with runners on various distances here as I'm feeling strong and climbing well. Even those on the shorter routes are starting to feel the effects of all these hills. But I know what follows and I'm keen to get into it: a good few miles of beautiful runnable terrain, easing slowly downhill all the way passed the long shingle stretch of Vault Beach and rounding the headland at its end before a last hard climb leads up to a perfect vantage point above the village of Gorran Haven. We can hear the cheers as we round the corner and drop down to the checkpoint. The 11 mile white race is yet to start and the village is heaving. I'd left Phil somewhere on the descent but he joins me minutes later as I'm sorting out my kit and refilling bottles. He's looking tired but keen to press on too. 
 
As we leave the checkpoint and weave through the narrow streets we pass a huge crowd of runners and supporters.  I give a big shout and wave my arms in mock victory and am rewarded with a great cheer as I leave the village, buoying me up and sending me on my way onto the next leg. Soon though I'm walking again and I know I'll have to dig deep to keep my pace up as we enter the final 10 miles of the race.
Looking at my time I know I'll not beat my goal of coming in under 15 hours but sub 16 is still a very real possibility. Knowing the worst hills are still ahead of me I'm determined to run while I can and every flat section or downhill I push myself into a slow jog. I'm sorry to say it was here I left Phil behind me, I could see he wasn't following as I pushed up the first big climb out of the village but I was on a mission and couldn't wait.
 
We're all hurting now and the paths are busy with runners passing me at every opportunity, though as the path gives way to fields and we approach Mevagissey I see another Plague runner in the distance. This gives me something to focus on and I start trying to reel him in. Soon we are into civilisation; Mevagissey is a very popular tourist destination and it feels strange to be weaving in and out of family groups with pasties and ice creams. Many have got a good idea about what we're doing though and clap and cheer as we pass. 
From here, its just 6 miles to go but what miles they are. A couple of huge climbs festooned with steps lead us on to Pentewan and the final checkpoint. I'm pleasantly surprised that my quads are still able to propel me upwards and hands on thighs I keep my head down and just keep going to the top of each hill. The Pentewan checkpoint is the busiest of all. Either by happy accident or shrewd planning the Ship Inn has a beer festival – I resist the urge to partake!Race director Fergy dibs me in and tells me I'm looking strong, someone grabs my bottles and refills them and my friend Wanda is there crewing and presents me with an ice pop – heaven! 
 
No point stopping a moment longer. The hills get really hard now, steps are the order of the day for the last 4 miles. I know I can walk in from here and get under 16 hours but where's the fun in that? Every flat I run, every downhill I force my legs to carry on holding me up and to my surprise they do. I'm sure I'm moving very slowly by now but I feel like I'm charging. And I'm passing people! Including another Plague runner a mile or so from the end. On the last downhill someone is walking backwards – I've been there and I know how that feels! - but I trot down with a huge smile on my face because I know I'm home. Managing a speed march up the steep road from Porthpean Beach to the campsite I break into a final little run as the ground levels and there is Hannah, my wife, and Jenna my youngest daughter. Bronwen, at 13, is way to cool to bother with meeting her Dad and remains, I'm told, by the tent! Jenna and I cross the line holding hands and its done. 15 hours 22 minutes and a 2 hour pb. I collapse and plead with Hannah to bring me cider, before remembering I've yetto collect my medal.
 
As more people arrive the atmosphere is building towards the inevitable party. I catch up with a few friends, we exchange stories of our days. Phil crosses the line not long after me; its good to see he made it ok. I'm in no state to do anything much so after a shower I'm driven home for a well earned rest by my long-suffering wife.
 
And that was that. Absolutely the best day's running I have ever had. This event gets better every year, so if you fancy a tough as nails ultra by the seaside you know where to go!

Written by Murray Turner - http://getoutmoor.blogspot.co.uk

The Plague: Still infected!


Oh, I'm going to be sick. " Bleugh" . Bugger, stomach turning inside out, but nothing coming out. I'm tired, sick, hungry and thirsty; and it's only mile 20. It's going to be a long night. Maybe I really am infected! My demise at the Plague was swift. Everything unravelled with breathtaking speed. Unfortunately, everything didn't turn out in the long run. In fact my long run - my first attempt at a 100km - didn't last more than 36miles. How did everything go so wrong, so quickly?

I have had a whole day to reflect and analyse on everything that could have contributed to my demise, and the list is long. Maybe they all contributed, maybe none did. Maybe it just wasn't my day or maybe I just wasn't good enough.

Anyway,  let me go back to beginning. As far back as last year. My place this year was deferred, as last year I had an undiagnosed sharp,intense, shooting pain, along the base of my right foot whenever I went above 20ish miles. GP's, X-ray, ultra sound, podiatrists all failed to pin point the exact problem. The best guess by a podiatrist was an inflammation in soft tissue between 3rd and 4th Metatarsal. Advice: rest for 6weeks and roll your foot on an iced bottle of water or tin. Which I have done post run ever since, and no pain since. There is permanently a frozen tin of soup in the freezer! That's that problem solved.

So, that meant I have waited a year to do The Plague. For those of you not in the South West of England, The Plague is a 100km of Cornish Coast Path, organised by Mudcrew. Their tag line is "we don't do easy".  No shit, Batman. You start at Porthpean, St Austell, at 5mins past midnight, run 32 miles through the night to St Anthony Head, turn round and run back. Simples.

My training had gone well. I was confident. I had mixed it up, adding cycling, circuit training and yoga to my routine, in addition to my long back-back runs. I completed the Ham to Lyme 50km. I felt strong. Until about 3wks before the event. I had a disastrous training run. It was one of my last scheduled long runs and I ran out of energy. It knocked my confidence. I rested then and only ran once before the Plague. The days before I was nervous as hell.  My guts were in turmoil. I packed, unpacked, packed again. Checked the kit list again. And again. And again. Calm down dear, it's only a race.

Maybe the writing was on the wall when, on the morning of the race I was doing the last bits of washing up before leaving home, when I sliced my finger on a shard of broken glass. Omen? So, we get to Porthpean by 17.00hrs on Friday {'We', being my friend, training partner and fellow runner, Rachel}, put the tent up, ate  and chilled. The weather was good and the vibe around the site even better. Mudcrew run exceptionally well organised events and this was no different. Once the tent was up and last minute food and hydration was taken care of, I felt a sense of zen like calm. There was a surprising lack of nerves or even excitement. Just zen. Or maybe it was denial of the pain ahead, I'm not sure. Whatever the feeling was, this was it. Nothing left to do but run.

Time for safety briefing: watch out for badger holes. Stay safe. We are there to look after you and get you through. Miss the cut offs and you will be pulled off the course. Be nice to the marshalls, they are there for you. Look after yourselves and have fun.

Things went wrong from the start. Lost a good few minutes at the first kissing gate, only a few hundred metres in, which caused a bottle neck. Didn't start near enough at the front. Rookie error. Ten minutes gone within first few metres. The cut off times are fairly tight. Porthpean to CP2 at Gorran Haven is a total of 11miles with cut off at 02.45hrs. A running time of 2hrs 40mns. Not as easy as it sounds, on the coast path, in the dark. Dodging the badger holes, I was slowly getting in my running vibe, but Rachel wasn't feeling too good. But we made it OK, grabbed some food and water, and left. Now, Rachel completed the SDW100 recently, so knows what she is doing; she was meant to be getting me round this. So what happened next was not in our race plan. Not able to shake her stomach pains, we were losing time. Many times she told me go, she would be alright she said. I wouldn't. She would get through this, run it off. It would pass. I tried my best motivational pep talks . I think that even made her feel worse, but I was trying.

Eventually, I had to make a choice. Stay with Rachel and be timed out at CP3, or leave her. She knew this and was getting increasingly frustrated with me for not going on. But how could I?  Now, the S.W. Coast path is not easy terrain, but it is not remote. It was a balmy summers evening and she wasn't seriously ill or injured, just not feeling the love for this event right now. She was still moving, just not very fast! There were also sweepers not too far behind. I realised I had to make that choice. It was 04.00hrs and we had only done 14miles.  There were 6miles to CP4 at Portloe and that had to be reached by 05.15hrs. Mudcrew are lovely people- but they are strict with their cut offs. And for very good reason. I gave Rachel  a big hug and legged it. I had just over an hour on the coast path to cover 6miles. It was a very stressful hour. My race plan was in shreds, I was against the clock, alone, in the dark, and feeling incredibly guilty about leaving my friend and race buddy. My mind began, ever so slowly, to turn against me.

I made it. Just. The volunteers were great, helped me fill water and a flask, took some electrolytes - but all I remember was the cute little dog asleep in amongst the chaos! Got some supplies and went. Then my race really went pear shaped. Minutes out of Portloe  I started to retch badly. Dehydrated, I was unable to eat or drink. I was in bits. I had 8miles to Portscatho. It was a long, long, long 8 miles. I have read many tales of the dark places you go in Ultra's, how Ultra's are in large part a mental challenge and how you have to be ready for it when it happens. Well it was happening. And I was not ready. My mind was turning against me. It was not my friend any more. I had barely done a marathon at this point and knowing that made me feel worse. I was unable to cope. I was not ready. I mentally quite at that point. As I shuffled towards Portscatho, I started to mentally compose my Ultra running obituary; he tried, but he failed.

As the sun came up, I tried to gain some solace from the spectacular beauty of the universe. I was, at least in my line of vision, alone on the coast path and the scenery was quite spectacular. The sea was calm and the rhythmic sounds of the waves a soothing soundscape to the vibrant orange sunrise. A new day dawns. I even ran for a bit. It didn't last. Failure. You are not going to do this. Failure. What will everyone say?. Failure. I wanted to cry. SHUT UP HEAD. Twentyish miles? What has gone wrong? I can easily do 50km. Problems weren't meant to start until the return leg. Bumping into a friend and another fellow Plague sufferer, Ken, helped for a bit. But not much. We chatted and shuffled. Then even he was gone! FAILURE.

My new master plan was to get to Portscatho, just past the cut off at 07.45hrs. I would be timed out. I would be pulled off the course and it wouldn't be my decision to quit. But the bastards wouldn't let me stop. The conversation with aid station volunteers and medics went something like this {although I may have imagined some of it!}

Anything physically wrong with you?
Not really. Stomach issues. Probably dehydrated. Just not my day. My head's fucked. Can I curl up in the corner please.
No.
Why not?
You don't really want to stop.
Oh, but I do.
If you drink this magic potion {said the medic, I think}, and leave with these people here, you can make it to half way.
But I don't want to. Please let me stop.
I drank the water with the fizzy tablet in.
Get up, put your pack on and go. Or else.
I don't want to. I want a pint of Proper Job. {CP4 was in a pub, I could see the bar!}
GET UP
No
GET UP
I was too tired to argue further, got up and went. Bastards, wouldn't even let me quit.

Leaving Portscatho, it was only 4miles to the half way point. I wasn't alone now, with Andrea and Steve, fellow strugglers, who actually seemed in a more positive frame of mind. It started to rub off on me {thank you!}I felt better. Then came the tsunami of Black Runners {RAT also had Black 32milers / Red 20miles / White 11milers starting at different points on Saturday}. So about 08.45hrs we were suddenly running into a few hundred fresh faced and eager runners, all, and I mean ALL, shouting encouragement and clapping as they swarmed around us. They knew how far we had come, but I also knew how far they had to run. Poor bastards. You will suffer. But thank you for your support. For the second time that day I nearly cried- but I was too dehydrated! Quite emotional this running lark. The support from fellow runners really did mean a huge amount.

Newly enthused, the 'last' 2 miles were quite pleasant. St Anthony's Head. Half way. YIPPEEEEEEEEEEE.
I was, for the first time in about 4hrs, feeling positive again. The sun was out, the day was hotting up, and I was feeling hungry again. About time! But my legs were not responding to my new positivity. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. One foot in front of the other.

Mudcrew did all they could to get us to at least the half way point, but on the return leg, they needed to make a decision. They even came out onto the route to check on us. But I was done. So were Steve and Andrea. We were also after the cut off {10.10hrs}. Decision made for us. Stop. Relief. But more importantly for me at least, was that I was in a much better frame of mind. Yes, my race was over, but at 36miles, and not 28miles. Psychologically,  that made a huge difference. I had gone through a dark place, and still made it over halfway. With a bit of time to spare, if I could have stopped for some real food, I know I could have carried on. But I was already chasing cut offs, time was not something I had on the day. However, I ended happy, and mentally in a significantly better place than just a few hours previously. Today was just not my day. I did not have the experience, or the strength, to continue. I know that now. But I am also happy with that knowledge now. If I had been allowed to quite at 28miles, I would still be in that dark place. As it is, I'm raring to go again. Thank you Mudcrew and medic.

Back at Porthpean, I met up with Rachel again, and she was OK. Dehydration apparently. We chatted, debriefed and the very nice Dan made me a cup of tea. Rachel was sorry she held me up. Don't be silly. Running with friends is a pleasure. Did my race unravel due to Rachel? NO. I know not what happened to my race, but it wasn't anyone else's fault, that I do know. I would stay with her {or any other friend or ill runner} again. My only regret is that I didn't stay with her- my suffering would have been over sooner then as well  :-)

After food and fluid, I was a new man. Ready for pizza and beer! Meeting other friends and watching runners come in from completing various distances was uplifting and inspiring. I was well pleased for all of them. Their kind words and support for me also made me feel less and less like a failure. I started to feel vaguely normal again, almost wanting to do it again. BATs are a pretty amazing lot. Rachel, Dan, Mel, Emma, Fran {both of you!}, Sarah, Sam, Martin, Hilary, Mathew, Sam, Andrew. I salute you!

I still don't really know why everything unravelled so very, very quickly. It was scary actually. I know the coast path is brutal, but after 20miles. Really? I know I can do at least 32miles. Maybe that's what completely threw me into a tail spin. Knowing I could do more, but unable to. Maybe I need to do some more reflection. But what I do know is- I WILL BE BACK.

So what have I learned? Well:

  • Dark times do not last for ever; they will pass. 
  • Other runners are awesome. I know we all know that, but the support from all the 32milers made me feel like a champion- even though I was last.
  • My friends and fellow club runners are awesome. You may not know that. I do!
  • Constant eating / grazing / fluid intake IS REALLY IMPORTANT. However you feel, eat and drink. However bad you feel, not eating and drinking will make you feel worse.
  • Marshalls and check point volunteers are nice people. Even if they wont let you stop.
  • If you feel like quiring? DON'T!! Not at first anyway. I did another 8 more miles; it gave me the confidence to know that next year, I can, and will, complete the Plague. 
  • Oh, and Mudcrew, you know how to put on an event!

Written by Benjamin Kissel - http://kiwirun.blogspot.co.uk

Dear Dad,
 
It's going to be a long time before most of what has happened  has made sense, but I've written this, partly to let you know what happened while you were asleep, and partly just to let it out. It starts with a phone call...
 
"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad...Dad's had an accident.”
 
These are the words that echo around my head, crashing like waves into my subconscious. I approach the start line with Brian and distract myself from the soundscapes in my head. I wasn’t even planning on coming to this race, but something told me I had to. My heart is not here, but I had to. Flowers grow through rubble. So can I.
 
Brian says something I don't quite catch and I snap out of it. He introduced himself as I got on the train from London to Tring. I wasn’t particularly keen on company with the mood I'm in, not wanting to bring anyone else down, but he was friendly and I very quickly felt my mood turn around just from the chance to chat with someone who didn't know what was going on with me. By the time we got to Tring I was secretly thanking him for shaking me out of my funk.
 
The start line
There are minibuses transporting runners to the start and plenty of time to mill about before we set off from Ivinghoe Beacon at midday. This is the official starting point of the Ridgeway national trail. Today we’ll be attempting all eighty six miles of it.
 
That said, I’ve told myself no pressure. So if I do all of it, well, I do all of it. If I don’t I don’t. There is a short race briefing then we’re away. We saw that Dan Lawson was on the start line, who is liable to run this race extremely quick, and he charges off the front from the go. The speedier pace trickles it’s way down the field and soon enough we find ourselves going quite a bit faster than expected.
 
On the approach to the start a guy who recognised my shorts from a previous run in the Gower came up to say hello and wonder if I remembered him. I did and it’s a nice chance to catch up as we ran together for quite a while taht day. As we reach the start line another woman who saw the shorts at the Stour Valley Path race two weeks ago also comes to say hello. I ask how she got on and she was second lady so clearly after passing me at the second checkpoint she went ahead to storm it!
 
Where's (the) Wally.
I now notice her not far away. We’re about a mile in. I point her out to Brian saying we should probably avoid trying to keep up with her if we’re to avoid the hurt locker early on. He agrees. There’s quite a buzz in the air and we’re swapping places with a few people here or there, finding ourselves with the guy from the Gower and one of his friends.
 
The starting section is quite undulating, but most of the runners just take it at a similar stride to normal flat pace, given that it’s fresh legs at the beginning here. We trade places and pair up with other people for a while and just generally chat to whoever is around. The theme of the day seems to be the good weather.
 
There is a lot of nervous energy and Brian’s watch is beeping at us quite often as he has the virtual pacer on, set to tell him if he’s going too fast or slow. He has it set to be halfway between a twenty hour finish and the womens course record, with the intention of holding that pace as long as possible then slowing down. Personally I’m unsure how long I’ll be able to hold that pace.
 
But soon enough we’re three miles, or five kilometres in and the warm up has begun. The legs are loose and the countryside is open. It’s very much an old Roman Road style trail, and very well maintained compared to what I’m used to with other races. Combining that with the fact that the trail is pretty hard packed from the good weather and you’ve got a pretty runnable trail.
 
The countryside is much nicer than I expected, with good views out over the county, reminiscent a little of the South Downs where you get great views over the countryside. The field thins out a little and there’s less jostling for space which means we can focus a bit more on relaxing and enjoying the day out.
 
It’s not actually too long before we find ourselves pulling up at the first aid station. We pushed the first ten kilometres in an hour, which feels dangerously close to how I felt at the Stour Valley Path right before I blew up two weeks ago, but it felt okay so we pressed on for the next few kilometres and I didn’t say anything.
 
Now that we’re here, I can feel my legs being a bit more leaden than normal, but nothing I wouldn’t expect having done a hundred kilometres so recently. We stop and Brian fills up his Tailwind nutrition bottles, I fill up mine and as he’s still getting ready I take a few moments to just grab some jaffas cakes and a slice thingie to try to shove as much food and water in as I can while I’m still feeling good an can stomach anything.
 
I’m thankful for the rest to be honest as well. Having pushed it a bit it’s a good chance to just stop and check through to see how the legs are feeling. We thank the volunteers then head off. We chat excitedly for a few minutes, then there is also a few minutes silence.
 
 
 
"Hey Ben, it's Nik..." 
 
No, not yet. I'm not ready for it yet. Flowers. Rubble. Remember that instead.
 
I break my thoughts with some toilet humour. There's nothing like a good poo joke on the trails isn't there? Hey look, there's even a cow poo right there.
 
We've lost most of the other people that were around us, but to be honest I'm fine with that. It's nice being a bit more alone out here and letting the field thin out a little.
 
The sun is still shining pretty bright, but after burning on the Stour and looking a little like  a baked potato I remembered sunscreen this morning so that hopefully my head is okay until the night section. It seems to be working so far.
 
We get to one particular climb that goes on a little bit longer than the ones before and we start to talk about our past. He's a New Yorker, so an immigrant like me, and we get to talking about what made him move and what kept him here, his family and children. With three of his own and four step-children it's interesting to hear the perspective of a man with a big family, so different from where I myself am at in life.
 
We reach the top, and there is a large monument. Looking closer I think it is a reference to the Boer war, but I can't see in too much detail. There is a nice path up to it then as we crest the hill there is a stunning view out over I don't even know which county.
 
 
We pass some people out for the day and see a family having a picnic. I mention the fact that I often find it strange as you see people out and about. So if you're in a race you get a lot of people cheering and clapping, so you look out for people having a picnic and keep an eye on them in case they do so, with the intention of being ready to thank them for the support.
 
But then if they don't support, they just stare at you nonplussed. As you stare back at them looking like you're some arrogant, attention seeking runner looking for kudos when in truth you just didn't want to be rude just in case they clapped. They look at you as if to ask what the hell you're looking at their family just a little too lingering for. If you haven't already noticed, I get a lot of time to my thoughts on the trail to over analyse and make light of these sorts of gormless situations.
 
We go down a big field with some rather large cows. They couldn't care less though so we go right through the middle of them. As we do so, Brian mentions after my joking that his guts aren't feeling too good.
 
I laugh at first then his face doesn't move and I ask if it's serious. He's not sure. Uh oh. We carry on and I just try to keep talking and fill the gap. I talk about races I've done, my thoughts on training, my thoughts on kit. Anything to help ease the strain. Get it...ease the strain? I crack myself up.
 
We get to another field and Brian says it's game over. He's not got any supplies so I get out my shit kit and hand some paper over. I stop briefly myself, then walk slowly down the field.
 
Brian arrives back a few minutes later looking a fair bit fresher than ten minutes ago and I'm pleased to hear it. He gets back to his normal chatty self, but it does seem like something is still playing on his mind.We both ignore it for now and just keep the focus on pacing. The short break was actually quite a relief as we'd not really relented on the pace at all even after saying we would.
 
We carry on a few more miles and then find a town, I'm not sure which. Brian's feeling it again, so affords himself the luxury of a pub toilet, where I try as well just in case as I've no idea when I'll next find a toilet, but it turns out I'm good for now and I'm just a weirdo hanging out in a toilet when he doesn't need to.
 
We carry on again, having been passed by a few people, but I'm honestly not bothered and not too long after we find ourselves the second checkpoint in the woods.
 
This time I take a look at the piece of paper we were handed at registration with the checkpoint times and facilities listed on and note that we're only half an hour inside the cut off. I hear one of the volunteers mention they're only waiting on about six people or so and I wonder how the hell we've ended up so considerably far behind, as even with a couple of stops we've not been going that slow.
 
 
I decide it must be down to there being a ten o'clock start time as well, so the cut offs must be made to be loose for them early on and tight for the later starters, to then even out later in the day.
 
Again, I'm fairly quick at filling up and grabbing a goody bag that they're handing out, but am more than happy for a couple of minutes standing break. I feel it's important to keep myself happy and fed early on today and not be bothering about the time. It works. I feel better for the moments standing.
 
Brian is chatting to the volunteers and I point out the food table as he doesn't seem to be terribly keen on anything after what the Tailwind nutrition powder seems to be doing to him. I point out some solid food can't be a bad thing and he grabs some, clearly already having the same idea.
 
There is another pair who we've gone back and forth a couple of times with who are leaving at a similar time and we keep them roughly in our sights as they seem to be moving a lot more comfortably but slower than us currently, but we're taking more walk breaks.
 
We go over an overpass and there is clearly a right turn somewhere and the two pairs of us wander around a little wondering where it is, with the fields on either side of the road having paths. In the end we just opt for the road which proves right when we're rewarded with an acorn symbol on a finger post, signifying the national trail.
 
We swap pairs for a bit and chat to each other then as we reach another road with a confusing finger post notice Tim Mitchell, the race director, driving off and pointing us across the field, jokingly threatening a disqualification if we go down the road.
 
We don't, we find the spray paint arrows pointing across a freshly ploughed field and again I'm reminded back to the Stour Valley a couple of weeks ago and all the fields in that.
 
I take the lead over this field which is normally something I don't tend to do as much. It's not that I don't like it, I just tend to find myself wondering if the pace is too fast or too slow for the people I'm with and if others are happier in front I generally am happy for them to do so. Basically I over analyze the situation when I really don't need to.
 
But now I'm bossing it over this field. I don't look back until the far side when I just double take to see if everyone is still with me, which they are, spread over twenty metres or so.
 
We form back into pairs again and as Brian and I go through a narrow lane we see officials at the far end. I wonder what they're doing here, we're too close to the last checkpoint for this to be another one.
 
We reach them and say hello and it becomes apparent they're just standing sentry at a rail crossing and taking numbers. We proffer the best smile we can manage after twenty odd miles and proceed over the other side.
 
We're now ahead of the other chaps, but can see them just behind us. As we open out into another field that is quite sprawling we see a couple of others ahead in the distance.
 
 
It's ever so slightly uphill and we slow to a walk as the other chaps catch us. They head on and we keep the walk. We pass an extremely old lady with a bib number on and I say well done to her. I genuinely mean it. She looks like she hit seventy in the seventies and is now quite a few miles deep in this. She has quite a cheery smile back for me as I pass.
 
There is quite a steep hill which I press on just ahead of the chaps, now that I've finally got a bit better at uphill technique after all the practice this year.
 
I stop at the gate at the top and hold it open for the guys and wait for Brian. He comes up looking defeated. He tells me all the energy has left him and he thinks he's done. There's no point trying to push on feeling like this and he tells me to carry on.
 
I'm unsure what to do here. I've really enjoyed the company, and don't want to desert him. But at the same time, he is telling me he's had enough and he looks like he means it. Aside from that, we're pushing the cut offs and unlikely to make the next one at our current pace.
 
I ask firmly if he's positive this is the decision he wants to make, and whether or not it's possible it might be worth us trying to gut it out to the next one in case it picks up.  He says he's sure, and to press on and try to catch the chaps up.
 
With regret I shake his hand and we bid each other adieu. I feel really bad leaving him, but it's clear his decision is made. Oddly, considering my mood when we got here today, I'm feeling quite resolute that I'd like to carry on.
 
I do catch the guys up and tag along to the third checkpoint. Their pace is not too dissimilar to what I was doing with Brian so it's not too bad a switch, though my legs are feeling a bit leaden. I think having done a hundred kilometre race two weeks ago may not have been the wisest move, with the soreness setting in quite early today at around ten miles. 
 
That said, it feels like that's important training at this point. It's not going to make me faster, slower if anything, but this year my focus has been solely on endurance. I used to be faster, but there's not point in fast if you DNF every race is there? Well, that's what I found at my last DNF, anyway.
 
So I listen to my body, I feel it creak a little and I just let it go. I let myself enjoy what I'm doing. We hit the next checkpoint around a marathon in. This one doesn't have as massive selection, but there are all the necessary bits and importantly some coke which I knock back along with a few other bits and bobs. I let the marshal know Brian's number and tell them he's fine but may be a little late just so they don't worry.
 
This time, stopping, I really do feel it in my legs. It doesn't bother me, it's just earlier than normal, which is fine. We just stand there a minute to stop and laugh at each other, then set off again.
 
The first thought is how close we are. We've gained ten minutes and are now forty minutes up on the cut off. It does a bit of a number on all of our heads as none of the three of us feel like we've been going that slow at all so we can't understand why there are only a handful of people behind us.
 
No matter, though, we press on. The short stop has given me a fair bit of a boost. I didn't really realise how much I was feeling it and looking forward to a stop after the slightly slower pace which then picked up when I started running with these fellas.
 
I think of Brian and hope he's okay, he seemed to be accepting of the decision but it's never a fun one to take. Apparently, that Tailwind nutrition really lives up to its name.
 

We take the pace ever so slightly easier for a bit. One of the boys is starting to feel it in his legs a bit and seems to have taken a bit of a turn as far as mood goes, but personally I'm more than happy to keep this slower pace and save the energy for later on, even if it does put me into the position of chasing cut offs. Right now I couldn't care less.

We start to talk about how we're feeling about the day and I mention I'm quite unbothered. My feeling yesterday was to not even turn up, but I knew it was also about family and staying strong, so turned up. Now I'm feeling like I've done okay, nearly fifty kilometres, so the pressure is off.
 
I can quit anytime I like from here on in and not feel bad. I say this out loud, but conscious of the fact it's always good to keep as upbeat a mood as possible, I point out that feeling like that means that I feel alright and am actually enjoying myself a fair bit more than I would be otherwise. Basically, thinking about quitting is helping me not follow through and do it. The psychology of a runner eh? Or maybe it's just me.

"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad...Dad's had an accident. He took a downhill too fast and he's hit his head."

There's a long pause and I can hear him crying. I'm jolted back to five in the morning a week ago. Friday the twenty first of August to be exact.

"He's just gone in for emergency brain surgery. We don't know what's going to happen."
 
My world came crashing down in that moment a week ago.

As we're walking an uphill, I let it out and explain the situation to Sam, though I don't go into too much detail. I don't want to cry on the trail here. Not yet. I need to stay strong. So I just mention it, and explain that's why I'm feeling the way I am about this race right now. We move on to another topic.
 
We make our way further and further along, just keeping a steady pace to try to maintain our energy whilst not dropping too far behind. As we're going through a field, about to start another climb, the other chap says in a very determined voice that's it, he's had enough and he's going to drop at the next station.

We try to coerce him into changing his mind, telling him it may be worth just resting at the checkpoint and deciding there, but he's resolute that he's not enjoying things and would rather make sure he can get home at a normal time and live to run easy another day sooner rather than later. He seems definite so we don't argue the point with him.

Soon enough that aid station arrives at the top of another hill, and he sticks to his word asking if he can get a ride to the halfway point so his wife can pick him up. I tell Sam I'm unsure what to do as well, thinking I may do the same.
 
If I drop now I can get a lift to halfway, Goring-on-Thames, and manage to get the last train home. If I don't it's going to be a lot more tricky. I tell Sam I'm going to sit for five minutes and he's happy to wait. I grab a date and oat cake thing, which is great, and a couple more jaffa cakes and coke and sit with chappie number two, who ask what I'm doing. 
 
I again say I'm unsure then when Sam comes over I tell him we may as well head off. Snap decisions are the best in these situations, they get you out the door. I'm going to have to go to Goring anyway as that's where my bag is. So I may as well run and decide there. It's twelve miles this stretch, which is part of what was holding me back as mentally that's quite a jump, so I'm glad to be back on the road quickly.
 

My legs are extremely stiff on getting up again, but there's a nice little road section so the creaks and groans ease their way out and Sam and I find our rhythm again. We both mention how surprised we were at how quickly the other fellow dropped as he seemed to be vaguely not enjoying it but nothing you can't work through. I guess the thing is, after fifty odd kilometres the thought of another ninety doesn't really appeal too much.

But we're out of the checkpoint and mentally this is quite a big boost. I knew that was going to be one of the harder ones and it's done now. Sam goes in front a fair bit now and keeps himself, and me, going with a pretty good pace. A much better one than I would have managed on my own.
 
We talk at times but we also have quite long stretches to ourselves, for me just content in the fact that we're moving along at a good clip. The night starts to draw in a bit and we do quite a long stretch along Grims Ditch, which is quite nice through some woods.
 
I think of home a bit at this point. I think of what I saw when I went back to Christchurch after the earthquakes and I remember the day a couple of years later, when people were finally allowed back into the central city, I stood there by the 'Hak', the nickname for the place we used to hang out as teenagers, trying to figure out where exactly it was amongst the rubble. Hours, years even I spent here and now I couldn't even tell exactly where it was.
 
I remember searching around all the streets of my youth, unable to fully understand which road I was on, as there was just holes in the earth where the buildings and landmarks used to be. I searched, to work out where the Hak was and found the tree that was next to it, still growing strong. It had lived a long time before the earthquakes and stands strong today. I remember looking at my feet and seeing a small flower poking out of the rubble and reminding myself that adversity is only our downfall if we let it be. I can choose to look at the rubble in life or I can choose to look at the flowers coming through.
 
I trip over a tree root and nearly go flying. The light has dimmed considerably. We're kind of bumbling about in the forest not really able to see what we're doing. We both mention it may be time for head torches but neither of us grab for one.

It's preferable to leave it as long as possible, but it's definitely getting close. We start chatting again, I check in to see how he's feeling and it's good, and I'm actually still feeling about the same, which suggests I'm running within my means and can't be a bad thing.
Another trip up and it's definitely time for the head torches to come out. We're getting closer and closer now and the section is going by pretty well. Another mile gets ticked off and we're still just keeping the same pace.

We've been going steadily for about ten miles now on this stretch without any real walk breaks, so I can start to feel my energy levels get low. I reach in my bad for another of the little packets of chicken goujons I've brought then find the apple turnover I forgot about and get that out instead.

It does the trick. I'm surprised at how well I've been eating today. At each aid station I've got at least a bit of food down and have been steadily getting through the reserves I brought as well one little bit at a time. I brought quite a variety this time, with chocolate bars and Pepperami topped off by Babybells.

The head torches are well and truly coming into their own by the time we start to see the lights that suggest we're nearing the checkpoint. We reach a massive river and it takes me a couple of minutes to even register this is the Thames. There's a massive overbridge we go under, eery at night and then the lights start to get that little bit closer until we're back on roads and moving through the outskirts of the town. Then we go down a lane and pop out at the main road to see high-vis vests and a welcoming building.

It's the first checkpoint that’s inside, so we grab our drop bags and take a pew at a trestle table. We're offered hot food and I don't have to be asked twice before a jacket potatoes with beans and cheese is laid in front of me. They've taken my water bottles to fill up and I start getting to work at transferring my stuff, swapping out for my better head torch and replenishing for the same amount of food reserves as I left the start line with.

I take a break for the toilet and redo the tape on my feet, which are looking worse for wear, but no blisters and swap shoes from the Inov8 Race Ultra 290's to the Skechers GoRun Ultra's. After that I try to cram as much food in my gob as I can while Sam is getting ready as well then we're ready to go.
 
We’re away before I even get a chance to remember I was going to quit here, but in truth it was never really going to happen anyway. Once you’ve had a sit down and fresh gear and food it’s always easy to carry on and we set off at quite a good pace, happy and chatty again.
 
I feel pretty well rejuvenated after taking such a good break that it almost feels like we're starting fresh again. It's definitely well into the night now so there isnt a hell of a lot to see, but it feels good to be on the move again and over that mental barrier of wondering whether or not I'd be able to carry on after the halfway point. Now I don't have that easy option to leave again. Now maybe I'll finish? Who knows.
 
We chat intermittently, but mostly we're both happy to just chug along and get the miles moving. I'm secretly pretty glad to have found Sam as I likely wouldn't have bothered carrying on otherwise.
 
"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad's had an accident. He fell off his bike and hit his head."
 
I look around me and there is only darkness. The demons rear their head out of nowhere and I fall behind a little to mask how I'm feeling. I just take a moment to let myself remember what's going on and why I'm here. The point I'm trying to make. To myself, mainly, but to my family too. I try to stay strong. I try.
 
The next section goes pretty smoothly for us without too much issue. We chat, we walk and we run as well. Sam is still keeping a cracking pace. Very solid, not speeding up or slowing down and I just tag along for the ride. It's going so smoothly that we find ourselves at the next checkpoint at Bury Down after what feels a fairly short time. I put the demons back to rest for now.
 
I've been pretty keen for the checkpoint for a while. Mainly, I'm keen to use the toilet, so when we see it appear I'm pretty quickly alerted to the fact that won't be happening in a hurry. Basically, the checkpoint is a pagoda in a field. Being dark, I can't even work out how the hell they got the stuff here as it literally seems to be in the middle of nowhere but hey, I'm not complaining. Free food, I'll take that. There is even a runway made of glowsticks to welcome us in.
 
There are some seats and one guy looking decidedly like he is going to drop out. He even has the blanket of death on. That's right, he's opened up the foil safety blanket. He looks okay, but I'm guessing it's his mind that's going. I can relate.
 
So I opt not to sit down and just eye up the food. Sam is keen to be gone quickly but I hoof down some potatoes dipped in a little too much salt and give my best lemon-face. A quick cup of soup and we're on our way again.
 
I'm quite glad that the checkpoint is set up the way it is as it has everything you need without the comfort, being out in the open, meaning you can't easily relax and quit. A perfect balance, so I don't quit and it only briefly enters my mind.
 
The next checkpoint is Sparsholt Firs, about nine miles away. It's quite a big gap but the hardest part is always leaving the checkpoint and we've done that. The guy who has the foil blanket on comes up behind us and starts chatting and it's nice to have the extra company.
 
Over the past checkpoint I developed my speedy walking pace a bit more, meaning that I can sort of shuffle and sort of wobble to a level where I'm keeping almost the same pace as if I were running.
 
I mention to the new guy this is roughly the pace we're managing to keep and he says he wishes he could keep up with such a good pace. I tell him it's not me, it's Sam. A few minutes later though we do notice him drop off.
 
We settle back into a rhythm once more and just get cracking. For the last section we were almost on our own the entire time, but now we find we're starting to catch up with people.
The normal thing to do is to build a buffer it seems and then when nighttime hits, you just slow to a walk for the whole evening until you pick the pace up again in the morning. Kind of like the way the natural body clock works, you go to a similar tune.
 
Not us tonight, though. We keep pretty much the same pace right through this section  this is one massive benefit to having gone a bit slower earlier in the day and paced it better, we're actually feeling like we still have a fair bit of energy. This also means that some of those people who went off really fast, are now starting to feel it and slow down a bit more. So where before we were nearly last, despite feeling good, and not understanding what was going on, now we're starting to pick people off as the evening catches up with them more.
 
In truth though, I still know it's Sam carrying me through. I mention it but he's very diplomatic about it saying it's a team effort. It's definitely not though.
 
The pace stays steady enough, though, that we get to Sparsholt Firs without me moaning too much. I definitely am starting to feel a lot more tired here though and sit down.
 
The checkpoint staff ask if I want anything and I say I'm fine for the minute. I almost instantly start to freeze. I ask for some coke and a bit more food, just a couple of nibbles and am brought more soup.
 
I can feel it, though. I feel the tiredness creep up on me and I feel the lethargy creep in. I ask how long Sam wants to stay and he says he's happy to chill for a bit but maybe not too long.
 
I'm shivering so much that they grab me a duvet and everyone is chatting away. There are a good dozen of us under the pagoda now and someone shouts out that it's the kiwi guy again and well done for carrying on. He was with a woman earlier who recognised the shorts, who hadn't met me, but had read my blog.
 
I don't recognise him too well, I've been in my own world a bit today but clearly it's no secret I've been talking of dropping like a sissy at every checkpoint. If I had a reason it would be fine, but not being in the mood is clearly just me being a sissy.
 
But right now, you know what, I don't care. I am a sissy and I'm going to drop here. I send my brothers a message, as they've been following me on the tracker to tell them I'm out.
 
Right now I'm so tired that my head is lolling from side to side, I can barely hold it up and I just don't care.
 
"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad's had an accident."
 
I just don't want to do this right now. I want to be strong for my family, who really need me, if not in body but in spirit and resolve, but if I'm entirely honest right now I just don't want to. It seems so strange. This is a race completely unrelated to my situation with Dad, but I guess I wanted to come here today to remind the family that even though times are tough, we still have to stay positive and fight through adversity. We can beat it if we don't let ourselves be beaten first.
 
I want to go home, though. I just...I just don't want to be strong. I want to be able to cry and I want to let what's happened a week ago just dissappear. I don't want to be an adult, I want my dad and I want him to come and fix everything.
 
But he can't. And I can't do what I want, and I'm not embarrassed when I tell Sam to go on ahead and that I am dropping out. He goes, reluctantly, but he goes. We wish each other well and I'm pleased to see him head off looking strong.
 
Tom sends me a message spurring me on, followed by Nik, only he doesn't send a message to me, he copies and sends back the message I sent to Dad a week ago.
 
''Hey Dad,
 
You've given us all quite a scare. When I was about to finish a race I remember you telling me no matter what to keep pushing, to crawl if I had to. I've seen you physically crawl over finish lines before and we need you to keep that resilience. Come on, Dad, it's time to crawl this one in. Keep going. Keep strong. I miss you. I love you"
 
When I sent that message, I wish I could say it was about a race. It wasn't. When I sent that message all we knew was that dad's head was split open after a crash at very high speed on a mountain in Ecuador and that they, the neurosurgeons, were trying to do something to fix it. When you hear something like that, you think the worst. We couldn't expect much more. No one lives through that sort of damage. When I sent that message, as far as I was aware, Dad would never read it and I was just hoping for a miracle.
 
When I sent that message I was asking him not to die.
 
So when Nik sent it back to me it did something. It thumped me, right in my heart. The foil man has arrived a while ago and sat down next to me. He gets up and is about to carry on and I just get up to join him. He looks surprised after seeing me wobbling and whingeing in my chair looking defeatist. He asks if I'm going to join him and I tell him I am. A minute later we're off.
 
I don't explain why the sudden change, and I don't really need to, I just start moving again and we are just happy to get down to business. He's quite excited about the fact he managed not to drop and I'm suddenly determined. It's now four in the morning and we're a bit over a hundred kilometres deep into this thing.
 
A message from Dad's friend on the race.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I start to think I might actually finish. I think about why I'm here and suddenly my mood has changed in vast amounts. I'm chatting away as if it's the beginning of the race, so much so that we miss a turn and I end up leading us two hundred metres in the wrong direction, but we're so excited to have got out of the checkpoint neither of us care.
 
It turns out he was also at the SVP 100 a couple of weeks ago, but did the opposite and went for the later start, unfortunately not quite being quick enough to stay ahead of the cut offs. He's also doing the Ring O Fire race next weekend which I also briefly toyed with, but decided against as it's a hundred and thirty five miles over three days, and I'm already feeling burnt out.
 
We see a frog in the road and it looks quite eery in the darkness. I'm still pretty keen for the toilet, and with the sun about to come up I decide it's probably best to do so now while I still have a bit of privacy so I duck off for a couple of minutes, then spend a few more running to catch up.
 
As we were leaving the last checkpoint, Josh, as he's now introduced himself as, said he was keen to just walk most of it in, and given the mood I'm in I'm quite happy to follow suit with him on that. I just want to finish. Overcome. Beat the demons. Beat adversity.
 
We settle into a little bit of running and a lot bit of walking and just try to keep talking to take out minds of what's going on. The sun slowly comes up and once again we're treated to views of the lovely English countryside.
 
Dawn is one of the marvels of ultra running for me. It's such a surreal feeling when you've been going, for however many hours, through the slump of the night and then suddenly get this euphoric rush when the new day greets you and the birds begin to sing. Because of my head space today I find it hard to enjoy it the same way as I normally would but I make sure at a couple of points to just stop and look out and try to remember not just to be insular but also to look outside of my own world and see what is happening in the world around me, and to take in my surroundings. See the dawn and embrace it. A new day is arriving and with it, hope.
 
It's been very easy over the last day to not do that. To not look out. To see the glass half empty and want to smash the full one, and I'll be honest that I'm not entirely successful in reminding myself to look at the positive. I can look at the mud and puddles on the ground or I can look at the frog hopping happily along through it. I try to look at the frog. Flowers grow through rubble. I need to remember that.
 
The mud makes me realise, though, that I need another crap. It's not urgent, but it does start to worry me that's it's only been half an hour since I dug a cat hole in the ground. If I get seventy five miles deep into this thing, through all these mental barriers I've put on myself, only to then have to pull out because I feel like crapping myself I'm going to be mighty upset. So I go and sort it out, then run to catch Josh up.
 
We reach the penultimate checkpoint and it's a nice bright day. They have a pit fire going and smiles aplenty. We sit down for a few minutes and I try to eat what I can, but I'm not massively hungry as for the first time ever I've been able to eat lots and consistently throughout the race.
 
The gap to the next checkpoint is about twelve miles, so is mentally a tough one to get my head around and to not want to drop, but the sun is out and it feels good. With only twenty seven kilometres left I think this is possible and for once I don't think I want to drop.
 
A few more minutes and we're back on the road. The conversation is not quite as flowing as before and my feet are definitely starting to hurt a fair bit more, but the easier pace makes the going not too bad. There is definitely a lot more swearing going on from both of us though, and increasingly more offensive. Luckily there are only cows out here to complain.
 
We catch up with the lady who calls me the kiwi guy from the blog, and her friend. As I'm slightly ahead I get chatting to her a bit. They've been running together for nearly the whole race but he is struggling with blisters and she is starting to worry about him.
 
We're fine in terms of the cut offs but only if we keep moving at a reasonable pace. She's worried that her friend won't be able to keep up with that pace. The four of us bounce back and forth a little spread out for a few minutes, then Josh and I move ahead slightly.
 
We keep the pace easy and the swearing fairly continuous. As Josh did the Race to the Stones last year, an event that takes in the last hundred kilometres of the Ridgeway he's remembering the route here or there. As it was a year ago, though, it starts to do a number on his head as he keeps remembering a pylon and directions around it that just doesn't seem particularly forthcoming, and is really confusing him. I haven't got a clue either way so I just go with it.
 
There is an extremely long straight uphill section here and, whilst it's not a massive gradient, we definitely feel it on tired legs, so are pleased to reach the top and what we expect to be the checkpoint, only to find its not there on the road. Cue more swearing.
 
Then sure enough, we round a corner and make it to the final checkpoint. I'm feeling pretty good right now and there is only another ten kilometres to go. That last section was long, but as it wasn't through the night, it didn't feel as long as it could have and we're both grinning like wildcats as we say hello to the aid station staff.
 
Then they ask if we want a hot dog and oh-hells-yeah we do. I wolf that mofo down and its a right pick me up. I down a couple of cups of coke and then the lady of the pair we passed a while ago arrives in tears.
 
The whole thing is just emotionally quite a lot for her and to be honest I can relate. In a bizarre way seeing someone really struggling but really determined to finish gives me more strength.
 
I guess at this point I'm learning a bit that I draw a lot of strength from those around me. Not necessarily physically right next to me, but also spiritually and today in a lot of ways I'm blessed enough to have both.
 
So when Josh cheekily asks for another hot dog I do the same, then we're off. We're given the directions that we're to continue on the Ridgeway until we get to a fork whereby we take a right turn into the finish and with that we're away.
 
The final stretch. A day ago, I really didn't think I had it in me to even get past the first checkpoint and here I am doing it. I'm going to get to the finish and in all honesty it has nothing to do with me, it has all to do with the people around me. Both physically and in spirit.
 
Today, I managed to spend the whole day running with very different people, all of whom were amazing at keeping me motivated and enjoying the physical side of the race, and I was lucky enough to have the support of my brothers and of course the ever suffering Jess who puts up with all my moaning and pushes me to be a better person all together in my mind to keep charge of my spirit.
 
The conversation is still there but a lot of it is grunts now. We're both really happy to be about to finish, but the long straight road is playing a little on my head and the ruts in the ground are playing on Josh's body. But we keep ourselves motivated and pushing on.
 
We're passed by a trio of fellas but neither of us care at all. We're just moving on, enjoying the day. We go over another hill then Josh points into the distance and tells me he think we just follow this straight road for another few kilometres then turn right to where he's pointing and find the finish. So basically, the end is quite literally in sight.
 
We plod on, even jogging a little here or there then as we're going down another little hill I see the sign to indicate the turn off to the finish.
 
"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad's had an accident."
 
I get a message from Nik and it's a photo of Dad laid up in hospital, bald and frail with tubes coming out of him. I'm in front of Josh at this point and it all hits me again. I break down and I'm not ashamed to say I start to cry. For me, running has never been about fitness, it's been about overcoming the demons in my head. It's transposing the spiritual hardship we all go through into a physical context, squaring up to it and saying "Fuck you, I'm the boss today. You won't get the better of me."
 
I think of Dad, and wonder where he is and what's going on in his head. On the evening of that same Friday, Tom called me to tell me that he wasn't going to die, that he had come through the surgery and they were expecting a full recovery. I then called my Grandma to let her know that she wasn't going to bury her son that day. Before I could get anything out I just broke down on the phone to her, not able to say anything for what seemed like an age but was probably only sixty seconds. I don't think I've ever cried in front of Grandma and I'm not sure she knew what to do with a grown man bawling down the line to her.
 
Apparently when Dad opened his eyes he was told his sons we're thinking of him and he smiled before going back to sleep and it's that thought that comes back to me now. The last week has been by far the worst of my life, but he is awake now and starting to talk a little.
 
Dad was doing a cycle race from the top to the bottom of South America, and was going downhill when he hit a pothole and all of our lives changed forever. Nik flew out to see him and the reason I set up the tracking for me on this race is so that he can follow along with Dad and keep the family racing alive. To show that the Kissel's can be knocked but not beaten no matter how hard we fall. Nik sends me a message to tell me Dad is willing me on now that I'm nearly there.
 
 
We take the right turn and go down the hill. We hit the bottom then go over another little one and find ourselves running past the historic stone circle, along the lines of Stonehenge though not quite as majestic, and we're both pretty jubilant as we reach the town and various people are cheering us on.
 
We hit the final straight and the organisers actually pick up the banner normally reserved for the winner, Josh grabs my arm and we raise them to the sky as we grab the tape, eight six long miles done, our medals, and for me a huge amount of personal humility and respect for these fragile lives we live.
 
Dad, the day before the accident.
A week after the race I got in touch with Tim Mitchell, the Race Director, to talk about my medal. I was planning to get it cut up into three pieces, one each for you, Tom and Nik, but I wanted to get the official lanyards so I got in touch. I didn't explain why, and mentioned I wanted to pay for it and thought it may be forgotten as such plans usually are, but the very next day three more lanyards arrived in my mailbox. With a second medal. Tim had liked what I was doing and sent me a second one. The aftercare on this race was amazing to say the least (Thanks again Tim, you can see now why it meant so much). 

So, Dad, that's the end of my story, for now. At the time of writing most of this, it's a week further along. I'm currently on a plane nearly in Lima, Peru. I'll be honest, I'm very scared of what I'll find. Nik says it's okay now, that you feel better, but like Samson, you've has always been known for your hair and strength despite being a small man. I know it's going to be one of the hardest moments of my life to see you stripped of that.

I don't fully know what the future holds for our family, but I do know that we may have taken a tremendous knock but we will not be beaten. We will take this and make it something positive. As hard as this is I am doing my best to remember that flowers do grow through rubble. And when the times are dark, make sure you do, too.

For anyone else reading, if you've got this far, please, please go and tell your family you love them.
 
For you, Dad, I do love you.
 
Benjamin

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunningcommunity.com


Just over a week ago I took part in the Ridgeway Challenge, a 86 mile off road race on the ancient footpath named, funnily enough, the Ridgeway. It begins in Buckinghamshire near a place called Tring and ends in Wiltshire at Avebury of massive stone circle fame.
I hadn’t really targeted this race, but thought that it seemed to fit in just about around other events, and I guessed that I’d carry enough fitness to complete it. Also, if I could complete this race it would qualify me for the Ultra Trail Mont Blanc next year which is a race that I’ve wanted to do for some time.
There were two starts for this race. One at 10am on the Saturday for people who thought they’d take longer than 24hrs, and one at midday for those that would beat 24hrs. I had no real clue how long this one would take so I took a bit of a gamble and chose the later start.
I hadn’t done anything during the week leading up to this one as my knees were still feeling a little tender and I figured the weeks rest certainly wouldn’t have a negative impact on my performance.
One of the lessons I’ve slowly picked up is just how valuable rest is, even if I think I feel fine, the extra day or two here and there really does help. The difficult bit is that I obviously love running, so taking these breaks can be very frustrating. I have to keep reminding myself of the bigger picture.
I had to get up at 5 to have breakfast and make my way to the train station. Fortunately Andrea woke up and kindly offered to drive me to the station. Thank god she did as I only got there with five minutes to spare! I felt remarkably relaxed during the journey. I could even manage to read for an hour or so! I met another competitor on the train at London which was nice. Had a good chat about the usual topics : training, injuries, previous races, future races etc. Finally we arrived at Tring station, where we met a few other guys who were doing the race. Whilst we were waiting for the organiser to pick us up and take us to the start we noticed that the 10 am starts began trickling past.
Finally we got picked up and driven to the start. It was a perfect day for running, Sunny but not too hot. I signed in and picked up my race number and slowly began getting ready for the off.
I still felt very calm which was nice. I can only think that this was due to this race not being a real target and maybe the experience was starting to show!
At quarter to twelve everyone started milling towards the start which is at the top of Ivinghoe Beacon, which has beautiful views of the surrounding scenery. Now I was just excited and keen to make a start. I was a tiny bit chilly which to me means it ideal for running in as soon I’d heat up plenty!
Finally we were off! I started running with Colin who I’d met during the JOGLE training a few weeks previous and a chap called Alex who had never done an ultra before. I explained that I intended to break the running up with plenty of brief spells of fast walking. They both seemed happy with my strategy so we stuck together for the time being. Straight away we found our way fairly close to the back as everyone shot off. It’s always difficult at this stage to hold a steady pace, your own pace, and let everyone do their own thing. I felt pretty good with my strategy, as did Colin. I’m not sure Alex thought it was best for him but we stuck together for a while.
Eventually someone caught up and Alex started chatting with them. I realised that the pace was a tiny bit above what I had planned, so I slowed a little. Colin stayed with me and Alex disappeared into the distance. I felt very confident with my pacing today.
We got to the first cp where I stuffed my face with whatever delights they had there, filled up my bladder then set off asap. It amazes me how many people you can get past if you’re fast at the cp’s, this was no exception. We didn’t really see many other people till we got to the 3rd cp. This surprised me as I was holding a 20hr pace which would get me roughly in the top twenty somewhere if I could sustain it. I asked the guys at the 3rd cp how many had gone through. He informed us that we were about seventieth out of 92! Hopefully the tailenders would start coming into our sights.
Soon we were rewarded for our patience. we must have took about 20 people over the next 5 miles. And this continued all the way past the 4th cp till we caught Alex and his running buddy. We passed him a carried on our way. We both felt pretty good by this stage. It’s always good to be catching people, but again you have to try to keep control of yourself. It’s all about running your own race. Just as it was getting dark, we arrived at the 5th cp, which also was the half way point. Here we had access to our drop bags plus they had some baked potatoes with baked beans which I wolfed down as fast as possible as there were loads of competitors here we had caught up and I fancied getting back on the road before them.
Colin and I left together with headtorches on as it was now pitch black out. I like to run at night, but It’s always good to be able to turn the light of when day breaks.
We started on the long uphill drag out from the cp, soon overtaking a group of three. The hill went on for quite a while. I felt good enough to feel like running. Soon we overtook a woman by herself, then we were out by our selves, away from the light pollution enough to notice the stunning canopy of stars above us. I was so enjoying this race that I kept finding a dirty great grin across my face. This is what it’s all about.
We kept up the pace until coming up a hill we could finally see the lights of the next cp. This meant there was only one left after this one. We stopped and fortunately my stomach still felt fine, so I ate as much as I could without making myself ill. This strategy seemed to be working well so far, so with only 17 miles remaining, I wasn’t about to change it now. Colin on the other hand, was starting to get a bit of an uncomfortable stomach. I noticed that he didn’t eat as much as he should have. As we left the cp, I told him to try and eat something else he’ll just run out of gas. He ate a bite size chocolate bar. We pushed on, but I was a little concerned about Colin.
By the time we had got to the final cp, I felt great, but Colin was in need of a bush. I ate and had a coffee whilst he dealt with it. Eventually he reappeared not looking great. He said he’d been ill and told me to go on, So I got ready quickly and ran off into the darkness.
I now decided to push the pace a little seeing as I felt so good. The Ridgeway followed a road for a mile or so till it came to a T-junction. I span around looking for a sign post. As I hunted for the sign, a car pulled up and asked me Where I was looking for. I told him that I was looking for the Ridgeway west bound. He helpfully pointed me down a hill telling me to keep going till I found the hospital. Here I’d be able to pick up the path again. I thanked him and started off fast down the hill. The further I’d gone The more doubt started creeping into my mind. Finally I came to a sign that said “footpath to Ridgeway 2.5 miles”. Brilliant I thought, Let’s get back on the Ridgeway. After about 5 minutes running on this track I again Got a little concerned as the track looked almost completely disused. I kept on running.
I then lost the track and realised that I was on some farm land. I jumped a fence and was on a road. I hunted for another sign but couldn’t see one. Which way? I went right and ended up on a larger road. After sitting down for a minute with my map trying work out my location, I still wasn’t too sure. I rushed down the road a bit further and came to a village which thankfully gave me my location. Sadly I had been directed by the stranger the wrong way! Probably for a laugh no doubt. I was angry with him, but more so with myself. What a fool for not checking! I put all of my concentration into channeling my frustration into my running. I ran with speed back up the hill I’d been directed down. 10 minutes later I started to see the headlights of other runners. I was back on track. This made me smile. Now I had some serious overtaking to do. I guessed that I’d been bumbling around for around an hour. I straight away started to take people. no-one attempted to stay with me for a while. Then I heard some footsteps behind me. Someone was running with me which I was quite surprised about as my pace was still fast being fueled by adrenalin. We ran together for about half an hour till he informed me he was going to walk for a bit. I pushed on.
Soon I caught up with Colin. I was very glad to see that he was still pushing on. He was going well now, but told me that he had stayed at the cp for half an hour! I pushed on and took about four more guys before reaching the last cp. I ate fast. They informed me that it was 6 miles till the end. My stopwatch said 18hrs 57mins. To beat 20hrs I needed to run 10k in less than 1hr 3mins.
This seemed fast but I felt good and still highly motivated after my error. I left as fast as I could.
The final 10k was smooth and I took another 3 guys. As I entered Avebury my stopwatch reset itself so I lost track of my time. I squeezed out every last drop of energy all the way to the finish.
My time was 20hrs 2mins!
I was of course frustrated with my error and time, but overall, seeing as I hadn’t trained specifically for this race, I was really chuffed with my pacing, my speed and I really enjoyed the event. I recovered really fast which is always nice and a sure sign of fitness.
Between the Ridgeway and the next race which is the 24hrs, I have a gap of 6 weeks. I decided to take 2 whole weeks off of running after. This will be followed by an easy low mileage week, two medium mileage weeks, a long hard week and finishing with a week of rest before the race.
Once the 24 is done, that is the end of my season. My biggest yet! Then I’ll be slowly building towards the JOGLE.
I currently have another 5 days off of running which is very difficult, but I can feel myself getting stronger and all my niggles are disappearing, so I’ll stick to the plan.
I’ll Blog soon.
Happy running.