Written by Janette Cross - https://janettecross.wordpress.com

It’s 9.45pm, the night before SDW50 and I’m snuggling down under the duvet.

“Hey, Siri”

“Hello, Janette”

“Wake me at 3.55”

“OK, I’ve set your alarm for 15.55”

Wait. What? No! You silly, sexy voiced, machine thing. Don’t you second guess me (my own fault for having Siri be a man ;-))

“Hey, Siri”

“I’m listening”

“I should ruddy well hope you are. Turn off alarm”

“I turned off your 15.55 alarm”

“Wake me at 3.55 A M!”

So, my alarm went off at 3.55 am and I caught a bus to East Croydon and headed down to Worthing, where it was raining. Quite hard.

There followed a blur of kit check, registration, faffing about what to wear, getting a hug from Leila Rose who was helping at the start, more than one visit to the ladies, meeting up with David Mould (not in the Ladies!) – the man who paced me too my marathon PB –  and then there we were, on the start line.

Ah yes, the start line. This was my 3rd SDW50 and I stood on that start line feeling the least prepared for the race than I have before. Training and fitness have been erratic since the SDW100 last year. I spent 6 months battling with PF (which I *think* I have under control), developed a high hamstring “extremely ouchy when I’m sitting down or climbing hills or stairs” thing at the end of January (which refuses to go away) and, 4 weeks ago on a training run I managed to fall twice in the space of the first 3 miles and cracked my ribs. Yes, again! *rolls eyes at self* I have history with ribs…

I first cracked a rib when wrestling with my son when he was about 7 years old. Since then I have done them damage on several occasions; three times by falling on a training run, once turning over in bed (! – and, yes, I was alone :-P), once after an over enthusiastic hug (the person was REALLY pleased to see me), and, most memorably, when I tripped over thin air at QECP on the SDW100.

Enough with the excuses, though. I felt good. The ribs had healed, I had tapered well and only the hamstring was likely to cause a problem. Still, given all of the above, I decided that my dream goal of sub-9 hours was a non-starter and that I should aim to enjoy the day and maybe hope for a PB (sub 9:14).

I’ll admit I didn’t totally let go of the sub 9 dream. I went on climbers.net (a website that uses stats from past races to tell you where you need to be and when you need to be there in order to achieve a certain time – factoring in your “demise” as the race progresses) and I *might* have keyed in 8:55 as a finish time and I *might* have made a note of what time I needed to be where and popped it in the pocket of my race vest.

I had a race plan…

Enjoy it, have fun, but don’t hang about.

I decided not to look at my Garmin at all apart from the 3 points that climbers.net gave times for: Housedean 26.6 miles, Southease 33.9 miles and Jevington 45.7 miles. The rest of the time I would just run – thinking about form, running the hills where I possibly could and wearing a smile.

The rain had stopped and I was feeling peppy. I bravely made my way nearer to the front than usual and then, bang on time, we were off.

The first few miles flew by and, before I knew it, I was at Pig Alley. There were lots of piggy noises and that unmistakable piggy smell. Pig Alley always reminds me of two things: bacon sandwiches and Fiona Stacey. I first ran cross country when I started secondary school and the route went through a pig farm (yep, there was pig farm in Wigan). The very first time we ran the route I found myself battling for first place with Fiona Stacey. I desperately wanted to be Fiona. She was tall and beautiful with impressive breasts that seemed to come round the corner a full minute before she did. Me – less so on all fronts (so to speak).  We decided to cross the line together that day (much to the disgust of our PE teacher).

CP1 at Botolphs came and went.  I always have extra admiration for the volunteers here.  Spending your day in a windy lay by alongside a busy main road can’t be much fun but, as always, I was greeted with a smile and nothing was too much trouble.  My CP plan is always the same – drink coke, top up water, put food in doggy bag, don’t hang about – and that’s exactly what I did.

I peed behind a bush just before the drop down into Saddlescombe.  I could have waited a bit longer but didn’t want the effect of that downhill on a full bladder.  I have been working on my downhill technique.  Well, when I say “working on” I mean I watched a 4 minute video on the Kinetic Revolution website.  That said, it worked like a charm

The miles ticked over.  On the flatter bits (yes, there are some) I thought about form and was either towing my cowboy or being tall and rangy and relaxed.  I chatted to a couple of other runners but, for the most part, I was happy in my own little world.

It was a wonderful and most welcome surprise to see my friend Brioni pop up twice at random points on the course.  A hug works wonders when you have a hill to climb.  And she held a gate open

CP3 is Housedean.  I knew Leila would be there helping out and I was excited to think that this would be my first opportunity to see how I was doing time wise.  As I ran into the farm, James Elson was there and greeted me with “Hey Janette, looking strong” :-)  I managed to quash my initial reaction of “Oh wow, the race director knows my name and he thinks I’m looking strong and he must know because he is a proper runner and he wouldn’t lie because he’s a nice chap” Instead, cool as the proverbial, I just grinned and said, “I’m feeling strong”

A quick hello from Leila, coke, food in the doggy bag and I was on my way again.  Time to look at my watch for the first time in the race.  Climbers.net said I needed to be at Housedean at 13.19.  It was 13.39.  Twenty minutes down.  I wasn’t especially surprised or disappointed.  It wasn’t a good thing or a bad thing.  It was just a thing.  Sub 9 might be off but, if I stayed running strong then a PB was still possible.

Onwards and upwards.  Literally. :-)

I looked at my watch for the second time that day as I started up the big climb out of Southease.  Still exactly 20 minutes down on where I needed to be for sub 9.  I hadn’t gained any time but I hadn’t lost any either and there were some big climbs a-comin’ and I love hills, me.

The plan for the hills was to run them as much as I could – walking when it was more sensible to walk but working hard and not walking when I didn’t need to.  It’s an easy trap to fall into especially when other people are walking.  It’s like someone has given you permission to take your foot off the gas.  It’s the same as remembering not to go off like a bat out of hell at the start of the race.

Play your own game.  Stick to the race plan.  Don’t hang about.  No naughty walking.  Only sensible walking and, even then, walking like you mean it.  I had to work.  And I did.  I ran more in this race than I have either of the 2 times and I have run it before and definitely more than I have on recce and training runs.  I even ran a little bit of that climb out of Southease. *plumps feathers and preens*

The race seemed to fly by. The weather was kind to me and I only had to pop my waterproof on once and even then I took it off 3 minutes later.   There were highs and lows as always but the lows were few and far between.

Coming out of the CP at Alfriston I passed another runner. It was Tim Cox (a lovely man who looked a little bit like a pirate – not a rough pirate – a dapper one that probably hasn’t been to sea much and has a barber in Jermyn Street).  We had a little chat but I kept moving – a little while later he passed me (having worked his way through his trough and found another peak) and then became something of a beacon for me for the rest of the race.  Seeing him ahead kept me focused.  I was proud to shake his hand when I arrived in Eastbourne.

Jevington was the last CP of the race and also the last time check point on the climbers.net site. For an 8:55:00 finish I needed to be here at 17:00.  Out of interest, I checked my watch as I started up the last hill.  17:03

Ooooh ‘ello

I start doing mental maths. Not my strong point at the best of times.  57 minutes to do less than 5 miles.  That’s doable.  Surely that’s doable.  Let’s work this hill, baby.  So I worked that hill.  From here on in, I checked my watch every time it beeped to mark the passing of another mile.  I whooped when I spotted the trig point and set off down the gully of death, desperately wanting to give it some welly but also keen to keep my ribs intact for once.  I did pass a couple of people and it was slippy underfoot but I managed to stay upright.  Just!

I hit the track and, as I set out on that final lap I took one last look at my watch.

15 minutes to do 400m

*grins*

I think I might have got this.

8:47:06

Poor Mimi Anderson! An absolute heroine of mine, she got the biggest hug and an incoherent grinning woman yelling “It starts with an 8” as she popped that lovely medal round my neck.

And there was Leila again. She brought me tea and a sausage sandwich and it was so good to have someone to share my ridiculous excitement.

As I left the finish to shuffle my way to Eastbourne station, I spotted Mr Mould approaching the track and grinning. A fantastic PB for him

So, in summary, I ran 50 miles. Faster than I thought I could.  I didn’t fall, all ribs remained in one piece, and the only hurty bit was what my son saw and called a Nasty Canasta blister under my toenail.  I won’t post a photo of the blister (I’m thoughtful like that) but here’s a picture of Nasty Canasta instead.