I swore I’d not write a write up of this run till I finished it but if I don’t do it now I may never get the chance, so here goes …

Pheidippedes is best known for his 26mile run from Marathon to Athens to notify the Athenians of a great victory against the Persians in 490 BC, after which it is alleged (but not proved) that he died. The run is celebrated as the inspiration behind the classic race distance. Pheidippedes is however lesser known for a run over a much greater distance shortly before his ‘marathon’, records dating back to 490 BC by Herodotus indicating that Pheidippides was sent by the Athenians to carry a message to the Spartans, requesting their assistance in defending the city of Athens from the invading Persian armies. Pheidippides apparently set out at first light and covered the 246 kilometres from Athens to Sparta, arriving in Sparta by nightfall of the next day. The birth then of the ‘ultra’ having preceded the marathon, and then back again, leaves one wondering why having run 246km in under 36hrs Pheidippedes should keel over after just a marathon!

Anyway, we’ve been here before, a few times in fact. In 2004, blissfully unaware of the enormity of the task I succumbed to hip problems at Corinth caused partially by the endless hot tarmac and partially by not wearing my orthotics. 2005 was spent reassuring myself I could run on tarmac still and 2006, better armed, saw my best attempt so far, reaching Halkion at about 60miles, before succumbing to the cramp I’d had for the last 35miles. 2007 was a debacle. A successful UTMB only a month before saw me full of confidence but my thighs were wasted from 29,000’ of ascent on that run. I made it in fact to only 35miles or so before the pain in my legs was just too much. 2008 was aborted after a knee operation and then with only a month to go, appendicitis.

So I’m here again. I’m not entirely sure why since I’m not really a road runner, but the Spartathlon is just one of those races that get under the skin. There are many that title themselves the hardest in the world but common agreement from those that have been there is that there can be few harder than this one. It’s not that the route is too hard, but rather its difficulty lies in the deadlines imposed by the race organisers. Not only do you have to run 153m in under 36hrs but you have to adhere to strict deadlines that never faced Pheidippedes when he ran the distance to summon the aid of the Spartans, requiring you to run faster in the early stages, in the heat of the day, than is really wise. 

And therein lies my problem. 12yrs ago when I was running my marathon PB’s, to slow down from my then 3.15 average to 4.15 would have allowed me some leeway to control my eating and hydration but now I’m more like 3.45 or slower, I’m closer to 100% from the word go and the more effort I put in the harder it is to keep to my plan. But I need a finish. I know I can do this bl**dy run if things do go to plan … but they rarely do and this run takes no prisoners. There’s little room for error and success goes to those who are religious in their hydration and eating and those who can overcome the setback, which will come, when it arrives, in the shortest period of time. 

But few can fail to be uplifted by the early morning start at the Acropolis. A more stunning start, even in the dark, is difficult to imagine. Eyes up and there are no stars. This is good. Stars complete the picturebook start but herald a hot one. I need every help I can get, and clouds are friends indeed. 

And then we’re away down the ‘Sacred Way’ or the cobbled path. It’s not dark for longer than a couple of minutes and a backwards glance sees views of the Acropolis dominating the skyline that make me realise just what a spectacle that would have been in Pheidippedes’ day. But then its into Athens rush hour time. A long drawn out exit of Athensvia dusty streets, with traffic held back by the police, horns blaring is not too inspiring but all too familiar. A good long hill and then we’re running along what feels like the hard shoulder of the M1, and the smell is uninspiring too.

I break the route down mentally into 25mile stages. Each & every ultra runner has their tactic and this is mine. I then subdivide each section and that way the overall distance shrinks. I know the 1st 25 has to be done in 4.15 & at 1.55 I’m at the ½ way stage. I’m relaxed & things are looking good. The sun is still in hiding. Things are on target.

But the sun is not far away. The clouds are those wispy European sort, not like a proper British one which can hide the sun all week, and it’s not long before they are burning away. I can see the busy port of Piraeus in the distance and it’s getting hotter. I’m glad though for the respite. I’m averaging about 6.5mph which is about to plan, even a little fast. I can see John and James up ahead but decide not to push it. A quick stop for food and drink and they are a little further ahead. Perhaps its best, I need to run my own race. 

It’s getting hotter still. It’s nowhere near what it was like in 2006 but its hot enough, the road is dusty but less built up now. We’ve passed the schoolkids and the wall of High 5’s in Elefsina and I’m starting to struggle a bit. The 1st uphill has passed too. I can still see the toasted remnants of the trees that were burnt here in 2006 when the smell was very reminiscent of the burnt heather you get on the grouse moors at home. ‘I hate the heat’ I keep saying to myself, to which the repeated answer is ‘well why come to bl**dyGreece then’. 

Then I’m at my 1st target, though disappointingly, in the heat, I’ve had to walk a little already. To my surprise though I’m 20mins up on the deadlines and don’t need any more this soon, so I use the time instead to make sure I’m drinking and taking my Succeed tablets. I know it’s the next section that for me is the killer. The next 25 in the heat of the day has to be done in an overall total of 9.5hours and I’ve just over 5.5hrsleft to do it. Sounds easy when you say it like that – but it’s not, believe me. Its now about 11.00am and entering the hottest point of the day. I’m flagging and the eating is harder. The drinking is ok but I’m struggling to eat. 

Here the route takes you along the coast. It’s stunningly pretty and there’s the evocative smell of the fisherman selling their catches at the roadside too. And there’s also ‘that hill’. Under a bridge and then it’s relentlessly uphill for a good mile. It’s one of my least favourite bits. It’s pretty but hard. In 2006 I faded badly here and in 2007 I died. I know it’ll be little different this year so I deliberately walk most of it. There’s no point in blowing things this early. Then I nearly have a heart attack. I’m away in my own little world when a cheery shout from just behind, from Mark W, drags me back to reality. Its nearly 30miles now and Mark has been deliberately shaving the deadlines in the heat. But he powers away from me easily on the hill, looking strong.

Then I’m at the top and freewheeling down the other side. Don’t get carried away though. The time between CP’s takes account of the fact that this bit is downhill and the cut-off is adjusted accordingly so that it’s not easy to build on my buffer. I do pass though the CP that ended my race in 2007 with a little glance and some relief that this year, I’m better than that.

And then for a while my memory of the race starts to fade, I guess it’s how ultra runners cope with time alone. It has to somewhere otherwise the distance is just too much of a mental wall. I’m back into my shell again only vaguely taking in the surroundings noting just heavy traffic, little villages with cars coming very close to me, dusty straights and a long, steady but intermittent line of runners. I’m getting closer to Corinth all the while but again I curse the heat. If it weren’t for that I convince myself that I’d be able to keep to a much better pace. And then I realise that I’m making mistakes. The CP’s all have their own little sign with a cut-off time on it. I’ve been thinking I’m still well up until I realise that the closing time is actually the next CP!! Worry starts to etch itself gradually on my mind and I’m aware that my 20min buffer is evaporating rapidly. There’s little I can do to remedy it though and I know that if I can get to Corinth on the nail I can still crack it. I’ve been here before remember, and on this bit I’ve struggled every time. I knew I would again. The plan was to just do it, and I am, just, just doing it.The route eases after Corinth, gets prettier and cooler too. So I hang on.

I know Corinth is in sight when the next hill comes. It’s another steep one and a long one as well so I make no attempt to run it but power walk instead. It’s something I can do and the strategy works well as I’m catching people who think they’re running. It’s actually closer to running on the spot. I make the top in good order for a change and then carry along the road to Hellas Can only 5mins up. But it’s longer along this road than I remember. Memory has foreshortened this bit and it’s not the ‘just get to the top of the hill and you’re there’ that I remember. Optimism fades and by the time I get to the CP I’m right on the cut-off.

It’s an inviting place is Hellas Canneries. I’ve seen plenty of it from the bus before and there’s food, a massage if you want and plenty of shade … if you’ve the time, which I haven’t. I grab my bag and take out a carton of apple juice. It’s a bit too acidic for my stomach really but it goes down ok, on the move. I’m now 5mins down but time spent eating/drinking at this stage isn’t really a waste – it’s a necessity and I know from previous races that at this stage of the race they are fairly relaxed about cut-offs so I use the time as best I can, panic a bit and then jog off.

It’s the same for the next few CP’s. 5mins up/5mins down but getting harder to eat and drink. I’ve also missed a drop or two in my haste on this bit and am running perilously short of Succeed tablets. Some of the distances are a bit out too. There’s one 2km section that is closer to 2miles and I feel inordinately annoyed about it since I’ve convinced myself that I’m getting faster when I’m not. It is getting cooler though. I run for a while with an Italian girl who hates the dogs that come barking out of the wine groves at us and she stays close hoping that my legs look a better meal than hers. I figure they’ve had their fill of runners faster than me and they’ll be no problem – and they aren’t.

It’s getting dusk now and as we approach Zevgolatio my mood lightens. I’m doing a steady run/walk. Perhaps too much walk but I’m feeling good. I pick up my torch and Lifa in Zevgolatio tying the top round my waist. Waste precious moments sorting out some food and scoff a rice pudding. It goes down well and I’m pleased I can still eat. Karen is there as she has been at the last few CP’sand the support and encouragement helps. I was notably grumpy when she 1st started supporting me from ‘the bus’ but I was grateful. My mood is lightening now but I’m not too sure it showed! When I leave it’s properly dark. The Italian girl is still with me but fades a bit as we head into the hills. It’s here, at a CP, that I see Nick. I hear him call in the dark 1st, and then to turn ask him how he is but then see by the light of my headtorch that he has no number on. There’s little time to commiserate – there but for the grace of God … 

I remember the deafening cicadas from this section but the hills don’t seem as bad. Last time I was on my own and isolated on this section but there are plenty of runners around now. At the next CP I see James who has pulled out too and he tells me John is just in front. I catch John and then Martin up quite quickly. I’m over the moon about the way I feel. There are steep hills here that in 2006 killed me off but this time I seem to have the energy to make them far less significant. Cramp and an inability to hold anything down made the next CP, 32Halkion, the farthest I’ve ever been. John and Martin call it a day here this year but I’m off and feeling good too, and reach the ½ way stage at Nemea 10mins in credit. There is hope after all. 

The CP is busy but there’s that feeling that things are winding down. I put on some warm kit here and take some rice with me. I eat some of it, more than expected, on the move and deposit the remains in a wheely bin on the outskirts of Nemea. I am ecstatic about being on new ground and even having a bit of time.

But unfortunately this run has a habit of throwing curves. There is no point where you can say it’s over till you kiss that statues toe in Sparta. I had convinced myself from talking to others that the route and deadlines eased a bit now but they didn’t – well not for me anyway. Even in hindsight it’s hard now to recall the place where it all started falling apart but gradually the strength I had before Nemea at 75m left me. I missed another drop. I continued to eat less and drink less and less. That left me with less energy and made me slower still. The deadlines were harder and harder to reach and I was 1st 5mins down then 10. My legs were stiff and heavy and the walking spells became longer and longer. Inexorably things were slipping away. The surroundings were inspiring, deep dark hills all around and the track on the 1st off-road section was enjoyable too, but it was all getting oh so hard and me, oh so much slower each section. It wasn’t that I wasn’t overtaking people and this had the unfortunate effect of making me believe, in the dark, that I was faster than I actually was. There are times on ultras where you find it difficult to think properly for yourself and it was around here that whilst I knew I needed to eat and drink, I just couldn’t seem to find the time and though I knew I needed to force it down, it was just too easy not to bother. It was as much as I could do to get to the CP in time, let alone eat as well. 

Eventually when you run on empty you pay the price. I was about 10mins down at Kaparelli, near the foot of the mountain and had run about 20miles since I last ate properly at Nemea. The CP staff were getting tougher and I had to persuade them to let me past. The CP was full of runners under blankets and ‘that bus’ had not long before ground its way past me, up the steep, narrow,windy streets of Kaparelliand was hiding itself somewhere just as it had been at the previous CP’s. Lurking in Lyrkia, picking up the dreams of those who had fallen by the wayside.

I pressed on. The time in between CP’s seemed to be taking me longer and longer and the distances were still erratic but the next CP took an age to arrive. I could see the mountain up in front. My whole race strategy had been based on getting to this mountain. ‘Just get over the mountain and you’ll be ok’ I’d kidded myself. In training I’d satisfied myself that my endurance was ok. I knew I’d be ok over the distance - it was just the time I had to do it in that had bothered me. However I’d done the maths I knew I was too slow. I’d got to the end of the Thames Ring when many hadn’t and I’d done the Ridgeway ok too, but they weren’t fast times and it was my lack of pace that had got me to the position in which I now found myself. Had I been able to retain some, or any buffer, I’d have had the time to rehydrate and eat but the longer I’d gone on the more difficult it was and the less time I’d had to cope with anything other than just plodding onwards.

But I wanted to get over that mountain. I started off up the switchbacks and they were hellish. My legs were screaming at me for a break but I ignored them. I was even overtaking people and head down, I powered on. As hard as I was finding it others were finding it harder. I arrived at the CP ½ way up the switchbacks with a long line of at least 6 runners behind me. I was 15mins down and it was 04.50am and 97.5miles. The CP guy said ‘no rest, just go if you’re going’, so I went. He stopped the rest behind me. I was the last one through.

100yds on it happened, just after the bus. I felt it building up. Unstoppable and with little warning. With no control over my stomach muscles at either end I leapt into the drainage ditch at the side of the road and let go. One end then the other, one end then the other. Totally and immediately drained I just fell forward onto my knees. I couldn’t stand. Forehead resting on the hard, steep gravel of the edge of the drainage ditch in an ignominious crouch it was a good 5minutes before I could wipe up and get out of the ditch and a good job it was dark. 

20mins down I knew my race was over. I desperately wanted to carry on but there was just no way I’d be able to recover in time and the next CP wouldn’t have allowed me, at that deficit, at that pace, in that state onto the mountain. I prevaricated for a short while before finally trudging the 100yds back downhill to the CP.

 All my effort over the last year not just the last few hours had come to nothing, again. After the depression and panic atCorinth and the optimism at Nemea I had failed again. Too tired and too drained to be angry with myself – that would come later, I simply succumbed to the emptiness and did what my body had been screaming at me to do for miles, I stayed sat down. Stiffness came with the cooling down and I eventually hobbled to the waiting bus that had been an ever-present phantom hiding in the shadows at the last couple of CP's. I had seen but not acknowledged faces at the windows of this bus but now climbed the steps to the comfort of the seats inside that were no comfort at all. Stopping at the next CP picking up yet more runners I got out of the oppressive warmth of the bus to throw up again … and again, each retch a painful reminder of how I’d lost that routine of eating and drinking and paid the price. Sat on the side of a precipice alternately retching, looking at the moon and taking in the quiet around and the rumbles of distant thunder, anything but that bus. I had given it a good go but ultimately not good enough, or fast enough. I had been close and got much further than ever before, my feet were perfect and my knees were fine, but ultimately the same result … no wreath.