Written by Robert Crussell
The day finally arrived, and after a sleepless night I was sitting on the train to Oxford station. I saw some other passengers on the train who were obviously heading to the same race as I was, but I chose to sit alone and listen to some music - you know, for the nerves. Alt-J's latest album ("This Is All Yours") did the trick and the journey over didn't drag on too long, but allowed just enough time to get myself into a good headspace. 2015 had been a great year so far - I'd smashed a new 10km PB (35:16) in Jan and placed second at the Martello Marathon in gale force winds - and it was still the first week of February. I was in the best shape of my (hitherto) short running career and I'd logged enough miles in training to feel like I wasn't going to suffer too much. The only things I worried about were; [a] I'd had a cold the week before which I'd only just recovered from, and [b] I'd run the first 30 miles of the course 2 weeks prior and it was a mud fest. Anyway, more of that to come.
The train pulled in on time and a group of us (maybe 10 in all) piled into the coach that GoBeyond had arranged. We arrived at the Hawkwell House hotel will 15 minutes to spare so I registered, hit the loos, and went for a 2 minute test -jog. My legs had been cramping pretty badly on the coach over so I'd double-dosed on some S!Caps which had evidently done the job. I arrived back at the hotel with just enough time to shuffle to the front as Steve delivered the race briefing. A quick warning about some ice, and then the words: "We have the opportunity today to set off on time and I mean to take it: 10..9...8...". GO!
It's always difficult to start a race sensibly, when that colossal adrenaline surge hits that threatens to make your heart explode. Never-the-less, I didn't do anything stupid and I fell in behind Craig Holgate. I may not have had a clear idea about what to expect from the day but one thing was certain; I had no business being ahead of Craig. Five of us reached Iffley Lock at around the same time, and continued on together once we'd hit the Thames Path proper. There was myself, Craig, Scott Forbes (who I recognised as having won Race to the Stones last year), Paul Raistrick, and Peter Abraham. As it turned out, we ended up staying together until check point 2 when Craig decided to switch gears, but more on that to come.
The first leg until CP1 was pretty uneventful, and we kept at a pretty even 7 min/mile pace all the way. I was pleasantly surprised that the ground had frozen over, making for some pretty fast running. It became slightly technical in parts as the solidified mud had frozen into a chaotic tribute to the imprints of yesterday's footsteps, yet nobody fell and the going was fairly effortless. By the time we reached the CP at mile 9.6 we'd opened up a ~4 minute lead on the next runner.
Since my bottle was still half full and I had enough High5 gels to last a while I ran straight through Culham Lock, crossed the road, and made my way onto the beautiful piece of trail that connects Culham with Clifton Hampden. I was technically in the lead at this stage but I had no particular designs on the position so I was glad to be caught up again by the others. The next few miles to Clifton Lock passed pleasantly with a few words exchanged between myself and Peter, and some pretty great stretches of track that feel pretty isolated.
Following Clifton Hampden bridge there's a looong leg that gradually curves all the way down to Little Wittenham. It's a beautiful section, but it's quite psychologically draining since there's little to mark the progress other than the Wittenham Clumps which enter your field of vision from the right. Once these hills are dead ahead, you only have half a km to go until the weir, and Day's Lock. As I passed under Little Wittenham bridge, I realised that I unintentionally opened up a 100m lead so I eased back and allowed Scott to catch up. A good job too, since Scott had a few navigational queries which I was glad to help with. Just before CP2 I had to 'lose some water', so I hit Benson Marina CP a few seconds behind the rest. Our pace had slowed to 7:15min/miles mainly due to the frozen mud which had started to thaw out.
I refilled my hand-held, grabbed some "Espresso Love" GU (gag) and jumped back into the middle of the pack as we headed out of Benson and onto the first route diversion. The diversion essentially takes a few back roads to brings you into Wallingford from the East, thereby adding an extra half km or so. It was here that Craig and Paul made their move, and Craig's road racing pedigree really shone through. By the time we rejoined the TP south of Wallingford Craig and Paul were 200m ahead, and only just visible as we rounded corners. The mud had become clinging and thick by this stage, and I knew from a few weeks prior just how much the next few miles were going to suck. Scott and I stuck together and exchanged a few words; mainly about the blood from his ear that had crusted over his face and neck (it had stopped and Scott didn't look in any immediate danger, but I still told him how bad it looked - which was very). After an exhausting 5 miles of Satan mud we reached Goring, a contender for my favourite village in the UK. The Ridgeway and TP intersect here, and the Compton Downs are not far off to the west, making it a trail-running heaven.
I took a bit longer at the checkpoint that I would have liked, but Scott waited for me which I was secretly relieved about. I tried not to show it but the mud was taking its toll and I was suffering. We headed out and had a nice chat as we crossed the bridge. Scott was telling me about the new addition to his family and his lack of training as a result. I told him about my family plans and was given some advice. It was a welcome distraction and we made it a mile or so up the towpath before I had to relieve myself and let him go on ahead. This is where a number of factors all hit me at once and I can honestly say I've never suffered as much as I did over the next 10 miles. My cold from the week before had been a greater detriment to my endurance than I had suspected, I was burning off water like a car engine, and the GUs weren't sitting right in my stomach. This was all compounded by the clay-mud which made it impossible to move with any speed. A long-story short, I hit rock bottom..and stayed there.
I slipped & slid my way through the Goring Gap at what felt like a snail's pace, passing under the railway bridge and eventually turning left away from the river. Hartslock wood is one of the most attractive lengths of trail on the TP but I was in no state to enjoy it as I power-hiked up the climbs in a blind stupor, and attempted to run anything at a lower gradient. There's a great downhill after the first climb which I think anyone would recognise who's run the path. The small hill is crested by two trees which almost look like an archway and have a distinct ethereal beauty. As you step through the trees the path falls away beneath you and you either bomb down it or pick your way down in an uncomfortable shuffle. I bombed down it and used the momentum to start the next climb, in what was the equivalent of trying to kick-start a moped, but for now "the engine was fried".
It was a relief when I joined the wide path that passes Coombe Park - and Avoca - Farm, and eventually merges onto Whitchurch High Street. The road was runnable and I managed to put out a few 8 minutes miles before joining the Thames on the other side of Whitchurch bridge. Dehydrated and disheartened, I started the most difficult stretch of the race; the muddy fields along the river from Whitchurch to Mapledurham. It took all I had to reach the next gate...and the next.. and the next. I was sure that the stretch had to end soon but after each gate the path stretched unapologetically on ahead. Passing Mapledurham Lock and then turning right up Mapledurham Drive (and moving away from those damn fields) was a great relief. To quantify the state I was in over that leg, consider this; the 7 miles to CP 4 had taken me 1 hr 7 minutes. That's 9:30min/mi!
I chugged half a litre of electrolytes, refilled my hand-held and took a second bottle for the road. I'd lost 10 minutes on Scott, but that was the last thing on my mind. Cheerful words from the lovely aid station volunteer made me determined that no one was going to witness my pain, or stop me from getting my head back into a good place one way or the other. I hiked up the hill, hands-on-knees, into Purley, ran to the railway bridge near Tilehurst station that links to the river, and joined the path approaching Reading. This is a section I know well and I was able to get back into rhythm and get some 8 minute miles under my belt. I kept it up all the way to the Boathouse (which also marks the turn-around point for spur 4 of the Autumn 100) until we joined the mud/clay again.
Begrudgingly, I kept up the slog at an albeit slower pace, determined to keep building on the work I'd done so far and by the time I reached Sonning bridge I felt like I was flying. Despite some mud, I averaged 8:30 minute miles to Sonning, and then averaged 8 minute miles all the way to the finish. The worst of the mud was from Sonning to Shiplake, but the slow pace there is compensated by the fast roads through Shiplake and the tree-lined way which leads past the miniature railway. I'd say this is easily the best part of the race; the finish is in touching distance, you can let it rip on the fast, flat roads, and as a bonus you can stop eating GUs since you're pretty much there anyway.
As I crossed the last field before Marsh Lock, I thought I heard a voice behind me in the treeline (although it turns out I had 16 minutes over Peter) so I went full throttle for the last km, determined not to lose my position this late in the game. I crossed the finish line looking like a sack of sh*t in 4th place, in a time of 6:27:46.
Still, this is the first ultra I've "raced" and I feel like there were some positives, and that I learnt a lot.