Written by Mark Perkins - http://ultraperk.com
At the end of last year I went up to Profeet in Fulham to support Paul on his (successful) attempt to break the treadmill 50km world record. After he finished, a group of us went over to the pub across the road to grab some food. Over lunch I mentioned that I was considering doing the Crawley 12 hour race instead of the South Downs Way 50 as it might be a more specific tune-up race for my main early-season focus, GUCR. At that point Robbie turned to me and said that the only reason he would run a 12hr track race would be if it was to try and hit the magic 100 mile distance. 100 miles in 12 hours - those sounded like pretty ridiculous numbers. But then again, having recently run the Berlin 100 in 13:06 maybe I could get somewhere in the same ballpark if it was on a more controlled environment like a track? Hmmm…
A few months later and I’m standing on the Crawley K2 track awaiting the start of the 12 hour event. Somehow that little seed that was sown in my mind has turned this race from a tune-up for GUCR into an full blown ‘A’ race for me. I have no idea how close I can get to 100 miles in the allotted twelve hours but I’ve made the decision to go out at a pace that will at least give me a fighting chance of getting there - if of course I can maintain it for the duration.
My build up to this race has been a funny mix. I’ve hit some of the biggest and best training weeks I’ve ever had and I’ve been running times in training that (although far from spectacular in the grand scheme of things) I’d have only dreamed of a few years ago. But then, after my last scheduled ‘big week’ of mileage I suddenly found myself completely wiped out by a respiratory infection. I was in bed for the whole of Easter and had been plagued with a chesty cough and zero energy ever since then. The last week before the race had seen me drinking litres of ginger tea and praying to the gods of the track that my legs - which felt like wooden blocks every time I tried to run - would come good on the day. But thankfully by the time race morning came around my breathing seemed to have sorted itself out - my confidence had taken a bit of a knock but physically I knew I couldn’t have lost that much fitness in the preceding weeks.
***
The hooter sounds to start the race and I slip into the front in lane one, getting straight up to speed. My plan is to run 4:20 mins/km (about 1:44 mins per lap) for as long as I possibly can, hopefully past the 50 mile mark. That will then give me a little wiggle room to allow for me slowing down a touch in the second half. To hit 100 miles in the 12 hours I will need to average 4:27 min/km. I’m pretty sure that a few of the others on the track are thinking that I am going to blow up horribly at some point, going out at this speed. I’ve no idea whether they will be proved right or not - whilst it’s not a fast pace for shorter distances I have never tried to run at that pace for anything much past a marathon. But hey, a track race is a pretty ‘safe’ environment to give it a go. If I blow up spectacularly I can just stop and walk away at any point and the only knock will be to my confidence… and of course my pride.
I’ve never done a race on a track before - not even a shorter ‘proper’ track race like a 5000m or so. But I have done a few long (~3 hour) training sessions on my local track so it’s not a completely alien environment to me. I say hi to a few people as I overtake them but this early on in the race people mostly seem focused on warming up the bodies and minds. A long time to go yet.
Sarah is (once again) crewing for me, although today she is doing double duty - she’s also my lap recorder for the day. Not a trivial task to have to keep a constant eye on the clock and write down lap times every minute and a bit for twelve hours. I give her a wave and a smile every time I pass. The funny thing is that today will probably be the longest block of time I have seen of her in weeks - in between work and training and kids and everything else we are often like two ships passing in the night during most of the week.
I stop for a quick pee on the grass off the back side of the track, losing a minute or so but there is nothing to be done - my timing plan has to account for a few pit stops. What is really worrying me however is my stomach. I’ve only been running for an hour or so but it’s already feeling pretty uncomfortable and whilst I’ve been taking on some liquid calories in the form of UCAN I can tell that today is going to be one of those where it’s a struggle to eat properly. Another hour and a bit passes. legs feel fine so far but I’m really starting to feel a little sick and I have a heavy, churning feeling in my stomach. I make the decision to sacrifice a little time in exchange for a run to the toilet, it’s a gamble but I need to try and sort out my guts before things get any worse or I’ll be in for a very long day indeed.
Back on the track and I’m feeling a little better, enough to start getting a few more calories in via a mix of UCAN, boiled new potatoes and Nakd fruit & nut bars. I’m ticking off the laps - my watch is showing 4:20 min/km pace on the dot but I know that the GPS isn’t measuring an accurate 400m per lap so the pace is probably just a touch slower than that. No matter. I hit 100 laps in 2:57, just before the start of the 6 hour race, pretty much on target and with my legs still feeling pretty comfortable even if my stomach still isn’t great.
The 6 hour race starting sees a few familiar faces joining the track - a friend Dan (Skrobak) is doing it, and despite setting a massive PB of 2:43 at last week’s Brighton Marathon he’s aiming for 50 miles or so in the six hours. On fresh legs he’d easily run that; the bonus for me is that for him to hit that target he’ll need to be running at about the same pace as I am, which means I may have some company for the time he’s on the track. I also spot and say hello to Travis Wilcox (who has run the Berlin 100 a few times now, including last year when I did it), and Helen James who I’ve never met but who I know by reputation from her Team GB running exploits.
Although the track is busier now it’s nice to get some more motivation from the fresh faces on the track, and it’s great to see Dan and congratulate him on his great run at Brighton. We form a mini train of two and start clicking off the laps, I’m perhaps pushing a bit harder than I should at this point to keep up with his fresh legs but we are still hitting about the right pace and it’s very nice to have some company. I’m trying to get some calories down me but my stomach is feeling worse and worse as I do so. Sarah knows it and is looking a little worried as I go past her repeatedly, asking if there is anything she can do - but right now it’s out of either of our hands really, I just have to wait and hope that it passes. But I’m starting to feel really sick, four and a half hours is really too early to start vomiting and still stand much chance of finishing the race although it’s exactly what I feel I need to do right now. But I fight the urge, stop trying to take in any more calories and hope that things will settle down.
More laps tick by, some with Dan, some alone when our slight differences in pace have naturally caused us to drift apart. My legs are feeling a little fatigued now but no more than I’d expect from five plus hours on my feet, and my stomach seems to finally be settling down a little. I decide that I’m going to switch onto Coke for my calories - earlier than I normally would but it’s the best chance I have of keeping my energy up with the least possible stomach impact. Dan seems to be dropping off the pace a little, undoubtably still a little fatigued from his previous week’s efforts and I find myself running alone again for the most part. Fellow Centurion team members Paul and Eddie have turned up and (even though there is none of the singing I was promised) it’s great to see some friendly faces. It also means that they can pass me bottles while Sarah continues on with her lap recording. Nice for her to have some company too I’m sure.
The wind has been steadily picking up over the last few hours and on the exposed Crawley track it’s definitely making it hard to keep my pace up around the half of the lap where it’s in my face. My splits are still looking reasonable however, I’m probably hitting about a 1:46 average and just before 6 hours I reach the 50 mile mark. So far so good…
My watch clicks over to 6 hours and it’s time to change direction. I’ve been looking forward to this. I finish my lap, run around Pam Storey (the organiser of the event) who is standing on the track, and head back the other way, passing a handful of runners who were behind me on the turnaround lap. Suddenly it’s a whole new world - everything is the wrong way round. The parts of the track that had a nice tailwind are now the dreaded slog sides where I’m battling to keep my pace up, I’m picking up bottles with my left hand not my right… all very strange. The other thing that is strange is my watch; suddenly the pace reading it is giving me is all over the place. I’m moving quicker than Dan at this point and when I next go past him he mentions that his watch is doing the same, somehow it seems that the direction change has caused some issue with the GPS signal because it’s not giving me a reliable read-out at all. In most races I wouldn’t care much about this; I normally run to feel and pay very little attention to checking my pace while I’m running. But this race is different, I need to keep up a very specific speed and after having run for 6+ hours already it’s hard to rely on your natural pace estimation, as it is likely feeling much harder than normal to run at the pace I need to maintain. I run blindly for a while, hoping that my watch will sort itself out, but it doesn’t and I’m starting to get flustered just at the time in the race when it’s most important to stay calm and collected.
By this point more of the Centurion crew have arrived, James, Drew and Claire are all there helping Sarah with the lap recording and cheering me on. Drew very kindly lends me his watch which I strap on, only to find that it’s in mins/mile rather than the mins/km that I’m used to. I ask my (now pretty large!) support crew what my pace should be in these unfamiliar units in order to keep me on-pace for a sub-12 hour 100 miles. But I’m still in a bit of a flap and don’t pay proper attention, and end up running for a good chunk of time unwittingly at too slow a pace. After a while James points out to me that my previous ten laps or so have been averaging around 1:50-1:52 per lap. That is far too slow and I know it, and I curse myself for losing my focus and leaking precious time.
I’m quickly finding that racing a timed event, on a track and with a specific, extremely ambitious mileage target like this is absolutely brutal. There is nowhere to hide - it’s just you and your splits, which are getting harder and harder to hit with every extra lap in your legs. You can’t lose focus, you can’t let your mind wander, you just need to keep in that zone, and with every lap you are having to push that little bit harder to maintain your pace. Every lap you drop one second means a lap you need to make one second up. It’s utterly relentless, and as I go round and round I have the curious feeling of everything external to me slipping away. It’s me, my watch and the track. Nothing else matters. Time has pretty much ceased to have any meaning and I find that I almost don’t care about how many hours I have left. All that matters is keeping my pace up, checking my watch, getting my split times from my crew. Relentless.
Sarah and the Centurion posse are doing a great job of feeling me information, Coke and support. James keeps me updated on my lap times as I go through the 10 hour mark, and hits me with the bad news that with my current splits I’m not going to make it. I need to find another 2 seconds per lap, he says. I tell him that there is no way in hell I can find 2 seconds per lap, but my next 8 laps are magically all two seconds faster. I’m hurting pretty badly now, my body is screaming at me to stop but somehow I’m still feeling in control. The sickness is long gone and now it is a pure test of focus, self belief and seeing if my body can hold together while I push it way beyond anywhere I’ve pushed it before. My splits start to drift again and again James tells me what I need to do to pull it back. I’m really losing track of time at this point but I go through the 140km mark in about 10:26 and I think to myself that all I need to do now is run a 1:34 half marathon and I’ll have it in the bag. I ran a 1:19 half in a training run a week or so ago so 1:34 should be easy, but my legs have 140km in them and I know that it’s going to be tight, really tight, maybe too tight.
More laps, pushing as hard as I can… James updates me again, tells me that at my current pace I’m going to miss my target by about 300 meters. I grit my teeth and dig deep, deeper than I’ve ever dug before. I’m not going to let this slip away from me now. I’m speeding up, I’m shedding seconds of my lap times but I can literally feel the toll the increased speed is taking on my body, pulling me apart with every step. I’m totally red-lining it but now with less than an hour to go it’s all or nothing, this right here is the line that separates nearly great from the really great and I’m damned if I’m going down without a fight when I’ve come this far already today. It’s still tight, too tight in fact but maybe if I can just cling on and run myself into the ground in the last 20 minutes I can make up those seconds - or is it minutes now? - that I need.
Sarah is doing a great job of running alongside me for a few meters each lap, keeping me updated and giving me motivation but I find I can barely acknowledge her presence, I’m lost so deep within myself trying to find the focus needed to hit those damn lap times. The other 12 hour runners on the track are fantastic, giving me the inside lane when I come past and cheering me on with their kind words of support even though I can barely grunt back replies.
I’m pushing, pushing, pushing. Everything hurts but somehow I still have a overall feeling of being in control of the situation. Sarah tells me that even if I don’t make the 100 miles in the 12 hours, the race officials have very kindly agreed to keep the clock running in order to give me an official 100 mile time. A part of me feels like telling her not to worry, I’m not going to need it, I’m not going to let this slip away. But I don’t. Instead I just push, those splits that have become my nemesis chipping away at me, breaking me down, but so close now…
Then suddenly, everything changes. I’m not sure quite what has happened but it’s like a light switch being flipped in my head. The feeling of being in control has gone, completely and utterly. I’m in a place I’ve never been before, the pain is the same but my head is suddenly foggy, and my field of vision seems different somehow. I feel a little cross-eyed to be honest. Less than fifteen minutes to go but I’m slowing down and there is nothing I can do about it - this is not the final 15 mins of power I was planning just a few laps earlier. Instead I feel myself completely shutting down, I’m starting to get sleepy even though I’m still running and I’m suddenly worried that I may not even make to the end of the race on my feet. Sarah is worried too, she can see it in my face and by the way I’m struggling to actually talk to her. It’s gone and there is nothing I can do to get it back, my splits fall away and with it any chance of hitting my 100 mile target. I don’t even care right now to be honest. i’m just doing my best to keep running. I get given a marker to mark where I finish when the 12 hours is up, and when the hooter blows I’m vaguely aware of placing it down on the floor before carrying on, another few laps with my head closing down on me and then I’m done, finally done, 100 miles in 12 hours, 4 minutes and a handful of seconds.
My legs nearly collapse on me but Sarah and one of the Centurion crew grab me and help me over to James’ van where Ed, a paramedic gives me a quick check over. I’m fine, although I feel very spaced out and my legs are completely refusing to support my own body weight. It really is amazing how one second you can be running and then next totally unable to walk. Then we head over to the announcers box, up some stairs that I can barely get up even with two people supporting me and I find a chair to slump into to await the prize-giving.
***
In the end, I ran 99.6 miles (160.2km) in 12 hours, and crawled my way to 12:04 for 100 miles. I took just over an hour off my 100 mile PB, I broke the course record by 9.6 miles and my 100 mile time apparently puts me in 4th place on the all-time GB list. I should be very pleased, and indeed in many ways I am. I’m pretty sure that there is no way I could have extracted anything more from myself in those final few hours, but missing my target by 0.4 miles is also incredibly painful, and in the days since the event I keep finding myself wondering about where I could have made up that distance. Why I couldn’t have found it on the day? Do I just lack that extra 0.4% of grit, determination and guts needed to really push through when the going gets tough? Or was I truly up against my hard physical limit on the day? It’s so hard to know. Maybe if it was less windy, maybe if I hadn’t had the virus before the race, maybe if my watch hadn’t lost it’s GPS signal, maybe if I hadn’t felt so sick at the start, maybe maybe maybe…
At the end of the day it doesn’t matter. Every race throws something different at you and you can only play the cards that you get dealt. I certainly didn’t have a bad hand, the weather was beautiful and sunny and all things considered it was a great day to try and hit an ambitious target. I had a fantastic day, I ran a 100 mile time that I would have not have believed even remotely possible for me a year ago, and in doing so I’ve learnt a lot about how much further you can push your body and mind than you would ever, ever believe.
But… it does mean that I’m going to have to go back to the track and try again some time. I wasn’t planning on another track race necessarily, but to miss out on a target by such a fine margin demands a second bite at the cherry. I’m both scared and excited just thinking about it. But first I need to get my mind and body back into working order for GUCR in just five weeks time, a race I’m really looking forward to, and hopefully 145 miles of canal will make a nice change from endless loops of a track!
[Photo credits Dan, Sarah and Eddie - thanks!]