Written by Steve Navesey - https://navs1962.wordpress.com
SDW100 Finisher’s buckle
In retrospect the coffee was probably a bad idea.
Winchester Premier Inn, heating on at levels that would stress a Bedouin; in June! An air conditioning system that can’t count below 19 degrees, a comfortable climate during the day whilst clothed. Not conducive to lying under a quilt and trying to sleep. Topped off with a fan that sounded like a Hercules C130 aircraft winding up. The coffee certainly hadn’t helped, add the rest and my stress levels were now on the moon. So when it was time to get up at 4:00am Saturday I had yet to get to sleep. A diva style tantrum sent a full water bottle sailing across the room with enough force to skittle the chair. I was not a happy bunny, as with no sleep I was about to embark on a 100 mile foot race which I had fervently hoped to complete in 24 hours or less.
A breakfast of porridge pots and more coffee, Bev had calmed me down and we headed off towards Chilcomb sports ground with fellow competitors Lynn Cunningham and Phil Bradburn hitching a ride with us. They had a poor night’s sleep as well, so I wasn’t alone. Which didn’t stop me bitching about it to anyone who would listen. I guess I’m just not a morning person.
Anyway, about this 100 mile foot race. The Petzl South Downs Way 100 is a point to point race from Chilcomb sports ground in Winchester to Eastbourne Sports Park (do you need me to tell you it’s in Eastbourne?) along the South Downs Way national trail. Centurion Running who organise the race open registration on the Friday evening so as to allow people the opportunity to get set for the race and stay in bed a little while longer. That went well! Did I tell you….? Never mind. So, Bev and I had met up with Dan Park and Bryan Webster at Lewes on Friday afternoon and we’d all driven down together, dropped off kit at hotels and congregated at Chilcomb. Where the family of usual suspects was there to welcome us. The mandatory piss take from Chris Mills, contrasting starkly with his much nicer wife Nikki. The ever cheerful Drew Sheffield, organisational genius, and all round mother hen Nici Griffin to name but a few.
SDW100 Route and aid stations
Not a happy bunny: Photo Bev Navesey
But the bonhomie of Friday was gone and was replaced on a cool and overcast Saturday morning by a tired bloke with a foul temper. Some sage words of advice from ultra running veteran and Centurion life member Gary Kiernan set me in a better frame of mind as a strategy began to form to best mitigate the poor start to the day.
Race director James Elson delivered the brief with the welcome news that we’d have a prevailing tail wind and in no time we were in the pen and waiting for the hooter. The cards have been dealt, the hand now has to be played. Hooter! And we’re off!.. To a gentle jog. A lap of the sports ground to spread the field out before the very narrow entry out on to the South Downs Way, and the runners streamed along the hard dirt path away from Winchester.
The early miles from West to East are easy running. No really challenging climbs until after Queen Elisabeth Country Park at the 22 mile point. The danger here is that the unwary can be lured into haring away and finding that they have nothing for the later stages of the event, which are far more challenging. I settled into a steady jog at around 12 minutes per mile pace and stayed there. Shortening my stride even more for the ups and letting the terrain take me down the descents. Putting in minimum effort.
One of the most common questions I’m asked by people who’ve not taken part in an ultra is “Are there any toilets?”. Well the answer to that is yes, usually. However, you might be up to 10 miles or more away from one when nature strikes. So everyone carries what is fondly known as a ‘shit kit’. Basically a mini pack of tissues and a pack of baby wipes. The rest, dear reader, I will leave to your imagination. This is a sport for the pragmatic. About 5 miles or so in I turned to close a gate and there staring back at me from beside the hedge was a fully deployed bare arse, some are just more pragmatic than others.
With that shock to my delicate system I headed at the same steady pace out to the first aid station at Beacon Hill Beeches just under 10 miles in. Stopping briefly about half a mile from the station to fill a bottle from one of the water taps that are located along the trail. Pop in a High 5 Zero tablet and move on. This would save me waiting in a queue at the aid station as it was likely to be busy this early on. I try to spend as little time as possible in aid stations. Calling out my number to the first of the wonderful volunteers who staff the Centurion events, I passed straight through. I was carrying Chia flapjack for the first 22 miles as the first two aid stations here are 10 miles apart. Half a flapjack is good for an hour’s fuel I find.
The day may have been overcast but it was also humid and we were all sweating profusely by this time. With the attendant risk of chafing. I carry a stick of Body Glide in my pack for this and it was going to get a work out today. The other risk here is dehydration, it is less obvious a risk when it’s not bright sun, something I was going to have to keep an eye on.
Through QECP: Photo Bev Navesey
Down Butser Hill and into QECP , aid station 2 and another well known and friendly face was there armed with a water jug. I took a few moments to catch up with Natasha Fielden while she topped me up. Bev was there to greet me with the news that I was well under 24 hour split time, around 2 hours. Hmmm, I may have set off too fast after all. Too late now, crack on. I figured I would likely need that 2 hour buffer as I slowed later in the race. I was under no illusions, while I knew I could keep moving despite the lack of sleep. I also knew it would have a deleterious effect on my later pace. Currently, I felt surprisingly good.
Bev had known exactly when I’d be coming in to QECP as I was wearing a GPS tracker that I’d hired from OpenTracking. For the £30 weekend individual hire James Thurlow had provided the tracker, weighing in at 65 grams, in a waterproof package. My own personal web page with a map of the route and my own personal dot that travelled along the route betraying my position to anyone with a pc, tablet or smart phone who had the link. It was a
Happy munchkin at aid 3
brilliant tool and I’ll be going to him again, it made Bev’s job so much easier and enabled my son out in Chamonix to easily follow my progress. Not to mention numerous others who were also watching. Which gave me a personal lift as I knew I had real time support out there. Every little helps.
Up out of QECP and it’s starting to get bumpy as we hit the Downs proper. I concentrated on maintaining the pace as best I could into aid 3 at Harting Downs 5 miles further on. Again Bev is there with encouragement and to my surprise so is Natasha with her jug! Quick pit stop, grab some food and carry on. Munching on the move.
Heading out of Harting towards Cocking: Photo Bev Navesey
I know this part of the Downs quite well from my time in the army so it wasn’t going to throw up any nasty surprises. The sun was out now and it was getting quite warm, I certainly wasn’t sweating any less. Descending down towards Cocking there was a large stain on the trail which was odd but it didn’t really register what it was as I was feeling the heat and the strain a bit by now. An ambulance was making its way up from the bottom of the trail. Another runner came up alongside me and asked if I’d seen the large pool of blood. Then it clicked as to what I’d seen. The ambulance had stopped at a group of three runners ahead. One of them had taken a fall and had cut his head on a flint. Though it looked pretty bad it actually turned out to be superficial and the guy turned up at the finish with his head bandaged up, determined to get his finish line bacon sandwich! Not eccentric at all these ultra blokes.
Into Cocking, 35 miles on the clock and suddenly, I’m feeling them. Bev is there, telling me I’m still over an hour under the 24 split and that Dan and Bryan are only about 20 minutes up the road. Do my eyes deceive me? There is a smiling Natasha with that jug of hers again! This time I’m not in a rush through the aid station. I decide on a 5 minute reset. Sit down and close my eyes. Bev to shake me in 5 minutes. I was planning on this later in the race as a strategy to mitigate the sleep problem. So it doesn’t bode well this early on. Bev dutifully got me at the 5 minute mark, I hadn’t dropped off, but had relaxed a little, got my kit together and hiked out of the aid and up the hill away from the crossroads.
I don’t actually remember going through Bignor Hill at mile 41. Though it was definitely there as I had food and water for the next leg. Kithurst Hill, mile 50 (and a bit). Another quick turnaround and out, onto the worst flint track of the South Downs Way. It’s as if a truck load of flint has been dropped onto the trail, raked level (not smooth) and somehow embedded into the chalk. Think, sharpened cobbles. Thankfully it doesn’t last long, about a mile. The guy behind me thought even less of it than I did. A strangled choking sound and I turned to witness him emptying what he’d just taken on board at the aid station over the flints. I couldn’t agree more mate!
The reason for my lethargy became clear, dehydration was setting in. It wasn’t bad yet but it was now a problem. Fortunately I’d spotted it early and simply upped my fluid intake. I hadn’t begun to suffer any cramps so as long as I treated it now I’d be OK. A steep climb followed by some nicely rolling Downland and then the drop into Washington and a major aid station at mile 54. Here I was reunited with the first of my drop bags. Had some pasta, changed my socks and carried out some admin. It’s a long stop but it’s a stop that was likely to keep me in the event as I wasn’t feeling great. When I left I had cleaned my feet of any grit that had worked its way in, applied Body Glide and clean socks. Aimed at preventing blisters later on. My feet were in good shape. Sorted out any chafes and treated those. As well as taken the time to get food and fluid inside, and stock up on gels and flapjack.
Another steep climb out of Washington and I was on home turf. Chanctonbury Hill. Rolling Downs, I settled into a hike, run that kept me at around 13 minutes per mile. Enough to keep the 24 hour target a possibility. Though by now I felt it was becoming a long shot. Two long pit stops that were necessary to keep me going had torn a big hole in the early buffer I’d built up. Added to the lethargic plod between Cocking and Kithurst, yeah, a very long shot.
Botolph’s just prior to learning 24 hour was no longer on: Photo Bev Navesey
Passing through Botolphs at mile 61 after a very quick stop just for water, Bev was waiting on the other side of the road for me. “You’ve just about hit the 24 hour split”, that was the bad news. Not entirely unexpected. The good news was that Mike Churchyard, who had offered to pace me from Ditchling Beacon to Alfriston, was actually going to meet me at Devils Dyke. Under Centurion rules competitors are allowed a crew (in my case, Bev) who can meet their runners at designated places along the route and provide aid. Ideal, for example, if one has a dietary condition that the organisation can’t cater for. Also, after Washington, runners are allowed to have a pacer who can similarly join at designated places to accompany a runner, there are rules for the use of both. Back in January Mike had offered to pace me.
My strategy now needed a bit of mental readjustment. Ok, Truleigh Hill, then Devil’s Dyke. A bit of a climb after Saddlescomb and then Clayton Hill. After that rolling downs to Housedean, the drag up Kingston Hill and…..whoa! Stop thinking! That’s seriously long way (just shy of 40 miles to push if you’ve kept up so far) and I haven’t even taken into account…nope, not going to. So where was I? Oh yes, Devil’s Dyke, That’s not far and Mike’s waiting to meet up. Breaking into a shuffling trot down the far side of Truleigh Hill it was gratifying to note that it wasn’t quite death march time.
Darkness fell on the approach to the top of Devil’s Dyke and the temperature was dropping considerably, chilling my soaked clothing. The welcome shape of Mike C appeared out of the gloom as I reached the gate. Bev was on hand so I retrieved my lightweight wind proof, head torch on and we set off at a trot down to Saddlescomb Farm.
The rave at Clayton: Photo Paula Ridley
The next short leg up to Clayton Windmills and the lack of sleep crept up on me. Mike was setting a good pace that was keeping me in the upper edge of what I was capable of so we were making good time. I told him what was happening and he said that a 5 minute power nap at the next aid should dig me out of the hole. The next aid was a psychedelic rave run by the Burgess Hill Runners. Everywhere lit up by light sticks, including the volunteers. Ha! brilliant. I flopped into a chair and shut my eyes while Mike made sure I had what I needed for the next leg. It was freezing, the chill wind cut straight through. After about 2 minutes I told Mike there was no point hanging around. He hauled me out of the chair, suggested the barn at Housedean would be better and we set off up Clayton Hill, 70 miles ticked off.
Failed nap at Clayton: Photo Mike Churchyard
The next few miles disappeared in a blur, I just followed Mike’s heels. We chatted, but I can’t remember what about. I vaguely recall Mike shepherding me across the road at Ditchling Beacon. Then we were turning off by Black Cap towards Housedean Farm. As we hit the long easy slope down we settled into that steady dog trot again and I decided that we weren’t stopping at the aid except to top up and go. Power naps were off the menu, let’s just get to the end. Then as we dropped down to the aid station I admitted to Mike I’d lied and needed 5 minutes just to have a drink and eat something. He didn’t bat an eyelid at my rapid changes of heart. Just plonked me in a chair when we got there and took my water bottle to be filled, returning with coffee and ham wraps. Ham wraps! Food of the Gods (unless you happen to be vegan of course)! This in now my go-to ultra running food of choice. Carbs, protein and easy to get down. Most importantly, keep down! 5 minutes, good to go. We nailed Kingston Hill. Drag? What drag? I was feeling pretty good. Mike reminded me of an ultra truism; “If you start to feel good during an ultra, don’t worry you will get over it.” Gene Thibeault.
We’d caught up with Dan Park at Housedean, mile 76, looking like he’d died a week ago and someone had just evicted him from his coffin. Despite that he was still undefeated, if anything he was an angry man. He’d left the aid prior to us and we passed him again on the way to Southease. There’s no stopping an angry man and he was doggedly making his way to Eastbourne, spitting a few feathers along the way. He would go on to get in under the cut off. A fine example of a death march to the finish.
The 84 mile aid at Southease was a better stop, quick top up and go. More wraps and out of the aid. It was getting light now so the head torches went away. I’d had my waterproof on as well through the night as it had been quite chilly on the top of the ridge, but was warming up now, so that went away too. We dug into Southease Hill. Mike pacing and me hanging on. Again we nailed it, and topped out to the gentle Downs over Firle Beacon
Early morning stroll over Firle Beacon: Photo Mike Churchyard
and on to Bo Peep before the long descent into Alfriston. Catching the very pleasant and chatty Helen Smith on the way down and accompanying her into the aid. 91.6 miles done, the end is in sight. Well it would be but for two large hills in the way.
This is where Mike left me, having got me out of the aid where the fabulous Paul and Roni Cheeseman crew had taken a request and made me up a big ham wrap, he set me on my way towards the finish. Mike had come from work on Saturday and parked up at Alfriston, Bev had driven him to Devil’s Dyke which is 6.5 miles further than the original plan. He’d then covered 26.1 miles through the night to keep me at my best possible pace. Putting up with my crap and quietly encouraging me. Now he was heading back to work. I simply don’t have the ability to express in words how grateful and indebted I am.
Now I was back on my own and desperate not to squander the hard work of the night. Hiking Wilmington Hill and breaking into a trot on the flatter downland over the top, maintaining it down into Jevington. Passing the toughest man on the course as we dropped down into the village. Tim Vincent had been running well, getting to Southease in 19 hours, until a groin injury had struck. He was now making progress with what can only be described as baby steps. Another runner had lent him some poles to keep him upright, he wasn’t death marching, he wasn’t even death hobbling, and he certainly wasn’t giving up. We exchanged a few words of mutual encouragement, he was OK other than that injury, I continued running to the aid, where I called out my number, assured the staff I had what I needed and kept going. No one drops at Jevington, not everyone stops at Jevington either.
Chris Mills finally says something funny on Jevington Hill: Photo Nikki Mills
95.7 in the bag, 4.3 miles to push. Nearing the top of Jevington Hill ribaldry and piss taking issued from the side of the track. Chris Mills had popped down with his customary greeting. He hiked up to the top of the hill with me where he and Nikki were camped.
They’d been up there all night ensuring that tired runners didn’t take the wrong turning off of the Downs. I was good, I knew where I was and where to go. Most importantly I knew that was the last hill and I only had 2.5 miles left to the finish. Settling into a jog down the hill alongside Willingdon Golf Club, keeping as high an action as I could over the uneven surface, soon emerging onto the road that led down into Eastbourne.
Jogging along Kings Drive Helen Smith came past running like she’d just started! “I’m always good at the end” she called gaily as she sped by. “I’m not chasing after you” was my response to that. Keeping to a steady jog around the District General Hospital and the seemingly interminable drag until the sports park came into view. Happily no one was close to me so there was no danger of a race to the line.
Mr Frog finishes 100 miles: Photo Stuart March
One lap of the 400m track and James Elson is standing under the gantry to welcome me home. A handshake and a time of 26 hours and 52 minutes “You’ll take that?” he asked? James is a personal friend so knew what my A goal had been. I smiled and nodded “Yeah”.
James welcomes me home: Photo Bev Navesey
A big hug from Bev, A wide grin and a wave of congratulations from the magically reappearing Natasha, finishers buckle and led off being asked the most important questions “How do you like your coffee and would you like a bacon sandwich?”, “Coffee and a bacon sandwich? Now you’re talking!”
A further welcome hug from Nici Griffin, I’m not special, Nici welcomes all the finishers personally. Even though she too is a personal friend. We met up with Lynn again, who’d had a great race and been in some time. She looked fantastic, as if she had just strolled down to see what was going on. Shower, clean clothes and refreshment done. A catch up with Drew before we left. A slow hobble to the car and homeward bound. As we drove back along Kings Drive I saw Tim Vincent, still baby stepping his way to a successful finish. It had taken him 10 hours to get from Southease like that. Failure, clearly, was not an option.
About then it all caught up with me; and the lights went out.