Storm after the calm

Five weeks after the 100 and now the dust has settled I can say definitively that recovery is a long and complicated process.

A few niggles have settled in despite gentle but regular moving. I'm borrowing the concept of 'moving' from Emily Forsberg as I'm definitely not training, just using short easy runs, walks and strength work to keep mobile, promote blood flow and stop me going mad. Unusually for me it was 4 weeks before I got a post-race massage. The massage was as unpleasant as I expected and although it helped, there is still something not right about my left ankle/base of Achilles. My back is bothering me more than usual too but I suspect that might be down to doing more, and more varied, strength work so hamstrings and glutes are working harder than they've needed to for a while. Hopefully things will settle down over the next few weeks.

Mentally I'm a bit all over the place. It sounds silly maybe, but running 100 miles has given me a quiet confidence that even when at work people are rude or belittle me or show no respect, I just think to myself that I ran 100 miles and they never could dream of attempting it, and it makes me feel better about myself. On the other hand for some reason it's been really hard remembering what day it is and when I have to go to work. It must be a remnant of that wonderful timeless bubble running the 100, where nothing existed other than movement. Work isn't easy at the moment either and it feels jarring to be stuck inside stinky classrooms all day. It's odd too not having that drive of having to get the miles in and I actually miss those stupid o'clock journeys to Goring for recce runs! But I think my mind is recovering more quickly than my body though as this week the idea of running a bit longer than 5 or 6 miles and for more than an hour feels like something I want to do. My body isn't so sure however, and still seems to want to stop after about 60 minutes.

With time on my hands I've been thinking about next year's running and wondering what to do. I know I want to run more 100 milers but the last couple of weeks have made me wary of running more than 1 in a year although I suppose the more I do the better my body will get at recovering. So far the plan is to return to A100 and aim for a decent sub-24 hour time and also go for a much improved 100k time. Having said all that though, I don't want to do loads of races as what I did this year seemed to work very well in terms of fitness and getting 100 mile ready.

Next year may also have a couple of surprises- one is dependent on ridiculous odds in a ballot, the other is a step into a new venture (or possibly steps into two new ventures). More on those if and when...

I am beginning to realise that nothing is will be the same after running 100 miles. It has been a genuinely life-changing experience.

Walking

In this strange recovery period I've started to take at least one walk every day. Nothing long, often just 10- 20 minutes simply to get some fresh air and stretch my legs. It feels so odd to not run every day and to feel tired when I do run, but the need and desire to move every day is still there.

A little chat with Phil today about recovery and training ended with what ought to be a very welcome piece of advice:

decondition and get a bit fat

But that's probably the thing I find hardest to do even though I completely understand why it's necessary. I don't have a great figure at the best of times and when I lose condition and gain a little weight all that happens is I get a wobbly belly and can't fit into any of my clothes comfortably. I hate it!

So I'm trying to find a balance between letting my body really recover, getting good nutrition in every day and moving regularly. Hence the walking. And sometimes a walk is great because just a few minutes from my house this evening I saw this:

Recovery Rollercoaster

It's three weeks now.

Three weeks since I had the best time running.

I'm not liking 'normal' life- everything feels dull and blunted somehow compared to 24 hours and 33 minutes of running around the TP and Ridgeway. At the same time the race feels unreal too. Seriously having trouble believing it happened.

Recovery has been a strange experience so far. I've been running 3 or 4 times a week but slowly and not very far except on Wednesday when I did 8miles (with walk breaks) and totally wiped myself out. This week I started back moving some weight around which feels good while I'm doing it but the DOMS have been pretty bad. I'm not forcing myself to train and I'm not pushing myself particularly when I do train but today it's struck me that actually I'm fatigued on a deep level both in mind and body.

No idea what to do about that.

I think keeping moving in some way is a good thing to do, if only because I struggle to sit still and do nothing- I get cross as well as stiff and sore, and I can't restrict my calorie intake to the 1300-ish I'd only need if I wasn't taking any exercise. What is proving hard to work out is what and how much it's sensible to be doing. I'm so used to pretty much everything in life being about struggle and striving that I'm a bad judge of when to train and when to rest and when to push through, when to take things really easy.

Race plans are slowly taking shape for the coming year. I'm having a real crisis over the 100 mile distance. I REALLY want to run more 100 milers. But I can see already that recovery is a complex thing and probably I only need one thing to not go right and suddenly recovery becomes a thing that will take months and months and scupper chances of doing anything else.

Why is that a problem? Well I'm torn between wanting to try a different 100 miler and going back to Autumn 100 to get that 100 Miles in A Day buckle- I was so close to that quite by accident I think it's worth going for on purpose next time. But there's the rub- I think having a very specific goal for a race means the focus has to be on a year getting ready to achieve it. Which means only doing one 100 miler next year. I realise people do run several in a year but at A100 I saw how tough that can be, how much it took out of far better and far more experienced runners than me and I'm not sure I have the resources or support to manage that level of recovery. 

So I still have a lot of thinking and soul-searching to do. And learning how to recover...

Some stuff about kit, clothes, training and all that

A few people have asked a few questions so here's some information and thoughts on what I used and things I did.

Kit
I think I already wrote about much of the kit in a previous post. In the race I used only kit I'd practised with on training runs with the exception of a Light my Fire collapsible cup and a new Anker power bank. The cup was a great addition to kit and a much better option than my Hydrapak speedcup. It doesn't pack as small and it's not as light but it's sturdier so it's both easier to drink from and suitable for hot drinks. It also has a lid so I was able to walk out of CPs with hot tea without scalding myself and also on leg 4 without the cup filling up with rain.

The Anker power bank was a more powerful one than the little lipstick-sized pack I usually use. It was pretty much the same size as my phone but thinner and lighter. It was great as I had the option of being able to charge watch and phone at the same time if needed, but I struggled to get it into the side pockets of my Salomon race vest when the pockets were all full of stuff.

The Salomon S-lab Sense Ultra 8 vest proved a little more tricky to get on with in the race than I expected. I'd had no issues with it on long training runs but as the race progressed and I got clumsy I found finding and stashing stuff in the stretchy pockets increasingly awkward. I think more practise but also less stuff is needed.

I used sticks during the race: Mountain King Trail Blaze poles. They are not as fancy as ones by say Lekki or Black Diamond as they aren't adjustable and they are more of a faff to open up and fold away, but as I didn't have £££ to spend they were the best option. I've had this pair for over 2 years now and they've stood me in good stead in several races as well as days out on the SW coast path and in the Alps.
Most people think of sticks as something to use to aid with ascent. Certainly they do help with that although going up stuff is something I've always found relatively easy. Where I need them the most is for stability on descents and they also help to reduce the impact on my back. They can also really help on the flat when you're getting a bit tired- there's something about hiking with poles that can help you keep up a purposeful pace although whether it's the rhythm you get into or whether it's to do with engaging the upper body more I don't know. I do know though, that several times during the race people would comment that they couldn't keep up with my walking pace and in Hangman Ultra last year a couple of guys started calling me the Little 4 Wheel Drive as I powered up the hills!

PLEASE NOTE: simply going out and buying some poles and rocking up to a race with them won't do. You absolutely need to practise using them. A lot. Uphill, downhill, on the flat, on long runs. Practise eating when you've got them out, practise running with them- both in use for support and held in one hand because you don't need them for a bit. Fold them up and get them out whilst on the move, work out the best way of getting them in and out of your race vest. And be prepared to get a bit sore in the arms, shoulders and back. I've never had problems with arm or shoulder DOMS from using sticks until the A100 and I was unprepared for how uncomfortable I would feel after that race.

Edit: For women if you are running an ultra and you have your period, I recommend that you use the more expensive, branded pads. Cheaper ones are not as comfortable and don't always stick too well either. I used Bodyform ones without wings and had no issues with chafing or with blood going everywhere. Pads rather than tampons as you can't wash your hands except at some aid stations.
Clothes
This turned out to be a bit of a learning curve. I usually do races in a Kalenji running skirt as it has 4 pockets which is great for stashing snacks and I've never had any bother. However after A100 as I got into the shower at home noticed what appeared to be a sinister rash of big red spots around my middle. Turned out to be pressure spots from where the drawstring had pressed against my belly. Hmmm- something to avoid on my next 100 miler I think as that could get nasty and painful.
I'm a big fan of InkNBurn clothes and whilst they are VERY expensive all the items of theirs that I own are incredibly comfortable and none of the skirts have the same drawstring thing as the Kalenji one so I think I'll settle for 2 pockets and increased comfort next time.

Injini toe socks. Love them, BUT so very painful to change them when you've got blisters under the toenails and your feet are swollen. Not sure what the answer to that is- changing socks midrace was still a good move and I find Injini socks the most comfortable out of all the different sorts I've tried.

I think I wrote about my shoe nightmare in a previous post. The inov8 Trail Talons were very comfortable but are hopeless even in slight mud. I found an Ultra version of the inov8 X-Talons which are comfy but turned out to be so wide-fitting even for my hobbit feet that my feet slid about in them which caused a bit of damage. They were however nice and grippy but also quite acceptable for the long stretches of hard surfaces on leg 4.

Training
Thanks to Sensei Phil I had a really good program of strength work for the whole of my training plan for this race. The focus was mostly on posterior chain muscles and working on making sure that when I fatigued I could still keep a good, upright posture. It was hard work initially and also I really didn't like the getting a bit fat that happened to begin with- I felt big and heavy rather than strong- but after a couple of months or so I did begin to feel the benefit of it. And 6 months into my training plan I was fitter and stronger than I'd ever been before. Muscle mass did drop away leading up to the race but even so I felt strong and didn't experience any significant muscle issues during the race itself.

The  'Plan'

This wasn't a hugely detailed, prescriptive plan and I was never able to achieve the volume of running that Phil suggested but I stuck to the strength work and that really paid off. Running-wise yes, I did up the volume and was hitting +200 miles for several months, but the thing that probably had the biggest impact was consistency- just getting out almost every day and getting some miles in. I only ran 1 ultra and that was about 38 miles, I did one overnight hike of 50k but other than that nothing was over 26 miles. I'm lucky in that currently I work part-time so I have 2 weekdays to get longer runs done as well as weekends, but I did wonder how I would get on having only done what may ultra runners would call rather short long runs.

I did recce almost the entire course. Lots of people said there was no need, it would be well-marked and it's impossible to get lost. As you'll have seen if you read this blog, I found it quite easy to take wrong turns so knowing all the spots where I could go wrong meant I avoided any bonus miles on race-day. The recces also meant that I had a good idea of how to manage my pacing- I knew the stretches where I'd be slow and the bits where I could make up a bit of time. 

I kept a training diary for about 10 weeks but then hit a rough patch and couldn't face recording day after day of everything being a bit crappy and I never got back to writing things down even when training picked up again. I think at the time it almost felt like a punishment writing it all down and evaluating each session with a red, amber or green dot; if I was getting reds and ambers then I felt a failure or inadequate. Now I think that I should definitely keep a training diary again but keep emotionally detached from it. If stuff isn't going well either because I feel very tired or because I just don't get through the session I think I should have done, it really doesn't matter. Doing something is generally better than nothing, and sometimes it's fine to just move rather than train.

Mental stuff

This was hard. It was hard to keep belief in my training that what I was doing was enough, was the right stuff. How do you ever know if you've got it right? But I kept reminding myself that if I could be on that start line fitter and stronger than ever before then that was a great achievement in itself no matter how the race went.

I tried to think about how to manage myself in the race. Having twice crewed Steve at UTMB I had a good idea of how running a long way can mess you up and I've watched a whole lot of running documentaries, particularly the ones about Karl Meltzer's various FKTs and also Finding Traction about Nikki Kimball running the Long Trail. But it's hard to imagine going through something you've never experienced before. So I just visualised feeling crappy at various points in the race and what I'd say to myself to keep going. A few times I did dream about running it and getting a good time (around 26 hours was my 'dream' time) but it seemed so extremely unlikely that I didn't let that thought cross my mind much at all! 

The strength I've gained from having now run 100 miles is surprising- I feel like I'm good enough to take on more challenges now and I do have a couple in mind for 2019.

Ultimately I'd have to say that training didn't go quite to plan, but given the things that have been going on in the background this year I think I did as well as I could in the circumstances. For my next 100 I won't change anything significantly, but I think some better-focused speedwork early in the year will be the only new thing to add to the mix.

For now it's back to recovery!

100 miles, the aftermath

A week ago I was fretting a bit. Quite a lot.

Today I am feeling rather guilty because I'm feeling pretty good. I have now begun to question myself- maybe I didn't try hard enough, I should have pushed myself, maybe I could have got that sub-24, why am I not hurting and sore?

Up until Wednesday I think I was living off the fumes of euphoria. Sunday night was a fairly good night's sleep once I'd put an ice pack on my feet. Monday was ok, I pottered at home getting chores done and took a nap in the afternoon. The night was dreadful though- almost no sleep and appalling night sweats. So bad I had to change the bedlinen as everything was soaked. But Tuesday itself was fine and again I pottered about. Tuesday night was bad again. Another change of bedlinen.

Wednesday was work. No problems with all the stairs and I spent the day smiling, shoving my buckle in people's faces and having to explain that yes, it's perfectly possible to run 100 miles in one go; no, it is not bad for your joints; yes you eat on the go; no, you don't sleep; yes, you do wees (and more) in the bushes. My feet didn't like having to stand around, but other than that it wasn't a problem getting through a working day and that evening I managed a slow 2 miles around the village, more because I wanted to move in the fresh air than because I thought I should run.

Thursday was hard. I was suddenly very tired and just wanted to sleep although still legs felt fine. It was a very long and busy day too, not really stopping until 9pm when I couldn't be bothered to cook a meal. I ate rather too many biscuits for dinner, plus some leftover cauliflower!

Friday (today) I'm still sleepy but have been out for 4 miles. The autumn sunshine was so beautiful I just had to be out in it. Legs feel fine, feet a bit stiff and tired still and I need to resist the temptation to start training again. November I can start some kind of schedule but strength-based rather than running.

Being at work has been odd, jarring even. I do feel different after the weekend, not just because all my muscle seems to have disappeared, but actually changed as a person. It's as though that running experience was more real, more authentic than my usual daily life. There's no bullshit when you run that far. You are stripped back to essentials both in terms of what you have with you and as a person. Your job is to keep moving forward, to eat and drink, and to solve problems as they arise. That's it. There's nothing to hide behind, you can't fake any of it, you can't bluster or bluff your way through. As a result things feel and appear clearer, more simple. That is such a contrast to daily life even though I do my best to live a bullshit-free life. 'Real' life is still full of noise and clutter and the fact that to get by there's a lot of box-ticking and fakery.

I mentioned in the previous post about feeling outside of time and distance. That was beautiful. It was also surprising how neither time nor distance actually mattered or even felt meaningful. The sun rose higher and it set. Then it was dawn again. I had worried about managing such a long stretch of darkness but those 12-13 hours really didn't seem to last long. And actually I enjoyed being cocooned in the dark, following my little patch of light from the head torch. It could be isolating or disorientating not being conscious of passing hours and miles, but I found it made me feel far more connected to my surroundings, I felt a part of the landscape I was moving through. That's something I crave to feel again.

It's very hard to put into words what it feels like to run 100 miles. All I can say is that it is something that has the power to affect you in very deep and complicated ways.

100 Miles Is Not That Far

Friday evening

I'm so scared. Suppose I fail? Suppose I get really sick? What if I get lost in the dark? How awful is this going to feel? What have I forgotten to pack? What have I forgotten to think about? What if my training has been totally inadequate? I don't want to let people down...

You'll get round. It will be hard but you know that. Deal with the unexpected because it will happen. It's your victory lap, enjoy it.

Sleep happened but so did the worst night sweats of the week. And my period started.

Saturday, at race HQ

I'm so scared. Suppose I fail? Suppose I get really sick? What if I get lost in the dark? How awful is this going to feel? What have I forgotten to pack? What have I forgotten to think about? What if my training has been totally inadequate? I don't want to let people down...

photo by Nicci Griffin

Saw my friend Mike, also the Kilt Man, one of many ultra-Pauls and a couple of other people I've met at races before. It's always nice to see some friendly faces. The volunteers were lovely too and did their best to calm my nerves. Steve arrived having found somewhere to park the car. He was very quiet, I think because it was his first time supporting me and it was strange for him being on that side of things. I nearly forgot to collect the tracker I'd paid for but Mike, Steve and I were talking about trackers and suddenly Mike said he'd not got his yet at which point I realised I hadn't got mine either! Then there was a rather serious race briefing where we were warned to stay on top of hydration as it was due to get fairly warm that day. After that it was a little walk to the start.

The Race

I'm so scared. Suppose I fail? Suppose I get really sick? What if I get lost in the dark? How awful is this going to feel? What have I forgotten to pack? What have I forgotten to think about? What if my training has been totally inadequate? I don't want to let people down...

10:00 and we're off. Almost as soon as I start moving my mind settles and all those worries are silenced. We keep stopping and bunching up to go through some of the many kissing gates on the course. I don't worry that already my 10/5 run-walk strategy is out the window; I remind myself that if I walked at 15 minute mile pace and didn't stop I would finish in 25 hours.
Already some details are faded and other things are muddled as to when and where they happened. I don't know whether to try to write about things in as close to chronological order as possible or whether to be more general. I don't know who even reads this blog- whether people are looking for useful information about the details of running so maybe I'll just write what occurs to me.

Leg 1
I never had much of a race plan other than to get round within cutoff, use a 10/5 run-walk strategy and remember to eat something every 20-30 minutes or at the very least every hour. Almost from the start some of the 'plan' had to become rather fluid. As already mentioned there were several bottlenecks as we all queued to get through the first few of many kissing gates so a structured run-walk pattern just didn't happen. Later into the first leg I kept wondering if I should be more strict about regular walk breaks but a few times found myself running with others, chatting away and the minutes and miles flew by.

running and laughing in the sun

It became quite warm, I was drinking plenty but not weeing but I didn't worry too much at this point. My only real concern was that I felt I'd made a bad shoe choice- there were a few muddy sections along the Thames Path and I'd felt myself slipping and sliding, worried about taking a fall. I didn't want to use sticks to begin with as it makes eating more of a faff and getting nutrition right at least in the early stages of the race was vital. I've learned that if you can get things right early on it stands you in good stead later.
On the return to Wallingford CP I had to make a dash for the toilet- I wanted to change pads regularly to avoid getting sore and I was bleeding quite heavily although luckily no cramps. I doused my head and neck in cold water too as I was feeling unusually warm by now and it felt like my heart rate was way too high. I don't remember what I ate only that I bore in mind something Damian Hall had said in an interview about staying off the sweet stuff early on. After as short a time as possible I set out on the remaining few miles back to HQ. I was well ahead of even my dream time for the first 25 miles and I approached Goring knowing that Steve would tell me off for going too quick.

25 miles and all smiles

Leg 2
I had a good turnaround at Goring- I think I was there 10 minutes having changed shoes (now in the grippier Inov8 ultra version of X-Talons), had a wee, got bottles refilled and picked up a bit of food. I wasn't entirely looking forward to this stretch as after the muddy bits early on I expected parts of the Ridgeway to be quite unpleasant. How wrong could I have been? I spent much of this leg smiling, singing and generally having far too much fun.
At some point I caught up with Mike and we ran the rest of the leg together. Everything that was a bit 'up' we walked and on the way out we tried to make mental notes of the gnarliest bits so that on the return when it would be dark we could make sensible decisions about when to run and when it was safest to walk. It would be silly to risk a nasty fall along Grims Ditch and potentially have the race end there due to injury.
The woods approaching Swyncombe were so beautiful. The ground was a deep coppery orange from all the fallen beech leaves and the light seemed to glow from all the autumn colours. I remember thinking how lucky I was to be there at that moment. I also suddenly had Christmas songs in my head. That was when the craziness started...

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

Nellie the Elephant

Lilly the Pink

Baby Shark

Mah Na Mah Na (that muppets song)

Muppets theme song

Pants

I can't remember what else although Mike decided the best way to accompany our return to HQ at mile 50 was to sing Baby Shark. So we did.

the Field of Dreams heading to Swyncombe

We returned to Goring HQ in ridiculously good time. Just about on 24 hour pace. What was going to happen next?

Leg 3

Steve was waiting for me ready for pacing duties. I'd given him a prompt list because you're not allowed to be 'crewed' only paced, but your pacer can talk to you so he had various things to remind me to do. Before any of that I was just desperate to change my clothes as I'd got so sweaty- fresh socks never felt so good! I also decided to change back into the Inov8 Trail Talons as I wanted cushioning over grip on this part of the Ridgeway. My feet had swollen though so it was uncomfortable putting them on. I got into a bit of a pickle with my watch as it needed charging but I couldn't work out how to get it into my race vest as I didn't want to wear it with the cable dangling. I'd also started to get a bit weird about food by this point- not particularly wanting to eat any of the wide range of things I'd packed- but I wolfed down one of those Mug Shots cheesy pasta things though. It was really good to eat something more like 'real' food.

  

Then it was out into the warm and dark at some point in which I would reach unknown territory.

I was in good spirits still and although a little tired there was nothing physically or mentally that was of particular concern. I didn't feel sleepy at all but it was good to know I had caffeine options if needed. I'd take a couple of Clif Shotbloks on leg 2 when I wasn't feeling like food and they'd worked a treat. What was puzzling me a lot was wondering when the wheels were going to come off and what form the inevitable pain and misery would take.

There was a lot of purposeful walking on this leg. This section of the Ridgeway is rather undulating and although people like to say it's up on the way out and down the way back, there's plenty of both up and down in each direction! The large pieces of flint meant I needed to take care moving in the dark but even so I caught my foot a couple of times quite badly smashing up my toes. Some choice words were said! However I did break into a gentle jog fairly frequently but as much to relieve the discomfort from so much walking as anything. Although I had the energy to run more I just wanted to stay as much within comfort levels as I could which sounds odd, but at this point I was waiting for the inevitable niggles to transform into pain and for my eyes to get heavy at any moment.

We reached the awesome CP at Chain Hill all disco lights and music and full of lots of lovely food, almost none of which I wanted. I'd started to get waves of nausea and knew that actually getting some calories in would help so I had some of the legendary vegan ginger cake. It was very good. 

An important conversation

For a lot of the return part of this leg Steve was looking at his watch quite a bit and I just knew he was plotting to see if he could keep me on pace for a sub-24 finish. In the end I said I knew what he was doing and that he was to stop it. I just didn't want the pressure of knowing I could get a sub-24 when there was still so much of the race left. Also although this race was really important to me I just wasn't sure that I cared enough to suffer that much for a quick time. He said ok, but maybe it was worth being in a position to have that conversation with myself again at Reading or on the return through Whitchurch. 

It wasn't a position I thought I'd ever be in if I'm honest, I'd more envisaged Steve telling me to MTFU and having to cajole me into moving at all. He did nag me a bit about food and I knew I wasn't eating enough, but I was still getting some calories in and that was better than nothing.

Into the unknown

At some point I was in unknown territory both in terms of time on feet, and distance covered, but I didn't think about that at all. For the whole race I felt outside of time, that neither time nor distance was relevant, all that mattered was moving forward. The watch was still set up with Steve's hourly food alarm so every now and then- sometimes it seemed sooner sometimes later- there was a buzz. "Oh it's o'clock now" I'd think but with no idea of what o'clock it was. 

 Anyway, the miles somehow kept ticking along. Mike had come along with us for this leg but he was having a really rough time. He wasn't eating at all and was feeling very sick. I felt a bit guilty for not slowing down for him or paying much attention but we'd never planned to run the race together. In fact in twitter conversations he seemed far more goal-oriented about the race than I was and I was convinced he was going to get a quick time. Steve was great with him, offering advice on trying to manage the sickness and gently encouraging. I think he needed something to do really as I just didn't need pacing or encouraging or any real support at all!

We arrived back at HQ around 3:30am and I saw the table at the timing mat with all the buckles laid out. 

Leg 4

"You need to swap food bags"

"Yes I know but I don't want ANY of it!"
Suddenly I put my head in my hands and started to sob. There wasn't any point in saying "This is so hard" because that was stating the bleedin' obvious to a room full of people who are all finding it really hard. It's supposed to be hard. So I ate some rice pudding, tried but failed to manage soup or anything else. Sugary tea was good though as it had been for the last 3 CPs. I sat down to change shoes as I knew it was going to get muddy and slippery out there, but suddenly felt like I was going to faint. I think I said that I felt very peculiar but Steve knew straight away what was going on and explained that because I'd sat down (for the first time all race) blood was pooling in my feet and that was why I felt dizzy. He and someone else reassured me that as soon as I was up and running again I'd feel fine. They were right.
I had a little bit of a fret about having to go out into the dark on my own- I was a bit scared of missing the gates across the fields to start with- but there was no choice but to get up, get out and get on with it. So I did.

4am and pouring with rain. It's actually quite nice being alone in the dark. I didn't even mind the rain really. There was a lot of purposeful walking up to Whitchurch as this section is a bit gnarly and I really didn't want to fall over now. Lots of gates to go through which miraculously I was able to work out how to operate- on a recce I really struggled to open some of them! I saw lights in the distance and caught up with then overtook Mike and his pacer. Suddenly I didn't want company I just wanted to run my own race and get it done.
Into Whitchurch and out again with sugary tea. It's a long haul to Reading yet. I had no idea what the time was only that I was comfortably within cutoffs. I also knew what was coming up!
The endless fields along the river are not much fun- my feet slid around in my shoes so that my right outer ankle was constantly rubbed by the shoe. It began to really annoy me. The rain was relentless- and suddenly I was aware of feeling cold. Time to get moving or I'll get hypothermia. Running happened, quite a bit of it, and I splashed, slipped, squelched and moved relentlessly on to the turnaround.
The yacht club appeared quite suddenly, the steps were really not so bad as I expected and it was wonderfully warm inside. As soon as I got inside I blurted out "WillyoudisqualifymeifIputmyemergencylayerononlyI'msocold?" Of course I can put it on- that's what it's there for. It looked and sounded as though a lot of people had come in extremely cold. I didn't want to hang around really so another quick wee, a handful of food and more tea, once again thank a fabulous team of volunteers. All the way round I've made sure to thank the people out helping as well as smile and encourage other runners.

Down the steps, shuffle a bit then RUN! Splash, squelch, run, shuffle repeat. Over and over again. I say 'well done' to every runner I pass. I don't want to know about their pain, I just want to finish now. The puddles have joined together so much of the path is a little stream parallel to the Thames. Ankle deep in places and over my knees at one point. I don't care. I'm incredulous because I now know that I am actually going to finish this race and I keep smiling despite the dreadful conditions. Splash, squelch, run, shuffle.
Into Whitchurch and out again. The hill out of the village is hard but it's just over 4 miles to go now. Keep moving, keep smiling, smell the barn. By now I am soaked to the skin. I am also struggling to see; my eyes aren't working properly, things are just vague shapes. Back to the fields near Goring. A man says I'm nearly there. He says perhaps 1500m to go and I'll see the bridge any moment. The bridge doesn't appear, not for ages but all of a sudden round a corner it's there. There's a couple of people waiting. There's a voice I know- it's Steve! He says encouraging things and is holding something at me. It might be a phone. Smiling and holding back tears I quicken my pace for the last couple of hundred metres.

It's happening. I am finishing a 100 mile race. People are clapping outside HQ and wave me through to the timing mat. I'm utterly astonished as I approach the clock- it says 24:33:something. That can't be right!
Over the mat, into the hall. Someone hands me a buckle.

I've done it!

This has been a rather prosaic account. There is so much more to say but I'm not sure how to explain it all. The most wonderful part of this race was the feeling of being outside of time and distance. I almost never knew what time it was or how far I'd run. Nothing existed but forward motion and for me that was the most liberating feeling.

I kept expecting the wheels to fall off, for the pain and misery to really hit and to want to give up. None of this happened. Yes there were a few low points but they were never overwhelming and they always went away quite quickly. I can honestly say that I have never enjoyed a race so much, never felt so good physically or mentally.

Perhaps this was my 'perfect day', perhaps every other race I run will have the usual pain, misery and despondency. I don't know. But I'm looking forward to running 100 miles again.

Thank you to:

The whole Centurion team

Stuart March

All the runners

Damian Hall

My kids

Phil Culley

Gareth Richards 

and most of all to Steve

 100 miles is not that far

A week to go...

As I type this I'm wondering how far into the race I'll be in a week's time. Leg 2 certainly, but not sure how far in.

It's been a time of weather-watching and last moment (mostly unfounded) panics. The week ahead is looking mild, settled and most likely set for a warm weekend which is great. It means less of a kit faff, fewer changes of clothes needed and, as I struggle with the cold, a mild night will work in my favour. All this suggests that as long as I keep control of eating and my mental state getting round the course is absolutely doable. But of course it's the mind games that's the trickiest part of ultra running.

As for the mind games I've been having nightmares: I'm chased round the course by hornets until I get timed out. The fear of failure is really bothering me so I guess I'll just have to not fail! It also feels so unreal. Is this actually going to happen? What is it going to be like? I have now covered almost every mile of the course so I know what it looks like, what it should be like underfoot, where the tricky turns are, yet it feels like deep, unexplored territory. Well from the mental side I guess it is.

From the practical side pretty much everything is ready now. Clothes will get sorted this evening or tomorrow. I've devised a couple of extra food options which will need bagging up: Asda do 'shots' of various berries, chocolate and nut combinations so I'm combing the cranberry and white chocolate one with the cherries and cashews one (might add in a few other nuts too). It throws a slightly different texture and flavour combination into the mix so hopefully now I will have something that I can eat at any point in the race.

All the stuff, but maybe I need a bigger drop bag!

Counting Down

I'm in a situation I've never really been in before. Proper, serious taper.

It's less than two weeks until the 100 and I am having to suppress all the fibres in me screaming to go out and run the trails for a few hours. I'm not twitchy or bad-tempered with it, rather at a loss as to what to do with myself. It's an odd feeling.

Using my UTMB run-soigneur experience I'm trying to do all the things Steve was doing- resting, eating well, getting more sleep, being prepared now so there's no last minute stress. It's not easy though. After a couple of weeks sleeping much better I'm back to struggling to get off to sleep and then waking very early. Because of work there's no chance of not setting an alarm in the morning, and the next two weeks are of the course the weeks when there's loads of after school stuff happening with my children so not even the evenings are going to be relaxing. I find myself wishing I could go away and stay in a quiet apartment and live in a little running bubble like we did in Chamonix. It was lovely even though for me also stressful, and coming back to the 'real' world has been jarring.

I did my last recce yesterday as I'd been fretting about not knowing the first part of the race at all. Despite failing to get up when I'd intended, I still made it to the Thames Path before it was properly light and had a lovely time walking (with a little bit of gentle running) from Wallingford up to the turnaround and back. It was maybe a few more miles than I 'should' have done, but as most of it was walking I figured no harm done.

Right now all the race prep I can do has been done. Miles in my legs; strength work; massages; a lot of thinking and mental preparation; remembering all the useful things I've heard on the Talk Ultra podcast; kit bought and tried out; and non-perishables packed for food bags. The thought of the race terrifies me, the thought of failure is even worse, but I'm also excited.

I'm as ready as I think I could be given my circumstances, I'm fitter and stronger than ever both physically and mentally, and I can't wait. Bring it on!

As Tim Tollefson says- the race is your victory lap so go out and enjoy every minute.

Back to 'normality'

It's two weeks since the UTMB madness finished. I had pretty much no sleep for 3 nights as a late-arriving flight on the Sunday meant I didn't get to bed until after 2am and I had to be up before 7am to go to work. Since then it's been non-stop one way or another. Even the 'run-soigneur' duties have continued to some extent- Steve went for a run today and then fretted that his heart rate was rather high. He needs reminding that it's only two weeks out from a massive effort and even if muscles feel fine he IS still fatigued!

Getting back to a last burst of training has been strange. The first week home everything felt so easy due to the little boost of having been at altitude for a short while, but this week has been all slow again. Still I've managed a lot of miles this weekend: an early start, a horrid drive. but a lovely 27 miles on the Ridgeway and TP yesterday and a rather duller 13 from home today to no planned route.

I'd like to be better acquainted with leg 1 of the 100 (I know miles 1-5 and 20-25) but basically I've run out of time for that. My next free weekend is 2 weeks out from the race and really that's a bit close for going out and doing a long run. All my kit is sorted and I'm ok with nutrition, even managing to find a caffeine gel I can actually tolerate so I now have something to help me with the 'wee small hours'. In many ways I feel quite ready to taper as mentally it's been getting harder to step out the door and start running. It's usually fine once I'm running but it seems that my mind is perhaps even more ready for a rest than my body! The only thing bothering me is the fact I've done nothing properly long all year. Let's hope a lot of consistent high mileage will be enough...

UTMB Part 2

The Start

It was with both relief and dread that I stood on the street corner, cheering and clapping the runners coming past half a mile into the race. I hoped Steve would see me because it was going to be Courmayeur, about 16 hours or so away, before I’d see him again. It was cold and wet and dismal, and after the last runner went past I walked back to the apartment fretful about the night ahead.

A couple of hours in to the race I realised I wasn’t registered for SMS updates. It took ages to get the website to work on my phone. I became more and more stressed and panicked with each failed attempt but eventually got it sorted which meant I could have a slightly less stressful sleepless night. I was dot-watching pretty much all night, only falling asleep briefly not hearing the ping when Steve arrived at Les Chapieux at 03:29 on Saturday morning. I wasn’t too worried to see that he’d dropped quite a few places overnight, the plan was to take it ‘easy’ and arrive at Courmayeur relatively fresh. He kept dropping places up to Col del la Seigne but was still within 42 hour pace so all was going well. I sent a couple of texts before dawn in case he needed a boost, including one that said “Kilian’s dropped. You’re tougher than him”.

Courmayeur

Having experienced the bus journey to Courmayeur two years ago I was far more relaxed about how to get there and what to expect this time around. I still got there a bit too early but after doing a recce to work out where the assistance point was (it was a completely different set up to 2016!) decided to cheer in the runners while I was waiting. I said well done to a runner with a British flag on his bib, he stopped and stared and then we realised we’d both been volunteering just a couple of weeks previously at Hangman! It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see him during the race and indeed many faces became familiar to me as I made my tour around Mt Blanc. Updates came in suggesting Steve would be a little later to Courmayeur than initially expected but it wasn’t too long a wait.

He came in coherent and looking pretty good at 10:31am, well within 42 hour pace still. I set the timer for 15 minutes then went through my list of stuff to check. I wasn’t happy that he’d not been eating terribly well but must have had a premonition this would be the case as I’d made up some jam sandwiches for him. I forced a sandwich into his mouth- “Eat!” and got on with switching the powerbank, ignoring a complaint that his knee hurt, and began the first of 3 Vaseline-ings of feet. Not the most pleasant of tasks but it had to be done. I was out of practise at putting socks back on and struggled a bit- I wish we’d practised that beforehand. He didn’t need to change clothes or shoes although he was cross with his gloves so we organised to swap them at Champex at the start of the next night before it got too cold. He didn’t want a nap but requested Marmite sandwiches for the night and was in and out and on his way in 30 minutes which was great. He thought he might nap at Arnouvaz to prepare for the big climb after that and see him into the first part of the night.

Before the Second Night

At this point I was able to return to Chamonix for a few hours with the intention of getting a bit of sleep once I’d got the kit bag ready and maybe even having a short run, but in the end I was just too busy. A large part of my mind was taken up willing him into Arnouvaz in good time because that would be a hugely significant point in the race- it was where he was timed out in 2016. Also for some reason I was convinced he would want a sausage roll at Champex-Lac and spent some time visiting the various supermarkets and staring in windows of bakeries trying to find one. A tip-off from our friend Paul (who’d not long come in from finishing CCC) sent me back out to probably the only sausage roll in all of Chamonix. In between dot-watching I made Marmite sandwiches, packed extra bread and peanut butter just in case, and got some soup, bread and cheese for myself. I didn’t feel much like eating but with a long night ahead and likely no chance of getting food I needed to eat so I could keep doing my job. As much as you use adrenaline to keep you going while running it’s the same when you’re crewing; somehow you make yourself keep going.

The relief to get a text saying he was through Arnouvaz at 3:31pm was immense especially as a little earlier a text arrived saying his eta there was 17:47 which is barely in time for cutoff. Although I checked the pace chart and could see that must be a mistake it was still a nerve-wracking point fearing the worst had happened again. Steve messaged to say they’d been made to put on waterproofs before leaving the checkpoint so it sounded like the weather had really taken a turn for the worse which would make everything slower and more difficult. The next part of the race he seemed to be struggling, dropping more places. I sent him a text at the start of the evening saying I was looking forward to a hot date in Champex-Lac.

Champex-Lac

Champex was a very tough point for me. The journey there was my kind of nightmare- endless switchbacks down the mountain with a terrifying drop which is exactly the kind of thing I hate and made me feel dizzy and queasy. I got there a bit too early and had probably 90 minutes waiting for Steve. Watching the runners coming in was just heartbreaking. People weren’t running (not that you’d expect them to at that stage), they weren’t walking, they were barely shuffling. Faces drawn, grimacing, some in tears. They stared at the lights of the checkpoint with no understanding, completely disorientated not knowing where to go or what to do. I peered through that darkness not knowing for sure when Steve would appear or what state he’d be in when he did, nor whether I had in in me to do what would need to be done if he was as broken as so many other runners were. You begin to rehearse different scenarios in your head, go through all the ‘what ifs’ and try to work out what to do and say in each one as well as anticipate what the reaction will be. I came up with the plan that I’d tell him there’s only three climbs left after Champex so he better bloody well finish.

By the time Steve did arrive (still on 42 hour pace more or less) I was expecting the worst but he came in moving well. He hadn’t been eating so I pulled out the sausage roll and told him he better eat it as I’d searched all of Chamonix for it. Luckily it seemed to go down well while I sorted his kit and Vaseline-d his feet again. That was an even less pleasant task than at Courmayeur! I think I also made him eat Marmite sandwiches and noodle soup. He said he’d been hallucinating and was getting quite clumsy but didn’t feel sleepy and so we put off a nap until Trient.

Trient

Between this point and Steve leaving Vallorcine was probably the worst part of the whole race for me. I was becoming extremely tired having been awake since 4am Friday morning, and once I got to Trient I started to get cold despite being suitably dressed for a night in the Alps. Steve’s refusal to sleep and inability to eat any of his usual race snacks was worrying me too, especially as I couldn’t make him do either of those things. He never has trouble getting in calories during a race and I wasn’t sure why it was different this time. I’ve been in situations where I’ve chosen to not bother to pause and get a snack because I’ve been tired and just want to push on but have learned that actually it’s better to spare a few moments to eat as calories in = mental and physical boost. It would be completely out of character for Steve to not eat because too tired and I began to fret that he’d already passed that point of no return where the calorie deficit is too much and mental function is impaired. Yes we had plenty of time in hand yet, but I knew that really he wanted more than to just get round- he wanted as good a finish time as he could manage.

As I sat and shivered at Trient I tried to write down what it had been like at Champex:

Petzl-pierced darkness

Shadows of runners break my heart.

Dazed, disoriented,

Eyes unseeing

Disbelieving the bright lights.

Limping lopsided

Limbs lost in pain

Minds numbed by movement

Souls sold to chase a dream.

Night of reckoning.

A price paid in bloodied legs,

Salty sweat-soaked clothes,

Despairing tears,

Hallucinating nightmares.

Limping lopsided

Limbs lost in pain

Minds numbed by movement

Souls sold to chase a dream.

Sunrise pierces darkness

Pale, drawn runners break my heart.

Trudging, shuffling,

Eyes unseeing

Disbelieving end of night.

Limping lopsided

Limbs lost in pain

Minds numbed by movement

Souls sold to chase a dream.

In my notebook follows: “How will it end?” I didn’t write any more after that even though I had plenty of time. I was too numb.

Steve arrived at Trient dopey and vague. He still wasn’t eating well in between checkpoints so again I force fed him sandwiches and made him have some pasta. I Vaseline-d his feet one more time. At least, they looked like feet (and pretty much in perfect condition!) but smelt rather more like the very ripe Camembert in our apartment fridge! It was about 4:15am now and I  was so cold and tired that I could barely manage to replace his socks and shoes but did my best not to show it- he needed to know that I was fine and that I was capable of keeping him on track. In spite of everything we managed a 30 minute turnaround and there was still the possibility of a finish by midday. On the other hand, I knew that it was only another 26 miles and that he had 12 hours to get there.

Vallorcine

It’s only a short bus ride from Trient to Vallorcine so I knew it would be a long, lonely wait and those hours before dawn are the longest and coldest of all. I messaged Paul and said Steve better not be late to Vallorcine as I was slowly becoming hypothermic. Seriously, I was extremely cold by now and the last 37 hours of my UTMB vigil were taking their toll. I have little recollection of my time at this checkpoint other than making peanut butter sandwiches in a freezing marquee, the sharp cold, and a sunrise appearing. I remembered that I had a string of tiny cowbells in my rucksack so once it was light I stood outside cheering on the runners as they arrived. Those who had made it this far seemed determined now but very few were moving well.

Steve’s eta got later and later which wasn’t really a problem but still it made me anxious- selfishly I wanted him to finish sooner rather than later as I had to catch a bus to the airport at 6pm and the thought of him finishing and me having to leave straight away was awful. Paul messaged me during this time- he’d obviously managed to speak to Steve and he told me all was ok. My reply was “I’m borderline hypothermic”. Steve appeared at 7:47am, little more than a shell of himself and I had to do most things for him. He’d eaten nothing from his food bag so for one last time I shoved sandwiches in his mouth and got him noodle soup. He was coherent enough to know he could smell the barn but was so far gone that he just wanted it to be over. He wouldn’t nap, didn’t want his feet sorting, he just wanted to get back out there and get it done. A kiss and he went on his way. It was just before 8am.

Smell the Barn

At this point it was pretty certain he’d finish although other than suffering nothing is certain in a 100 miler, but Vallorcine to Chamonix is still 11 or 12 miles and there’s a stinky descent from La Flegere. I took the bus back to Chamonix. I thought I’d feel relieved or excited or, well, anything and everything but I didn’t. I sat on the bus completely empty. We drove past runners as a reroute sent them along and close to the road for a while. I tried to picture Steve there with his peculiar smile that isn’t a smile, an expression reserved for times of extreme grit and bloody mindedness.

I got off the bus and walked like a drunk across town back to the apartment only to find I couldn’t open the door. I just could not figure out how to put the key in the lock or turn it or anything. I tried for what felt like 10 minutes and ended up sitting on the floor in the gloomy corridor crying,really sobbing because I couldn’t function. I texted Paul saying I couldn’t get in but as he was in town that wasn’t much help! Somehow eventually I did get in, but again it’s all a bit vague. I showered and changed, got some food and drank lots of tea trying to get warm. I’d bought balloons on Saturday so I blew some up, made a ‘Well done!’ banner out of half a Cornflakes box and put these on the bed.

The Finish

Although it was too soon really, I headed over to the finish as Steve had said he wanted me to be as close to the finish as possible. Lots of runners have family join them so they run in together but this was Steve’s race and I had no place on those last few hundred metres. Crossing that finish would be an entirely private, personal experience for him. I managed to wriggle my way to the front, just a few metres from the finish. This was the final part of the vigil.

It was just wonderful cheering across the finish runners I’d seen back in Champex, Trient and Vallorcine. Nearly everyone somehow found it in them to run, even leap over the finish and there were so many smiles. The noise spectators made as runners headed around that last bend was incredible! Applause, cowbells, shouts of ‘Bravo!’ hands banging on the hoardings- what a way to be greeted at the end of an immense effort!

Once again Steve’s eta got later and later. I worried that maybe he’s fallen, just laid down on a rock and gone to sleep, even gone off course. That last wait was unbearable. Finally, I saw him. He was jogging round that last bend, quite self-contained. I shouted his name and waved. He didn’t see me or hear me. No recognition. He quietly crossed the finish, but didn’t look round. I shouted his name again and this time one of the race volunteers beckoned to me and let me through the barriers onto the finish. I don’t know if he really knew who I was at that point  but I held him and kissed him. At last it was over.

Tears came then.

“Don’t you ever put me through that again”.

Here's a link to Steve's account of the race: Steve's blog

UTMB part 1

The sun is now quite hot. The bell for the Angelus is long past. He was supposed to be here 10, 20 minutes ago so where the hell is he? The noise gets louder and louder. Cowbells, clapping, cheers, shouts of 'Bravo!', hands banging on the hoardings. I am on tiptoes leaning over the barrier. Is this runner going to be the one? What will he look like? Will he be running or shuffling? Smiling or grimacing in pain? Will he know I'm here?

I wasn't going to be there. It had been in the diary since January but just a few days before I was due to fly to Chamonix, I wasn't going. I won't share the reasons for that, but that situation only made the UTMB weekend even more emotional and exhausting. Everything amplified a hundredfold.

The four days before the race were spent more or less as a runner’s version of a soigneur. Three of us in an apartment on the Rue des Pecles: my fella Steve, Paul- a mutual friend- and me. Steve was having a second attempt at UTMB, Paul was running CCC and I was a reluctant crew. Paul has told his story elsewhere and other than giving him a bit of a pep talk one morning as we ran round the Chamonix track and having to strongly encourage him to get up in time to catch his bus to the start, I had very little part to play in his Alpine journey.

I shopped, cooked and did general domestic duties for both runners in the lead up to their races and tried to fit in some of my own training round their needs. Keeping myself very busy was also a way of trying to keep my own anxieties at bay, or at least hiding them; it was hard being back in Chamonix after Steve's DNF in 2016. A result that I know I am largely responsible for- I got things wrong from the first crew point at Les Contamines and it went downhill (metaphorically only!) from there. Having been with Steve as he completely broke down after what was his first DNF I never wanted to see him so devastated and broken again. This time round I got half of what I wished for…

Race Prep

Steve is always meticulous when it comes to race planning. He really researches kit, learns the course profile, pays careful attention to mountain weather forecasts so when it comes to race day he’s well prepared for any eventuality. He will give me a spreadsheet with a range of times on it- usually a ‘dream’ finish time, one or two ‘those will do fine’ times and a ‘just get round’ time and each of those will be broken down into expected arrival at CP times including allowances made for ascent, descent, if it’s running in the dark, or for slowing in the latter stages. And all measured against what each CP cutoff time is. I don’t know how he does it! This time he’d also bought a book all about preparing for and running UTMB and honestly it became his bible. I’ve never known him adhere so closely to advice about running, diet and race prep!

In 2016 we spent a lot of time talking about and making notes on how we were going to manage things- I still have my notebook and a couple of photos from then. This time we left most of that til just a few days before the race and actually there was a lot less to discuss and my notes are far less detailed. I suppose we were able to be better focussed because we’d learned from previous experience and I think in some ways Steve was able to be a little more relaxed about it all so didn’t feel the need to have several detailed discussions. CP actions points were boiled down to a few practical things and a few key words. To help us both I tried to keep things in the same order every CP and to ask the same things in the same way each time; he was likely going to get stupid or incoherent as he went into the second night and I was going to be just as sleep deprived so reducing interaction to a simple routine seemed sensible:

• Start a 15 minute timer on entry to CP
• Swap food bag/ check nutrition/ make him eat
• Swap power bank
• Clothes- hot/cold? 
• Feet
• Sleep?
• Time’s up, get out

Other than that I made sure I had listed what kit/nutrition I needed in the bag and got it packed ready for Champex then packed a carrier bag with what I would need for subsequent CPs so I could just take out stuff after Champex and replace with the second bag. I stuck labels on the internal pockets so I could see straight away what was where- we didn’t want to waste time at CPs. I didn’t stress too much about buses to CPs. From two years ago I knew that it could be tricky getting a space on a bus and this time I was better prepared to have to wait around.

It’s as important for crew to do some mental preparation as it is for the runner, especially when it’s a particularly long or challenging race or where the runner has a very specific goal or desired outcome. An interview with Scott and Jenny Jurek on Talk Ultra a few years ago when he beat the FKT on the AT really made an impression on me, and I’ve watched the Barkley Marathons documentary, the film about Karl Meltzer’s AT record and ‘Where Dreams Go To Die’ about Gary Robbins’ Barkley attempts so I was under no illusions about the role of crew and just how hard it can be. However, as I knew from 2016 it’s one thing to know how hard it will be and another thing altogether to be in the situation and handle it right, especially when you’re crewing the person you love. But I spent quite a bit of time imaging different race scenarios and talking myself through what I would have to do or say to prevent another DNF. I also spent time worrying about how would I know when it was right to say just suck it up and get it done, and when I might need to be a bit sympathetic. The wrong words at the wrong time or forcing him out of a CP when actually a nap would be best could have a devastating impact on Steve’s race. We become so raw, so stripped back to the barest bones of what a person is when we run longer ultras, and at the same time as discovering how tough we are we also become so fragile.

The majority of those few days before the race Steve was resting, taking naps and conserving energy. We didn’t do much together- no runs or hikes- and that was hard for me even though I understood why it had to be that way. The worst day was the Friday itself. It was an unsettled night as Paul was going to be off early for CCC, and I guess the fact that it would be Steve’s last night in bed until Sunday weighed heavily on his mind. Sleep is never easy when there’s pressure to have to sleep!

Race Day

The day itself was a day of refusing to look at the huge elephant in the room- all the prep had been done, there was no point in wasting energy with further discussions or worries although we had one last chat about whether it was still the right decision for me not to go to Les Contamines. Steve needed to be really peaceful and I think he did retreat into himself somewhat, or at least that’s how it seemed, and I was reluctant to disturb that. UTMB has been a goal for six years and he needed to do everything possible to be ready to deal with whatever the race would throw at him in order to at last be a UTMB finisher. I can’t really remember what I did that day other than feel more and more oppressed with a sense of impending doom.

We headed down to the start about 4pm I think. It was raining and rather cool so we took shelter in the church there. While we were waiting I indulged my one superstition and lit a candle. It was at an image of the Virgin Mary and there was something in the prayer on the wall about her being with you on your journey or something along those lines (my French isn’t great). I am not religious but it felt the right thing to do to light a candle and stand silently for a few moments. At some point Steve decided he needed to head out so he wouldn’t be too near the back when the race started so a quick goodbye and I headed off to where Rue des Pecles meets the main road. I really didn’t want to be amongst the big crowds and hype right near the start (and the music which I really hate) but I knew that half a mile on it would be a bit quieter and I’d be able to see Steve just before he hit the trail to Les Houches. It was hard to keep back the tears- just as in 2016 it felt like I was sending him to a dreadful fate- but I knew I had to to be at least businesslike even if I couldn’t be cheery.

And so my long vigil began.