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...
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| photo by Nicci Griffin |
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.
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| 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.
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| 25 miles and all smiles |
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.
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| the Field of Dreams heading to Swyncombe |
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.
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
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