Author: Bob Wild

Having been the fat kid at school, I started running in 2008, and now find myself going further each year, but in a very average way. Not fast, not slow, just average.

Country to Capital – January 2015

Warning – this is a mundane race report ahead! Nothing exciting to see here!

Every so often, after entering a race on a “spur of the moment” decision, there comes a realisation that if it is more difficult to get to & from an ultra than to do the race itself, I probably need to choose my races with a bit more care.

This race was a fairly simple 45ish miles, from outside London to inside. It started in somewhere called Wendover, and finished at Little Venice, just a hop, skip and jump from Paddington. Lots of trails, a bit of canal path…..it sounded right up my street.

Training wise, naturally I’d done a few 20 milers, but not a great deal more in the weeks leading up to it. After all, it was only 45 miles right?

The logistical problems started to appear when I had to work out how to either:

a) return to the start, if I drove to the start and ran from there

b) park at the finish (in central London) and get the train to the start, in time for the race

c) park somewhere in London, and get the tube to a station where I could get a train to the start

d) find a supportive wife who would ferry me back & forth and meet me at the finish with a Cornish Pasty and a beer.

And as if that wasn’t complicated enough, I needed to get back to home as quickly as possible after finishing, as I had rather rashly promised to make an appearance at my works Xmas do (yes, I know, it’s in January, but I work in retail and the rest of the population tends to keep us too busy in December for silly things like having Xmas parties at Xmas.)

I won’t bore you with the details, but my final arrangements were as follows:

Friday 6pm – leave work, drive to Central London, whilst eating pizza for much-needed sustenance.

Friday 8pm – Park at a pre-booked NCP car park a mile from the finish line (surprisingly cheap considering)

Friday 8.40pm – Get a train from Marylebone to Wendover

Friday 9.30pm – Find a taxi to get to Premier Inn in Tring (also surprisingly cheap when booked far enough in advance)

Fri – late – Get into room, book taxi for morning, pack rucksack for morning, eat crisps.

Sat – early – Jump out of bed, check weather, eat cereal, get taxi (a posh Merc, with the driver telling me how it was going to snow, me telling him not to be daft, it bloody wasn’t).

So at about 7.45am, I arrived at the superbly named, ‘Shoulder of Mutton’ pub in Wendover, where there was a hive of activity in the car-park. It was bloody cold, so I quickly got inside, and the pub was surprisingly big, filled with a ton of lycra-clad excited people…imagine a kid’s party, just moments before they are let loose on the soft-play area, with all the nervous energy sparking round the room…it was magic. Registration was painless, but ahead of getting myself organised with race numbers and stuff like that I thought I’d pay a visit to the facilities before they got too busy (ah, the voice of experience there, I hear you thinking).

These people don’t know what is going to happen if they sit down…..

There was a bit of a queue for the gents, which wasn’t particularly unexpected, until a nice man popped his head round the door and said to the queue that there were some toilets outside that were available. I went out to them, and it rapidly became clear why they were free…peeling my frostbitten bum off the seat of an outside portaloo in sub-zero temperatures was an experience I’ll not be repeating any time soon. However, I got back inside the pub and sorted out my kit.

We had been given a rather posh map booklet as part of registration, and once again I was reminded that I’d really not done my homework for this run – not only did I not know where I was starting (yes, I was in Wendover, but that doesn’t mean I could find it on a map) but I did not know the route – and there were lots of people studying the map booklet like it held the secret to Atlantis. My strategy was (as usual) to follow the people in front, and failing that I had the route on my slightly unreliable Garmin, and failing that I have my phone with a sat-nav on it, and if the battery on my phone died I was carrying a spare battery, so what could go wrong???

The pub was filling up rapidly, and an 8am train from London brought a ton of people into an already rather full pub.

Busy pub! Don’t see too many of these nowadays…

Everyone was getting on well though, as we all tripped over each other rucksacks. I was (as always) amazed by the differences in how much some people were taking with them. I had enough food for at least three days, a raincoat, a head-torch, and lots of other useful things, but I’m sure there were some people there that had just a toothbrush in their pack and that was it. I watched them enviously; thinking how unprepared they clearly were for any situation, and hoped I would get a chance to use my bear-repellent spray for once.

Overcome with excitement about possible bear encounters, I went out to check my bag in, for transporting to the finish line, and collected my timing chip. A novel idea for me, to have a timing chip for an ultra, but to be fair there were some very quick people there so it probably was warranted.

And while I was outside it started snowing. Oh good.

Quickly back inside the pub, I was trying to keep warm, and looking outside to see if the snow was going to stop. Which it wasn’t.

Someone shouted in the pub that we should all start to move outside, and a shuffling mass of people started to move from a cosy warm interior to a sub-zero snowy car park, without complaining. Just standing outside at the start for a couple of minutes I was shivering badly, and although I knew I’d warm up quickly when I started running, I was very aware that slowing to a walk later on would be an issue as I would get very cold very quickly.

Looking around there was a complete mix of people, with a wide range of

Just about to go!

experience (clearly some first-timers and some very experienced people (and their toothbrushes)), some people in shorts and short-sleeved t-shirts whilst others were dressed for the Antarctica. But everyone was excited and ready to get started.

Oh yes, and lots of beards. I’m getting slightly obsessed with the whole ultra-runners unkempt beard look….rather like the Forrest Gump straggly beard he has at some point of the film. It’s something I aspire to. But I digress…

And then we were off, with a bit of a “3,2,1….” from a tannoy subtly mounted on top of a car.

The first few miles were mix of trail and path, luckily much of the mud had been frozen solid so what would have been a very wet experience actually was quite dry. There were a number of very muddy parts later, but I suspect we were all saved by the frost.

Everyone was very chatty, and I was having a bit of banter with a few, about how those guys running The Spine had very similar conditions to us (snow, a few hills, a bit of cold).

If you don’t know what The Spine is, google it.

If you do know what The Spine is, you’ll know what I’m talking about. An unbelievable race.

Just like The Spine….hills & snow…. 😉

It was still snowing reasonably hard, and I was chatting to a runner that was running Marathon des Sables in April. There seemed to be quite a few using the C2C (as the Country to Capital is known) as a training run for MdS, with a similar rough terrain, although perhaps just a little bit cooler.

At about mile 10, I slowed to eat a (partially frozen) banana as we walked across a

Playing fields….

playing field with plenty of kids playing organised football. There were a few tough parents on the sidelines, who must have been freezing, but due respect to them for getting their kids outside in some pretty rough conditions.

Just after this playing field there was a small stream, with a set of about 10 round stepping stones across the middle. There was a slow chain of runners gingerly picking their way across these slightly-frozen slippery rocks, and occasionally slipping in. Always keen to test how good my waterproof socks are, I sploshed through the water, which was surprisingly refreshing, and I must have gained at least 5 places. Naturally, all those people (with dry feet) caught me up straight away, but I was happy as I dripped my way along the path.

I think it was about mile 16 when I started to fall apart. My left hamstring has been a problem for a while, and usually can get me to 20 miles with a bit of pain but not much else. Due to the nature of the trail I suspect I was putting more strain on my muscles than usual, and hence was feeling sore. I was scraping my left foot along the ground, rather than lifting it clear, which was a clear sign to me that I was hurting. Not even being halfway, I started to have a few negative thoughts about the whole running activity, as there wasn’t really the option of walking the rest of the course (like I did in the Winter 100) as it was fecking cold and would be very dark at 5pm.

A snowy road, and a luminous runner….

Very similar to the W100, I brought out my secret weapon, and started sucking a Sherbet lemon to get my mood up a little.

As I slowed, there was a heck of a lot of people going past me, which was really dispiriting. I’m a very average runner, and don’t get fussed about my position or anything like that, but I was feeling rough at such an early stage, it didn’t feel great watching a constant stream of people bounding past me.

Just before the second aid station (at about mile 20ish) I tried to wade through a particularly big puddle that stretched from one side of the road to the other. Everyone else was gingerly creeping round the edge, but (in my invincible waterproof socks) I tried to go on a slightly different route, and had that sinking feeling of a puddle going a lot deeper than I expected. With a bit of swearing, I turned into a leaping gazelle and bounded the last 6 feet without touching the ground.

The second aid station had copious amounts of water (and some electrolyte tablets and powder which I thought was great) but not a great deal in terms of food other than cake. Whilst I was OK with this, carrying a few tonnes of groceries with me, I wonder of there were a few people feeling hungry at this stage. Having said that, I think the other aid stations later on seemed to have more food available. All of the checkpoints had loads of superbly cheerful marshalls, and although I didn’t stop for long, the marshalls were great at cheering you up.

I was now onto what I will call the ‘hilly’ stage, which was simply an uphill (walked) followed by a downhill (run) and repeated endlessly. The downhills were quite steep and were a bit of a challenge, especially the few that had previously had a small stream running down the middle, baring the pebbles, and a sloping mud bank on either side. The stream-bed was too narrow to run in, and the mud-banks were too sloped to stay on, so the only way to get down was to bounce from one side to another…exciting running!

Somewhere about mile 22, I had my first real food, half a tin of ravioli. There are some people out there that will find it unappetising to eat freezing cold ravioli out of a plastic bag, but luckily I’m not one of them. Yum yum yum. ‘Nuff said.

A bit of food inside me (even if it was cold) got me going and I meandered along to about mile 30. At some point (I don’t remember when) we turned right onto the Grand Union canal path, which improved the footing a lot, and felt (after the GUCR last summer) like coming home.

Lovely blue sky at the canal!

There was lots of walking, interspersed with a bit of running here, and I felt a bit happier that everyone else was slowing too (not just me!)

We turned left at the Paddington signpost for the last half-marathon, and it was here something rather strange happened. Usually, at this point of any ultra I’m completely pooped, without the energy to break into a run or even want to. However, I started to feel a bit livelier, and started running for longer and longer periods. Still tired, but not shattered. Very odd.

By mile 35, I was running most of the time, and playing a bit of a game of catching up with the person in front, running with them for a while and then moving on. I started chatting to a guy who said he was running with his daughter (she was slightly ahead talking to someone else). He had done MdS ‘one and a half times’ as he put it, so had some great experiences to share about the time he finished and the time he didn’t. I then happened to ask what else he’d done, as he was clearly very fit. He paused, and said (without a trace of ego, and with a little bit of embarrassment) “Well, I am one of the few people in the world to have stood at both poles!”

Awesome! I then just listened (with a few encouraging noises) as he told me some amazing stories (including running in the setting from the book ‘Born to Run’). I’ve met a lot of inspirational people while running, but this guy was exceptional (and very humble with it). That made the miles pass quickly, really really quickly, and before I knew I was on the last few miles. I was feeling great and pushed the pace on as I knew I was finishing soon.

The last couple of miles were quite gloomy as it was just going dark, and I couldn’t really see the finish before I got there, but I went through the line at last, and got a handshake, medal and a very efficient man gave me my time on a scrap of paper (8 hours 26 if you’re interested…the winner managed it in 5 hours 7 mins, so I’ve got a little way to go before I start troubling the front-runners).

There were a lot of people at the finish, getting changed or just sitting, but I knew I couldn’t hang around if I was going to get back to my car quickly. So after a cup of coffee and a few thanks to various people, I got my phone out and sat nav’d the 0.6 miles back to the car. I suspect I made a strange spectacle, walking through Central London with a rucksack and dropbag, dressed entirely in black lycra, but I wasn’t too fussed about that.

In the car I pretty much inhaled a couple of Cornish pasties (my food of choice for post-ultra snacking) and set off into the London traffic. Interestingly, my clutch control in the stop-start traffic was appalling, as my left leg was jellified by the run and now had pretty much no pushing power. Anyway, after a couple of hours driving I got home safely, and after a quick shower and a ton of sausages and mashed potatoes, I was off to the works Xmas party….Merry Xmas!

So, in summary, a couple of thoughts…

I need to see a physio about my left hamstring; it’s not going to fix itself.
I always take far far too much stuff when doing these bloody runs, and I never need it all – as enjoyable as it is to carry lots of ravioli around races with me, I need to take the right amount rather than the maximum I can carry.
There are some awesome people out there to talk to, and there is so much more to life than the mundane. Life must be savoured & enjoyed.
Always wear waterproof socks. They are magical things.

And I think that’s it for another cracking run! A few days later my legs are stiff, (my left especially) but I’m in one piece and still smiling. I’ve got a few more ultras in the coming months, before my big event of the summer – the Thames Ring 250 – which will be something new and interesting…. a whopping 250 miles across 4 days, seeing how little sleep I need and how much food I can eat. Exciting times!

Thanks to all at Go Beyond Ultra for a cracking run, I’m already looking forward to the Thames Trot in February.

Winter 100 Race Report

Disclaimer – I’m a very average runner (hence the name of the blog)…this is not the exciting story of a toned athlete smashing out huge mileage at great speeds, but rather the story of a bloke that ran a bit and tried to eat loads at the same time.

Second disclaimer – Alot of this lengthy race report was fuelled by red wine, pain killers, and a sarcastic sense of humour, and completed mainly late at night. I apologise now for the cowpat pictures.

Anyway, here we go….

After a successful run in the summer, where I went into the 145 mile GUCR well-trained, with an organised crew, on a well-recce’d route, and had a great time…..it seemed time to do a run all by myself, with no crew or help, with a complacent attitude (after all, 100 miles is less than GUCR right?, so easier then…) and see what would happen.

In fact, this race was really designed as a backup for me, just in case my ‘A’ race, GUCR in the summer, went wrong. I’d heard a lot of good things about how well organised the Centurion runs were (and how much food there was at the aid stations), and as I had an entry ready, it seemed rude not to do it, even though I wasn’t particularly focussed on it.. It was very much a ‘just for fun’ run.

The Winter 100 is 4×25 mile out-and-back spurs (pretty much along each point of the compass) along two trail paths (the Ridgeway and Thames Path) that intersect at Goring-on-Thames, a very posh village in Oxfordshire (how did I know it was posh?…..it doesn’t even have a Tesco’s…that’s how posh). This means you return to HQ every 25 miles, for access to a drop-bag (which is very handy) and there are aid stations at about mile 6 and 12.5 of every spur. Hence you can’t go much beyond 6 miles without an aid station, which is a nice thought on a 100 mile run with most of it in the dark. I would be doing it without a crew, a very strong contrast to my efforts at GUCR, where I had 3 mates follow me down the route like a royal procession, feeding me coffee and Smash at regular intervals, the W100 would be me carrying what I needed, getting myself round, sleeping in the car for a few hours and then driving 2.5 hours home – very ‘au naturel’.

As an example of just how little I trained (and how complacent I was)….my total mileage in the 40 days before GUCR was probably 350 miles and 40 days before W100 was about 100. I’d had a bit of a cold a couple of weeks before which didn’t help – I very seldom get colds etc, and get very frustrated when I’m not feeling good – so on a Sunday morning a few weeks previously I had driven the 2.5 hours to the race HQ, planning on doing the third or fourth spur of 25 miles to help out with the route when the darkness hit, and could only manage about 12 slow miles…not a good start. The last 2 weeks before the race I basically stopped running to try to get my mojo back, and build up some enthusiasm for it again, and luckily on the Wednesday evening I had a lovely 6 mile stretch-of-the-legs that gave me a bit of confidence (i.e. I didn’t have to stop and walk, feeling shattered).

Another fly in the ointment was that rather than having a couple of days afterwards off work, it looked like I was going to be back to it on Monday morning, which as I spend my days on my feet was not going to be pretty. Ah well, can’t be helped.

Friday morning was spent preparing enough food to feed an army….Imagine 7 tins of ravioli split into 2 sandwich bags for each tin, then put into another plastic bag (to prevent spills) and then wrapped up tightly to minimise space. It was a work of art. Add in some coke, biscuits, pepperami, a little Smash, lots of sherbet lemons (ultra-running tip of the day…..it’s very hard to feel crap and grumpy when sucking a sherbet lemon), red bull, coffee sachets, and the list continues. As I’ve said before, I don’t eat while I run, but I run at the same time as doing a lot of eating. It seems to work for me.

Right then, if you’ve persevered this far (well done!), you probably need me to start talking about the event itself.

I got to the HQ quite early, parked in a nearby road, chatting to a fellow runner (hello Ian), and got through the kit check quickly. I’m not sure I saw anyone there without the compulsory kit, but I hate to think what the cost of the ‘buyable’ stuff there was there…if it had been me I’ve had made it all cost at least £100. I then got the chance to stand around for a bit….lots of much more organised people looking like they could go a very long way. Lots of different drop bags (including a guys that had a little suitcase on wheels – bizarre I thought at the time, until I had to drag my bag to the car, not being able to carry it), and a lot of different drop-bag labels. I saw some understated luggage tags, a few stuck on labels, and some truly impressive laminated A4-sized massive personal statements of name & number. It was very “drop-bag-label-intimidating.” There was a great atmosphere in the hall though, and lots of people from Centurion as well as runners and supporters. I have no idea how some peoples tiny rucksacks carried all of the compulsory kit, I had what looked like a 40lb Bergen on my back compared to some.

The race briefing was surprisingly useful (and most people seemed to listen too!), I think they said there were 71ish volunteers, which is truly impressive for a race with about 150 runners. I particularly enjoyed the part about being quiet in certain sections of the run, in order not to disturb residents, which conjured up images of hoards of runners galloping along while whooping and screaming at mile 80, instead of the reality of single runners, shuffling along with their heads down, groaning gently with every step (or maybe that’s just me). Anyway, it was nice to be given the warning, and absolutely correct that we should be seen to be a ‘positive’ event to the surrounding residents.

So after the quick briefing, we meandered to the start point, and we nervously watched everyone watching everyone else deciding whether to start with a waterproof jacket or not.

at the start line…

We had been promised ‘heavy rain’ by the forecast, but there were a few hardy souls that were still in their t-shirts, as well as a few (including myself) who felt that having bought a bloody expensive waterproof jacket (with taped seams) I was going to wear it even if it wasn’t raining.

I love the 5 minutes before the running starts, just looking around. I saw a guy carrying a stuffed toy, saying that he was doing the grand slam and had carried it around all the three previous 100 milers he’d done (to which someone correctly said “Couldn’t you have found a smaller toy to carry”). I saw a foreign looking lady behind me doing some amazing stretches (legs up round her shoulders etc) which looked positively painful, but hopefully helped her. And lots of nervous, but all excited, runners. I couldn’t see anyone that didn’t have an excited glint in their eye.

Without much ado (but there may have been some build-up at the frontthat I missed) we started, and made it about 200 yards before hitting a single file gate…at which everyone formed an orderly queue to get through. I’d like to see that done at the start of a 10k race, with everyone waiting patiently for the person ahead to get through, and no-one climbing over the fence to gain that precious 10 seconds.

muddy!

After the gate, we all formed a long long chain of single-file runners squelching through the muddiest part of the whole 100 miles. You couldn’t go quicker than the person in front due to the narrow trail, but felt you had to keep up with them in order not to slow down the person behind, so this meant everyone was fairly packed together, slipping and sliding on the mud. It definitely helped if you had big feet, grippy shoes, and a substantial body weight to drive your feet through the mud to the hard earth underneath. The was a 5ft petite girl ahead of me (number 170 I think) that was struggling as she had none of those three things, but on the positive side it meant I could run this first stretch at a fairly sensible pace. I’m not sure everyone behind me would agree though. To be fair to 170 though, once she got to the road she sped off into the distance, leaving the plodders behind.

There was still no rain, and it felt really quite hot & humid. Not, perhaps, quite the Sahara, but certainly not far off the MdS. I got chatting to Ian, a guy I’d met when parking my car, and trotted on in good company for the next few miles.

I got to the first aid station at mile 6, and simply ran through it. There were two (2!) people taking numbers outside and once I’d been tagged it seemed rude to stop, so on I went! I was a little surprised at the amount of people that disappeared inside the hall, not really understanding why, but I would get it later!

I carried on with another group, who all seemed very comfortable. A guy that had done a few Ironman triathlons (Sweden and Austria I think) and another that had done a double ironman, and had started (but DNF’d) a triple. All very impressive. Clearly I was in good company (or completely out of my depth and going too quickly!). Talking about future events, I happened to mention that I’d entered the Thames Ring 250 in 2015. “I’ve entered that” says the double ironman next to me, which is a hell of a coincidence, as there are only about 14 entrants so far (according to Facebook) and I’ve found one running next to me. The guy about 5 paces ahead slows and turns, and says “So have I”….and it turns out that three of us happen to be running along the same patch at the same time. Bizarre. So, Marcus Shepherd and Glyn Rayman, I look forward to running with you next June, and I hope we all finish in one piece…although I doubt it.

We’d already seen the leaders coming towards us looking very focused, and really ‘racing’ as they were all surprisingly close together. As we got nearer the 12.5 mile turn-around point, Paul Ali (and his hat) came steaming towards us at the head of a very strong sub-20 hour train. They must have been about 2-3 miles ahead at that stage so were moving quick! I saw Paul a few times over the day, and each time he looked awesomly strong (so did his hat).

The 12.5 mile aid station was at the end of a long curving field, that (perhaps it’s just me) could have been cut across to save considerable time, but I’m pleased to say that no-one did. (I hope I’m not the only person that thought of that.)

It was lovely running in lovely surroundings…not sure about the sky though.

The aid station passed in a bit of a blur, and I was pretty much in & out quickly, walking back over the damn curving field while eating a banana that I’d thoughtfully brought with me. As I went along, lots of people were overtaking me & running ahead (including the Thames Ring 250 guys) but I was feeling quite good, enjoying the scenery, and it was probably at that point I thought I wasn’t going to push too hard today, but just enjoy the run.

I ran all the way back to the 18 miles by myself, just getting into the groove and getting my head into the right place for the next 20ish hours. I also spent an inordinate amount of time leapfrogging a girl (not literally) that had the same rucksack as me (we’ll call her ‘raidlight girl’) as I never spoke to her, and never got her race number, but we swapped places numerous times over the next 10-12 hours.

At 18 miles, I got to the aid station (the same one as at 6m) and here I WAS HIT BY THE FIRST REVELATION OF THE WHOLE RUN. I wandered inside the hall to get my water bottle filled…and was met by a cheery soul who said “Do you want your water bottle filled?” “Yes” I said, thinking that was very helpful of him, and how did he know? And then I spied the food…I’ve got to tell you, it was a children’s party of a buffet…there was finger food, cocktail sausages, I think (but I may have been hallucinating) a silver-foil covered round thing with cheese & pineapple on sticks, even full-fat coke (rather than cheap Tesco rubbish that has nowhere as much sugar, caffeine & E-numbers). I looked around for a clown and some balloon animals, thinking I’d crashed some other function in the hall, but then I was given my water bottle back so off I went.

As I ran off, I reflected that I hadn’t just visited the best aid station I’d ever come across, but perhaps a banquet that had been set out for some Olympians (or something). I’ve clearly been doing the wrong events for the last few years, as I’m used to a gel & a plastic cup of lukewarm water. This was something else entirely. This was proper motivation to get to the next one!

Over the next 7 miles, I plodded away gamely, taking it all at a steady pace, becoming slightly aware of a bit of a pain in my ankle, but not getting too fussed about it. I was caught back up by number 170, just as we got to the slippery slidey mud stretch (rather amusingly) so I slowly stamped my way through the quagmire while she slipped & slid around the edges. All good filthy fun.

Before I knew it I was back to the HQ at mile 25. It had taken me 4 hours 31 mins for the first leg, and I was sitting in 68^th place (so the live tracking told everyone except me). In the hall I was again offered a positive banquet of buffet bits, and hot stuff too, but I had a plastic bag of lovely stuff in my drop bag which I was re-united with, so pulled some Smash (powered potato stuff made by aliens) out of this, got it in a cup with some water, and set off, stirring it as if it would make it taste better. When I did GUCR I think I managed 7 portions of it (every 6 miles) before getting sick of it. Today I managed about one spoonful before regretting I had ever considered the bland slimy carb-loaded mush for a meal. I forced it down (even the un-dissolved powdery bits) but it was grim. I washed it down with lots of water, pepperami, anything to take the taste away.

By now I was on the Ridgeway, a different trail to the first 25 miles, and perhaps given away by the name, it was a hilly bugger. If I wasn’t going up a hill, I was getting ready to go up a hill. I never actually seemed to go down. It was still quite hot and humid, but pleasant enough. I was still leapfrogging raidlight girl for the first few miles of this leg. The aid station at mile 32 was good (but no children’s party in sight unfortunately) and a particularly cheerful ambulance (with crew) were just outside it, with the door open invitingly. It looked very comfy inside.

I plodded on, with the leaders zooming towards me at about 32 miles. They were all very polite and said hello as they scorched the earth with their pace. I said “Well done” and thought that I hoped they didn’t accidentally trip and hurt themselves, allowing me 4 hours to catch them up.

Smooth cowpat…waiting like a landmine!

There was, again, some amazing scenery on this stretch (about mile 32 to 37) with lovely trails going through forests and even a golf course that was particularly adrenalin-fuelled as I tried to time my dashes across the various fairways with the golfers not hitting a ball at me. Jolly exciting. Lots of cowpats too, lying in wait for the unsuspecting runner…good job it wasn’t dark at this stage!

Who’d have thought you could walk and poo at the same time….or perhaps it’s a message!

Some of the hills as I approached the 37 mile aid-station turnaround were steep, and although I was running down the hills (and walking up) it was energy sapping. However, the aid station, (naturally, at the top of a hill) was decked out in a Halloween theme, and was well stocked. I don’t know how many aid stations you’ve been to that have stuffed olives as part of their menu, but this was a first for me….and I’m particularly partial to stuffed olives. I‘m not convinced they added a great deal to my energy stores, but they taste better than gels (or Smash, thank god). So, a nibble on some snacks, and I walked back down the hill pulling my first ravioli meal out of my pack. Now, there may be some Neanderthals out there that don’t get the taste sensation of eating cold ravioli out of a plastic bag…but I’m not one of them. It was cold but slightly spicy, with just a hint of juniper, mahogany and penge – and it hit the spot.

As I was plodding back towards 40 miles, I was seeing a lot of runners coming towards me, looking very tired and as it was getting darker and we weren’t halfway yet, I did start to wonder how many of them would make it to the end. However, that is probably exactly what people that saw me on their return leg thought about me…it’s all relative I guess.

…just getting dark.

I got my head torch & shoulder torch out at about 6.20pm, it was just getting dark enough that the forest trails with their exposed roots were getting hazardous. My shoulder torch is actually a bike light that sits on my shoulder bathing the surroundings with ambient light everywhere, which is really useful. Even better, I can pretend to be the baddie from Predator, who has a targeting laser-thingy that comes out of his shoulder on command. Or maybe that’s just me.

All the way back to the HQ at 50 miles, which took a while as I was mainly marching by now. I can generally march at a pace better than 15 m/m which although hard work, is less exhausting than running for a bit and then walking slowly for a bit. I love running/marching in the dark, although some of the forresty bits did freak me out a bit with shadows jumping out at me and then disappearing.

Back at HQ, I changed my shoes and socks. Despite being very muddy, I was chuffed that my new waterproof socks did actually keep my feet free from the outside water, and just a thin base layer sock inside them to soak up the trapped sweat. In fact I changed the base layer sock only once and kept the same waterproof socks on for the whole 100 miles which worked well. I had a couple of sore spots on my feet, but nothing serious, and the rest of my body was holding up well (considering). I’d got to 50 miles in 10 hours 22 mins, so it was about 8.30pm, which is about right for me, and I would find out later that that was in 68^th position. I was impressed by how many spectators there were in the HQ, and again the atmosphere was quite lively, with lots of chatter. I was actually quite glad it was just me on my own, as I didn’t have to be polite an talk to people that had waited for hours for me….I could just go when I was ready. And I did.

A long long downhill though a lovely big field….magic.

As I walked away from HQ I had another bag of ravioli (yum yum) with a load of ibuprofen and paracetamol. This was probably the last time my stomach felt OK, as for the rest of the run I was feeling vaguely ‘not right’ but couldn’t work out why not. Maybe a bad ravioli or something.

As I was starting the third leg from 50 miles, the leader came galloping towards me, having finished 75 miles. This means he’d done 75 miles in about 10.5 hours….just amazing. And he was running really normally and bloody quickly. Wow. In fact, all the guys that were ahead of me and hence running towards me looked in good spirits, and took the time to say something as they went past, which was really nice. The out-and-back spurs gave a constant flow of people going in one direction or another which meant you never really felt ‘alone’ on the trail – a really good touch.

Anyway, 50 miles to 62.5 was Ridgeway again, which means uphill. And that’s all I remember really. ‘Nuff said.

As pacers were allowed to join at 50 miles, there were a lot of runners in twos now, and it was easy to tell the pacers as they overtook me or I came up behind them – 1. They were running with some form and the person next to them was flopping along like a dead body – 2. The pacer had clean calf’s whereas the person next to them was covered in mud below the knee. I have a vivid memory of a couple (him pacing; her flopping like a dead body) overtaking me up a hill (it was all bloody hill) and then slowing, and then simply walking up the rest of the hill with their arms around each other like the were out on the town for the evening. I did think about screaming that he wasn’t allowed to push her up the hill like that, but then got caught up in the moment of true love and wanted to get a violin and serenade them.

….unsettled sky.

Somewhere around here I did my biggest navigation error, following the bloke ahead instead of turning right to follow a road round. I was a couple of hundred yards onto the new path when I became aware of a few guys shouting behind me, and realised they were telling me I’d gone wrong. The guy ahead of me was a fair distance ahead and I could see from his head torch that he was moving quite fast. The only reason for telling you this is because it gave me a chance to us my (compulsory kit) whistle that I’d bought specially off eBay (the best £1.99 of my life). In the dark cold night, it sounded very very loud, and got his attention easily, as well as most of the surrounding 200 miles. That was the adrenaline-fuelled exciting car-chase part of the night – blowing my whistle loudly. However, thanks to those guys that corrected the two of us, no idea who you are, but it’s much appreciated.

My stomach was still feeling odd, and I was feeling very thirty but didn’t want to put any more pressure on my stomach by filling it up with liquid. I resorted to sherbet lemons to stop me feeling so thirsty, and also to give me a bit of a sugar push, which worked really well. Sherbet lemons really are the king of sweets. They are just naturally happy things to have in your mouth.

The aid station at 62.5 miles was a rave in the middle of nowhere. Flashing xmas lights, dancing, glo-sticks leading like a runway up to the tent, buffet, and I seem to remember hearing the Prodigy on the stereo. There seemed to be quite a few people sitting here, but I just grabbed my first coffee of the night (ah, bless you caffeine, my good friend), filled my water bottle and set off. I’d intended to eat at this stage, but decided to give it a miss as I wasn’t sure what the consequence would be, however this did mean I was carrying around about 2 tins of ravioli with me everywhere which was becoming heavy as I wasn’t eating it.

Now, logic says that if you’ve just marched 12.5 miles uphill, in the pitch dark, then the next 12.5 miles should be downhill. The course profile shows it should be downhill. I’d decided I would run all the downhill parts, and march the rest, but was slightly confused to find it was all uphill again…or at least that’s what it felt like. If you haven’t guessed I’m not a great fan of hills (or running) so I was starting to get a bit cross when I absolutely could not find the downhills relating to the tough uphills I’d just gone up.

As I marched the last mile into HQ at 75 miles I forced down a bag of ravioli. It was actually still quite tasty, but I was very conscious of the likely effect on my now-rolling stomach. However, it was unrealistic to think I could simply not bother with fuelling, so it was a calculated risk to see if it was going to stay down. And it did, for now.

me, in a field

I got back to HQ at 75 miles at about 3am, I found out later I was in 51^st place, probably due to my consistent pace (slow and then slower) and not really stopping at aid stations other than a water refill. Now it was time for some maths….I had 7 hours to do the last 25 miles to finish under 24 hours. If I maintained 15 m/m then I would be going at 4 mph, which would mean each 12.5 mile leg should be about 3 hours 7 mins, giving me 6 hours 15 mins for the 25 miles. Add in 20 mins for eating, weeing, getting lost etc, I would still be less than 24 hours. Sounds good

The winner actually finished while I was at the aid station, an awesome 15 hours for 100 miles. Amazing. And they didn’t bring him in on a stretcher either.

While I was at HQ, I jettisoned most of the food I was carrying, filled up with sherbet lemons, picked up another coffee and got on my way. I liked coming out of the HQ each time and having to ask which way to go, it was like a mystery tour. I’d been told the last leg was all flat (being the Thames Path) so I was looking forward to a nice meander along the river, watching dawn come up over the horizon, hopefully a bit of wildlife (there had been surprisingly little so far).

About a mile in, and I was in trouble. I’d finished about half of the coffee, and thrown the rest away as my stomach wasn’t having any of it. I was leaning on the fence at the side of the path, retching, telling myself that if I was sick I would only have to eat another load of food, and that it would be much more sensible to keep it all in. I was retching really strongly, walking about 10 steps and then leaning on the ‘sick-fence’ again for my stomach to try to empty itself again. This was my first experience of trying to be sick at a run, and it wasn’t pleasant. I felt lucky that at least there was no-one going past me at this stage as it wasn’t pretty. However, like all bad things, it passed, I kept my food down, and I started to feel better reasonably quickly. Ho hum, these things happen.

Did I say it was going to be flat for this leg? Rubbish. The Thames Path is the hilliest ‘flat’ trail I’ve ever run on. There was a hill in the first few miles that was so steep it had steps for gods’ sake. You can perhaps tell that I’d run out of patience with sodding hills, especially trying to maintain 15 m/m up them which was hard work, and told myself that my next run would be so flat I would need a spirit level to measure the hills.

The first aid station came really quickly, about mile 4 of the 12.5 I think, which was a bit of a shock (and a bit of a disappointment when I realised I hadn’t broken my own land-speed record for travelling 6 miles) but this was more than made up for by being confronted with one of the volunteers in full 70’s gear….afro, open shirt and medallion…..asking me if I was alright, at 4am, in some village hall somewhere in Oxfordshire. Clearly the ibuprofen and paracetamol were all kicking in at once, and I was hallucinating, but nevertheless it certainly cheered me up.

It was after this aid station that I went wrong again, missing a very sharp left turn and carrying on straight for 5 mins, but in my defence three others did the same and I still missed it when my Garmin told me I’d gone off course…it shows how tired we all were that we did not see the markings (on that way back, when it was light, they were clear to see). Anyway, about 5 of us got back on track, and pushed on.

It felt like a long slog to the 12.5 mile turnaround. The route markings weren’t great, but it was dark, I was tired, and we were all spread out so there wasn’t a nice runner up ahead showing me the way. With hindsight, this was the leg to have recce’d as it was definitely the hardest to find your way. I remember going through part of a housing estate that didn’t see to have any marking at all, but coming back through in the light I could see there were a few….perhaps everyone else knew the way, or I was just tired / emotional / pissed off.

I got chatting to a guy in a Buff top over the last few miles before the turnaround, which passed the time well. He was telling me he’d gone wrong by 30 minutes on an earlier leg, so was having to push to catch up the time. I was telling him how much I disliked bloody hills (he then said how much he liked hills, and that was why he’d chosen this run….bastard).

Anyway, we plodded on to the turnaround at 87.5 miles. Now, let me ask you a question….what would you not like to see at the 87.5 mile checkpoint? Is the answer 1. A clock saying it’s later than you expected, or 2. A flight of stairs at least 20 steps high? Answer – I got both. Who’s idea it was to put the checkpoint on the first floor of a building is a sadistic shit. I hope they put a camera recording all these poor runners stretching their legs for the first time in hours to go up a flight of stairs as it would be a sure fire hit on ‘You’ve Been Framed’ and they could put the £250 price towards a Stanna stair-lift. Once I’d navigated the stairs, I was confronted by a nicely placed clock on the table telling me it was 6.20 am. It should have been about 6.10am or earlier….not good. No time to sit (a lot of people sitting down again, which I found very odd so near the end), but grabbed a coffee and got back down those comedy steps.

Marching back to the finish, I was swiftly overtaken by the guy in the Buff top, running well. I was maintaining my 15 m/m pace fairly well, to achieve the 24 hours, and overtook a few guys limping hard, including one guy who asked me if it was bad to be peeing blood (oh dear). I felt a bit of pressure to keep moving quickly for this last 12.5 miles, and really was just keen to get to the finish. Quite a lot of runners overtook me which was really impressive, as there was no way I could get up any pace by then.

The 4 mile aid station came and went in a blur, and then back to the path for the last few miles. There were a few couples out walking dogs as it was quite a nice morning, but they were all very polite, even though they were clearly bemused at what I looked like. I kept checking behind me (as you do) to see if there was a crowd of runners catching me up, but the last few miles were all quiet.

A morning jogger (not a runner, a jogger – see what I did there?) told me “Well done, only 1.4m miles to go” when I actually had 2 miles to go…I don’t know if she was trying to help or took pleasure in crushing the spirit of tired runners but I hope to meet her in a dark alley in a future life.

Last corner off the path, turning right at the bridge, it was a lovely feeling to know I’d done the 24 hours. I’d purposely slowed down for the last few hundred yards to stay behind a guy that was limping really badly, and I remembered my experience of GUCR when I was almost overtaken by 2 guys with 0.5 miles to go (read my uninteresting GUCR race report to find out what happened).

A respectable crowd of people clapped us into the finish, which was lovely, and my finish time was recorded as 23 hours 42 mins. I’d finished in 43^rd place (out of about 150 starters and 94 finishers, improving from 68^th place at mile 50, which I was surprised at.)

Into HQ, belt buckle & T-shirt and a hand-shake (which always means a lot to me), and a very efficient bunch of volunteers fussed around me getting me my drop bag. As always, I know that to sit down now only brings the pain on quicker, so I was up and out quickly, dragging my sodding heavy dropbag (filled with uneaten ravioli, of course) to the car. Next time I judge a guy with a neat little wheeled suitcase as a drop bag I will apologise to him.

I got to the car, planning on sleeping for a few hours before the long drive back, but after 10 minutes of lying there with my eyes shut it clearly wasn’t going to happen, so I got on the move, chugging coffee at every services, eating Ginsters steak slices & Doritos, and singing at the top of my voice to the Frozen soundtrack (“Elsa, can we build a snowman etc”). Although I made it back safely, I would absolutely echo the race organisers when they say don’t drive home straight after finishing, but get some sleep (while your wife drives home).

1pm. Shower, sofa, Stella, yet more Doritos. Job done.

The Buckle.

So, what a cracking race! I can’t complement Centurion enough on their volunteers, organisation, route markings, kid’s party-style buffets at aid stations and general atmosphere of fun & adventure. Clearly there are some fantastic runners that take it very seriously and do amazing times, and they are well catered for, but for the ‘back-of-the-pack’ runners like me the event was just right. I hope the runners that finished after me felt similarly looked after (i.e. the aid stations still had stuffed olives left for them).

picturesque scenery!

I loved the trail running; it has some much more personality and interest than pavements. It’s just a shame about the hills.

I’m still not sure why my stomach protested as much as it did. I ate absolutely tons of food during GUCR, but didn’t manage half the quantity in this race, but perhaps it just wasn’t the day for eating. I learned that sherbet lemons are a suitable food substitute if all else fails.

And lastly, my recovery? Well, I felt unbelievably stiff for the first few days, especially in my inner thighs, and the experience of going back to work on Monday morning was rubbish. My rightful place was on the sofa, and there I was having to explain to people why I was walking like John Wayne (and so, so slowly). As usual, a lot of people said “100 miles, I couldn’t do that!” or “You must be mad”, and as usual, I think to myself that if they only knew how the body & mind feels after completing a proper testing challenge, they would be out there with me.

I’m probably not going to run for a while now, I will fill my time with beer & Doritos and family time, but the Thames Ring 250 next June is beckoning…that’s going to be a monster.

…the food of kings! I salute you!

Grand Union Canal Race 2014 – Race Report

This is a long, and fairly irrelevant report. It may well take you longer to read it than it took me to run 145 miles from Birmingham to London. Don’t say you havn’t been warned:

Four of us drove to Birmingham late on Friday looking for an adventure: me, Jon & Jo (husband and wife) who were my two buddy runners, and Steve, a mate who would be doing most of the driving over the weekend (for more details about these three heroes, look at my pre-race report – it was too long to go on here!).

Apparently we missed most of the Bank holiday traffic, arriving about 10pm, I don’t know where it went, but I was grateful we weren’t stuck in traffic for the night, as I need my beauty sleep! Horrendous stories of noisy nightlife didn’t materialise in the hotel we were in, and after a swift beer (or two) in the bar I was tucked up in bed by 11pm, with the alarm set for a respectable 4.20am. Although the nightlife was quiet, I have to say that Steve’s snoring was something out of this world, and I have real sympathy for his wife, kids & next door neighbours.

A short but decent night’s sleep had me bouncing out of bed before the alarm had been going for long, and into the bathroom for a silent breakfast and a coffee. Ask anyone who’s done an Ironman, where you generally have to get out of bed at 3am to be ready for a swim-start at 6am, and a 4 or 5am start is a lie-in.

We walked to the start, which was quiet when we got there but rapidly filled up with fellow runners. And they looked good, very good. I was there, knees-knocking, and these guys all clearly knew each other, and knew the organisers, and were very relaxed indeed.

Looking worried at the start!

Their kit looked professional and worn-in, while mine was a bit of a hodge-podge of things I’ve found that worked for me, rather than specific running kit. Some of them even had ‘gaiters’ over their trainers, presumably to keep mud and grit out. Some had super-looking rain-jackets; some were in vests (despite the forecasts of heavy rain for the first day). I ummed & ahhed, before finally deciding to play safe and set off wearing my 4 year- old £50 Millets not-very-waterproof-anymore jacket, that only kept me dry for the first hour, but was cooler than anything other jackets I’ve worn.

I glimpsed a couple of runners I knew through twitter…Paul Ali and his mate Stouty, the previous 4 years winners Pat Robbins (looking awesomely relaxed), and the only other person I knew at the race, Derren Peters.

Before I knew it we were filing down from the road to the canal side, and as I filtered my way to the back, the very very back, I wished luck to Derren (who magically appeared at the back of the pack too), took a picture of everyone waiting expectantly (from the back) and then rather quickly, we were off!

Waiting for the off!

Right then, tactics. On a run this long, I was thinking it’s quite simple. Go slowly, but keep going. It’s not the speed of your first 50 miles that decides your time, but the pace of your last 50. I’d planned to cover the first 50 miles in perhaps 13 or 14 minute-miles, which would include time for stops, meeting points, walking etc. My detailed plan (spreadsheets and everything….very exciting!) had me getting to 48.5 miles at about 4.15pm, ready for a change of shoes & socks, food etc. Before that I would have met the support team 3 times at 18m, 30m and 36m. I was trying to keep the meeting points to a minimum in the first 50m so I could get my head down and not have too many interruptions….slow and steady being the key.

So there I am, gentle trotting the first few miles at (I think) a slow 10 or 11 minute-miles, and all I can see is the pack of runners disappearing into the distance. While there were a few behind me, and a string of runners ahead, the majority disappeared from sight within a few minutes, never to be seen again. I was telling myself not to panic, not to speed up, but there was clearly a different tactic I wasn’t aware of – that of galloping away and then presumably holding on when it got tough. Luckily I got blocked in behind a group of comedy Germans in matching running tops, who fanned out across the narrow path and held me back for the first few miles.

After that I could hardly see anyone ahead, so it was difficult to worry about the other 90 runners who must have been steaming ahead. I settled into a good groove, and followed my plan of running 6m, walking and eating, then running another 6m. I had a bit of banter with a couple of other runners around me: Clare who had her name typed rather than written on her race number, but didn’t know why (teacher’s pet!), a German girl in shocking pink & black tights who was worried as she had DNF’d at mile 93 last year, and a few others. It was a typical happy group of runners, out on a Saturday morning.

Quite soon after we started, a lot of people started taking off their water-proofs as the predicted rain had held off. I kept mine on, firstly, as I was still thinking it would rain, and secondly it was too much faffing to stop and pack it away. Having said that, I was so hot for the first few hours, it was almost a pleasure when the rain started….for a few minutes. I took a little bit of pleasure to watch everyone have to stop and put their waterproofs back on, but as the rain was getting worse and the puddles bigger, I think everyone put their heads down for the morning.

The puddles were a pain, mainly because the path was often rutted grass with an earth channel or ‘groove’ along the middle, wide enough to run in, but narrow enough for a puddle to be 2 feet long and reach each side of the earth groove.

Mud mud, glorious mud.

To keep feet dry you had to run at the very edge of the slope of the earth channel, which dipped the sides of your feet in to the water but kept most of it out. Slippery, muddy, splashy, shitty were all words that spring to mind…..and a good way to twist an ankle as you skipped from side to side of the puddles. However, ‘feet dry for as long as possible’ seemed the way to go.

I got to mile 18, first meeting point with the support crew, feeling good. That didn’t last long, as I confidently ran past Jon waiting for me under a bridge (ruining a nice pair of shoes) thinking the meeting point was further on, rather than at the bridge. Don’t ask why, I’m still not sure myself what happened. Luckily I had enough food to get me to the next meeting point (just in case!) so I phoned back to my crew and apologised, and we arranged a new meet at mile 24.

That went rather more according to plan, and my first proper nutrition of hot Smash did the job. I felt great, and was running well. Still enjoying the whole experience.

Somewhere around here I saw Pete Jonson from Thanet Roadrunners, running really well. We had a chat while he overtook me and although I shadowed him for a while, he was making great time and I watched him disappear into the distance, looking very comfortable.

A few more hours, a few more centimetres of rain, a few more cups of smash and a few more miles done. I hit the 48 mile meeting point at New Inn at about 3pm, looking forward to a dry pair of shoes and something else to eat. This was the first time I had sat down since starting and I could feel my legs pop as I did.

I set off strongly, enjoying the dry feet and softness of new shoes….right up until they got wet again. Sometime around here I started to get pain in my right knee, that stopped me running until it subsided and I could start again. I’ve no idea what this was, but it would come back to haunt me later.

I was about 1hr 15 mins ahead of schedule, but put that down to the rain (which seems to cool me down and speed me up) and my own stupidity – I expected to pay for it later. After the first 50 miles was done I was gently entering the unknown, and I knew the night section would be tough. However, my support team would be running with me from mile 70 which would help enormously, and even better I had arranged for a pizza to meet me at mile 65.

Magic pizza at 65 miles.

So I would walk from 65 to 70, eating hot pizza, and then be ready and fuelled for the night. I should explain my relationship with the 65 mile pizza. It’s something like hero-worship. Not just the taste, the hot-ness, the calories which I so desperately crave, but it’s the link to family sitting around the TV, and the fact that walking along, holding and eating a pizza when you feel so hungry you’d like to eat the box, is a magic experience. I’d recommend it to anyone, provided you can run for about 10 hours beforehand to work up a powerful hunger.

Anyway, that pizza floated me from mile 65 to 70….Navigation Bridge. I’m going to call this half way, even though it’s not…it felt like it, and I’d purposefully told myself that the first half would be done at Navigation Bridge. I planned to change into my night clothes, have a go with a few baby-wipes to clean up a bit, and generally re-start with a clean approach. It was about 8.30pm, now a full 1.45hr ahead of where I’d planned. I was averaging (according to my Garmin) just over 12 minutes per mile, including the time spent in meeting points, which was far better than I expected, but I still fully expected to pay for it later. At Navigation Bridge, there were a few people sitting in the comfy chairs at food station there, and I could feel some of them looked tired. With the help of my support crew, I just wanted to keep moving. A quick change, and quick chat, and Jon (my buddy runner) dressed all in Lycra was all it took me to get going again. I would be marching rather than walking or running, but at a speedy 13-15m/m, rather than anything slower. Jon happened to mention to me that at that point there were 26 people ahead of me. I’m afraid to say that my language at that point was a bit ripe, as there clearly was no way only 26 people ahead, even if (as he said) there’d been a lot of drop-outs.

It was time for a bit of maths to get me through the next few miles, and readjust my targets. I was at 70m and my next big milestone was going to be 100m. I’d inhaled the pizza at 65m, I had a buddy runner, and so despite the night section being slow and tiredness having its own challenge, I needed to keep the pace up. 30 miles at 15 m/m would be 6.5 hours, which would mean I’d get to 100m at 4am….an amazing (for me) 100m in 22 hours. Much much faster than I ever expected, and faster than I had any right to expect. I should be feeling tired and wanting to stop, not motivated enough to calculate how quickly I need to push the next 30 miles. I blame the magic pizza myself.

So, I had a pace of 15 minutes per mile that I knew I couldn’t drop below, and overnight it was dangerous to run on anything but the best surface, as a twisted ankle would not go down well at this stage. I did manage a bit of running, and Jon was superb in keeping up a constant chat to keep my mind on the job. He would run or march just behind me, keeping me in touch with the canal and what I was doing. Perfect. The 14 miles I did with Jon (on his first stretch) was probably the most conversational, and he kept me entertained with his stories. Later in the night I was probably rather more subdued and listening a lot less, but that first leg was great.

At 10pm I had a lovely conversation with my wife who would be heading to the airport for Spain at 5.30am the next morning. That was a bit sobering, thinking where I’d be (and how I’d feel) in the very early hours of the morning. I was fairly lucid at this point I think…lucid enough to realise that I had no Doritos at home, and that it was possible I may finish and get home, but have no crisps to eat. Cue some emergency texts at 10pm, which I’m pleased to say resulted in 8 large bags waiting for me on Sunday evening when I got home…phew!

Anyway, back to the running: Jon stayed with me until mile 84, the checkpoint at Water Eaton. I was still feeling OK, managing a bit of running, but mostly marching. A few quick mouthfuls of Smash, and a pepperami to eat. This may sound disgusting, but it was working well with warming me up and keeping up the constant flow of fuel. Unfortunately, by this point I’d had about 5 or 6 of the cups of Smash, and they were losing their attraction (which was a shame, as they were easy to make and digest). In a few miles time, the Smash would start to make me retch, which is never a good sign, more a psychological then physical reaction I suspect.

At mile 84 I swapped buddy runners from Jon to Jo. It was about 11.45pm, I was still awake and alert, but getting tired and the darkness wasn’t helping. Usually I like running in the dark, and feel quite alert, but not this time. I was pretty much marching all the time now, and felt rough as the mileage started to catch up with me. Jo was doing her best to keep me focused, but I was content to maintain the 15m/m pace and let the night slide away. Jo is (apparently) extremely accident prone, and Jon had made several comments about her falling in the canal at some point during the night. Not being entirely sure whether this was true or not (although she had the grazes from a fall the previous week, so maybe it was) I endeavoured to keep her on my non-canal side as much as possible. Later on the run it was her doing the same for me as I stumbled, shattered along the path. Funny that.

Jo was going to be with me to the checkpoint at Grand Junction Arms, about mile 99.8. I got in at about 3.40am, feeling very tired and Jon (bless him) was very apologetic that the car was in a car park about 50 yards away from the canal. I had to walk though the official checkpoint, where some runners I’d been chasing for a while had just got in (I think one was Natasha, but the rest are all a bit of a haze), and were sorting themselves out with hot food. I had the massive benefit of my crew having it all waiting for me, so after a quick celebration (in the dark) that I’d done the 100m, and in 21hr 45 mins too, I grabbed my beans (aaah, beans…so much of an improvement on Smash, it was like a gourmet meal) and headed out with Jon. As I went through the checkpoint back to the canal, I could see the runners still there….I’m convinced if I’d had to sit at any point, I’d have never got up again…or at least I would have stiffened up badly.

I had planned to change my shoes at that point too, but I was feeling good with some food inside me, and decided to wait till later. I was lucky that I waited, as about a mile later we hit a long stretch of foul-smelling, ankle-deep, unavoidable mud. The only tactic here was to go fast, lifting the knees up and having as little contact with the ground & mud/water as possible. Easier said than done after 100 miles, but Jon set me a good pace to follow and scooted off seemingly floating above the slime. I followed, tramping through, splashing everything around me and trying not to slip and slide too much. This felt like it lasted ages, but was probably a hundred metres or so. By the end my shoes were covered in mud and very wet indeed…I was lucky that I hadn’t changed to new ones just a mile previously.

Plodding on with Jon, he remarked that I wasn’t taking any coffee or caffeine on board, even though I was clearly getting tired. I explained that I’d only had coffee during one overnight run, and it left me feeling nauseous for an hour, even though I can happily drink vast quantities of coffee usually. I didn’t intend to have any coffee on this run, and so far, had felt decent enough without it.

Jon stayed with me until Boxmoor, at mile 108 and our next meeting point by about 5.50 am. Another cup of beans for fuel and a much needed change of shoes did the job, and we set off quickly, still marching a lot more than running, but still at a better-than-15 minute per mile pace.

The next stretch, with Jo, was nothing less than 12 miles of hell. I knew it was a risk having such a big stretch without the support crew meeting me, but at the time of planning it, this was when they would find a nice cafe to have some decent breakfast and wake up after a long night shift. I expected to be doing miles 108 to 120 from about 8.30am to 11.30am, and would have had some bacon rolls or something nice to go on my way, in decent daylight, feeling awake. In reality, it was 6am, daylight but very cold, and I was suffering from the lack of sleep and my body wanting to rest. My mindset was that 120 miles left me with only a marathon to do, which would be great and very motivational, but the 12 miles still to do before hitting that mileage felt very long indeed, and moving at 15 mins per mile would take me a massive 3 hours to cover. That’s 3 hours with no meeting points, no fuel, and poor Jo having to try to keep me awake and going.

I hit those three hours head on, and kept marching on, but I’ve never had the experience of my eyelids closing and falling asleep while continuing my forward motion. I don’t remember a great deal about those three hours, those three dark hours, and I’d like to say I didn’t complain or whinge during them, but I have a feeling that Jo might have a different story. Anyway, like all bad things, the hours passed, and I do remember saying to Jo as we neared the next meeting point at mile 120, that I needed coffee, lots of coffee. And maybe some ravioli (for a change). I think I can see a food trend emerging as I type this, as I seem to be talking more about the food than the race!

Right then, I’d survived to mile 120, Springwell checkpoint 8. I have a vivid memory here of arriving here feeling just horrendous. Tired, aching, sleepy, cold, horrible. Head down, wanting to stop, just rubbish. Does that give the right impression?

I then tasted the sweetest nectar in a cup of coffee that I’ve possible ever had. Steve is clearly a master-chef! It was thick, black, god only knows how many spoons of coffee powder were in this little polystyrene cup, but wow, it hit the spot. It was like the Popeye cartoon of him having his spinach and all the energy running down his arms to his hands, and then down his legs to his feet. In the space of 20 seconds I was back. Then, even better, I had about half a tin of hot ravioli. I don’t know what was in it, but it was so good I then grabbed the rest of the tin (cold) and literally drank it down. Normally wouldn’t have touched it cold, but it was not a normal day. So, a cup of very strong coffee, and a tin of half-hot and half-cold ravioli, and 2 minutes later I was back! Firing on all (well, some) cylinders and feeling good. I only had a marathon to go, and although tired I knew I could survive a marathon.

Jon was back with me for this next stretch, and I’m pleased to say he had me doing a quick 7 mile interval session just to keep me awake. I couldn’t run slowly for any distance, as my right knee would start to hurt too much, but I found I could do 100 steps ‘flat out’, which in reality was probably only 9 minute miling, but it felt bloody fast. After 100 steps I would slow, march for a few minutes and then Jon would beast me into doing another rep. This started because I caught up to an amazing German girl, Helen I think, still running, but clearly in some pain with shin-splints. She had bright orange neon socks (not sure why I remember that), and was running consistently slightly faster than I could march. We leapfrogged back and forth a few times, before Jon suggested his ‘run quickly’ strategy, and this seemed to wake me up even more and started to get my blood flowing. 7 miles of this passed quickly, and suddenly I was at mile 127. (Somewhere in this stretch, I managed an 11.5 minute mile and a few 12.5 minute miles, whereas the rest of the second half was all about 13-15 minute miles.)

I had another tin of hot ravioli waiting for me (yum!) and a coffee. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I grabbed what I thought was coffee (actually turned out to be ravioli) and shouted over my shoulder for Jo to catch me up, and kept going. I was steaming along, half running & marching, spooning ravioli into my mouth, not pausing to think of poor Jo, trying to catch me up while carrying a cup of coffee and another cup of ravioli….not easy! But she did catch me up, and even more impressively most of the coffee was still in the cup!

Anyway, as expected the next 10 miles or so went quickly, lots of marching, little bits of running, the sun was out and although I was keen to get to the finish, I was able to appreciate that this had been an amazing experience that would be sad to come to an end. I remember Jon putting a load of Neurofen gel on my knee to see if that would ease the pain, but other than it being rather surreal to watch him anoint my leg, it didn’t remove much of the pain.

Somewhere here, after the Paddington turnoff that signified a simple 13 miles to go (only 13? That’s easy! Not.) We went past a rave on the other side of the canal that was pumping out music like you wouldn’t believe! This must have been about noon I think, and there must have been a lot of pissed-off people in the neighbourhood, as this was not the time for a quiet afternoon nap with that racket going on.

At the final checkpoint I saw Nici Griffin, who seemed to be buzzing with energy, even though I guess she was as tired as anyone. She excitedly showed me her checklist that had me at 11^th place, and said I might be able to catch the next person up if I hurried. I‘d like to say that this spurred me into a flash of energy, but at that point I was in survival mode, just hanging on to the end.

Final changeover of buddy runners at about mile 140, goodbye to Jon who I would see at the finish and hello to Jo for the last stretch. Both of these lovely people had run (in sections) about 37 miles, in the dark through the night with no sleep, and then through the day, with no sleep. Just to help me out. Steve, my mate that was driving, had done most of the cooking through the night, and stood around waiting for me, getting cold without even a run to relieve the boredom. Top people, who gave up their weekend just to look after me (but they did say afterwards how much they’d enjoyed it).

I’d like to say the last stretch of 5m was a glory lap-of-honour that I cherished and enjoyed. In reality I was desperate for it to end. I’d realistically expected to finish about 10pm, but I’d hoped to finish in daylight, and here I was coming in to finish somewhere about 3pm so I should have been dancing. I was so stiff I remember groaning with each step my right leg took. Unfortunately, there are a couple of really steep but very short inclines in the last couple of miles, over bridges I guess, including one near a Sainsbury’s that looked vertical to me. Jo was having to push me up them while I hauled myself up the handrail and I had no power or flex in my legs to get me up the slope. Coming down the other side was worse as it was asking me to stretch my quads/calf/everything else in ways they just didn’t want to.

With about ½ mile to go, feeling like death, we’re marching (yes, still bloody marching!) along, when what should happen but a couple of sprightly GUCR runners should skip past us, looking like they were full of beans. I’d like to say I shouted my congratulations to them for looking so fresh (and frankly being able to run at this stage), but in reality I shouted that after 145 miles I wasn’t going to be overtaken on a sprint finish in the last half mile…and set off in a lumbering jog in pursuit. To their credit, both guys turned round with a look of surprise on their faces (I don’t think they’d seen me) and they slowed right down to allow me past and to sort-of run/hobble for about 45 seconds, by which time I was truly buggered and could not run another step even if I had the 4 horses of the apocalypse chasing after me. Bless them; the two guys walked the last part to ensure they stayed behind me, and Luke & David ‘official’ finished a minute later than me. I thanked them afterwards, but again, thanks guys, people like you make the ultra scene what it is.

Slightly shocked – I’ve finished!

So, we’re down to the last hundred yards. I could make out the very ‘subtle’ finish in the distance, just about managed a run to the line, and got a handshake & chunky medal from Dick, the organiser, which meant a great deal. My support crew were all there taking photos, and I was slightly in shock and disbelief that I’d actually finished. The finish times were all being written on a whiteboard (sexy laser-display board) and it was a real shock to see Pam write my name, with only ten names above. 110 started, and only 61 finished. I was 11th. Wow.

After that I’d like to say I stuck around and clapped all the other finishers in until it was dark, but I was pooped, so clambered into the car that was just around the corner, took my shoes off (ah, bliss), and lasted about 5 seconds before falling asleep on the drive home.

So…thoughts? I’ve seen some comments about this GUCR being tougher than usual due to the conditions on Saturday, with the rain, puddles and mud etc. I’ve no idea about that, but I’d been training in the rain for most of January and February, so it felt like home to me. I was lucky to have dry shoes every so often, which held my feet together better than some, I suspect. Obviously my amazing crew, although never having done anything like this before, got it all spot-on, and worked together to get me to the finish. Jon, Jo, Steve, I’m so grateful I can’t really put it into words. So I’ll just buy unlimited beer when we can get to the pub together. Thanks guys.

I’d like to thank Dick and all the amazing volunteers that manned the various checkpoints and feed stations. Tirelessly cheerful, superbly organised, you make this event what it is. Everything they say about the race is right, from the brilliant atmosphere to its toughness.

I’d also like to thank Heinz, the makers of the finest beans and ravioli anywhere in the world. I’m not quite sure how I feel about those funny aliens that make Smash, but they got me through the first two-thirds of the race before I started retching at the thought of slimy bland disgusting instant potato, so thanks to them too.

Look Mum, I’m famous!

Thanks to my long-suffering family (Claire, Michael & Abigail) for not complaining as much as usual when I kept disappearing at various odd times for the last 5 months, and Thanet Roadrunners (especially Mark Foster and Derek) for not complaining when I kept turning up at various odd times (usually Sunday mornings) with a rucksack and a cup of smash.

Thanks to everyone that got in touch through my twitter (@24hourbob) to say well done, or keep going. It meant a great deal.

And finally, what else but to thank my legs, for all their support (boom-tish).

Someone very wise once told me that it was really important to allow yourself to succeed every so often…..to challenge yourself to do something you didn’t know you could. Here I am at the end of another journey, finding that I can go 145 miles in under 45 hours….who’d have thought it?

Bob

Great support crew! From left, Jo, Jon, me & Steve.

Post script:

4 days later. Legs still hurt like hell. Stiff as a board. A long muscle in my back hurts every time I lift my right leg. There are pictures on the net showing people’s feet completely destroyed, just horrendous. Apparently the guy that finished 4^th is still in hospital on antibiotics (but to be fair, I’m not sure if that’s due to the run.)

And I’m idly looking through Twitter to discover that the time I did GUCR in is a qualifying time for the Spartathlon…..153 miles in Greece….burning hot in the day, freezing cold at night….up & down mountains…rabid dogs…much tougher cut-off times…..entry field from all over the world, with some world-class runners taking part……and a drop-out rate of 70%.

I wonder if I could do that?

Pre-Grand Union Canal Race report – training and background stuff.

Hmmm, a few background notes that might make sense of what comes in the main race report:
I am a very average runner. Not the slowest, but also never in danger of being in the front 30%. I can run reasonably quickly, I’ve done a marathon in 3 hr 32 min, but I don’t enjoy putting myself in pain that I can easily get rid of (by going more slowly).
I do enjoy running usually. I like going somewhere, or logging miles that I know add up to a decent total. I enjoy the uncomfortable tightness in legs after a 20 mile run or longer. Although it hurts, it is a good pain that indicates I’ve done something that will make me healthier / fitter. In the same way I used to be proud of a particularly bad hangover, meaning that I’d really had a skinful the previous night and so must have really enjoyed myself (a logic I now have to question, reaching middle age unfortunately).
I’m stubborn & organised. I like to finish what I start, and do it as well as I can. I don’t see the point of not finishing something. I’m a good planner, ready for any eventuality, although this sometimes means I only use a quarter of the kit I may pack, at least I’m ready for any weather conditions – from torrential rain to heat wave requiring mosquito repellent and suntan cream.
I generally do one big event per year. It used to be a marathon in April / May. This allowed me to train through the crappy winter months of Jan & Feb, enjoy the sun appearing (while training) in March & April, and then complete the event and return to normal life in May (and carry on normally, just running for recreation, all the way to Boxing day). After the Paris Marathon in April 2011, I thought it may be fun to try a 24 hour event (the 24 hour Challenge at Marshside, organised by the very excellent ChallengeHub.co.uk), which was very close to home, just to see how far I could go. I’d done a 32 & 50 miler, and found them tough, both mentally and physically. I did the 24 hour run on nothing much more than marathon training, and somehow covered 105 miles in a burst of stubbornness that surprised myself. I marched (rather than ran) most of it after 45 miles, but found I could just keep going at a decent pace (about 15 mins per mile) consistently with a positive mental attitude. The only problem was that firstly, I got very disoriented during the second half, and secondly I was in pieces when I finished: couldn’t lift either leg to get up the stairs, couldn’t bend my ankle to drive for three days, was a stiff as a board for a week, and I didn’t run for three months.

Just finished my first Ironman, no wonder I look pleased!

I stopped worrying about running after that, as I couldn’t see how I could ever top 100 miles.
So, logically, I turned to triathlon, having considered but discarded the thought of an Ironman (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, then a marathon) in 2010 as too difficult. I completed IMUK in July 2012 & Outlaw in 2013.

The two Ironman trialthlons were a bit ‘samey’ so it seemed right to return to ultra and proper challenges that put me back in the same ‘I don’t know if I can do this’ position…..

Right then….let’s talk about the GUCR. 145 miles from Birmingham to London, along the path of the Grand Union Canal, with a cut-off time of 45 hours. This year was the 20th year of running, bery impressive!

Feckin’ long way!

Firstly let’s consider the first line of the website “Britain’s longest toughest non-stop running race”. That was enough to catch my attention, and while the race reports made it sound great & tough, the dropout rate of 25% – 50% made it sound just plain tough. It is heavily over- subscribed, so entry is mainly by ballot. I’d been entering ‘not seriously’ for a couple of years, but I actually remarked to my wife that I had a feeling this year that I would get in…And in November I found out I had. Cue real excitement, real trepidation, real emotion (‘what have I done’) and that lovely feeling in the pit of my stomach of ‘I’m not sure whether I can do that’. Bring on lots of race reports of previous years, some quite positive, some just awful to read. Bring on a few YouTube videos, but to be honest they didn’t allow you inside people’s heads which is what I was looking for, but rather just showed you what the weather and scenery was like.

Not my feet!! But they look bloody painful!

Bring on pictures of feet that took your breath away, and stories of hospital visits and lingering medical conditions brought on by the race that lasted for months afterwards.
So that brought us to Boxing Day. I work in retail, which means November and December are pretty much a write-off in terms of free-time, so Boxing Day is the day I do my first 6m run at the start of my new year of training. All through Jan and February, I had one simple idea: to run longer than usual. My typical run had been 6 miles, perhaps pushing to 13 miles or 20 on a proper long run. Now my logic was to make my previous 6m run into a 10m run, and then make anything longer into a 20m run. I would fool my brain into thinking that whereas I used to skip out the door for 50 minutes to complete a 6 mile loop, now I would convince myself that I was doing exactly the same actions, but going for a little longer, to complete 10 miles instead.
The general accepted training regime for an ultra is to complete back-to-back 20 mile runs on consecutive days, to run on tired legs, but not to work them so hard they get injured. I did not have the luxury of having days off together, but thought that simply running for as far as I could in the time allowed (on days off, mornings, evenings etc) would get me there.
On a Sunday, I previously used to meet my running club (the mighty Thanet Roadrunners) at 8am for a 10 mile run, but now I decided I would get up a little earlier and complete 10 miles before meeting them, and so squeeze 20 miles into the same time. I’d still be home at 10am to spend the day with the family.

I would usually have a day off in the week (and working Saturday) so on that day I would see the kids off to school, and then go for a 20 mile run. Allowing me the afternoon to catch up on anything that needed doing. I was lucky enough to be able to meet with a great runner called Mark Foster (also from Thanet Roadrunners) on a few of these Tuesday runs, and drink in his advice along the way.

Just one of the many massive meals I was allowed after a good run!

So, two decent long runs in an average week, coupled with 10 mile runs whenever I have time in the evenings or morning. Never any run less than 10 mile, and every run with a rucksack I was planning on using on the day. It seemed like a plan. Not forgetting the massive amounts of food I’d be allowed to eat.

On a couple of occasions I had to adjust my normal schedule to fit in something else:
For example, I always try to complete a 10 mile race at the end of January, the Canterbury 10, as it is exactly the same period of time after Boxing Day each year and it allows me to test my progress since then. But I didn’t want to waste a Sunday morning with just a 10 mile run, as usually I was doing 20 miles or more. So this year I got to the start nice and early, ran the route twice, to get in my 20 miles, and then ran the race proper, so that I could still see what I had left in my legs. After 20 miles already done I was definitely slower (I finished 10 minutes off my PB), but it was surprisingly good fun, and I was surprised how much I had left in the tank that became apparent in race conditions. If I’d been slogging away on my own I suspect I’d have been slowly grinding down to a stop. In a race situation I was actually getting quicker.
On another weekend I decided I needed to see how I would cope with the lack of sleep of running overnight…would I lose all activity as I got colder and slower, or would I fall asleep on my feet? Or even worse, would I make it through the night, but not be able to function as I got tired the following day. So I finished work at 10pm on a Saturday night, got home and changed into my running stuff, and left the house at 11.45pm.

Just heading out for an overnight training run!

It was a beautiful night, and as I ran I could feel the excitement of doing something new and different going through my veins. I ran from my house through some dark woods (which I’ve run many times in daylight and were infinitely more scary in the dark) before running up through the centre of Canterbury nightlife at 2am. Then from Canterbury back towards home to make up my first 20 mile loop. Legs starting to get tired but actually feeling very awake and alert. Then I was running in the opposite direction towards Whitstable, and towards a 24 hour McDonalds, which did me a mug of boiling water to make up some Smash instant potato, and a cup of coffee. I don’t think I was feeling tired enough to need the coffee, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. With both coffee and Smash inside me, I could run to Tankerton and then follow the coast line all the way to Margate, ready for meeting my club for the usual Sunday morning 8am run, and my last 10 miles. I got there feeling good, and loved the cries of incredulity when I said I’d run all night, and would be joining them for the run that morning. That convinced me I would be able to cope with the night portion of the GUCR, although I didn’t know what effect having run all day would have on my legs.

Dawn breaking at Reculver, lovely!

I told some of the team at my work about my idea of running 145 miles, which was generally met with the standard response of “why?” and “you’re mad”. I started to get plans together for the race itself. I knew I would need some support runners, which are allowed to accompany a racer from mile 65 (usually the start of the night section) to help with navigation and to rescue runners fallen in the canal. I asked about in Thanet Roadrunners whether there were any people mad enough to want to accompany me along 70 miles of canal, in the dark and likely rain, with little encouragement or ‘crowd support’.

Strangely, I got a few replies, the best of which came from a husband and wife team (that’s good, I thought, not too much arguing) who were respectable marathon runners although had never done over that distance. I’d be asking them to cover 35 miles each, in stages, with time in-between stages to cool down and get stiff, and then start running again, as well as feeding me, keeping me positive, staying warm and dry and awake. Not an easy task by any means.
I had already lined up a mate, Steve, to drive the car. Steve used to run, but hasn’t for a number of years, and certainly has no experience of ultra events. His expertise lies in being entirely un-flappable, with a wealth of hidden talents, and I was confident that he could cope with anything the event could throw at him. For example, when he first agreed to take part, I spent an enjoyable evening with him going over amongst other things, the details of the race and how I thought the days would go. At some point I said that one of my biggest concerns was staying awake though the full length of time, as 45 hours was a long time to remain awake, not even considering driving or running at that stage. Steve said he didn’t think it would be that much of a problem, and nonchalantly walked to get a framed certificate hanging in an obscure part of his house, that shows he was the Guinness Book of World Records holder for the longest game of checkers, at 108 hours. He’d done it while a student, and the record has since been stopped as it is considered ‘unhealthy’, but it was good to know that someone in the car would be staying awake for the duration.

So, that was my support crew organised. Steve to drive the car along the 145 mile route from Birmingham to London, and John and Jo to run alternate legs with me from about mile 70 to the end.
By the end of March I was starting to consider the route itself, basically a long canal towpath, and the likelihood of getting lost on it. With the internet forums saying it was easy to navigate and very difficult to get lost, and with the organisers producing maps and instructions that looked deceptively simple, I knew the obvious thing was to trust everyone around me and not worry about it. Thus, on Easter Monday, I caught a train from London up to Birmingham New Street station, with just my rucksack (bursting with essentials and killer-heavy) and set off to follow the course over about 4 or 5 days, staying in B&Bs and really get to grips with the route.

Peaceful canal!

I could write even more about my experiences on this week. But I won’t. I fell in love with the canal, got hungry & thirsty, struggled to find B&Bs and almost had to sleep rough on the first night. I pushed much too hard and ended up completing about 40 miles each day, which meant my legs gradually got trashed. I grew to hate my rucksack and specifically its extra weight, and developed sores on my shoulders. But after 3 days I’d completed about 110 miles of the route, with another 10 miles of travel to and from the canal finding places to eat (pizza!) and sleep.

Canal food! Yumyumyum

The final weeks passed quickly, and packing seemed to take ages, as always.

Packing…can’t see the kitchen sink in there yet!

My wife had pre-arranged to fly out to Spain to see her parents on the Sunday morning of the race, taking my daughter, and she had shown me the dates and times of the receipts, so I knew they’d definitely been booked before I got into the race. I’d rather dangerously promised to take my son camping the week that my wife was in Spain, which meant the week following the GUCR, stiff and sore, I would be spending the week in the cold & rain on a campsite, rather than on the sofa watching telly. Ooops, but what could go wrong?

I was ready for adventure!

If you survived that monstrous reoprt – well done you! Now for the actual race report…hopefully it’s a bit more interesting (and talks alot more about food too!)

A video of my exploits at GUCR 2014….warning – not exciting!

Slightly shocked – I’ve finished!

Well, like most youtube videos, this doesn’t really have much to offer unless you know the people in it. Or it contains a singing cat. No cats here I’m afraid, but there is a magic pizza about half-way though.

Thanks to John from my support crew for taking the trouble to put it together.

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