2013 Winter 100 ultra race report
I have had a score to settle with the 100 mile
distance since June last year when I was forced to pull out of the
Enduroman 100 at mile 84 with cellulitis in the leg. this year was to be
my revenge.
I will skip the usual preamble and sandbagging by simply saying that I have run quite a lot his year and not ridden my bike at all. I have had a definite training plan and stuck to it, and I have learned to if not quite love running, tolerate it better. I've done a couple of marathons, and a brace of ultras and I think I would probably now think of myself as a back of the pack runner, rather than a back of the pack triathlete. It's all a bit strange, but I'm getting used to it.
I travelled down to Streatley on the Friday before the race and had an enjoyable pub meal with Martin P and family before heading back to Streatley youth hostel were I was staying for the night. At £20 for a room to myself this was pretty good value and I managed to leave the next day undefiled by a 1950s scoutmaster which was a nice surprise.
Pre-race feet prep was done the night before:
With a fairly relaxed start time there was plenty of opportunity for a good breakfast with Martin, Ultrahippy and Veggieboy. I've been following a bit of a paleo diet for the past month or so but happily slipped off the paleo wagon with a very enjoyable fry up, complete with toast, in a posh cafe around the corner from race HQ. All very agreeable, and to be honest after that I felt more like a bit of a sleep and then moving on to a pub rather than running 100 miles. Still, might as well give it a go.
Pre race faffing was fairly minor, the briefing was brief, and at 10.00 prompt we were off.
A race briefing:
From the gun I settled into a fairly reasonable pace and chatted for most of the first leg with Veggieboy, our conversation touching on the practicalities of run commuting, the origins of the name Sorrel and how not using public transport justifies bespoke tailoring. The usual stuff.
The first outward leg was along the Thames Path towards Little Wittenham and - as for the rest of the race - the conditions were near perfect: cool, relatively still and dry. Underfoot there was barely any mud and as the field started to spread out everyone seemed to be bobbing along fine and enjoying themselves. I was snacking occasionally on little bags of mixed nuts, rice crackers and banana chips but still scarfed down whatever I fancied at the well stocked aid stations. The slabs of bread and butter pudding were particularly good, with a mass and density that appeared to challenge conventional physics.
I was aware that our pace was probably a bit quicker than the suggested pace for a 24 hour finish, ie to complete the first leg in 4hrs 50. There is a fine balance between getting some brisk miles in the bank and over cooking it early on, but in retrospect I was grateful for Veggie’s frequent look of reproach if I tried to dawdle through our brief walking-to-eat breaks, thus keeping the pace up nicely.
The out and back legs meant that you always knew where you were in the field (if that is important – I’m happy just to be in the field at all. Or in a field, for that matter) it also means that you get the chance to say hi to buddies and as we headed back towards Streatley we saw Ultrahippy, Internal cake Engine and then Martin P who was looking reasonably chirpy at this point. Navigation wasn’t a problem and having the route on the Garmin meant that I didn’t have to refer to the two maps that cost me £25 and a 90 minute detour to buy on the way down…
Towards the end of the leg Veggie indicated that he would be cracking on fairly sharpish from Streatley onto leg 2 so he headed off leaving me to bimble into the Morrell Rooms on my own with the first leg done in 4hrs 8 minutes. I topped up on snacks, filled up bottles and was out again in about 10 minutes or so. Fairly leisurely, but I figured I’d earned it.
Leg 2 was the first Ridgeway leg and it made a nice change from the relentless flat of leg 1. By now the field was fairly spread out and I was on my own for most of the time. The weather was still good, albeit starting to cool, and within a couple of hours dusk descended and I think I got a bit lost on a golf course. It’s all a bit vague to be honest: there was something involving a man with a stick and a ball near a wood anyway. Somewhere on the outward leg I also managed to miss the first check point at North Stoke which was tucked away in a row of houses. The best part of this spur was some rolling chalk single track which I really enjoyed, keeping the pace up and having a rather good time.
You talking to me?
By the turnaround at Swyncombe on Leg 2 (which was preceded by a brief but savage descent and ascent) it was fully dark and the there seemed to be quite a few runners sat in chairs in the aid station, Veggie amongst them who was now suffering with chest problems. I kept things as brief as I could and headed back on my own again, this time finding the North Stoke aid station without difficulty. Indeed, even in the dark I noticed the two huge flags which I should probably have seen in the light…
By now I had quite a good aid station routine going which consisted of filling bottles and grazing across whatever food was on the tables while waiting for one of the cheery aid station crew to make me a hot drink, either tea or soup. I would then fill another paper cup with goodies: a layer of sweet stuff (dessert) in the bottom and savoury (main course) in the top. I think I had a cheese course too at one stop. Once stocked up I would walk out of the aid station with a cup in each hand and then try and chug food from the cup while trying to avoid spilling tea or soup everywhere. Results remained mixed throughout the race.
Somewhere on the way back to Streatley I passed Veggie who was now suffering and ultimately called it a day at half way which was a shame: the company on the first leg was very welcome.
I ran into (yes, really) Streatley at 50 miles in 10.02 with a definite plan: poo, replace snacks, pick up extra batteries, change top layers, re-lube feet, change socks, be nice to the aid station crew and get outta Dodge. I combined some of these activities for maximum time efficiency, but I can’t remember which: hopefully there wasn’t some terrible social faux- pas which people have been too polite to mention.
Internal Cake Engine had been back for a good 30 minutes already but was resolutely not going back out which was a shame as he was obviously going well. It was this point that I also saw another runner, Alan, who was still in a vest and tee shirt: thankfully one of the crew made him see sense and wouldn’t let him out until he put another layer on…
I struck out on Leg 3 on my own but with another couple of runners in sight. This second Ridgeway leg starts with a couple of miles of rising road and then seems to continue with another 10 or so miles of rising Ridgeway. It certainly felt pretty much up all the way anyway. I fairly quickly fell in step with Nick from Macclesfield and we stomped upwards at a good marching pace, talking crap and falling into quite a comfortable run/walk routine whenever things flattened out a bit.
It was now getting on towards midnight and certainly getting cooler although still perfectly comfortable. I ran a quick systems check and things seemed to be within acceptable tolerances -
It was quite a surprising report really, and I wasn’t sure how to react. I carried on up the trail while I thought about it.
I can’t remember much about the aid stations at Bury Downs and the turnaround at Chain Hill aside from the basic good stuff that they had nice friendly people in them and things to eat. I was starting to become slightly suffused with gastronomic ennui at this point, but I managed to keep making myself eat something and threw the odd caffeinated gel down as well. I was remarkably restrained on the drugs too, just a few Pro Plus and a handful of Ibuprofen, but to be honest the latter were largely recreational.
Needless to say, the allegedly downhill-all-the-way return leg of spur 3 was nothing like as down as the outward leg had been up, but we headed back getting some decent run stretches in as and when. Somewhere past Bury Downs we bumped into Martin P who at this point did look and sound pretty grim. He was on his own, wrapped up, buffed up and trudging up the hill. But still moving against the odds.
Somewhere in the last few miles I dropped Nick, not deliberately, but I felt a bit bad all the same as we had definitely made good progress together on the outward leg. I was glad to see that he finished though.
Running back into Streatley under the street lights felt good, and my thoughts turned to a prospect had been scratching at the windows of my mind since about half way: the possibility of a sub 24 hour finish. I decided to open the window and let the little fella in for a chat.
Up until this point I had of course been perpetually calculating permutations of pace, time and distance in a kind of sprawling free-jazz of statistics. It’s something to do to pass the time, but usually any resultant projected finish time is purely notional because I have complete and utter faith in my own ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory or simply give up. I was now approaching very unfamiliar territory: the prospect of hitting a reasonable time and no real reason why I shouldn’t be able to do it. Damn.
But a final pit stop first. Coming into the Streatley CP the first thing I saw was Matt (MTriton) under a blanket who I assumed had dropped. I took a while to percolate the facts that he had actually finished. 25 miles ahead of me. Wow. What a fantastic effort. Still, no time for awe. Need to crack on, so I did the usual routine, jettisoned spent batteries and litter and shuffled out towards the Thames Path.
Again I’m struggling to recall the details but I know that the endless flat was all a bit tedious and I started to get genuinely stressed with the pace management thing. Luckily I fell in with the previously be-vested Alan so I had someone to talk to, or at, and we gradually chipped away at the miles with some comically short run/walk stretches involving a run legs of a whole 20 strides. Somewhere in this early stretch we crossed a bridge and bumped into a group of drunken teenagers, and for some reason I was quite up for a punch up. God knows why, that would be way out of character. Must be some kind of fight-or-flight-or-miss-your-24hourfinish reflex. Anyway they weren’t having any of it. And neither were the boys.
The first aid station at Whitchurch made me extremely cross for some reason, because it seemed to be unreasonably off the obvious route, and up a stupid cocking hill. On the plus side Glenn (Knightlancer) was inside and gave me the typically barbed heckling that passes for hearty encouragement.
The miles to Reading dragged on, and with a tragic inevitably what I had been fearing for some miles happened: technological apocalypse as my Garmin died, leaving just an iPhone with 28% battery life left as my only means of monitoring whether I was going fast enough. OK, we’ll deal with that problem in a minute. Maybe they’ll have a portable sundial at the aid station.
I got into the turnaround at Reading in 20hrs 34 leaving 3hrs 26 to do the last 12.5 miles. I was tired (Doh! Obviously) but it still felt possible if I could keep concentrating and not let my mind wander off. I did the usual re-stock and had a precautionary dump for good measure. As I descended the steps from the CP I marshalled what I had to do in my mind which was
Somewhere in the early couple of miles home I lost Alan. Again not deliberately, it just happened, but that then brokered another problem as I was now completely on my own with no pace reference and that was the one thing that I desperately needed. Apart from a taxi home,obviously.
It was time to deploy the emergency Strava app on the phone. I knew that this would absolutely shag the battery but it was a calculated risk. On top of this I knew that any decent pace could probably only be achieved with some decent tuneage. For some reason the iPod shuffle that I carried in my pack was dead, so this meant that I would have to now use the phone for music, further punishing the battery.
I fired up Strava and speculated on what the best run/walk ratio I could achieve would be. I figured that 1:2 would be safe (run 100 strides, walk 200) but that felt like suicide pace when I tried it. Hmm. Rethink. I tried 1:3 and that seemed to work. I got a benchmark time over a mile from Strava. Yep: 1:3 gives me a 15minute mile. 4 miles an hour, that should be enough because I’ve got 3 hours left and only….only….what left to go? No bloody idea. Dunno where I was when I started Strava up. I know, yep, that’s it: I’ve got some miles left to go, and some time left to do it. That’s close enough. Keep concentrating.
And so it went on. And so the battery level dropped and the abyss approached, soundtracked mainly by The Hold Steady. Nice.
Some other stuff happened: I can’t remember it all, but I think it was mostly just trudging along by a river at about 4 mph. I dunno, I wasn’t really concentrating. I may have passed Martin on his way out. Battery level dropped to 12%.
Eventually I got back to the final CP at Whitchurch to find Glenn still there, and full of encouragement. This was definitely A Good Thing because he basically took over and finished the race for me. It was my body moving along the trail, but he was definitely driving the brain part. Glenn scooped up some sandwiches and a piece of banana for me and headed out of the door with me: at this point I thought he was just going to see me to the end of the road but he kept chivvying me along, instructing me when to run and giving me what I thought were unfeasibly short walk breaks.
I kept thinking he would turn back (he was wearing jeans and trainers) but he kept going, prodding and haranguing me like an unexpectedly urbane drill sergeant. We got in some longish run stretches. I didn’t dare get my phone out to look at the time. I knew that he knew what was needed, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance, nor was he telling me anything. We passed a man with a dog. We scooped up another runner, Ian, who was heading for not only sub 24 but also the Grand Slam. We crossed a field. I kept concentrating. I wanted to stop.
I knew that there was a bridge in Streatley and once we hit that we would be yards from the finish. We turned a corner into another field and I saw a bridge in the distance. The bridge? Or a bridge? God knows. Glenn kept us moving despite my insistence on a 50m walk break.
And then we were there. A bridge? No: the bridge! Get in! up the steps, over the road, sprint around the corner and done. Bam.
23.39
40th Position
90 Starters
69 Finishers
In the minutes immediately after I finished I sat in the chair at the race HQ in front of my drop bag and just sort of gibbered quietly, not sure quite what to do. The body was now complaining and my brain was mush and all the stuff of finding my car, booking a hotel and getting changed seemed pretty unfathomable.
Somehow it all just about came together though, and although I was on my bed catatonic when he actually crossed the line, I was able to waddle over to meet Martin P at the finish who had I think the most gutsy performance of the day to finish in fine style even with a chest infection. Both of us had had this as our A race for the year, and had swopped notes for months. I’m so glad he made it.
Thanks to James and the Centurion team for a fantastic race, to all the aid station volunteers, to Dawn (Mrs.P) and Graham for popping up around the course with good cheer, to all the other competitors for the company and of course to Glenn for bringing me home.
And now I have all the required UTMB points
Post Race and Kit Notes
Amazingly, 3 days after the race my legs feel absolutely fine, although I haven’t tried a run yet. I had just one negligible blister on my super long lemur toe and slight tenderness to the balls of the feet, but nothing significant. After cripplingly bad blisters all over my feet at Ring of Fire in August (using the same shoe and sock combo) this is both a relief and a conundrum.
Everything went well in the kit department for this race and I think that helped me concentrate on the result. I wore my trail shoe of choice, the Salomon Speedcross 3 in the GTX (Goretex) version - although the dryness of the course meant that the Goretex wasn’t tested. These were paired with Drymax socks and I taped the balls of my feet using Kinesiotex tape on top of a layer of tincture of benzoin - I then greased them liberally with Vaseline. I changed into a fresh pair of socks and re-greased at 50 miles.
Other clothing included Race Ready shorts, Salomon three quarter length tights, calf guards and Gore Windstopper gloves. Oh, and bionic underpants. X Bionic that is.
On the top I wore a compression tee shirt (to inhabit rucsac chafing) coupled with a Planet X LS merino top which was fantastic. At 50 miles I swopped to a Craft base layer and thin Raidlight fleece and this combo was super toasty for the colder part of the race.
I wore my trusty Salomon S-Lab 12 pack but dispensed with the bladder this time using two Ultimate Direction bottles in the front pockets instead: this worked a treat. As usual I carried way too much stuff and was envious of the front runners who looked to be managing in flip flops, a thong and a bum bag.
Lighting was provided by a Petzl Nao and a Fenix TK11 hand torch, with a spare battery for each. I used the Petzl on the lower setting, and switched between that and the Fenix according to terrain and ambient light. I had ample lighting for 14 hours of darkness.
I will skip the usual preamble and sandbagging by simply saying that I have run quite a lot his year and not ridden my bike at all. I have had a definite training plan and stuck to it, and I have learned to if not quite love running, tolerate it better. I've done a couple of marathons, and a brace of ultras and I think I would probably now think of myself as a back of the pack runner, rather than a back of the pack triathlete. It's all a bit strange, but I'm getting used to it.
I travelled down to Streatley on the Friday before the race and had an enjoyable pub meal with Martin P and family before heading back to Streatley youth hostel were I was staying for the night. At £20 for a room to myself this was pretty good value and I managed to leave the next day undefiled by a 1950s scoutmaster which was a nice surprise.
Pre-race feet prep was done the night before:
With a fairly relaxed start time there was plenty of opportunity for a good breakfast with Martin, Ultrahippy and Veggieboy. I've been following a bit of a paleo diet for the past month or so but happily slipped off the paleo wagon with a very enjoyable fry up, complete with toast, in a posh cafe around the corner from race HQ. All very agreeable, and to be honest after that I felt more like a bit of a sleep and then moving on to a pub rather than running 100 miles. Still, might as well give it a go.
Pre race faffing was fairly minor, the briefing was brief, and at 10.00 prompt we were off.
A race briefing:
From the gun I settled into a fairly reasonable pace and chatted for most of the first leg with Veggieboy, our conversation touching on the practicalities of run commuting, the origins of the name Sorrel and how not using public transport justifies bespoke tailoring. The usual stuff.
The first outward leg was along the Thames Path towards Little Wittenham and - as for the rest of the race - the conditions were near perfect: cool, relatively still and dry. Underfoot there was barely any mud and as the field started to spread out everyone seemed to be bobbing along fine and enjoying themselves. I was snacking occasionally on little bags of mixed nuts, rice crackers and banana chips but still scarfed down whatever I fancied at the well stocked aid stations. The slabs of bread and butter pudding were particularly good, with a mass and density that appeared to challenge conventional physics.
I was aware that our pace was probably a bit quicker than the suggested pace for a 24 hour finish, ie to complete the first leg in 4hrs 50. There is a fine balance between getting some brisk miles in the bank and over cooking it early on, but in retrospect I was grateful for Veggie’s frequent look of reproach if I tried to dawdle through our brief walking-to-eat breaks, thus keeping the pace up nicely.
The out and back legs meant that you always knew where you were in the field (if that is important – I’m happy just to be in the field at all. Or in a field, for that matter) it also means that you get the chance to say hi to buddies and as we headed back towards Streatley we saw Ultrahippy, Internal cake Engine and then Martin P who was looking reasonably chirpy at this point. Navigation wasn’t a problem and having the route on the Garmin meant that I didn’t have to refer to the two maps that cost me £25 and a 90 minute detour to buy on the way down…
Towards the end of the leg Veggie indicated that he would be cracking on fairly sharpish from Streatley onto leg 2 so he headed off leaving me to bimble into the Morrell Rooms on my own with the first leg done in 4hrs 8 minutes. I topped up on snacks, filled up bottles and was out again in about 10 minutes or so. Fairly leisurely, but I figured I’d earned it.
Leg 2 was the first Ridgeway leg and it made a nice change from the relentless flat of leg 1. By now the field was fairly spread out and I was on my own for most of the time. The weather was still good, albeit starting to cool, and within a couple of hours dusk descended and I think I got a bit lost on a golf course. It’s all a bit vague to be honest: there was something involving a man with a stick and a ball near a wood anyway. Somewhere on the outward leg I also managed to miss the first check point at North Stoke which was tucked away in a row of houses. The best part of this spur was some rolling chalk single track which I really enjoyed, keeping the pace up and having a rather good time.
You talking to me?
By the turnaround at Swyncombe on Leg 2 (which was preceded by a brief but savage descent and ascent) it was fully dark and the there seemed to be quite a few runners sat in chairs in the aid station, Veggie amongst them who was now suffering with chest problems. I kept things as brief as I could and headed back on my own again, this time finding the North Stoke aid station without difficulty. Indeed, even in the dark I noticed the two huge flags which I should probably have seen in the light…
By now I had quite a good aid station routine going which consisted of filling bottles and grazing across whatever food was on the tables while waiting for one of the cheery aid station crew to make me a hot drink, either tea or soup. I would then fill another paper cup with goodies: a layer of sweet stuff (dessert) in the bottom and savoury (main course) in the top. I think I had a cheese course too at one stop. Once stocked up I would walk out of the aid station with a cup in each hand and then try and chug food from the cup while trying to avoid spilling tea or soup everywhere. Results remained mixed throughout the race.
Somewhere on the way back to Streatley I passed Veggie who was now suffering and ultimately called it a day at half way which was a shame: the company on the first leg was very welcome.
I ran into (yes, really) Streatley at 50 miles in 10.02 with a definite plan: poo, replace snacks, pick up extra batteries, change top layers, re-lube feet, change socks, be nice to the aid station crew and get outta Dodge. I combined some of these activities for maximum time efficiency, but I can’t remember which: hopefully there wasn’t some terrible social faux- pas which people have been too polite to mention.
Internal Cake Engine had been back for a good 30 minutes already but was resolutely not going back out which was a shame as he was obviously going well. It was this point that I also saw another runner, Alan, who was still in a vest and tee shirt: thankfully one of the crew made him see sense and wouldn’t let him out until he put another layer on…
I struck out on Leg 3 on my own but with another couple of runners in sight. This second Ridgeway leg starts with a couple of miles of rising road and then seems to continue with another 10 or so miles of rising Ridgeway. It certainly felt pretty much up all the way anyway. I fairly quickly fell in step with Nick from Macclesfield and we stomped upwards at a good marching pace, talking crap and falling into quite a comfortable run/walk routine whenever things flattened out a bit.
It was now getting on towards midnight and certainly getting cooler although still perfectly comfortable. I ran a quick systems check and things seemed to be within acceptable tolerances -
- Feet: possible second toe blister and vague hotspots
Legs: tickety-boo
Arse-cleft: no need for Sudocrem yet
Guts: a bit gripey but manageable with some ginger chews
General Humour: positive
Reasons to quit: none
It was quite a surprising report really, and I wasn’t sure how to react. I carried on up the trail while I thought about it.
I can’t remember much about the aid stations at Bury Downs and the turnaround at Chain Hill aside from the basic good stuff that they had nice friendly people in them and things to eat. I was starting to become slightly suffused with gastronomic ennui at this point, but I managed to keep making myself eat something and threw the odd caffeinated gel down as well. I was remarkably restrained on the drugs too, just a few Pro Plus and a handful of Ibuprofen, but to be honest the latter were largely recreational.
Needless to say, the allegedly downhill-all-the-way return leg of spur 3 was nothing like as down as the outward leg had been up, but we headed back getting some decent run stretches in as and when. Somewhere past Bury Downs we bumped into Martin P who at this point did look and sound pretty grim. He was on his own, wrapped up, buffed up and trudging up the hill. But still moving against the odds.
Somewhere in the last few miles I dropped Nick, not deliberately, but I felt a bit bad all the same as we had definitely made good progress together on the outward leg. I was glad to see that he finished though.
Running back into Streatley under the street lights felt good, and my thoughts turned to a prospect had been scratching at the windows of my mind since about half way: the possibility of a sub 24 hour finish. I decided to open the window and let the little fella in for a chat.
Up until this point I had of course been perpetually calculating permutations of pace, time and distance in a kind of sprawling free-jazz of statistics. It’s something to do to pass the time, but usually any resultant projected finish time is purely notional because I have complete and utter faith in my own ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory or simply give up. I was now approaching very unfamiliar territory: the prospect of hitting a reasonable time and no real reason why I shouldn’t be able to do it. Damn.
But a final pit stop first. Coming into the Streatley CP the first thing I saw was Matt (MTriton) under a blanket who I assumed had dropped. I took a while to percolate the facts that he had actually finished. 25 miles ahead of me. Wow. What a fantastic effort. Still, no time for awe. Need to crack on, so I did the usual routine, jettisoned spent batteries and litter and shuffled out towards the Thames Path.
Again I’m struggling to recall the details but I know that the endless flat was all a bit tedious and I started to get genuinely stressed with the pace management thing. Luckily I fell in with the previously be-vested Alan so I had someone to talk to, or at, and we gradually chipped away at the miles with some comically short run/walk stretches involving a run legs of a whole 20 strides. Somewhere in this early stretch we crossed a bridge and bumped into a group of drunken teenagers, and for some reason I was quite up for a punch up. God knows why, that would be way out of character. Must be some kind of fight-or-flight-or-miss-your-24hourfinish reflex. Anyway they weren’t having any of it. And neither were the boys.
The first aid station at Whitchurch made me extremely cross for some reason, because it seemed to be unreasonably off the obvious route, and up a stupid cocking hill. On the plus side Glenn (Knightlancer) was inside and gave me the typically barbed heckling that passes for hearty encouragement.
The miles to Reading dragged on, and with a tragic inevitably what I had been fearing for some miles happened: technological apocalypse as my Garmin died, leaving just an iPhone with 28% battery life left as my only means of monitoring whether I was going fast enough. OK, we’ll deal with that problem in a minute. Maybe they’ll have a portable sundial at the aid station.
I got into the turnaround at Reading in 20hrs 34 leaving 3hrs 26 to do the last 12.5 miles. I was tired (Doh! Obviously) but it still felt possible if I could keep concentrating and not let my mind wander off. I did the usual re-stock and had a precautionary dump for good measure. As I descended the steps from the CP I marshalled what I had to do in my mind which was
- Keep concentrating
Speed up: I wasn’t moving fast enough with Alan to be comfortable
Find some way of benchmarking my pace
Ruthlessly stick to the required pace Keep concentrating. Did I say that, I can’t remember?
Somewhere in the early couple of miles home I lost Alan. Again not deliberately, it just happened, but that then brokered another problem as I was now completely on my own with no pace reference and that was the one thing that I desperately needed. Apart from a taxi home,obviously.
It was time to deploy the emergency Strava app on the phone. I knew that this would absolutely shag the battery but it was a calculated risk. On top of this I knew that any decent pace could probably only be achieved with some decent tuneage. For some reason the iPod shuffle that I carried in my pack was dead, so this meant that I would have to now use the phone for music, further punishing the battery.
I fired up Strava and speculated on what the best run/walk ratio I could achieve would be. I figured that 1:2 would be safe (run 100 strides, walk 200) but that felt like suicide pace when I tried it. Hmm. Rethink. I tried 1:3 and that seemed to work. I got a benchmark time over a mile from Strava. Yep: 1:3 gives me a 15minute mile. 4 miles an hour, that should be enough because I’ve got 3 hours left and only….only….what left to go? No bloody idea. Dunno where I was when I started Strava up. I know, yep, that’s it: I’ve got some miles left to go, and some time left to do it. That’s close enough. Keep concentrating.
And so it went on. And so the battery level dropped and the abyss approached, soundtracked mainly by The Hold Steady. Nice.
Some other stuff happened: I can’t remember it all, but I think it was mostly just trudging along by a river at about 4 mph. I dunno, I wasn’t really concentrating. I may have passed Martin on his way out. Battery level dropped to 12%.
Eventually I got back to the final CP at Whitchurch to find Glenn still there, and full of encouragement. This was definitely A Good Thing because he basically took over and finished the race for me. It was my body moving along the trail, but he was definitely driving the brain part. Glenn scooped up some sandwiches and a piece of banana for me and headed out of the door with me: at this point I thought he was just going to see me to the end of the road but he kept chivvying me along, instructing me when to run and giving me what I thought were unfeasibly short walk breaks.
I kept thinking he would turn back (he was wearing jeans and trainers) but he kept going, prodding and haranguing me like an unexpectedly urbane drill sergeant. We got in some longish run stretches. I didn’t dare get my phone out to look at the time. I knew that he knew what was needed, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance, nor was he telling me anything. We passed a man with a dog. We scooped up another runner, Ian, who was heading for not only sub 24 but also the Grand Slam. We crossed a field. I kept concentrating. I wanted to stop.
I knew that there was a bridge in Streatley and once we hit that we would be yards from the finish. We turned a corner into another field and I saw a bridge in the distance. The bridge? Or a bridge? God knows. Glenn kept us moving despite my insistence on a 50m walk break.
And then we were there. A bridge? No: the bridge! Get in! up the steps, over the road, sprint around the corner and done. Bam.
23.39
40th Position
90 Starters
69 Finishers
In the minutes immediately after I finished I sat in the chair at the race HQ in front of my drop bag and just sort of gibbered quietly, not sure quite what to do. The body was now complaining and my brain was mush and all the stuff of finding my car, booking a hotel and getting changed seemed pretty unfathomable.
Somehow it all just about came together though, and although I was on my bed catatonic when he actually crossed the line, I was able to waddle over to meet Martin P at the finish who had I think the most gutsy performance of the day to finish in fine style even with a chest infection. Both of us had had this as our A race for the year, and had swopped notes for months. I’m so glad he made it.
Thanks to James and the Centurion team for a fantastic race, to all the aid station volunteers, to Dawn (Mrs.P) and Graham for popping up around the course with good cheer, to all the other competitors for the company and of course to Glenn for bringing me home.
And now I have all the required UTMB points
Post Race and Kit Notes
Amazingly, 3 days after the race my legs feel absolutely fine, although I haven’t tried a run yet. I had just one negligible blister on my super long lemur toe and slight tenderness to the balls of the feet, but nothing significant. After cripplingly bad blisters all over my feet at Ring of Fire in August (using the same shoe and sock combo) this is both a relief and a conundrum.
Everything went well in the kit department for this race and I think that helped me concentrate on the result. I wore my trail shoe of choice, the Salomon Speedcross 3 in the GTX (Goretex) version - although the dryness of the course meant that the Goretex wasn’t tested. These were paired with Drymax socks and I taped the balls of my feet using Kinesiotex tape on top of a layer of tincture of benzoin - I then greased them liberally with Vaseline. I changed into a fresh pair of socks and re-greased at 50 miles.
Other clothing included Race Ready shorts, Salomon three quarter length tights, calf guards and Gore Windstopper gloves. Oh, and bionic underpants. X Bionic that is.
On the top I wore a compression tee shirt (to inhabit rucsac chafing) coupled with a Planet X LS merino top which was fantastic. At 50 miles I swopped to a Craft base layer and thin Raidlight fleece and this combo was super toasty for the colder part of the race.
I wore my trusty Salomon S-Lab 12 pack but dispensed with the bladder this time using two Ultimate Direction bottles in the front pockets instead: this worked a treat. As usual I carried way too much stuff and was envious of the front runners who looked to be managing in flip flops, a thong and a bum bag.
Lighting was provided by a Petzl Nao and a Fenix TK11 hand torch, with a spare battery for each. I used the Petzl on the lower setting, and switched between that and the Fenix according to terrain and ambient light. I had ample lighting for 14 hours of darkness.
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