Classic Quitter - my first DNF

This year's Classic Quarter - a race I'd completed twice before - was one I'd trained hard for. In fact the last six months I've trained harder and more consistently than ever before. I did speed work, hill reps, tempo runs. I ran every section of the course. I also, crucially, lost weight. This really seemed to have an effect on the kind of pace I could run and I was suddenly making huge gains.

So when race day came around the last thing I expected to do was DNF.

Worse still I wasn't expecting to quit so easily. I've never even considered quitting a race before but the end to this one came remarkably quick and is something I've been regretting ever since.

Ever since I rang my wife and said "I'm done" and she came to collect me from the side of the road in Penzance I've been in a right old grump. But the truth is I knew this was a possibility; I'd got myself so convinced that this year not only could I complete this run I could set a fast time that when things started to go wrong I didn't really have a plan B. In fact the night before I'd said to myself that I'd go out with my most optimistic goal in mind and if I blew up at least I could say I'd tried. Well that's exactly what happened.

The thing is though I didn't run out of energy or get injured, I got cramp. And boy did I get cramp. From mile 16 I was getting little warning shots in my calves. By half way I was adjusting my stride to relieve occasionally cramped calves and stepping up onto high rocks or steps was as likely as not to deliver a nice pain in my hamstrings.

When I hit the flat along Mounts Bay things really deteriorated until I was pretty much unable to run at all without cramping up severely. And that's how it ended; at mile 29, fed up and hamstrung - literally - not willing to walk the next 15 miles just to get a finishers medal I sat down in the sun and called home.

So many runners stopped and asked if they could help, offering salt and electrolytes (I'd been taking salt pills to no avail and had gratefully accepted some electrolyte several miles back from another runner). Some I knew, like Loyd, tried to encourage me to keep it going. Another friend Paul even offered to walk with me a while but I was having none of it; I was done.

Maybe this is just the price I have to pay for racing an ultra rather than just running it. Maybe aiming high means you have to be prepared to fail in spectacular fashion and maybe its just as well to drop rather than risk serious injury when the race isn't going your way.

But for me, next time I think about dropping I'll be looking back at this week and remembering how crappy I felt. Next time I'll crawl to the finish if I have to.

The Cotswold Century - Part 2

If you want to read about my preparations for the Cotswold Century its here.  For the details of the race itself, read on:

The Cotswold Century got underway at 12pm exactly. We filed out of the village of Chipping Campden in the Autumn sunshine and straight up a hill. I slowed to a walk pretty quickly, might as well get used to it. Before long we were heading out across open country and over ploughed fields at a nice easy pace.

We crossed a busy road and then dropped steeply down past Broadway Tower and soon we were in Broadway itself, having run 4 miles or so. Broadway is such a beautiful village, I grew up close to here and come through the village every time I go home to visit my parents who, as it happened, had turned out to wave me on and were eating sandwiches and clapping us on our way. A quick hello and off we went.

For the next few hours the running was good, undulating and varied, the sun was shining and I was moving well. Before long we'd covered 13 miles and arrived at the first checkpoint. A few peanuts and a top up of water and I was away, as I was carrying all the food I needed with me. The afternoon wore on and a few big climbs started to introduce a little fatigue. In fact, the truth be known I was not feeling as good as I'd hoped. Possibly the enormity of the undertaking was weighing down on me a bit. After a particularly gruelling climb I started to asses how I was feeling. 20 miles in and I was hurtung, how was I going to run another 80? I'd made the cardinal error of thinking about the whole thing instead of just concentrating on the next checkpoint. I had a word with myself and got on with it, and was soon feeling better.




As you do in these races I saw people pass me and then passed them later on. I was in a good rhythm and the field had thinned out; those before and after slowly became familiar faces. We nearly got ourselves lost at one point but a quick back track saw us back on course. We crossed over Cleeve common looking out over Cheltenham as the afternoon turned towards evening. Checkpoint 2 came all of a sudden and this was the first chance to access a drop bag, which for me just meant a restocking of my food supplies. I made the mistake of sitting down here and regretted it when I moved on as I'd quickly stiffened up. Still either the brief rest or the cola I'd drank gave me wings and the next section flew by in a rush of high energy.



By now the sun was low in the sky and the drop in temperature was very welcome as the evening took over. I was on my own again; stopping to sort out a stone in my shoe I looked up to see the moon rising big and bright behind me. Still skirting around Cheltenham the terrain below the Cotswold escarpment runs flat Northwards towards the Malverns and the sunset looking west was incredible.

As darkness took over I latched on to a couple of runners who clearly had GPS and tried my best to stay with them. There were some big climbs and a few stretches through woods where I was glad to be following someone who knew the way, although the pace was a bit spicy for me. I knew from my watch we were closing in on the third checkpoint so made a point of keeping up. When we arrived at checkpoint three I got myself a coffee and saw a jar of gherkins. This was another case of discovering food I'd never usually eat but as soon as I saw them I knew that's what I needed. Before I could finish my coffee the group I was with were off and not wanting to be left behind I downed my drink and got going. Four of us left together but we were soon split into two groups as me and a chap from Bristol hung back rather than be drawn into someone else' pace.


Some steep climbs followed and the next ten miles or so went by in a blur, I was tiring, I had a blister on my left toe and the beginnings of some chafing in an unpleasant location. Although it had dropped colder as the night moved on we were moving reasonably well and I didn't feel the need to wrap up. At about 10:30pm we got to Painswick Rugby club, the only indoor checkpoint and a chance to get some hot food, assess the situation and get a change of clothes from my second drop bag. I changed into a long sleeve and whipped off my socks to find a massive blister on my little toe. Stupidly I popped it and then made a bad job of taping it up. A couple of cups of coffee and some veg chili later and I was ready to go. I'd run in with the chap from Bristol and we agreed to leave together. After a mile or so though I was feeling rough. Not wanting to try and stay with him I hung back to sort out a second layer and let him go on. Alone again in the dark and feeling pretty tired I wandered on.

I got my phone out and fired up Back Country Pro and checked my location on the map. folding it up small I oriented the map and got my thumb on the right spot. Now, pay attention and hopefully we won't get lost. It was a good hour before I perked up and found the energy I seemed to have lost in the checkpoint. From then on the overnight section was actually quite good fun. One problem that did cause me concern was the sudden dimming of my head torch around about midnight. My Alpkit Manta torch usually goes all night. Cursing my stupidity for not checking the batteries I changed them, checking the new ones as I did and finding they too only had half charge! How could this be? It would be a terrible way to go out, stranded in the dark with no head torch. Luckily I had a second hand torch - far brighter than the head torch and brought along to help spot the signposts from a distance - but this only has a three hour burn time and I only had a single rechargeable battery for it. From midway through the night as the head torch again started to dim I switched to the hand torch and hoped for the best.


Pretty much everything blurred into one over night. I remember a cup of tea at a checkpoint seemingly in the middle of nowhere, running round a never ending golf course, getting lost on the edge of a maze field and ending up stung and bloodied when the "path" I was on ran out. The section I had run a few years back I actually remembered pretty well, from Kings Stanley to North Nibley I felt almost at home. This was the section where we had been warned about not taking the longer route along the canal. I met some poor runners who, having rightly stayed on the correct path, had turned left instead of right and doubled back on themselves where the two paths rejoined.

When I arrived at the checkpoint at Wooton Under Edge it was just before sunrise. Commenting with another runner about how we were craving fresh fruit we were both humbled and forever grateful when one of the marshals produced and selflessly handed over his own supply of fresh pineapple. Just one of many acts of kindness throughout that made our journey that little bit more bearable.

As the sun came up I waited for a boost in my energy levels but none came. What did arrive were more hills. By now my feet were really achy, my toe a world of pain, the chafing a constant nagging irritation. Since about 60 miles my quads were really complaining on the downhills. Throughout it all though I was still motivated, still somehow moving forwards. Occasional bursts of energy came and went and I surprised myself on more than one occasion with a good block of running. I found I could move downhill more efficiently by changing my gait and rolling my feet from heel to toe, legs fairly straight I felt more like one of those Olympic walkers waddling along but it helped and raised my pace considerably.

Its all a bit of a blur from here. At about 80 miles we passed an  impressive tower, the map reliably informing me we were approaching the village of Horton and another checkpoint, I remember lovely homemade quiche, helpful marshalls buzzing around us and politely suggesting we'd sat down for long enough. This was our last drop bag location and I was in surplus so donated what I didn't need and made my way onwards.

Somewhere in the next leg, while moving well and pulling away from the group behind me, my right knee suddenly started to hurt on the inside of the kneecap. After several aborted attempts I realised I woudn't be running downhill anymore. The day wore on. By now it was warm again, lovely in fact, but I just wanted it done. The knee pain graduated from the downhills to any kind of running and I was consigned to walking. With more than 10  miles still to go I hobbled into the checkpoint at Cold Ashton. the marshalls here, as everywhere were extremely welcoming. I dined out on biscuits and gherkins, drank coke and agreed with the other runners that despite the assertions of the marshals that we were looking good, we certainly didn't feel it!

Leaving Cold Ashton the medics noticed I was limping and offered to bandage my leg. I agreed gratefully but a quarter of a mile later things seemed to be worse. Reasoning, rightly or wrongly, that the bandage was not helping I removed it and carried on. Shortly after this was the mother of all downhills, steep tarmac for a good half mile. It was here that things took a turn for the worse, my knee now becoming painful even walking downhill. For the first time I considered the possibility of dropping - and immediately discounted that as an option. I'd come too far and hurt too much to stop now. Over the next few miles time stretched out to the infinite and on I walked. I'd managed to find a way of hobbling downhill that limited the pain in my knee but must have looked bloody ridiculous.

Luckily there was a long section up on a kind of plateau - and another golf course - which went quite well, but the final miles towards Bath were very hard work, being all downhill. I'd also got it into my mind for a couple of hours that I had an hour less than I actually did so was seriously concerned I woudn't get in within the cut offs. When I realised my mistake I relaxed considerably and my mood lifted.

My Garmin was already reading well over 100 miles as we neared Weston and finally, arriving at the final check point I felt like the end was in sight. I also felt like I had nothing left. I sat on the steps by the side of the road while a marhsal filled my water bottles and considered what was left. Two miles or thereabouts. But what a couple of miles! Two huge hills followed, the railings on the walkway the only blessing, allowing me to drag myself up. Still it was the downhills that hurt the most. Coming down into a park near the center of Bath I actually turned around and walked backwards for a bit which was blessed relief but not too practical. My biggest worry now was getting lost, though with the map and an occasional pink arrow - this was the only signed section of the course - I made my way into the town center. Even knackered as I was I couldn't fail to appreciate the beauty of the architecture here. Then all of a sudden I was in amongst the throngs of shoppers and touists. Now Bath has a few buildings that look like they might be a Cathedral and, after nearly ending up at the doors of the wrong one, I asked for directions from a big issue seller. Lo and behold, minutes later I was crossing the square. Running in front of a busker who sang me in to the finish line with Bobby McFerrin's "Don't worry be happy" was a bit surreal. Somehow I managed some semblance of a run and then it was over. Kurt shook my hand and presented me with my medal and I said some rude words to him and that was it. I'd done it.

Finishing a 100 mile race in the center of Bath without any friends or family present made the next few hours a bit of a challenge to be honest. The YMCA was the next destination where showers and drop bags awaited; five minutes up the road to any normal human being but a world away to me. On arrival I was confronted with a steep set of steps. At the top the man in reception apologetically told me my kit was in another building at the bottom of said stairs. Bummer. I returned sometime later with my kit and a belly full of soup from another pair of amazing volunteers. Of course the showers were on the first floor! Removing my socks I found that all the skin had parted company with my little toe - well almost. Comical scenes ensued as I tried to reach my feet in the confines of the shower cubicle so I could finish the job and clean up the mess. Eventually, all washed and clean I left with instructions on how to get some food and a bus to the YHA. The 15 inch pizza I ordered was the finest meal I'd ever eaten, though people walking past were clearly perplexed by the homeless man in an expensive gortex jacket who looked as if he'd not eaten in a week. Finally giving up on the bus that never came I called a taxi. As it happened I wasn't the only one staying in the youth hostel and we made a pretty pair hobbling around the halls that evening.

It was good to finally get home on the train the following day though, especially as my youngest daughter had prepared a welcome home banner and Hannah had a bottle of fizz chilling in the fridge.


Two weeks later and the scars have healed. Of course now I only remember the good bits and am already thinking about how much room for improvement there is next time.

The Cotswold Century - part 1

On the weekend of the 26th September I completed the Cotswold Century, my first 100 mile event. This, even for me, has turned into a bit of a massive post so I've split it into 2. First my preparations for the event and then the race itself, so if you just want to skip to the good bit its here. Otherwise read on:

After running Lakeland 50 and with planning permission granted for our house (re)build next year effectively cutting out any chance of long distance racing in 2016 I was keen for a last big race. Looking through the list of events that took my fancy in Autumn I came up with a list , containing several more Lake district races, the VOTWO Atlantic Coastal Challenge and the Cotswold Century. Hannah wasn't keen on my travelling to the Lakes again and the associated costs so we narrowed it down quickly to the ACC or the Cotswold century. The former is a 3 day 3 marathon affair on the North Cornwall coast path. I've never run a multi stage event so that would be a challenge in its own right; the latter a 100 mile race along the Cotswold Way. The Cotswold Way had piqued my interest when I was lucky to run a section of it a few years back and has been on my wish list ever since.

Hannah asked which I'd prefer to do and, without hesitation I said the Cotswold Century. Not wanting a change of heart from either of us to scupper my plans I signed up for the race, boooked the youth hostel and the train tickets all before bed that night. Now I was committed.

I had 9 weeks from completing Lakeland 50 to race day at the Cotswold Century. Here's how that broke down in training:

Week 1 : no running
Week 2 : 21 miles - no running for the first 4 days then 3 runs over the weekend
Week 3 : 32 miles - build up week, no hard workouts and a long run of 16 miles
week 4 : 50 miles including 20 mile long run
Week 5 : 54 miles with a (not quite) 20 mile long run
Week 6 : 56 miles and a 29 mile long run
Week 7 : 35 miles - starting to taper - 16 mile long run
Week 8 : 20 miles - tapering right off; no long run
Week 9 : Race week, no running in the 5 days prior to the race

This was as good a lead up as could be expected for me. I needed a goood rest after Lakeland and reverse tapered back up to peak mileage. In the three peak weeks I ran a hard workout each Tuesday - hill sprints or speed work. On the Thursdays I ran to and from work as well as my normal lunchtime run - this would make a 20+ mile day and, combined with running home with my laptop in my rucksack, gave me some good mental preparation for running on tired legs. My weekend long runs as usual were done at a very slow pace carrying all manadatory kit and fuelling as per race day.

The Coswold Century is a self navigation event following the Cotswold Way National Trail. Previous competitors have reported that route finding can be difficult in places; there are no additional course markings bar the existing National trail signs and with 12 hours of darkness to contend with this was a real concern. I'd got myself a copy of the Harvey map that accompanies the trail. With it being such a long course I'd have needed numerous OS maps whereas the Harvey map covers the entire trail all condensed onto one double sided map. Of course the downside to this is that the map, at 1:40,000 would not offer too much detail such as field boundaries, etc. So at the last minute I downloaded an app for my phone called back country pro (Android, £8.99). This allowed me to download all the relevant OS maps I needed and I was also able to overlay the route gpx. Although it wouldn't allow me to folllow a track with appropriate warnings it would at least serve as a backup to verify my location on the map if needed.

The usual tapering unpleasantness of achy legs and lethargy accompanied the build up to race day, plus I was panicking about travelling to and from the event since I would be alone and at the mercy of public transport. While travelling by train isn't my normal form of transport I arrived at Bath YHA  in good time and well rested.

Bedding down in the YHA I noticed another bloke in my dorm was sporting a Plague t shirt and introduced myself. It was Paul Reeve, from Portreath, just up the road from home! Turned out he and Sharon Sullivan were up from Cornwall and staying there. We've never really met before but all recognised each other from around about the various events we've been at. We met at breakfast and they kindly gave me a lift up to the park and ride where we would catch the bus to the start line at Chipping Campden. There's nothing like an hour in a bus to press home exactly how long you will be running! Chatting on the bus to those around me took my mind off the impending race but soon we were there and piling through regsitration at the school.

Kurt's briefing left is in illusions about the challenge that lay ahead. There was nothing left now but to run the race; 102 miles or there abouts of rolling British countryside awaited us. We were escorted into the center of the village and hung around nervously in the market place waiting for the off.

In part 2 I'll describe the race itself.....

Injury reframed

Following on from my previous post I thought I should give an update on my ongoing achilles injury. Last week I visited a new physio - Paul Coker at the Treatment Centre in Truro. What makes Paul different from previous physios is that he is also an ultra runner which has to be a good thing.

We spent a good bit of time going over my history and when we got to the part where I mentioned my climbing accident and subsequent smashed up Calcaneous on the other (left) leg, Paul seemed convinced that this was where the problem was.

So here's the theory, broken and deformed Calcaneous, lack of movement & flexibility in certain planes of motion, significantly less strength in the left leg overall (Paul measured my calfs and I was surprised how different they were); all adding up to a leg that was not pulling its weight. The right leg therefore has to do a lot more work and probably impacts the ground harder, especially as I tire on longer runs, eventually causing the injury to my achilles.

There followed some massage to my injured leg performed with a kind of metal knuckle duster and without doubt the most painful massage I have ever received! What was really positive though was that in fact I should not be resting but continuing to run, albeit at reduced intensity for now. I have had a feeling, and Paul confirmed this, that the weeks off had made things worse, not better.  I am to continue with the eccentric heel drops but adding weight to make them harder.

For my left leg I need to work on the part of the muscle that prevents me standing right up on tip toe, currently I can only get up about half way as far on my left leg as my right. This I had assumed was a mechanical limitation I was stuck with but Paul thinks I can improve it: I have to hold myself in position for as long as I can, using as much assistance as necessary to stop my heel from dropping. Eventually once I can do this I will extend the exercise to full calf lifts but I'm a way off that right now.  Paul also thinks I can get some of the range of motion back - I currently can't turn my foot in fully. He thinks rather than a bone on bone limitation post-op this is all down to tightened tendons running down the front of my leg so I have some instructions - including a foam roller and pushing my foot into position - to get this mobility back.

And as for running, its ok for it to hurt! Paul asked me to judge my efforts on how sore I am after rather than during my runs, and this is the best news I could have! Its funny how a little confidence boost like this can make so much difference. I was running previously and wincing at every twinge I felt in my achilles. This weekend I ran free of the fear that I was damaging my foot, happy that in fact I was doing it some good - and the next day: no pain. So next weekend my long run will be just that little bit longer!

Its going to be a while before I am fully fit but mentally I am in a much better place and I'm sure I'm on the right track. Watch this space.

Identity crisis

It took a long time for me to call myself a runner. I ran but I wasn't really a runner. It wasn't until I completed my first marathon that I started to think of myself that way. Not because of the distance, that was unimportant; but it took something as big as that for me to change the way I ran. Up until then I just ran. Two or three times a week, usually a bit longer at the weekend.

In training for the marathon though I needed to follow a plan. Except I didn't do plans, I was all about spontaneity, right? Well, wrong as it happens. In fact I enjoyed following a plan, it took the uncertainty out of things. If the plan said intervals, I ran intervals, if it said hills I ran hills. Easy. And so the training became automatic and I began, slowly, to evolve; over time the act of doing transformed into a state of being; I became a runner.

So what does a runner do when they can no longer run? When the act which defines them can no longer be practised. These last few weeks, months even, I've been out of action with Achilles problems. As the weeks ran into months I started to doubt I could recover. I found this so frustrating, to have trained so hard and come to a new level of fitness only to be laid low, the strength draining from my legs with every day that passed. In my darkest moments I wondered whether I would look back in ten years time on these last two years as a blip, that brief moment in time when I was fit and could do amazing things.

Of course I will recover, I am already on the mend as it happens but it got me thinking, what happens when, as will be the case for us all, I can no longer run or climb, how will that feel; how will I cope with that? I need to work on my patience, that's for sure, or I'm going to have a sad few years stored up in the future. I have to learn to enjoy all the parts of my life equally, take a lay off due to injury as an opportunity to get things done - the little things that slip when everything revolves around training, to revel in a lie in or a lazy lunch break. Time, for now at least, will heal all ills and soon enough I'll be fighting fit and training hard.

The Marlborough Downs Challenge

This weekend I ran the Marlborough Downs Challenge. I'd made it clear I wanted to run it in under six hours, which would have been a significant improvement in pace for me. For anyone wanting to avoid the rest of this post and just find out how I did I managed 6 hours 40 minutes, had a bit of a nightmare, but pulled through. If you want to hear more then read on:

Simon & I had travelled up the night before and camped just outside Marlborough, reasoning that it was just a bit too far to get up there on the morning of the race. The forecast earlier in the week had shown heavy rain; thankfully by the weekend this had been downgraded to strong winds and heavy showers. Small mercies, eh?  Well it certainly rained on Friday night, kept me awake in fact, but soon enough it was morning and the sky was clearing as we ate breakfast and wandered across town. 

The race registration was in the leisure centre and the start was to be in the grounds of Marlborough college, a private school of some repute don't you know, situated just across the road. While hanging around at registration I was surprised by a tap on the shoulder from Martin, another short-listed runner from the Trail Team weekend up in the Lakes. Turns out this was his local patch. Thinking I could follow him round I asked what time he was aiming for - "about 4:15" - err ... okaay ... well good luck with that! Having picked up our numbers we headed over to the start line. 

Entering the grounds of the college, about to get started

Before long we were off. After a steep start and a good few bottle necks we were in the open with room to move as we headed over farmland in beautiful warm sunshine. Trying to keep a reasonable pace I nipped past a few people, feeling good and enjoying being on the go. Soon we passed the first checkpoint and entered a beautiful wood filled with Bluebells. Not long after that we got our first taste of just how muddy our day was likely to be. The muddy conditions combined with a good long hill slowed us all down; the heavy clay sucked at my ankles and soon drained the energy from my legs. 

A sunny start

Running through the bluebell woods

So it was good to break free of the mud and get up on the downs. The views were incredible but so was the wind which buffeted and generally caused a nuisance for the next few miles. Soon we joined the Wansdyke, a series of medieval defensive earthworks that run for many miles and make an indelible impression on the land. The ground was undulating but thankfully dry and firm underfoot. 

View from the downs

A sky indicative of things to come

On the Wansdyke Way

Eventually we dropped down through fields and farm tracks towards the canal that would take us into Devizes. It was about now that I realised things were not going quite to plan. I'd been exchanging places for a some miles with a few runners, including one woman who had completed the course six times and seemed to be aiming for a similar time to me. This was great as I could forget about navigation for a bit and just settle into a rhythm; unfortunately as we reached the canal I found I was struggling to hold onto the pace.  Reluctantly I dropped back. As the canal wore on I felt more and more tired; this was meant to be a nice easy section of unchallenging, flat terrain but my legs just felt weak, like jelly. I was prepared to feel crap sooner or later but I wasn't even half way round - this was a real worry. Of course the worse I felt the more negative thoughts appeared in my head and, by the time I left the canal, I felt awful.

The canal

At this point Simon came past. To be honest I was surprised he'd caught me up so quickly and this only added to the downer I was in. Simon hung about for a bit as I told him how I was feeling but it was obvious I wasn't going to keep up with him and soon he was off ahead. Not long after this was one of the biggest climbs of the race. Now normally I march up hills without too much trouble but I could barely walk up this one.  I just couldn't work out what was wrong. Getting to the top of the hill my calfs promptly cramped up and this led me to think about salt intake. I necked a tablet and waddled on. Shortly I was caught by another runner - Nigel it turned out, from Bolton - suffering similar trouble to me. We chatted and matched each other's pace and this helped me take my mind off the problems I was having. Before long I started to perk up a bit and, no longer trying to keep to a particular pace, I found myself enjoying the day again. 

Heading up Cherhill in worsening weather

The weather soon took a turn for the worse. Heavy rain came from nowhere; it looked set in, but the wind was strong enough that within minutes the shower had passed and the sun was breaking through again. This pattern of sun and showers reigned throughout the rest of the day, with the rain generally returning just after I decided to take my waterproof off! We were soon joined by a few more runners (approaching from the rear!) and between us managed some of the more difficult route finding decisions of the day, enduring more muddy trails before finding ourselves at the top of Cherhill overlooking the chalk white horse. 

Climbing up Cherhill. Nigel, from Bolton, on the left

The white horse as the rain returned

At this point I was feeling a little better and soon dragged myself to the front of our little group to take my turn to lead us on. After a couple of miles we hit the A4, the route following the road for a mile or so. Someone else took the lead and we were moving well but I quickly realised I was being dragged into someone else's race at a pace I couldn't sustain. I deliberately stepped aside and let those faster runners go on, lest I find myself in trouble again. At the rear of the group I met my mate from Bolton again and we soldiered on, soon arriving at Avebury.

Stones at Avebury

From here a long gradual hill led up to the Ridgeway and before long to the final checkpoint. The last three miles wound down through a race course and would have been easy going but for the preceding thirty. Still it was all in the bag and I was happy enough. At last the finish line came and we were rewarded with a lovely mug from a local pottery - better than a T shirt I reckon! We were also entitled to a hot meal a drink and a shower. Its a shame we had to run so far to make mundane things like a hot shower seem so good. Refreshed, and only smarting slightly at Simon beating me by half an hour we headed back to the camp site via a brief but enlightening tour of the pubs of Marlborough.

My prize!

On reflection this was a great day. Things had not gone as expected but the course was challenging and led us through some beautiful countryside. The navigation had been easy enough - better than expected in fact. I had spent some time in good company, shared stories and suffered together with people I met along the way. And I had been reminded of another lesson for running ultras; that you will feel bad but if you keep pushing on then sooner or later it will pass. 

Thanks to the organisers, the marshals and all those other souls who helped to make this a great day out. Maybe I'll see you next year for another shot at that sub 6 hour finish!

5 Lessons from the Trail Team weekend (and how to use them)

This weekend is my first race since I attended the Trail Team 2014 weekend in the Lake district. I've been thinking a lot about everything I learned there. I've also been getting very excited about running the Marlborough Downs Challenge this weekend. I want to try and push myself to set a half decent time, rather than just get around and will be taking some key lessons from the trail camp with me on Saturday. So in no particular order, here we go:

1. Navigation is a skill. If you need to navigate, ensure you can. Hearing Berghaus athlete Helene Whitaker talk about how she was crap at navigating so learnt the course in full before the Dragon's Back reminded me of something I'd read when I registered for the Marlborough Downs challenge. Oh yes, its a self navigation route, map and compass advisable to compliment the SEVEN PAGES of route notes. Oh dear. One hasty reminder on how to orient a map and take a bearing later, followed by an hour or so drawing the route onto the map and I'm ready to go. Hopefully I won't be posting on Runner's World how I got lost as many evidently have done on previous years (we'll see).

2. Manage negative thoughts. Steve Birkenshaw, also sponsored by Berghaus, gave us some good tips on how to get through those low points. Concentrating on the next check point, next mile, next hill, next step; counting to a hundred; talking to others were some of the options. It all sounds good, but the one that scares me the most is the one I aim to put into practice on Saturday: Shorten the pain. In the last few miles I'm going to try and run faster and cut short the suffering by getting home quicker. Big words, but its got to be worth a try.

3. Maximise nutrition. Torq energy gels are formulated to allow ingestion of 30% more carbs than taking glucose alone. I intend to make the most of this toward the end of the race. I can't stomach too many gels and will still be taking on flapjacks and other real food at the start of the race but I will slowly switch over to more gels at the end. If I can, the last two hours I'm going to try and get three gels an hour down my neck and have a couple of the Guarana ones ready for when I need a boost.

4. Stretch it out on the downhills. This was a bit of a personal epiphany really. A first time mountain runner and more used to the short sharp ups and downs of the coast path it was incredible to run downhill for up to two miles over technical terrain. I like downhill running and like to think I'm reasonably good at it (compared to my uphill "running"). But until this weekend I hadn't really got it. I found myself stretching my legs out for the first time and really flying downhill. I just seemed to get into a stride where I was moving efficiently and it felt great.

5. Thirty three miles is not that far (except, of course, it is). Spending the weekend in the company of some really very accomplished and talented runners left me motivated and brimming with confidence. Many people there had run fifty or a hundred miles many times (some further still). The confidence is still there but what I really want to take into this weekend is a reminder to myself that thirty three miles is, for me at least, still a very long way. Sure I know I can do the distance but I mustn't underestimate the challenge. Its not a doddle and it isn't in the bag, especially as I've set myself a goal to get round in a certain time.

And what time am I aiming for I hear you cry? Well if I had any sense I keep it a secret but where is the fun in that? I want to finish in under 6 hours. Not a winning time for by any means (last year's winner came in at 4:13!) but a step up, pace wise. If the navigation doesn't let me down I think I can do it.

So check back in a few days to see how it all went.