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🐉”But don’t play with me, ’cause you’re playing with fire.” – Dragon’s Back Race 2025 by Dave Mackie

The Dragon’s Back Race: Six days, 380km, 17,400m of ascent. A rugged North-South traverse of Wales from Conwy to Cardiff.

Day 1 – Enter the Dragon

Stat’s (distance  | ascent) from start to: 

  • Support point (Ogwen Valley) – 29km | 1800m
  • Water point (Pen-y-Pass) – 37km | 2800m
  • Finish (Nant Gwynant) – 50km | 4100m

Conwy Castle 5:30am. Darkness, damp air, apprehension, and excitement swirl around the 2025 Dragon’s Back adventurers gathered within the castle’s ancient keep. The clock creeps toward six. Above, shouts of encouragement drift down from supporting sentinels on the battlements. With a burst of dragon-red flame and curling smoke, the runners are released into Conwy’s rain-slicked streets; ahead an adventure along the wild spine of Cymru to its capital and another castle.

Narrow paths lead toward the first of many summits: Conwy’s mountain, cradled between the sea to the north and Eryri’s mighty mass to the south. To the east, a red sunrise bleeds across the sky—heralding the morning, and offering its ancient warning to the silhouetted flock of runners…

Over the Carneddau, time already chasing at their heels, the runners, me included, stream through streams—wind and rain rising sharply with elevation, vision and views limited by hood and cloud. Foel Grach’s shelter offers respite for some, while others press on into the maelstrom. I break from the flock, traversing below my namesake summit, Dafydd—seeking advantage, but gaining none, save a brief reprieve from the elements. On, on over Pen yr Ole Wen, its steep, rocky, streaming flank testing patience and quads in descent. Streams boil in spate, demanding respect and care to cross; Ourea’s hill team show the safest way and I’m grateful. At last, Ogwen Valley bottom: a moment of relief and respite; roadside supporters, including Sue and Willow, and the support point offer succour for the climb ahead.

Well-made steps aid the ascent to Tryfan’s rocky ramparts, and spirits lift as the cloud begins to break. Poles away—hands on rock for the final scramble to the summit’s guardian stones, Adam and Eve. Pause. Take in the view. Enjoy the moment. Then: care in descent, focus sharpening to weave the best line through a tangle of boulders—unlocking the route to easier ground. Tiptoe up a loose gully, Bristly Ridge brooding & belligerent above. Over the Glyderau’s heavy rock architecture, with views sweeping down to Bethesda’s sunlit valley and Anglesey—a classical pastoral counterpoint. Nail a clean line down from Glyder Fawr to Pen-y-Pass, where Sue, Willow, and water point await.     

No Crib Goch today: too windy, too wet—not safe, and a sensible decision by the event team to re-route. Up the Pyg Track then: easy, sheltered, but seemingly endless as it winds toward Cymru’s highest point. Recollecting my sun-blessed recce of the hidden and forbidden rocky, knife edge ridge above creates a fleeting, fictitious feeling of dry warmth. Wind and cloud return at Bwlch Glas, hastening progress to the summit of Yr Wyddfa. No crowds, no views today—just a quick tap of the trig, a glance at the inviting café, and on to Lliwedd. Lose height quickly; regain it slowly.

The day is almost done, but there’s work still: focus, movement, and concentration over unfamiliar but runnable ground to the final checkpoint, Gallt y Wenallt—a fine, lofty perch above the night’s welcoming camp, 500 metres below. One final challenge: steep, slippy grass requiring balance, grip, and close attention. But safely down & done before darkness, with no faff—the day’s goal achieved.

Ease into camp on an easy track, with Sue and Willow distracting from weariness and the quiet worry of Day 2. Camplife: eat; download and digest Dragon Mail’s virtual energy; sort kit ready to go again at 6am; too little sleep before the tent reluctantly rustles into life just after 4.

Day 2 – Dancing with the Dragon

Stat’s (distance | ascent) from start to: 

  • Water point (Maentwrog) – 19km | 1200m
  • Support point (Cwm Bychan) – 37km | 2600m
  • Finish (Dolgellau) 60km | 3200m

Everything done for a purpose, no distraction—just the simple focus on relentless forward progress to Cardiff. In the dark: pack the transit bag for reunion at day’s end; tea; breakfast; kit check. Two hours gone in a blur of headtorch light. 6 a.m.—time to go again, tea and waffle in hand: second breakfast.

An easy roll-out—flat tarmac for a few kilometres, legs loosening, spirits lifted by morning greetings from Sue and urgent barks from Willow. The sky begins to open—weather’s better, dawn breaking, body willing. But comfort is short-lived. Soon enough, it’s poles out as we all lean into the first of the day’s many steep ascents.

Ahead, cloud-wrapped Cnicht: a dark knight in morning. No words now—just breath and effort. The real work has begun.

I fall in step with Caz the Hat—a Dragon’s Back legend and one of the loveliest people you could hope to meet—and his equally wonderful daughter, Carolyn. They’re aiming to become the first father-daughter team to complete the journey from Conwy to Cardiff. But they carry more than just ambition. They carry the memory of a friend who longed to make the same pilgrimage… but never got the chance. It’s a quiet reminder: we are lucky—privileged—to be moving freely through this landscape, when so many elsewhere—in Palestine, Ukraine, Sudan, Pas-de-Calais—face unimaginable hardship, fear, and constraint.

Caz expertly traces a clean line off Cnicht and across to Moelwyn Mawr. The going is hard but satisfying—easier than on the recce. Second summit done, we begin the long, rough descent through a landscape scarred by human hand: hydroelectric schemes, slate mines, railway tracks. But there’s nature too—twisted oak woods, tumbling waterfalls, the white flash of a dipper’s breast, and the mew of buzzards overhead. All is good. We spread out on the easier ground and I lose touch with Caz and Carolyn. Run your own race at your own pace Dave.

A brief dwell at the welcome water point—refuel, chat, reset. But no shilly-shallying—there’s a job to do. The weather holds, spirits lift as Sue and Willow appear again with welcome cheer, and a stretch of runnable miles leads across the valley floor to the crux of the day: the Rhinogs and their roughest bounds.

The lead runners pass by—mutual nods, shared encouragement. We’re all in this together, bound by respect and a simple, common endeavour: get to Cardiff.

Then: decision time. An untested, distance-saving line proffered by Caz back in Conwy—or the safety of the known, rehearsed way. No contest. Over the stile, off the trail, into the unknown.

Confidence is quickly rewarded—Caz’s silhouette appears on the skyline, showing the way. But soon, high stone walls bar the way and sow seeds of doubt. Some increasingly desperate scouting—and a little creativity—finds a way through without breaking the countryside code. Relief. I rejoin the race line, having definitely gained. This time, risk pays off. Relax. Trust in Caz.

Soon, another Caz-induced choice. No hesitation now—I split from the train of runners, traversing ragged Rhinog slopes. Heather, rock, and ankle-twisting tussocks test belief and balance. But again, a distinctive, tall figure appears on the ridge ahead—a mobile be-hatted beacon showing the way. The route rejoins the main trail with clear time and effort saved. Thanks Caz.

A sporty but well-beaten descent from the trig on Moel Ysgyfarnogod follows—rough but familiar.

Then—a jarring intrusion. Human faeces and tissue, right on the narrow path into idyllic Cwm Bychan. Maybe a Dragon, maybe not. Either way, it breaks the spell. A moment of ugliness in a place that deserves better. I want to believe we’re all better than this—but not everyone shows the same respect for the land we’re lucky to cross. The same goes for litter. Some carry more out than they brought in. Others don’t bother.

The calm friendliness of the support point helps restore balance—but midges discourage lingering. Noodles and Complan (separately!) are slurped down, bottles refilled, and it’s back to the trail. The Roman Steps offer a gentle re-entry into the Rhinogs’ wild embrace, but a crossing wall soon signals steeper, rougher ground ahead.

Concentration and steady effort bring the rocky summit slopes into reach—and then, a surprise: Sue and Willow waiting on the summit of Rhinog Fawr. Their presence, and the sweeping, champion views, lift the spirits sky-high. What a day.

Another tricky descent leads to the “collector’s” climb up Rhinog Fach. It was a brute on the recce—and today, it delivers again. No bilberries to distract me this time. The Rhinogs keep dishing it out: punishing down, steep up. But this is the final summit of the day. From here, the trail finally eases. The view west over Llyn Hywel and out to the shining coast is a banquet for the eyes. Marvellous.

After a long stretch of solo running, I am grateful to be reunited with Caz and Carolyn leading a weary group along a path of lesser resistance—skirting a rocky ridge and shaving off a few metres of ascent. That’s it. The last descent. The Rhinogs drop into the rearview.

Just eight kilometres of forest track and tarmac lie between us and camp. After such a long day, the “run the runnable” mantra is hard to honour, but I find the reserves to follow it—across the elegant wooden toll bridge over the beautiful Mawddach estuary, and where Sue and Willow bid me a cheery, heartfelt goodnight.

The few flat final miles are covered in a tired walk/run grind, distraction in the consumption of leftover food: a dark chocolate Tunnock’s wafer and cheese & onion Hula Hoops—Dragon ambrosia.

I cross the line as darkness falls, the race clock ticking past 8 p.m.—relief and deep satisfaction flooding in.

There’s talk of wet and windy weather ahead, and a reminder to pack additional cold-weather kit. But nothing diminishes the glow of a long, brilliant day spent moving efficiently and with purpose through beautiful, brutal terrain; not even my deep fatigue.

Camp life resumes: eat; Dragon Mail delight; sort kit; prepare to go again at 6 a.m. Another night of too-little food and sleep, before the tent gently groans to life just after four.

Day 3 – The Dragon Within

Stat’s (distance | ascent) from start to: 

  • Water Point (Abergynolwyn) – 25km | 1200m 
  • Support point (Machynlleth) – 40km | 1800m 
  • Finish (Ceredigion) – 66km | 2900m

A different day, but the same early-morning, torch-lit routine. On the start line for the opening hour—and away…

A warm hug and whispered encouragement from Sue as the route passes out of our common overnight campsite, into the quiet stillness of still-sleeping Dolgellau. It’s not raining—yet. Gratefulness for small mercies.

The town is left behind and the climbing begins—up, up towards the hulking mass of Cadair Idris, Eryri’s southern sentinel. There’s a bit of low-key chit-chat as the Dragon’s pack sorts itself into an order defined by our relative ability, energy and drive.

The forecast weather arrives bang on cue—as we hit the crest of Cadair’s broad back. Perfect timing. No views this morning to lift the soul—just a form of sensory deprivation: the body numbed, visibility reduced to a hood-framed patch of sodden turf, the only sound the drum, drum, drumming of rain and wind on Gore-Tex.

It’s no worse than Day 1 over the Carneddau—but accumulated fatigue makes it feel heavier. The only comfort? A small tumbler of Coke handed to me by two supporting angels—proof, at least, that my sense of taste is still working.

Cadair Idris’s rocky summit is slow to arrive. The encouragement of a few hardy supporters bounces off my Gore-Tex shell, lost to the wind and rain. The more technical descent demands sharper focus—enough to momentarily silence the internal grumbling. I should be celebrating: there’s no higher summit between here and Cardiff. Instead, I’m bog-bimbling through the clag, passed by faster runners who ghost by in the mist.

A sliver of concentration as I work to spot an alternate line—short-lived shelter, easier underfoot, and a few metres of ascent saved. Back on the main route, just in time to see a runner in my periphery lurch forward and face-plant into the mire. Thankfully, they bounce up and carry on. The Dragon is demanding a lot of us this morning.

The foul weather chases us down off the mountain and into the valley. With no hint of irony, a runner mentions a farm ahead has an outside tap, “if I’m thirsty.” Thirsty? When I’m wetter than an otter’s pocket? It makes me laugh, at least.

Tarmac now across the valley bottom. I summon enough will to “run the runnable” and quicken my arrival at Abergynolwyn, where the water point and a café await. But first: a riverside bridleway I had enjoyed on the recce—today, merely endured.

At the checkpoint, I down a Complan and keep moving. The rain still falls, and the queue for the café is longer than my patience. I press on.

Then, a lift in spirits—a freshly graded path climbs through a beautiful wooded valley, tracing the line of swollen, noisy waterfalls. Senses stir. The sky lightens. Is the low passing?

We leave the wood and valley bottom behind, onto long, comfortably inclined forestry zigzags. Ourea’s course ops ring out encouragement with a massive cowbell, making sure no one’s cutting corners.

The rain hardens as the altitude rises. With no other stimulus, doubt creeps in.

And for the first time, I feel it: The pull to stop. To quit.

I argue back:

  • The weather’s easing.
  • I’m uninjured.
  • No blisters.
  • Still ahead of the cut-offs.
  • Still progressing relentlessly forward.

“Just get to Machynlleth, Mackie,” I tell myself. Eat. Drink. Be merrier. March on toward Cardiff.

But a counter-voice bites back repeatedly: Why do you want to get to Cardiff? Why, why, why, why? 

Gone are the broadleaf woods and the tumbling cascades. Now: the ragged remnants of industrial clear-felling—a Smaug-seared landscape made real.

And in that desolate setting, the questioning voice returns: How much do I really want this?

I’ve moved efficiently, effectively, over Eryri’s rocky spine for two and a half long, demanding, deeply satisfying days.

And that—that feels like enough.

No drama. No despair.

Just clarity.

My will to complete the Dragon’s Back is not strong enough.

Decision made.

However, I still need to get over Tarren y Gesail. The wind and rain return in abundance; the cloud-shroud summit is dismal, like my mood. A steep grassy descent leads into forestry. Even as a young child, I disliked forest tracks; they were so BOOOOOORING!. On family walks, I’d  insist on taking any side path that looked more interesting. I haven’t changed in the subsequent half century. The next few kilometres do nothing to test my resolve to stop.

As I reach the outskirts of Machynlleth and the Afon Dyfi, Sue—and of course Willow—are there to greet me. Her unwavering support has been a bright thread running through this shorter than hoped for journey, and our life together. I settle onto the old bridge’s balustrade and share my decision. She listens with care, gently tests my intent, and counters it. After all, the weather has eased, I’m within reach of the support point with around two hours to spare before cut-off—and from there, just 25 kilometres to camp.

So I walk into town and, at the first chance, forage a hot Cornish pasty—dribblingly tasty and swiftly devoured. I should have bought two. In the busy main street, I am overwhelmed by the bustle of ordinary folk doing ordinary things. A track leads out of town to the support point, tucked into a rustic orchard. But this time, it’s me in the chair, being urged to continue rather than the one urging others on.

Andy, like Sue, probes my decision and champions continuation; it’s a persuasive pitch from someone who I know offers wise counsel. I sit and reflect amidst the support point bustle; time passes. Then Caz and Carolyn arrive—brisk, purposeful, glowing with intent. Their passion to reach Cardiff and for the event burns fierce and clear—a wonder to witness. They, and all those still chasing that Cardiff dream, have my utmost admiration. I silently will them on and wish them godspeed.

But I hold firm to the choice made earlier, forged in fatigue and the felled forest. My journey ends here. I rise and walk back the way I came.

The Dragon’s Back, for me, is done. And I’m content with that.

Thanks & Gratitude

None of this would have been possible without the phenomenal team at Ourea Events. Their professionalism, dedication, and attention to detail creats the structure and safety net that allows so many of us to journey across big, beautiful landscapes. Huge thanks too to their ever-cheerful event volunteers—out on wild ridgelines, at support and water points, in midgy valleys, and behind the scenes—whose encouragement, kindness, and enthusiasm in challenging conditions, and in all things, makes Ourea events what they are.

To friends and family who tracked dots, sent messages, and offered remote morale boosts—thank you. To club mates, running friends and fellow Dragons who offered advice, belief, and inspiration—thank you too. To the spirit of the Dragon’s Back Race personified, Caz, gratefulness for sowing the seed over five years ago during post-Preseli Beast  shenanigans in The Globe, and subsequent friendship, inspiration and tip-top tips on tactical trods in the Rhinogs. 

And above all, to Sue—steadfast in all weathers, relentless in support, and always there at the right time in the right place with the right words, and Willow in tow. With all my heartfelt thanks, and deepest, enduring love.

A Footnote on Foot Care

Over the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time tramping and running long distances over hilly, rough ground in all weathers. In that time, and while volunteering at events where folk are doing similar, I’ve learned that blisters, bruised toenails, and general foot carnage are more than just occupational hazards—they can be painful companions at best, and race-ending liabilities at worst.

Keen to avoid these pitfalls, I started paying close attention to foot care—not just my own, but that of others too. While volunteering at events like the Winter Spine, Cape Wrath Ultra, and the Dragon’s Back Race , I observed what the uninjured runners were doing differently. The answer, like most things in ultra-running, boiled down to two things: preparation and consistency.

My footcare regime:

  • Daily moisturising – I use O’Keeffe’s to keep my feet soft and supple; there are many, many alternatives. The goal is smooth, resilient skin, not dry, cracked, calloused. I haven’t used pedicures or pumice stones, but others do – either way, look after your peg-ends like you’re preparing for a foot modelling career.
  • Barrier cream before runs – applied to reduce the impact of friction and moisture. I use Musher’s Secret (See below for details on ingredients etc.)—originally bought for protecting our dogs’ paw pads out in the hills. Occasionally I bark after application, but honestly, it’s been very effective on my pads too. Trenchfoot cream is a popular alternative if you don’t have a dog and Mushers Secret in the house. It’s specifically formulated in the South West for running humans, and has a vegan version too.
  • Nail care – Keep them neat, well trimmed, and healthy.
    • Socks and shoes – Crucial. I use:
      • A thin merino wool liner
      • A thicker waterproof outer (Dexshell, in my case—but many good options exist)
      • This combo typically requires my daps to be half a size bigger; and for multi-day efforts, a full size up to allow for swelling.
      • Shoe fit is key: close-fitting but not tight. It’s a balance between avoiding pressure points and limiting foot movement inside the shoe—especially when descending or traversing rough terrain. Finding your ideal lacing tension and fit will take trial and error, and vary depending on terrain, weather, route length etc.
    • Gaiters – Help keep debris out, protect socks, and improve comfort.
      • Post-run care on multi-day events – At the end of each day, I strip off socks, moisturise again, and slip on dry, oversized Dexshells and a pair of gardening clogs. Overnight I sleep barefoot. And so far, without fail, my feet have been ready to go again the next morning; unlike the rest of my body!

The result? No blisters, maceration, or lost nails for the past two years since adopting this routine. However, I’ve spent a fair bit on moisturiser and socks…

Footnote to the footnote:
Musher’s Secret is made from 100% pure, natural, food-grade waxes—white and yellow beeswax, carnauba, and candelilla—blended with vegetable oils and vitamin E. It’s non-toxic, non-GMO, gluten-free, and creates a breathable barrier that protects against snow, salt, hot pavement, and rough terrain.

Images from my journey:

London Marathon by Mark Forsyth

My marathon day

The day started in a leisurely way. My start time was not until 11:21 so after a surprisingly good night sleep I ate a vat of porridge followed by a banana. I was really done with carb loading at that point! I made myself a bagel with peanut butter to have an hour before I was due to start.

My wife Jan then drove me towards the start line dropped me about a mile from the start. I had a leisurely walk which was typically up a hill! Lots of runners with their kit bags heading towards the common were doing the same as me.

The start area was full, but well organised with signs directing people to the correct areas. I found my lorry to drop off my kit bag. It was hot and there was no shade, I grabbed a bottle of water and sat down to eat my bagel and tried to relax.

When my wave was called to the muster point, I joined with the rest of the runners and we walked to the start, then we were off.

The start of the marathon was busy! I started off too quickly, weaving and dodging to get in front of the person in front of me, only to have to do the same again and again. But I felt good at that point and settled into my stride (or plod!). The crowds were great, lots of noise and the cheering was really uplifting.

The first 5 miles came and went, and I soaked up the atmosphere and the various costumes. I saw 2 guys running as a 3 legged race, a rhino, Christmas tree to mention a few. At mile 5 all was going to plan, I slowed to take on a gel, squeezed it too hard and covered myself in a sticky mess!!! I continued around the Cutty Sark and headed on. At the main tourist locations, the crowds were particularly large, noisy and supportive, every step of the 26.2miles someone was cheering you on. What a great turnout from London to support several thousand lunatics running in the sun.

Talking of the sun, it was hot out there, most of my training had been done in the damp and cold winter months and this was another level. There were water stations every 3 miles and showers set up that were great to run through and cool down a bit.

At mile 9 I saw my family cheering me on with banners and I waved to them as I ran past. On towards Tower bridge (just under half way) where the crowds were large again and I slowed down to take a few pictures before continuing on. Around docklands I started to feel the heat and things started to get a bit harder.

We had a plan that Jan would send me messages that I could read on my watch as I was running so I knew where and when they would pop up. We had a rough plan of them seeing me around Mile 18. Like all great plans it didn’t quite work out, the sun was so bright, I struggled to read the messages on my watch and after scanning the crowds and feeling multiple buzzes on my watch I got my phone out to read that There was a change of plan due to navigating transport and crowds , they would see me just after the mile 20 marker instead.

Just after Mile 20 I saw them it was a boost because at this point it was getting harder and harder to keep going. A quick stop, chat and selfie before carrying on. I found myself walking more than I was running and simply concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other. I knew I needed to take on fuel but really feel like anything. I ate a few pretzels (I was really done with sweet sticky jells!) and although all advise says don’t try anything new, I was tempted by a cup of Lucozade being handed out. It tasted amazing!

Those last 6 miles are a bit of a blur, I had to dig deep to keep going. I saw the 5:30 pacer pull ahead of me and then the 5:45 and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. At that point it was not about a time just getting to the end. As the houses of parliament came into view, I knew I was almost there, and I was going to get over the finish line. Down the mall my head was down, and I was walking when a guy came up behind me, said come on mate and encouraged me to run (slowly!!) towards the finish line. I ran over the finish line with his help and thanked a complete stranger for his support.

After that I collected my medal, took another selfie, collected my kit bag and headed off to Charing Cross. That was a slow walk! At the train station, to my dismay, they were queuing around the block. Thankfully I realised that was for the underground and I was off to London bridge using the overground. I found my train and got on, only to have to stand in a really packed, hot and stuffy train. I got one stop where more people got on, but before the train left the station, I started to feel unwell and had to push my way off before I fainted. I sat on the floor, took some deep breaths and got some fresh air as it passed. I then noticed two guys on a bench next to me and talking to them, they had done the exact same thing!

All three of us were feeling better as the next train pulled in so we got on and I met up with my family in London Bridge and headed back to my daughters flat. I wasn’t really hungry but I ate half of my dinner before being driven home. Once home I sat on the sofa, legs aching and poured a large glass of red wine, before heading off to bed at the end of a fantastic, memorable day.

Everyone from the crowds, the organisers, volunteers, other marathon runners and my supportive family made the day an experience I will never forget.

The ballot for next year closes Friday, I would recommend anyone sign up for it from walkers at 7+hours to super fit 2:30 runners.

Thanks again CRC for the opportunity.

Once in a Lifetime? The SILVA Lakes Traverse by Dave Mackie

Once in a Lifetime? The SILVA Lakes Traverse. 

Shap, 4am Sunday morning. I am cocooned in a sleeping bag, uncomfortably wedged in the back of a car, which is slightly too short to stretch out in, as Storm Kathleen’s rain and wind combine to drum out a rhythm on the roof that brings a favourite song by Talking Heads to mind…”And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?””…

Back in 2021 Sue and I had had a large amount of fun preparing for, and undertaking, our first, and to date only, 50 mile outing that took us North to South across The Lakes in a Day. It had never been intendended as a one-off but somehow a couple of years of unintentional ultra avoidance had crept by so with the memories of that October escapade fading we felt the need for another long, fun-filled outing in the Lake District. The search for something suitable did not take long; the fine folk at Ourea events offered the opportunity for a Lakes Traverse. Following the Coast to Coast path from the sea at St Bees through the heart of the fells to finish 100 kilometres away at Shap on the Eastern edge of the Lake District, it provided an aesthetically pleasing counterpoint to the North-South journey of Lakes in a Day.  

With an objective secured, focused training commenced just before Christmas. Getting the required hilly off-road miles in during the wettest of winter months provided a test of resolve and the washing machine. We both became more adept at mud larking across and through the many different forms of Wiltshire mud, from cloying clay to liquid cow gloup. The occasional trip away, including a few jaunts along the latter parts of the Lakes Traverse route, provided much the same conditions underfoot, just in a different setting. A belated investment in waterproof socks (Dexshell for me, Seal Skins for Sue) improved morale and, along with misappropriation of our dogs’ paw protection balm (Musher’s Secret), kept trench foot at bay. 

April found Sue and me in good fettle and full of enthusiasm for the Lakes Traverse. The weather forecast for the weekend provided a bit of a dampner though; our outing would be in the company of Storm Kathleen. On the plus side the prevailing wind direction would generally be from behind us and the temperature was not too cold; warmish moisture from the tropical South was preferable to cold moisture from the polar North. I also had a well of previous poor weather experience to draw upon; not least a testing outing around Vale of Eywas in the Black Mountains with Andrew Wood in February 2020 when Storm Dennis struck and the still “fresh in the mind” horror of the “howling Howgills” Karrimor International Mountain Marathon of 1998.  

Eager to be off

Saturday morning saw bleary eyed but eager participants gathering at St Bees school to register, collect trackers and undertake a thorough check of mandatory equipment, including additional items of warm/waterproof clothing because of the adverse weather forecast. The Details of a potential diversion, should it be required to avoid exposure to Storm Kathleen’s wet, windchilled wrath on exposed ground in the dark final miles of the route, were also shared. Thankfully the heavy overnight rain had stopped and as we walked from the school to the start on St Bees seafront it was only Kathleen’s very boisterous breeze that greeted us. Ourea’s slick organisation did not keep us loitering for long and at 7:30am precisely we started our journey East.

Stage 1 St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge (Distance from start: 24km; Height gain since start: 482m) – “And you may say to yourself, “My God, what have I done?”

Leaving St Bees

Congestion at a narrow bridge crossing immediately after the start and steep climb up to the top of the cliffs north of St Bees kept early enthusiasm in check and ensured a beneficially slow beginning to the day. With the stiff breeze from astern, no rain (yet), fantastic coastal views and nothing to think about other than putting one foot in front of the other and going the right way on unfamiliar trails there was much to enjoy as the distant Lake District fells started to peak over the horizon. Muddy winter training miles and waterproof socks were soon paying dividends as we turned away from the coast and headed inland over muddy waterlogged lowland fields intersped with tarmac trotting. Grand encouragement from the Ourea volunteers sped us towards the first checkpoint at Ennerdale Bridge. The Lakes Traverse is run in conjunction with the Northern Traverse, which tackles the 300km Coast to Coast trail in one go. Starting an hour after us from St Bees, the lead runners of The Northern Traverse made short shrift of the deficit as they comfortably cruised past on the downhill run to the checkpoint. After a quick water bottle refill in the village, it was onto the next leg and more familiar Lake District terrain.

Stage 2 Ennerdale Bridge to Borrowdale (Distance from start: 47km; Distance from Ennerdale Bridge: 23km; Height gain since Ennerdale Bridge: 525m) – “And you may ask yourself, “How do I work this?””

Heading Inland to The Lakes

Having successfully navigated the unfamiliar on Stage 1  without expending too much energy, Stage 2 held no surprises and nicely split into three distinct sections; first along more technical, uneven ground overlooking the beautiful Ennerdale Water; then on good but gently climbing forest track to Black Sail Youth Hostel and the head of the Ennerdale, before the first big climb of the day to get over into the Borrowdale valley & the heart of the Lake District. 

(Wild) Ennerdale is the site of a vast ecological restoration project. Since 2016, an on-going partnership between the National Trust, the Forestry Commission and United Utilities has sought “to allow the evolution of Ennerdale as a wild valley for the benefit of people, relying more on natural processes to shape its landscape and ecology” (Wild Ennerdale, 2016). Unlike the majority of other valleys in the Lakes, Ennerdale is not a mosaic of farms and walled fields for grazing/silage but a mix of commercial pine forestry, which is gradually being felled, and native woodland and scrub. Wild Ennerdale is being shaped by small herds of black Galloway cattle (“now’t but guts ‘n’ arse” as a Lake District farmer once memorably described them to me) rather than the intensive grazing of sheep, synonymous with the fells elsewhere but which creates a dominant and dense compact sward consisting of just a few grass types. 

The rich, diverse valley landscape and high, craggy peaks provided grand fodder for the eyes as we progressed up the valley well sheltered from Storm Kathleen’s attentions. Unfortunately more mundane matters, indigestion & lack of appetite, were causing distraction. So, following the sage advice given by a member of the event safety team during my kit check at registration earlier in the day, namely: “if you think you need to do something, don’t put it off; stop and do it”, I stopped, sorted it and reached Black Sail in a much happier frame of mind, buoyed by fond memories of a fantastic family overnight stay at the hostel “with more atmosphere per square inch than any other in England and Wales”.

Ennerdale Water

Black Sail’s simplicity and remoteness harks back to a time when Youth Hostels’ cheap and spartan fare had, according to  G.M.Trevelyan, the historian, Cambridge professor and YHA’s first president, “drawn out the right type of young men and women who take their holidays strenuously and joyously, without slacking or rioting, hard walkers or active bicyclists.”

Black Sail Youth Hostel, Ennerdale

So without thought of slacking (or rioting), I pressed on joyously and strenuously up the steep climb out of Wild Ennerdale valley. Here Storm Kathleen started to make her presence felt as gusts, funnelled by the appropriately named Windy Gap, occasionally halted forward progress and tested balance. But the moment soon passed and speed picked up as gravity assisted on the long, gentle descent over good running ground down past the crowds at Honnister slate mine and on to the support point at Rosthwaite, Borrowdale, where the fare was thankfully far from spartan. Familiar faces from previous Ourea events offered welcome encouragement and support as I dwelt a moment to snaffle pizza slices and slurp a welcome brew.      

Stage 2 Borrowdale to Patterdale (Distance from start: 69km; Distance from Borrowdale: 22km; Height gain since Borrowdale: 1,015m) – “And you may ask yourself, “Where does that highway go to?””

Leaving the comforts of the support point was not made any easier by the wind blasting down the valley bottom and right into our faces, checking forward momentum on the strongest gusts. However, the incentive to try and get over two testing climbs and reach Patterdale before darkness fell provided the necessary impetus to crack on. 

Looking from Greenup Edge back down to Borrowdale

The section of the Coast to Coast path from Borrowdale up to, and over, Greenup Edge down to Easedale had on previous encounters provided boggy going and required close navigation. Fortune was on our side though, Sue had on her reccie of this section at Christmas seen signs of path improvement work being undertaken to upgrade Wainwright’s Coast to Coast to a National Trail. This had clearly progressed at pace, with a highway of stone slabs now crossing the mires of Greenup Edge to speed progress down, out of the wind and on to Grasmere.  Easedale provided beautiful going in the early evening and in no time at all Grasmere, about which William Wordsworth gushed “the loveliest spot that man hath ever found” was in the rear view mirror. Mentally this marked a significant point; the home of Sue’s mother in Ambleside, and steak, chips and a glass of red wine, lay only a brief and tempting  bus ride away but were resisted. 

Grisedale Tarn (part) – Faber, Rev. Frederick William (1840).

“These, with the storms and calms, mayhap 

Enough of sight and sound would make 

For one in mountain nature’s lap, 

A dweller by her loneliest lake; 

While banners bright of kindled mist 

Above his head might hang and twist.” 

Next up was the long but steady climb from Grasmere to Grisedale Tarn, as legend would have it the resting place of the crown of the kingdom of Cumbria, having been conveyed there in 945 by soldiers of the last Cumbrian king, Dunmail, after he was slain in battle with the combined forces of the English and Scottish kings. By this juncture of proceedings I was much more likely to scoop Cumbria’s ancient crown from the water of the tarn than get a Strava crown for my speed of ascent. Nevertheless impending darkness and worsening weather encouraged forward progress and Grisedale Tarn eventually hove into view through the evening’s “kindled mist”. On previous visits, the dark tarn had often felt austere and malevolent, and today was no different. Storm Kathleen force was building and rain was in the air, augmented by the gale force wind whipping up spray from the tarn; it was not a time or place to linger, and it was quickly on down towards Patterdale, food and shelter, although the initial section of steep, wet and slippy rocks necessitated a steady approach. 

A reminder to pay close attention to, and keep on top of, personal care in the hills, especially as tiredness and darkness were looming, was provided just after the tarn. I passed a fellow participant who was starting to shiver with cold (well I assumed the cause was the dropping temperature rather than my banter). By this stage I was in two thermal layers, a waterproof top, hat and gloves. When I gently suggested they put some warmer clothing on (there’s a good reason the event has a comprehensive mandatory kit list!), their cold gloveless hands were unable to open the zip on their rucksack. Having had a similar experience in the past, I carry a buff and a pair of gloves in the pocket of my waterproof coat as I generally find that when the weather is poor enough to put on a waterproof my hands and head are also cold; also trying to get snug fitting gloves over cold wet fingers is a fun party game but no so great in-extremis up a mountain, and I now carry oversized mittens instead of small gloves. With a bit of assistance, they were soon sorted and we continued on our way down to easier going along the bottom of Grisedale valley. Our arrival at the support point coincided with the arrival of darkness and heavier, more consistent rain but it was a relief to have completed three quarters of the route without getting soaked or needing to use a torch.  My thoughts were however, very much with Sue who would be tackling the Grisedale Tarn section in the dark, wind and rain. 

The warm welcome of the volunteers and a free “proper” coffee courtesy of event sponsors Silva, were a godsend. A dinner of chips, burrito and Complan hot chocolate, further improved morale ahead of heading out into the night and the attentions of Storm Kathleen. The support point team confirmed that we would be taking the alternative route to the finish at Shap, and thereby avoiding the Kidsty Pike, the highest point on the route and fully exposed to the storm’s 50-70mph winds. Ironically it was the only section I had specifically checked out before the event as I had never been on the path down from Kidsty Pike, along the shore of Haweswater and on to Shap. Other than the initial climb to Boredale Hause and the last few miles to Shap, the final section would therefore provide a navigational adventure into the unknown for me and the majority of the participants. Thankfully the knowledge and experience I had accrued over past few years during Mountain Leader training and assessment, where the night navigation elements had also been undertaken in howling winds and driving rain, gave me confidence to trust my judgement (and good quality Gortex waterproofs). I would also have welcome company; the runner I had joined from Grisedale to Patterdale had sensibly organised a small group to head out together into the maelstrom and provide safety in numbers.

Stage 3 (of 3) Patterdale to Shap (Distance from start: 94.4km; Distance from Patterdale: 26km; Height gain since Patterdale: 924m) – “And you may ask yourself, “Am I right, am I wrong?””

Fortuitously, a bit of well judged clothing faff on my part meant that we left the dry confines of the support point marquee just as the heavy rain ceased. Shortly after, at the start of climb up to Boredale Hause our group increased by a further two runners, attracted I guess by our cheery demeanour, confidence and all round snappy dressing. 

Powered by group dynamics and the pause at Patterdale, we were soon on Boredale Hause where, as wikipedia helpfully notes, “there is a large confusion of paths”. Given that, and that from this point on we were on the alternative route, I took a moment to check my map and compass to ensure the correct direction of travel was taken down towards the shore of Ullswater and the small hamlet of Howtown. Shortly after, I dented any confidence the others had built in my competence by having to troop back to retrieve one of my poles, which I had dropped whilst juggling the map and compass. Boredale valley was thankfully well sheltered from the storm and a decent, albeit wet and muddy, track followed by a stretch of road led us without too much trouble to Howtown. In navigating to the start of the gentle traversing climb from Howtown to Askham Moor our merry band increased to seven as we picked up a couple of runners who were enjoying a moment of indecision on the dark, featureless fellside. Along the descent I had observed that gpx route for the alternative route provided by Ourea that I was following on my watch and phone, did not always lie right on the top of the actual paths, tracks and roads on the ground, and was displaced slightly off to the right or left. As we gained in height, Storm Kathleen began to reassert its presence on the exposed plateau of Askham Moor, especially when we changed direction, first east, then north. The head-on battle into wind and rain, whilst “refreshing”, did not make for easy lingering or conversation to check or determine the route within the group of seven runners. At a point where the gpx track appeared to head off a well defined track and cut a corner across open moor, I decided to take a slightly longer but navigationally less risky alternative and stay on the track. Clearly the dropped pole incident had sowed a seed of doubt in the group about my ability and I subsequently found myself venturing forth alone whilst the lights of the rest of the group wobbled across the moor following the gpx track. 

Thankfully the “Am I right, am I wrong?” concerns in my head were quickly allayed, as I was soon back on the gpx track and caught up by everyone else on the corner cutting “shortcut” as we left the open moor for enclosed farmland. Reunited, we were soon heading on reassuring tarmac heading towards Bampton, which I was very excited to reach. Now slightly sheltered as well from Storm Kathleen ongoing turbulence and heavy rain, the end was in reach, with just a few miles away over ground that I had run once before, albeit in daylight. The section of Askham Moor, on reflection, provided the most satisfying parts of the Lakes Traverse; cocooned from the elements and warm enough, confident in my navigation and relishing the simple, single focus of efficiently maintaining forward progress towards the finish, whilst weary and in challenging terrain and conditions, was richly rewarding.  

Anyway back to the excitement / distraction of Bampton, which would not have been visited if the planned Cost to Coast route over Kidsty Pike had been followed. The beauty of happenstance and falling into company with runners on the trail is finding out things you would have otherwise not known. On this occasion it was the revelation that Bampton was the location for a scene from one of my favourite films, Withnail & I. Others in the group, it has to be said, did not share my enthusiasm for the film or the Bampton phone box that features in it; they were rightly more focused on getting to the finish. So I was soon left alone to enjoy the moment and take some pictures by which to remember it by. I then fell even further behind when I had to return to the phonebox and pick up a mitten I had dropped whilst taking pictures of it. Nevertheless I soon was back with the group as they paused at a road junction to check the way, and we continued on together towards the finish and the glittering lights of Shap concrete works. 

“The Withnail and I” Phonebox, Bampton

Whilst short, the final section into Shap had required some close navigation on my daylight reccie to find the correct route across an undulating maze of fields. I therefore  doubled-down my focus on navigation and sought to identify the most likely points for navigational blundering in the dark. The first was shortly after leaving the assurity of a tarmac road via a short climb on a farm track. I remembered that this track had to be left at some point, which was useful, but not exactly where, which was not so good. Thankfully it came back to me as I bumped into a small huddle of runners from the group who had got a couple of hundred metres ahead on the preceding tarmac and were now pondering which way to go. They were rightly reluctant to follow as I turned off the track and slithered down a steep slope. Just at the moment I was starting to doubt my decision and navigation, a familiar looking stile appeared and I was saved having to struggle back up the slope. It was an important turn as it led to the only bridge crossing the Swinedale Beck, which blocked the way to Shap and was, thanks to Storm Kathleen, a seething mass of fast moving water that even the sportiest of ducks would avoid. Crossing the architectural gem of bridge with gratitude to those who had built it, I applied myself again to frequent checks of the map to jog my memory on navigational markers. Passing an abandoned farmstead I remembered that the route left the reassuring obviousness of a good track, this time to cross rough and marshy ground. Memory jogged, I headed off-piste into the boggy blackness. The group were initially reluctant to leave terra-firma & follow but I pressed on, expressing my pleasure in finding the right way and relief that the bog was much less extensive and moist than I remembered it.  From there it was a simple job of following the correct lines across a few fields to reach a second bridge, this time crossing the nascent but Storm Kathleen engorged River Lowther; the last obstacle between us and the finish. Some folk took a brief detour to visit Shap Abbey; a grand place to visit in daylight but less so on a dark stormy night when you have already had the huge delight of visiting a location from one of your favourite films and at the end of a long day out.  As we returned to tarmac the group found their own pace and spread out. This provided a super opportunity to reflect on, and enjoy, the privilege of being able to undertake a tremendous journey across the Lakes from the now distant St Bees. I was having difficulty trying to capture how I felt at this point; thankfully the ever-inspirational Aussie adventurer, Beau Miles (check out his excellent local adventuring films here) nailed it for me when he was talking about running a long way through a beautiful landscape: 

“It’s not work or even leisure; it’s the meaning of having a heart.” 

In the small hours of Sunday morning some 19 hours after starting, a very warm welcome from the ever-fabulous event volunteers, food and a finisher’s medal marked the end of the journey across the Lakes for me. Sue, however, was still out there in the midst of a storm ravaged night. The open tracking system used by Ourea events allowed me to quickly establish where she was and calculate a rough time of arrival in Shap. I could do little to help by watching her dot on a screen so having letting her know I had finished and wishing her godspeed, I attempted to get some sleep in the back of our car; and that is how ended up being reminded of “Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads and its wonderful, watery lyrics at 4am in Shap.

As I was crammed, but warm and dry, in the back of the car, Sue was venturing from the final checkpoint at Patterdale at around 1am to tackle the remaining sixteen miles on her own with Storm Kathleen at its wettest and windiest peak. The going for Sue would be much more difficult as well: the bogs would be much boggier; streams that I barely noticed now torrents; and the night much darker and wilder. Having donned multiple layers of warmer clothing at the checkpoint, enjoyed the complementary barista coffee from Silva, and once again silently swore at me for advising that she wouldn’t need her new, heavy duty waterproof jacket, Sue committed to finishing the Traverse and further testing her perseverance and resilience. 

Sue’s recollections of the final section are fairly limited. Suffice to say the relentless heavy rain and the need to keep on top of navigation over unfamiliar ground without a paper map or an accurate gpx track to follow did not make for an enjoyable, pleasant nighttime saunter; occasional periods of company with fellow participants and the slow transition from wet and windy darkness to wet and windy greyness did however provide a little respite. As I tucked into an early breakfast having given up on trying to sleep, it was a relief to see, on the event’s tracking page, Sue’s dot move off the high ground of Askham Moor. Whilst her progress had understandably slowed after nearly 24 hours on the go in dreich conditions, she was still moving relentlessly forward to Shap, it was daylight and she was now off the route diversion and on ground she had at least visited once before… 

Unfortunately when I next checked Sue’s tracking dot it had stalled and she was off route having failed to locate the only bridge crossing the now raging Swinedale Beck. It is not unusual for competitors tracking dots to freeze / not move for periods of time so I was not unduly concerned initially. However, Sue was struggling with tiredness, a phone out of charge and the relentless heavy rain that had permeated her second best waterproof and was slowly soaking through her layers of warm clothing. So whilst she knew she was not on the right route, she was taking a long time to locate herself and work out where she needed to go. With her dot loitering next to Swinedale Beck about 1km upstream of the bridge for an extended period of time, it appeared to my foggy brain that she might be considering fording the beck and I was concerned enough to phone her. I was not alone; Race HQ, who keep a close watch on participants’ tracks, were also trying to contact her. But with Sue’s phone out of action, we both failed. Eventually Sue’s dot started slowly to move back away from the beck and in the right direction towards the bridge; panic over, I eagerly looked forward to her safe arrival in Shap and completion of the Lakes Traverse. 26 hours and 100km after I last saw her in St Bees, it was fantastic to see and applaud Sue approaching the finish wearily but with her usual beaming smile. She crossed the line as the 106th and final finisher of the 2024 Lake Traverse; testament to her stamina, competence and determination given that over thirty of our fellow starters as St Bees did not get to Shap. 

And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”

As soon as Sue sat down in the village hall, she started to shiver. Thankfully the brilliant volunteers were quick to spot it and gently suggested she change into warm, dry clothes straight away, which she did. When she returned and handed me her kit it was evident that every item was wet; if only she’d had a new robust, Gortex mountain jacket (just like the one she had left in St Bees on my advice)…     

The Lakes Traverse 2024 and Storm Kathleen provided Sue and I with a richly rewarding “Once in a Lifetime” experience, and one from which we take ongoing inspiration and satisfaction. Huge thanks go to Ourea and their ace volunteers who enabled and supported our journey and safety with exemplary diligence, enthusiasm and humour.    

Chicago Marathon (Number 21) – Sunday 13 October 2024 by Vicky Henderson

I don’t really know where to start but hindsight is a wonderful thing; weeks ago, I was hoping for a PB and thought I could achieve it; following a disastrous Chippenham half marathon, my confidence plummeted and all thoughts of a PB went out of the window.  I got so stressed during the days immediately prior to the race that I thought I might just finish inside of 3.45.  Even on the Saturday morning at parkrun, I was struggling and heavy breathing at 8mm – slower than perceived goal marathon place.  However, constantly eating from the Wednesday to the Sunday and a good rest Saturday afternoon obviously did the trick and I was feeling much brighter on Sunday morning.  By then, there’s really no turning back – it’s do or die!

Marathon Morning

Stuart and I were awake from 3.30am and up at 4am; plenty of time to get ourselves organised though we’d already set our kit out the night before and got the after-race bag ready.  An easy 2M walk to the start and I left Stuart at the orange start to make my way to the blue start.  I got chatting to a lady from Berkhamsted who was equally nervous and we chatted all things running, marathons etc.  A long loo queue was stressful but we did manage to sneak into our Corral by 7.20am and at 7.30am the first elite runners started (the wheelchair athletes had started slightly earlier).  Our Corral moved forward and I started running at 7.52am.  I have always previously just decided to run at 8mm as I was always so scared of blowing up towards the end – far too cautious for my own good.  So, for once in my life, I decided to be brave, and run to feel instead of running to pace.  I knew the first few miles were going to be tricky getting the pace right as I’d been warned GPS does not pick up due to the tall buildings so not to try to rely on the watch.  Easier said than done and my watch told me my third mile was 6.57 which was faster than I wanted so I did slow.  Thereafter, I only looked at my watch at the end of each mile and was pleased generally to see around the 7.36 pace.  I did occasionally wonder about dropping off at the end, but decided I’d deal with that if/when it came.  During the race a few things kept me going and not get distracted/slow down; Gel every 5M, plus one at the start; may change this for Boston to every 5M until 15, then 18 and 23 to finish.  Timing mats every 5K for friends to be able to track me; Gatorade and water stations very frequently – I alternated between the two each time, occasionally taking both at the same time on the go, but being careful here as potential to slip.  Sticking to the blue line and concentrating to not bump into slower runners ahead.  It was funny because towards the end I passed a 3.25 pacer, a 3.20 pacer, a 3.15 pacer who was walking and a 3.40 pacer!  There were a few small bridges to go over (they were really small) but a lot of them have metal bases so the organisers put carpet down but not the full width.  On a couple of the bridges, the blue line wasn’t on the carpet so a real dilemma as to whether to stay on the blue line or move to the carpet – I stuck to the blue line and took extra care!  (for those who are not aware, the blue line is there to follow where possible as that’s the “official racing line” – deviate from that and you’ll definitely run more than 26.2)!!

At mile 17, the crowds thinned and we had a bit of quiet – the noise is good but the break was much needed and relished.  But by 18M, the crowds were back.  One of my London friends had messaged me the day before to say he would be in the crowd and looking out for me, amongst other friends.  I didn’t believe for a moment I’d see/hear him, but would you believe it I did – twice!!  That was a real boost; about mile 3 and about mile 21.  

I went through halfway in 1.42 (a little quicker than normal, but not massively).  For me, the maths tends to start at mile 20.  With 10K to go, what time is it now, how long will it realistically take to finish, how are the legs, is there still enough room to avoid weaving too much (to stay on the blue line and how many people are walking on the blue line); I remember glancing at my watch and seeing 2.33 and trying to work out how much longer I’d be on my feet.  If I could stick to under 8mm then that be about 48 minutes, so would see me come in around 3.21.  I had hope!  At mile 23 I thought about another gel but my body wasn’t quite ready but I could feel myself slowing down but not being able to do anything about it.  It was just a case of pushing forward as best as I could, looking forwards and keeping an eye out for the next mile marker and the next…  I needed energy so by 23.5 I took my last gel and tried to keep an even pace.  This is the only part of the course where it doubles back on itself so on one part you’re seeing the runners in front of you, and then on the switch-back you could see those behind you.  I tried so hard not to fall behind and to be fair, I was still passing people but just could not achieve 7.35/40.  

Next, an odd thing happened that I’d never seen before in any marathon, let alone an Abbott World Series one; I knew I was still on mile 24 but I saw a sign that said 400m to go.  I know I’m not making it up because Stuart saw it also.  I thought it a bit odd but convinced myself my watch was right and the marker was simply in the wrong place – bit of a rookie error by the organisers.  I felt really sorry for a woman who was being paced by a male who saw the sign and shouted, “come on, only 400m to go and sprinted off”.  Of course I was dreaming; it was 400m to the marker that then proclaimed “1 mile from here”!  So I knew that was it, gritted my teeth and just wanted to finish.  I wasn’t in any pain, I wasn’t sore but I wanted to finish before I slowed down any further.  Progress, I saw the 800m marker, turned the corner, saw the 400m marker and my heart sank; there was a climb!  Not a massive climb but at that stage of the race, it might have well as been Mount Everest!  Move the arms I said to myself, the legs will follow.  Slight downhill for the last 200m and that was it, I was over the line.  Not the 3.21 I thought I might possibly get (who am I kidding?); not the 3.23 I’ve always believed I could achieve, but still extraordinarily happy with 3.24.14, a shiny new PB at the age of 53, 8 years after my last PB at London of 3.25.03.

So, my comment about hindsight in the opening paragraph; I knew to expect the GPS not to kick in for a few miles however, I still looked at it and thought I was running too fast when I saw a 6.57 3rd mile and so slowed down.  That was an error.  If I’d have just had a bit more faith in those opening miles, even up to the 10K mark, I may have got a 3.23. something.  But I didn’t, and who knows anyway.  But I have faith I will run like this again. Boston is my next stop and whilst I know there are hills well into the race (mile 17, ½ long, mile 19, short but steep and repeats, into mile 20 Heartbreak Hill is a steep, half-mile trek uphill at a 3.3 percent incline).  So nice to know at least!!  Some people say the hills are not that bad and a couple of people I know have their PB set there.  So who knows…

For those of you interested in stats:

3rd GB lady in my age category (the other two finishing in 3.23);

34th lady overall in my age category

55th GB lady overall in all age categories

1791 lady to finish

9581 finisher from over 52,150 runners.

Good

Finishing where you started meant it was easy to collect your bag as it was where you’d left it with the volunteers.

Clear guidance about where you needed to start.

Plenty of Gatorade/water stations and lots of volunteers to hand out the water.

5K mats to relay your race information to followers.

Enough room to run without being hemmed in (unlike the other big city marathons where there are too many runners).

Barriers to keep spectators off the course (unlike NY where spectators were so close they were stood on the blue line).

Plenty of spectators in general (one quiet spot around 17M which was bliss).

Biofreeze near the end where you could “run in/be spayed/run out” – I didn’t need it but great for those who did.

Free medal engraving at the finish village.

Nike giving away flip flops (though we were in the medal engraving queue so long, they’d run out).

Ice bags at the end.

A few goodies at the end (though I wasn’t aware of all of them).

Could do better

Cups of water and Gatorade offered before going into the Corral but limited to each runner.

Did not see the mile markers in the early stages – were they there?

Blue line was too close to the aid stations and they were slippy underfoot, understandably.

London offer stats about how many runners you’ve passed and how many have passed you during the race – it would be great if Chicago did this too.

Bad

No bottled water at the start.

Not enough portaloos at the start.

Anyone could get into our corral as there were no officials checking bibs.

During the race, some people had pacing bibs on the rear of their shirt so you assumed they were pacers – but they weren’t; that was the time they were aiming for and they were just runners.

Steaming to the Coast – A True Adventure by Becky Townsend, John and Helen Ashworth

“Steaming to the Coast” is a Devon based trail marathon. Becky, John and Helen ran this inaugural event in April.

We generally run together, quite slowly, and always take the opportunity to look at stuff as we trot by. The marathon gave us plenty of opportunities to do that.

The race starts in Minehead, with the first leg being a steam train ride to Bishop’s Lydeard. From there to the sound of a steam whistle, we set off back towards Minehead. A bit of farmland first, then up onto the Quantocks. Undulating moorland with spectacular views for a while, including a view of the finish (very far away) and then back down to fairly level farmland and coastal trails, and the sea front in Minehead.

All in all, a great day out. Not a cloud in the sky, friendly marshals and other runners, and great variety of terrain and scenery.

Spoiler alert: We all completed the race 🙂

Feel free to continue reading for a more expanded version 🙂

Training for the race had gone quite well, but had been interrupted by holidays and other things, so our last four weeks was not ideal. Still, it was certain to be an adventure that we could enjoy … let’s see what the day brings.

· Potatoes the night before – whilst sitting chatting Helen realised that she’d left them at home, having promised Becky she would provide them. (salty potatoes are a must for any long run!)

· Surprisingly spacious Air BnB Lodge, surprisingly good night’s sleep

· Early start but the clear sky and sun made up for this.

· Slow train – but with toilet, and stuff yourself full of food so you don’t have to carry it and lots of countryside to distract your pre-race nerves.

· Waiting around at Bishop’s Lydeard Station and a few more toilet stops.

· Finally, we have a briefing – something about following flags, public rights of way, can’t hear but can’t process either, just want to get going

· The train in the station lets off steam and toots and we start, cheered out of the station by all the 11km and 11 mile runners who will then be getting back on the train to get to their (closer) starting points. The atmosphere at the start was different to other races, the unique start and beautiful weather must have had something to do with it.

We had previously run once on the Quantocks, which we did recognise as we sailed past; otherwise, this was all new territory for us. Now we understand why people get excited about trail races which they haven’t reccied – once we’d got up the (never ending) hill it was one pleasant sight after another: mown grassy paths through heather, magnificent views, firstly of Hinkley Point C (still under construction) and soon after that of our ultimate destination, just past the white roofs of Butlins in Minehead.

Ponies on the path, lots of gorgeous yellow gorse, the sun continues to shine with a warm breeze.

Coming down off the Quantocks, zig-zag path steep through the woods, keep an eye out for the little red flags, knees coping well with the downhill.

Beep beep – Becky’s watch reminding us every 20 minutes that we should eat or drink, using this method was new to us but it seemed to work.

Being directed down a path towards the sea and realising that we’ve reached the beach much quicker than expected. There was a cut-off of 15:30 as the tide would be too high for us to cross the beach, but we’d make it with plenty of time to spare so had the pleasure of attempting to run – mainly walk – across slippy rocks and sandy pools and up steep steps (lots of them) at the other end.

Marshals at the aid stations delighted to see us, reluctant to answer the question from a fellow runner of “how many people have gone through?” – We are fully aware that there are – and will continue to be – around a dozen of the 130 or so starters behind us. We could see the bright orange marshal t-shirts from afar.

Getting hotter, John’s head getting redder. Marshal stopped Helen just in time when she went to pour water on his head; age-old problem of clear electrolyte drink, which would have been a very sticky mistake. Becky on the other hand poured the sticky water over her hands!

Leap frogging another group on the coastal section (metaphorically, not literally – that would have been very hard work at this stage).

Watchet – public toilets at last! An opportunity to have yet more food, shuffle the pack around, admire the picturesque fishing town whilst the tourists cheer us past.

Beaches! After the springy beach with the tide out, we then had what felt like a VERY long pebble beach and then just before we reached the seafront with tired legs we were met with deep dry sand that you sank into.

Medal & T-shirt. There was an option at registration to not have a medal, we went for this option but at the end decided we would like one as a memento and they were unique like the race and you could take the lanyard off it to use it as a coaster. One of the local running clubs made their own t-shirts which everyone was admiring so much so that the Dan and Jan organisers decided to add this on after the event.

Success?

· Not overtraining (motivational phone call from ultrarunning daughter who comforted us by saying “undertraining is better than overtraining” – J and H had spent 2 of the previous 4 weeks in the searing heat of Central America, doing lots of walking and snorkelling but zero running!) Becky had no excuse not to continue training during those 4 weeks unless the weather can be used.

· Planning – regular intake of food and drink, including this time for the first time some savoury stuff (Becky wondered why her savoury bag couldn’t be found at a feed station….turns out it was on the sofa in the Air B&B)

· Preparation – having attended Nick’s strength presentation we have been faithfully doing the “top five” weight-lifting exercises he strongly recommended (we managed to walk back to the van….slowly but not broken, thanks to the strength work)

· Confidence – we’ve run a marathon and 50 km before, albeit with some aches and pains afterwards, but our heads knew that we could do it (Becky spoke to herself a couple of times to say that this race was different to our Ultra and she wasn’t broken before the start and the weather was ideal…..so she could and would finish it!)

· Sticking together, walking when necessary, running when possible. Definitely walking up the hills. Becky reminding us that our legs are MUCH longer than hers and when we are power walking she can’t keep up!

· Regular massages during training. Deep tissue, performed by a passionate Lithuanian; avoid any political chat as she will press even harder as she gets animated about the topic!

Why trail marathon and not London marathon?

· The views, the countryside

· Less stress on the legs – you have to change your step constantly, so knees don’t mind so much

· Less pressure on yourself, enjoy the views and feed stations

· You can walk some of it without anyone really noticing

· Toilet stops – otherwise known as hedges or finding public toilets

· You can take as long as you like

· Training is much more fun. Embrace the mud, the hills, the gorgeous grassy downhills and views.

· Channel Events would love to hear from you if you’d like to get involved in marshalling at their runs or indeed cycling events. Dan always picks fantastic locations and looks after his marshals and runners very well.

Bishop’s Lydeard to Minehead via the Quantocks, Williton, Watchet, Washford, Dunster Bay

Total distance: 42.34 km

Total height gain: 666 m

Number of D of E groups passed: at least 5

Number of Scouts cheering as they walk the other way: at least 40

Autumn 100 by Craig Rumble

The Centurion Running Autumn 100 is a 100 mile ultramarathon beginning in the villages of Goring and Streatley on the Oxfordshire and Berkshire border. The race consists of four out and back legs of approximately 25 miles each which combine to make up the 100 mile distance. The route is varied with a near even split of Thames Path and Ridgeway with the village hall in Goring acting as the central hub and race HQ. The race appealed with its format mimicking that of my first ever ultra, Winter Cross Ultra, back in 2017. Additionally, one of my coached athletes completed the race in 2022 and recommended it.

This would be my 3rd attempt at the 100 mile distance following a DNF at 90 miles through the Cotswold Way Century in 2018 and eventual revenge with a successful completion of the same event in 2021. There’s just something special about this distance that has me wanting more!

Leg 1 – North on the Thames Path 03:32:37

It was a beautiful autumnal morning, pretty chilly early on which was most noticeable on the walk from the car to the village hall for registration. Laura and the kids dropped me off in Goring and watched the start of the race to see me off. Registration was speedy and well manned with volunteers and in no time I was changed, race vest packed and ready to roll. There was a short walk to the event start and race briefing over the bridge in Streatley and after a few formalities and a round of applause for a gentleman named Ken Fancett, who at the age of 74 was embarking on his 100th 100 miler, we were off.

I managed to get quite close to the front for the start despite my best intentions of holding back. I have a tendency to go out fast and I knew that with the first 25 miles being flat I needed to be careful. We set out heading North along the Thames Path and I managed to get fairly close to the front of the pack. Once the early nerves dissipated I found a rhythm and felt pretty comfortable even though I was running slightly faster than planned. Gradually the runners naturally separated out and I found myself running in a small group of 3. 

I started chatting to the lead lady Sarah Page and her training partner Rob and we remained together for the duration of Leg 1. It was a pretty unremarkable leg really. In terms of terrain, there was a moderate amount of tarmac which was tempered by open fields and some beautifully shaded trail alongside the Thames. I managed to keep my footing over the abundant tree roots whilst enjoying watching the rowers tear up and down the Thames. We sailed past the mid-way aid station without stopping and before we knew it, started to meet runners coming the other way moving fast! We hit the aid station and turnaround point and after a very quick snack stop and water top-up we were on our way back to Goring, greeting all of the runners now coming towards us. It was lovely for those remaining miles to see everyone in such good spirits sharing a smile and a wave.

Leg 2 – East on The Ridgeway 07:40:56

We arrived back into Goring as a 3. Rob and I faffed about a little (I’d brought some macaroons and I was darned well going to eat them! ) and Sarah headed off out ahead of us. I was definitely feeling the earlier pace in my legs but the sun was still shining and overall I felt pretty good. Fuelling was going well, eating every 20 minutes aiming for 75g of carbs per hour (plus bonus macaroons…). We caught up to Sarah again but the group started to split shortly after. I was running at the front of our group and again quickly fell into a comfortable pace and slowly pulled away from Sarah and Rob. It was lovely to have company over the first quarter of the race but the next 50 miles turned out to be a head-down solo shift. 

As the Thames Path wound through villages and then finally on to The Ridgeway, I was a little disappointed to see it confined to predominantly tree lined paths. I imagined the view was fantastic around me but couldn’t see past the trees and hedgerows. It did occasionally open out into fields, and eventually through an active golf course (twice!), but overall it was fairly straightforward undulating trails with the occasional barrage of tree roots to keep the mind on the job! 

All of the elevation was in the middle 50 miles of the route although there was nothing particularly steep on this leg, just long gradual climbs and fast flowing descents. I again sailed through the mid-way point aid station without stopping and ploughed on until the turnaround point and aid station where I grabbed a few snacks and drink top-up and was swiftly on my way again. I’d even managed to pick off a couple of runners ahead of me during this section, much to my surprise. I tried to calculate my rough position based on the number of people that passed me on the return but was unable to fathom basic math and gave up trying. 

Fuelling was still going well at this stage but my legs were definitely beginning to feel it. As I neared the village hall in Goring I have to say I began to feel terrible, legs felt dreadful and I’d been having issues with my right sock and toes for a while. I knew I needed to get this sorted as I’d ignored a foot issues during the Cotswold Way Century and paid the price with horrendously painful blisters during the latter stages and a true foot armageddon afterwards. I took my time at Goring, applied Vaseline to my toes and changed my socks. Also ate more macaroons… and then it was on to Leg 3.

Leg 3 – West on The Ridgeway 12:32:05

Mentally the sock change and short rest at Goring seemed to help, the mind overruled the body and I felt marginally better. I also made the decision for the first time in an ultra to wear headphones for this leg. I knew it would be tough – heading out into fairly exposed areas in the dark where the temperature was due to drop to low single digits and thought music might provide a welcome distraction. It worked a treat, so much so I wish I’d had it for leg 2!

There was a fairly large section of uphill tarmac heading out of Streatley before reaching The Ridgeway which was draining on the legs. Once back on the trail the views were spectacular, it was a shame that darkness was quickly on the way and I’d have limited time to take them in. As the hard-pack turned to rutted gras, I watched a beautiful sunset as it rained in distance in front of the sun. I knew I just had to buckle down on this leg as my good friend David Warren would be meeting me at Goring upon my return to pace the final 25 miles with me.

I hit the half-way aid station and stopped briefly to put on an extra layer and get my head torch out. As I got moving again I could see someone up ahead but couldn’t tell at distance whether they were a runner or hiker. As I closed on them I saw it was another runner who’d been ahead of me but had slowed and I gained another place. I kept a steady pace and was feeling okay although fuelling was not now going to plan. I’d had to switch to liquid calories in my flasks and solid food from aid stations but was thankfully still regularly taking in calories. 

As I neared the turnaround point I was surprised by a runner coming past me, we had a brief chat and he said he’d had a second-wind and to be honest he was flying and I was a little demoralised. I hit the turnaround point where I got kit checked and offered Vodka. I politely declined as my stomach was doing backflips and I didn’t think adding alcohol to the mix would help… who knows though, maybe it was just what I needed. I told myself only 12.5 miles to go and I’d be back in Goring and have company… so as I set off on my return I was surprised to come across the gentleman that had recently passed me – I think his second-wind had blown through and he was now walking.

It was certainly an experience being out in the middle of nowhere following a stream of head torches coming towards you. At least there was little chance of mis-navigation even if the responses from saying “well done” to nearly every runner had all but dried up.

Leg 4 South on the Thames Path 18:03:40

I arrived back into Goring to a smiling and chirpy Mr Warren. I tried for a quick turnaround but ended up faffing more than I’d like again which ultimately wasn’t a bad thing as I was offered pasta and bolognaise which was swiftly despatched. I snaffled some more savoury snacks and inhaled a macaroon or two and was off with David towards Reading. 

As we reached around the 5K mark, we saw a head torch coming towards us and concluded it must be the race leader. After a quick reality check that the he was around 22 miles ahead of us we gave a round of applause as he passed. Second and third passed before we reached the half-way aid station at Pangbourne. I decided not to stop. Although it was inside I had enough fluids on me and there were steps up to the refreshments – this was a novel stressor I didn’t feel I needed to introduce to my body at 81 miles deep. We kept moving forwards but at this point, things were really starting to hurt. My hip flexors were painful when I ran and the post-tib issue in my foot that I’d had for months prior was now raging at me. Safe to say I don’t think I was particularly great company at this point but huge credit to David for putting up with me, motivating me and pushing me on.

We hit the Reading outskirts quite quickly but it felt like it took forever to get to the turnaround point. There was so much tarmac although we were fortunate that there wasn’t too much in the way of Reading late-night wildlife (anyone who’s run through Dursley at one in the morning will know what I mean). I was run-walking now, we were doing a mini-fartlek… run to the next bridge (so many bridges!) and then walk for a bit. We hit the turnaround point and went into the aid station. The volunteers were lovely and I had some soup and a few snacks. We asked how close the runners behind us were so that we had an idea of what the return journey was going to be like. They told us that I was currently in sixth place and that according to the trackers, the next runners were around 10 minutes away and running as a pair. Imagine our surprise as we left the aid station and almost immediately saw two head torches coming towards us! Honestly, I’d kind of given up any hope of fighting at this point – I don’t like being hunted and certainly didn’t feel that I was in any real shape to hold them off. But yet again, David somehow managed to gently motivate me into deciding whether I’d truly be happy to give up or fight for my position… so fight we did. 

Most of the journey back to Goring was a blur but the reassurance of a route recently travelled meant at least there weren’t any surprises with the course. I’d managed to get running freely again which meant we managed to stay ahead of the chasing runners. We occasionally looked back and the sight of pursuing head torches kept us honest, especially so as we headed back in to Goring with just over a mile to go. The head torches seemed really close – so we ran as hard as we could. Probably my most impressive performance banging out a near 8 minute mile at 99 miles in. I also had a sprint finish at the Marlborough Downs Challenge earlier in the year, it’s a worrying trend! It was surprising then to see on the results that 7th place was 10 minutes and 8th place was 20 minutes behind – maybe the mind was playing tricks on me?

And so I finished, in the early hours of Sunday morning, with 18:03:40 on the clock and in 6th position. My A goal for this race was to try and sneak into the top 10, not knowing if it was possible with it being a hugely popular and competitive event. I was delighted to tick that one off.

Summary (i.e. TLDR)

Overall a fantastic event from Centurion Running, well organised and with some very enthusiastic and supportive volunteers at the aid stations. It wasn’t the most scenic ultra I’ve run and probably ultimately a little flat for my tastes but it definitely had its moments. My fuelling was on point until 50 miles with a combination of Precision Hydration products but beyond that I tired of the taste and texture and was glad to have packed Active Root drink and SiS gels as backup alongside the well stocked aid stations. Music was my saviour for miles 50 – 75, so much so that I wish I’d taken my headphones from mile 25 so that I at least had that option available. I’m hugely grateful to David for pacing me over the final quarter of the race. I’m not sure I’d have been able to fight anywhere near as hard if he wasn’t there to motivate me and I definitely hope one day to be able to return the favour.

North Downs Way 100 by Lydia Thomson

Lydia Thomson – 3rd Female, 38th Overall finishing the North Downs Way 100

Let’s get this out of the way first: the weather was not ideal. It rained from dawn until gone midnight. The only solution to this was a good sense of humour. This isn’t about who can run the fastest, it’s about who can laugh the most heartily at their soggy pants.

Okay, onwards.

My priority was to finish the race. My hope was to go under 24 hours. I roughly needed to do 10k every hour and a half. I knew I would go faster than that for the first 50k or so, which would be time banked for the back half of the race. I would make my own contingency for when the trail got sloppy, the vertical ascents were nature’s own slip ‘n’ slide, and the night crept into my soul. As darkness falls and fatigue creeps, there are strange shapes in those woods. 

My God, it was beautiful. In May of this year, I had a shocker of a time failing to run the Thames Path 100 – that flat terrain couldn’t have been further from my comfort zone. But here, with vertiginous climbs, rolling, technical single track and sprawling fields, I was home. In the latter stages there are some uninspiring sections on single carriageways, but then you reach a McDonald’s on a roundabout where a woman asks you, “Are you runner-Barbie?” and you are confused back into joy.

I craved the uphills where others swore at them. When I realised I was easily picking people off on the ascents, I reassessed my goals. About 20 miles in, a woman at an aid station told me I was the 4th woman to come through. I smirked and said, “I’ll work my way up.” I don’t know where that came from. The words just fell out of my mouth. But a fire had been lit. Shortly before that aid station I’d seen legendary ultra runner and sheRACES founder Sophie Power running in the opposite direction. This might have been the kindling I needed.

But hey. 100 miles is a long time. Generally, you don’t turn the screw in any meaningful way until the end, unless you want to blow up. You’ve just got to hold strong.

The women’s race was really exciting. The top 5 women were close, but with Charlotte Fisher in 1st leading from gun to tape. The aid station at mile 71 – Detling – was probably where the race took shape for the rest of us. I changed clothes completely because I was soaked through and knew that I’d be able to do my best work if I felt fresh. There were about three other women in the toilets. I think we all clocked each other and got out of that aid station pretty sharply. I was monosyllabic with a volunteer who wanted to chat, and ate my cheesy beans on the move.

The woman who ultimately came 2nd – Rachel Gillings – ran an astonishingly smart race. It looks like she hung back until Detling, then put the hammer down. I left that aid station in 3rd and she overtook me when I went the wrong way shortly after leaving. But looking at the splits, that wouldn’t have made a difference. I had a colossally tough time in the mud but she bossed through it.

Cat Hicks who came 4th also paced her race really well. Her, Rachel and I didn’t overtake Megan Davies, who had been in 2nd place for the majority of the race, until mile 94. She was walking up a short incline and I knew I just had to run up it, overtake her (saying “well done!”), and keep turning the screw for the last 10k.

This is what is so fascinating to me about pacing 100 miles. You don’t know when you’re going to blow up, fade, peak or thrive. You can hazard a guess, you can use previous experience to a certain extent, but so much depends on the conditions, the terrain, how your fuelling goes, other people in the race and what’s going on in your life. 

Miles 82 – 92 were probably my lowest point. I employed ultra runner Devon Yanko’s mantra – “Tomorrow is Sunday.” I thought about my sofa a lot. I gazed up at the stars and the moon in wonder. Then the sky started to hue into blue – the sun was coming up. I thought this experience would make me feel hungover, but actually it did what everyone says it does – it gave me a new lease of life. The sooner I got to the end, the sooner I would be on my sofa. (I haven’t had one since 2021, hence the novelty.)

I needed to get pragmatic. Walking was too easy, and I wasn’t here to take the easy way out. I didn’t know how close the next woman was behind me (very close, actually), nor indeed how far ahead the next woman was (again, very close.) I decided to run for 4 minutes, walk for 1, and do this until I felt better. I only did it for about half an hour, but it got me through a chunk of the 10k I was currently running in. I was still within my target of 10k every 90 minutes. This fact made me feel better – I had clawed myself back. I could run continuously again. 

At the last aid station – aptly named “Dunn Street” – a volunteer met me on the road and asked if I was running straight through. Yes. Yes I was. “You’re moving really well. Almost there now.” 

The sun coming up over the next field was one of the most beautiful sights of the past 23 hours. Given the context, I would categorise it as one of the most beautiful sights of my life. I could see men further up ahead running gently between the crops. We were all so close to the end now.

I was absolutely caning it for the last 10k. Strava would tell you I was hovering around 6-6:30 minutes per kilometre, but it felt like my 10k pace. I was wheezing. I wanted to just empty the tank and see if I could catch the next woman. I had absolutely no idea where I was in the rankings, so I knew this could be my only chance to podium. But I was also rinsing it just for myself. This was my first 100 mile race, something that had been an impossible dream for a long time. 

The run through Ashford to the finish line went on forever, and I had to dial back my enthusiastic pace. I walked with a group of men for a bit and we dithered in the middle of the road, laughing. One of them pointed out the peaks of the tents at the finish line and I kicked into my final sprint. I turned into the Julie Rose Stadium, saw the track and saw the finish arch. I cried to see it. My previous experience of Centurion races had only been a DNS and a DNF, so getting under that arch was an epic feat in itself. 

300m. 200m. 100m. Finish. 23:06.19.

I don’t actually understand how I did this. Any of it. Not the distance, the execution, the sub 24 hours, not the podium. I don’t know how. I know in very practical terms, but not in any real way. It’s a very simple thing to do, but it is not easy.

After my Thames Path 100 experience, I’d been thinking a lot about Freidrich Nietszche. (Go with me on this.) One of the biggest stumbling blocks during that race was the pointlessness of it all. People often find Nietzsche to be depressing, but actually, his writing is incredibly life-affirming: he sees the meaninglessness of life as a liberating thing. This is something I had somehow forgotten. His oft quoted “God is dead” is not a void of negativity, it’s an opportunity. 

…I promise I’m not going to make this race report an in-depth philosophical analysis, mainly because I can’t remember a lot of it from my English Lit dissertation, but I do remember that Nietzsche’s writing on the Will to Power is about using that meaninglessness to create meaning; to be a better version of yourself every day, das übermensch – “the superman”. Running is the epitome of that. During the race, when my brain tilted towards pointlessness, I actively tilted it back this way; here I was, creating meaning with each step, being a better version of myself than I was the day before.

I will leave you with this, my favourite quote from Martin Heidegger’s writings on Nietzsche:

“Life lives in that it bodies forth.”

100 miles. One day. A day in the life. 

I will also leave you with this astonishing film. Completing this race was significant because it means I can enter the Western States 100 lottery, and start what will likely be a decade long process to get in. But it starts here. 

South Downs Way 100 by David Warren

First off, apologies if my race blogs seem a bit self indulgent and pity seeking. They’re not meant to be. I like to write these for bigger events, as a record of my experience, good & bad, for reference and for something to look back on. A bit of running nostalgia for when I’m no longer able or willing to do these types of things. To also remind me to think very hard before entering such silly events again, especially after the aches, pains and funny walk have been long forgotten. I’ll try to keep this fairly balanced, as ultimately, it’s easy in the early days following an event, to focus mainly on the mistakes and adversity. Especially when they feature heavily in the event, as was the case here.

First off. Why this distance & race? I’ll admit that having done a few 100k races, I always considered 100 miles to be too far. I’m probably not cut out for these longer endurance distances and the stress on your body cannot be good for you. However, being mindful that I’m not getting any younger and some close runner friends have completed this distance, it’s something I’ve not been able to get past. To complete 100miles. Just for the sake of doing it. To ‘put it to bed’ and to know that I’d ticked that box. After all, it’s often considered ‘the’ distance for an ultra runner to complete. And I appreciate that lots of runners have done this distance many times and even further. Sometimes much further. But that’s not for me. I’m content to draw the line at 100 miles. As for this particular race, I’d heard great things about Centurion Running and know of a good number of runners that have done this event as their first 100. And to top it off, the South Downs Way reminds me of my younger years in Portsmouth and family trips out to QECP and Butser Hill. Nothing mountainous, but rolling hills.

In terms of preparation, things had gone relatively to plan. Not that I tend to have much of a plan, but this was slightly more focused than most of my training. Some longer runs, London Marathon, a night run on Imber and some back to backs. A lot with Mark, my running companion on this particular adventure. Thankfully, I’ve had no real injuries to contend with, just the usual niggles.

Race day came around quicker than expected and after a late night finalising food and kit, standard procrastination, I eventually settled for about 3-4 hours of light sleep before the 2.30am alarm. Peter turned up to collect us in his Bongo van, after very generously volunteering to be our chauffeur and crew man for the event. As well as being a superstar for offering his services, after not being able to race this event himself, Peter is also a seasoned ultra guru and all round top bloke. Great to have on your team. The drive down to Winchester was a blur with some banter, plenty of anxiousness and a lot of tiredness. Once registered, trackers strapped to our packs, potions applied, last minute kit checks, etc, etc, it was time for the race brief and then the 6am off.

After several laps around and through the natural bowl setting of the race village, and a few rounds of slightly premature clapping and encouragement by the spectators, we headed off to join the South Downs Way. The start of our 100(ish) mile challenge. Whilst the first 10 miles should have been fairly uneventful and ideally a bit slower, perhaps a lot slower, the good ol runners tummy issues took hold early on. I put this down to the early start and a bit of stress, but by the second check point at QECP, at around mile 22, I’d already had several unpleasant evacuation stops (the most savoury way to describe events) and I was starting to feel very sick. From there in, things went downhill for me. I felt completely washed out and my energy was rapidly wavering. It was only when looking through some pics Mark took, that I remembered stopping at a medics car to seek some help. The diarrhoea tablets they offered didn’t really do much, especially considering the loss of fluids I’d already suffered.

From around 30 miles onwards I couldn’t stomach anything, a horrible situation to be in, given the need for hydration and fuel. I felt more and more sick and had to be chaperoned through some of the toughest miles I’ve endured in a long time, through to the next aid station at around 36 miles. At times struggling to string a sentence together. I just wanted to curl up on the side of the path, as I felt I had nothing, and I’m so grateful for being pushed on, quite literally at times, to get through this very low point. As you do, you just think about all of the potential scenarios & outcomes, and I was certain that this was the end of my race, if I could just get back to Peter and his van. It was during this period that I was given much encouragement and offers of support by runners passing. One in particular chose to stay with me and Mark through to the next aid station, recalling his similar experience two years prior, where he DNF’d. I really hope he completed it on this, his second attempt. Support & community, something you come across routinely within the off-road and ultra scene.

One of the mistakes I made was looking to complete this first attempt at an 100mile ultra within a specific time. After all, there was a generous 30hr cut-off. But dragging this out would also impact the others in our team and would eat into the next day, so expectations were settled at a time of around 24hours, which seemed easily achievable. There was also the most significant issue, aside from the distance, the heat, something I’d not focused enough on preparing for. Perhaps as the original forecast was for drizzle and thunderstorms. In turned out to be an almost cloudless day with temps suggested to be up around 30C on the often exposed chalk Downs. Even through the night it remained in the late teens, with constant humidity and little breeze. Whilst I enjoy a sunny run, and had a few weeks to train in higher temps, this wasn’t the best combination with my hydration issues.

I’m still not sure what caused the S&D which led to dehydration. Something as simple as poor meal choices the night before (which included several days old left over rice), lack of electrolytes and possibly some heat stroke. Seeing other runners being sick throughout the event, Mark included, wasn’t uncommon, and I really struggled with my electrolyte drinks after the first 50k or so. Getting to Pete at mile 36 was a huge relief, but not until I’d suffered another set back with a small stumble causing my calf to lock up in cramp. A stint on the ground getting this stretched out meant I could finally carry on. What I do recall about this incident, aside the pain, was how the cramp seemed to distract or divert slightly from my other symptoms. I could start talking a bit more, moved a bit quicker and even managed a few laughs. Sitting down back at the Bongo, trying to find shade, Pete was straight with me. I wasn’t dropping out, I should take the time needed to get some drink and food down to see how I felt before making a rash decision. It worked, I managed to drink some water and coke, ate some sandwiches, pretzels and a yoghurt. I was starting to feel more human. Ice on my neck also worked a treat. Mark was keen to move along, so I decided to give the next section a go, using the uphill start to go steady and to see how I felt. There was no turning back, Pete was clear that he was off to the next location, around 12miles on. Tough love?

Initially I was feeling good. A fast paced walk up a long hill and I was keeping my temp down. However, as I pushed when running, or on harder hills, the stomach issues and nausea returned. Finding a balance between keeping my efforts and symptoms tolerable, whilst not ruining Mark’s race was a challenge, especially as he started to suffer fatigue and was experiencing a nerve related pain in his thigh, which worsened whilst walking. Chatting with runners as they came and went, some past us, and some slowing behind us, many were aiming to be more conservative with their efforts during the hottest daylight hours. This seemed a good plan, and then to push on in the cooler evening and night, wherever possible. Each section between aid points felt like a never ending grind as we were moving much slower than we were used to, which also meant taking on-board and carrying more water than you should ordinarily need, in an already heavy pack. As I was still struggling to take on fuel whilst moving, I also decided to make better use of the supplies at the aid stations. The supporters and volunteers were all fantastic, so cheerful even during the silly hours. Being prepared to do what they could for you, to save you a bit of energy. We kept moving and remained fairly consistent through to the point where we met our pacer at around mile 65.

Ben, aka Mr Motivator brought a new energy to our efforts, along with an infectious positivity and plenty of enthusiasm to help take our mind away from the remaining miles. At least for a while. The banter output increased and morale improved into dusk, where we were greeted by an amazing blood red half moon. It was at this point I could have sworn I had a thorn between my toes. But after taking off my shoe and socks twice to locate it, nothing was found and the sharp pain continued. It turned out to be one of many blisters that made themselves known in the latter stages of the race. Especially on the downhills. Whilst we were by no means moving fast, we were moving faster than many others. Catching the light of head torches ahead and passing runners as they were slowing or resting at stops. We agreed to minimise the faff time at aid points by avoiding sitting down, although the rice pudding and jelly at the 66.6m mark was worth the exception, along with some amazing salted potatoes. We must have passed about 30 other runners during the night and into Dawn.

The final stages included a tough couple of bigger/longer hills to climb and ascend. The final one, after passing the trig point at the summit, had a nasty and often narrow & technical gulley to ascend. Not want you need on fatigued legs and with painful feet. But we knew this led us down into Eastbourne, which gave us some motivation to pick up the pace. Eventually hitting the tarmac of civilisation, we pushed on and picked up another chap that had gotten lost on top of the hill. With the motivation of the finish line ahead and having someone else to push us along, allied with some adrenaline and my first gel, we managed to get a good pace through the deserted roads, with a two mile loop taking us to the finish, on an athletics track. Just a 400m lap of the red track to go and we felt like we were flying, pulling this poor runner around with us. It’s amazing how 8-9min/mile can feel like sub 6min/mile at this point in a race. And there it was. Our journey complete. 24hours and 7mins after we started.

Luckily and thankfully, we had a Bongo, Pete & Mark’s folks on hand to bring us home whilst we slipped in & out of consciousness during half finished sentences. Job done. What an adventure.

Of the 350 odd starters, only 55% finished, with the rest pulling out or failing to meet cut-offs. This long standing events’ highest ever DNF rate. As for Mark & I as a team. I’m not sure how we stuck it out together, but we did. It’s such a personal experience going through some dark places during the course of a race of this length/time, and this can really challenge the boundaries of teamwork. Inevitably one person’s low won’t coincide with the others, and likewise for energy, so you have to push each other along and have some patience and tolerance. Luckily Mark had both and I’m very grateful for us seeing this through together, creating some amazing memories and finally achieving the coveted distance in a footrace. And finally, as already highlighted in the report. What a crew we were fortunate enough to have with us. Both Peter and Ben went above and beyond and we’re so grateful for what they individually and collectively brought to our challenge. Superstars.

The Marathon Rap by Chris Bott

London 26.2

Red Wave Nine

Quick check of the time

Porta loo queue

Dodge the stink and spew

Head to the start

Feel my racing heart

Tell my mind to calm

Don’t raise the alarm

You’ve got this Chris

No chance you’ll miss

Crossin’ that line

Don’t sweat the time

Out on the street

Pounding feet

Crowds are loud

We’ll make them proud

Cutty Sark, Tower Bridge

A man running with a Fridge

Keep it cool, Keep in check

Can’t be running like a wreck

17.5, My Family –I’ll survive

Go over give em a High Five

Miss my boys -where are they?

Feeling gutted the rest of the way

Pick it up Chris

No chance you’ll miss

Crossin’ that line

Don’t sweat the time

‘Super strong, amazing effort’

The crowd pull me through the hurt

This race ain’t gonnabe cruel

I just need to get some fuel

I see Paul at Big Ben

Find my little zone again

Chin up, knees up, arms pump to the end

I just ran a Marathon my Friend.

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