2013 Review

..in one picture:

Piece of String - Part 2 of ?

Part 2 - 31 hours inside a mindgame

Inside the van, Steve was straight off into doze mode and Tom looked like he’d be very happy to sleep anywhere. I tried to wind my sugar-fuelled body into getting 30 minutes down-time but it didn’t work, so I set about resupplying the Snickers pouch (yep. I had one specifically bought as it fits 4 hours of nutty nutrition), recharging the Nokia I was using for GPS and dropping pretzels all over the floor (sorry guys, hope you got the deposit back).

After 50 minutes of a planned 30 minute stop we shuffled out of the van and off down the canal again.

This time something was different.

The sky had a blue tinge.

Dawn was approaching.

Now I've read about the euphoria associated with running to the dawn, and I’ve done some night running, but I’ve never experienced full on fatigue while watching the sun rise. It’s bloody fantastic.

And with the new dawn came a new order. Or orders to be more precise. 

We were obviously getting tired, and even without Tom’s long-dead Garmin we could tell the pace was continually dropping. Having left the night bus with around 70 minutes to the cut-off, we needed to at least maintain 4mph.

I’ve mentioned a lot about Tom in the last part as we’d formed a mutual alliance based on endlessly taking the piss out of eachother. I haven’t mentioned much about Steve. The only reason being he was trotting along at our 12 min /mile pace like he was born running. While Tom and I bitched and moaned about every gate and incline, Steve glided on as though he was on rails. Maybe he was hurting, maybe not, but throughout he remained the model of calm.

Turns out Steve is also bloody good at a) timekeeping and b) motivation. Tom was struggling to hold a constant pace after his 8 weeks layoff due to a broken foot, so Steve paced us on a 10/5 regime. 10 minutes of (we guessed) 5mph running and 5 of 3mph walking. Enough to maintain the buffer and keep grinding through the miles.

There were more CPs heading off to the Thames. I had thought we might make the 100 miles in 24 hours - a goal I have never achieved as I’d only run 62 miles before this. Although it would have been madness to chase a goal in this type of race, had I not been with the guys I definitely would have gone for it and blown up a few miles after.

By now things are getting a little hazy as we went past the 24 hour mark and into unknown territory. Actually forget that last bit. We’d been in unknown territory FOR 24 hours. We’d now reached ‘happy with that, the rest is a bonus’ territory. 

There was one more CP in Reading before the Thames turn and secretly I was thinking they’d stretch that leg to send us away from Streatley for maybe a mile before doubling us back at the next CP. I may just be as devious as J&J as I was seeing all sorts of permutations. Or I may just have been paranoid. I’m not a glass-half-empty type of guy, more a ‘don’t trust the glass, drink from the tap'. 

So much better on the PoS to believe the worst and for it not to happen than be unprepared for a nasty shock.

As we crossed the Thames we unfortunately managed to scare the bejeezus out of  a small kid scootering along happily on a perfect autumn Saturday. Looking back she saw 3 disheveled runners limping toward her in a scene from an 80's undead movie. And one with a day-glo red beard that made him look like an evil Santa. Unsurprisingly she suddenly decided to scoot a lot faster. I’d like to apologise for that. It was unnecessary. Next time it’s a green beard and red hair. So much more friendly.

And so to Streatley, where it all started and where we knew we weren’t done. Not by a long way.

Earlier I'd mentioned to the guys that it would be pure evil to run us all the way in then make us start the Winter 100. Tom told me to shut up in no uncertain terms but guess what. We did. 

I’d like to say that the hills were a welcome relief after such a long, flat, straight run. I’d be lying. A lot. 

We needed hills like.. well. We just didn’t need hills.

What really didn’t help that I think I may have told the guys that we were in line to miss the cut-off to Swincombe, so we (very stupidly as it turned out) kicked up the pace to around 10 min/miles, and gawd alive did it hurt. 

For absolute grit and determination I have to take my hat, coat & shoes off to Tiny Tim (Tom is 6'3 so I'd coined this nickname many hours ago). He had been suffering for more hours that I can remember but with the prospect of dropping, he took the pace and pushed us up through the hills. How he did it I don’t know but his sheer force of will dragged us on at what for that point in the race was a suicidal pace.

The reason why I call it stupid is that we didn't have to push the pace. We’d miscalculated and were fine on the 10/5 routine we’d been on for hours. Once we realised this after about 3 miles it came as a real blow. We’d probably just killed any chance we had of finishing and nobody really felt like talking. We just trudged on.

Then we started to meet the W100 runners returning from the out-and-back leg. It was almost as if the music had come on in the patriotic part of a particularly harrowing “ do or die” move. EVERYONE who passed us gave us a ‘keep on guys’, ‘good work’, ‘doing great’. It gets me a bit just remembering this. That is what ultra running is about. That is why I am now a fully-fledged addict. They saw us hurting and willed us on.

And we went on. We made Swincombe and collapsed.

On the way in we’d met Sam, who was limping pretty badly from a previous tendon issue. I’d really wanted to see if we could drag him to the CP with us as it didn’t seem right passing such an awesome runner, but he waved us on saying he’d walk it in. I later learned he’d dropped shortly after. It was the right decision and will mean he can seriously kick some ass in 2014. (Ok, enough of the hoo-har stuff. Background music is now off).

So now we had a decision. James had called to say Sam had dropped and wanted to know whether the 3 muscateers wanted to carry on. We agreed to at least see the route and then decide. Then we saw the beast that was a hilly 15 miles and a 4 hour cutoff. We were barely walking by this point and it had taken over a minute for us to get out of the camp chairs to look at the map. So of course we limped out of the CP and into the darkness.

For some reason we decided to sing a bit too. It helped.

Down the the hill & up the next. An arrow-straight path to the Swan Way and on to the next CP. We had no chance of making the cut-off. We knew that. What we also knew is that the end would never be a CP. James has a habit of hiding in bushes and jumping out at people. Sometimes for races too.

Could we have lived with the knowledge that we’d dropped 400m from the end? So on we went.

The wrong way.

Eventually after two more hours of pointless wandering in the dark, we called in to drop and waited to be picked up

We’d covered more ground in more time than I ever thought possible. We’d bantered, insulted eachother, cajoled, threatened and invented anti-chafing devices over the last 31 hours that I will not forget for a long, long time. We’d run ourselves into the ground and had nothing more to give. The end was immaterial.. the race was over.

The funny thing was It didn’t matter. We were done. We’d won.

One last message before this blog entry is done....

The reason I’m doing this. What got me into walking last year and then running this year is to raise money for Alice's Escapes. Alice was an inspirational lady, and the charity provides respite to sick kids and their families.

Take a look.. Read her story. You might just be motivated to do something Idiotic ;)
 

Piece of String - Part 1 of ?

Part 1 - Where to start?

James E handing out pointless maps. Made Chris run & get a spare too ;)

That was the question that James Adams & James Elson unexpectedly answered on the Piece of String Fun Run by starting the race, stopping it after 100 meters and bundling 13 willing victims into a minibus, then jollying them along with rounds of “99 bottles of beer” as we sped round the back lanes of Streatley. 

Road to Nowhere

Initially we suspected a drop-off point somewhere on the Thames or Ridgeway, though as we swung on to the M4 my offhand comment that “we’re off to Wales for hill reps up Pen-y-Fan” was looking increasingly realistic.

The anticipation was tangible as we sped past each turnoff, with the more outlandish guesses as to our final destination looking like they may become a reality. It pretty much turned into a school trip with us kids in the back being cheeky to J&J in the front seats and making a “woooooh” noise in anticipation of each turn and an “awwww” as we sailed past. After what seemed like hours a cheer went up as we finally turned towards Bath and headed off across Lansdown Hill. 

At this point I thought the Cotswold Way was on the cards and started mentally preparing for 100 hilly miles.. prep that suddenly stopped when the minibus turned in to an industrial estate at the start of the Bristol/ Bath Railway Path. I run this almost every weekend and must have been the most surprised participant there. After all the travel, prep & hotel we were only a few miles from my house.

We gathered together for the second briefing of the day, (but possibly not the last). Received a reinforced message that the checkpoints would be a maximum of 6 hours apart, collected a couple of dodgy A4 sheets by way of a map, and were told to run towards Bristol until we met “someone”. That someone turned out to have a slightly more substantial map and directions to follow the river back into Bath. This is an area I know well so I navigated a couple of tricky cross-overs and headed up to the start of the Kennett & Avon Canal. Unfortunately the race favourite Sam Robson and 3 others did what I had done many times before and missed the turn back to the river, adding 5 bonus miles to a 6 mile loop - an impressive error by any standards.

I had settled in to a good 10 min/mile pace with Tom Forman, whom I’d chatted to on Facebook a few times & met the night before during pre-race Guinnesses. I’d originally agreed to run with Chris & Kate, though they had decided the race would be 140+ and so settled in at 12/13 min/mile pace. We had been told any time limits would be “generous” and I’d caught the phrase “you could walk it”. Doing some basic maths with the clues we had, it worked out at checkpoints every 14 miles and an average cut-off pace of 4mph, so getting a good buffer in early without trashing the legs seemed a good plan.

We jogged through the not-so-nice bits of the canal path to Bath and our first meeting with Nici where we were told to stay on the K&A until further instruction. All to plan so far. Tom & I toyed with the idea of taking some time off to go clubbing in Bath since we were both many shades of fluorescent. But we had a Fun Run to do, so didn’t.

It was at this point around 4pm that Sam and the other bonus-milers sped on through to the next CP, which contained the minibus & drop bags. I changed into my heavyweight top ready for a cool night as it was already starting to get dark.

Disco's that way lads...

Steve Macalister had been running about 20 mins behind us with Jackie though I think she dropped at this CP as Steve caught us shortly after and we formed a group that was to stay together for the next 24 hours.

Another factor that J&J didn’t know was that I’d planned a canoe trip from Bristol to London & so knew the K&A fairly well. I also knew that it meets the Thames at Reading, around 10 miles from Streatley. So that was the next 80 miles sorted then. Head down & jog on.

At the 45 mile checkpoint just after night had fallen, we met a fairly motley crew which I realised contained some of the best ultra runners I was ever likely to meet. Everyone knew Tom and the banter started. I stood awkwardly by the side & tried to look like I knew what I was doing. I failed miserably, though my comedic alter-ego leaped to the rescue and managed to amuse a few by adopting Knobcheese’s new nickname for the next 10 miles.

A shiny arse

One of the down sides of running for this length of time is a certain level of boredom that builds up, so in addition to commenting endlessly on Tom’s shiny Merrell backside, we played “FOUR LEGGED ANIMAL”, applied the Hill Rule ruthlessly (the majority could force a walk on any gradient less than snooker-table flat), discussed possible future twists in the race and we followed the path. We followed the path,. We Followed The Path. I was so glad I had my compass.

At 6am, having no idea what the mileage was as all batteries were dead, we were greeted by a bright-lights-in-the-eyes interrogation-style welcome. I think this was for photos but at the time I was just waiting for a hood on the head and a helicopter ride to who-knows-where. By now James A was looking like the Michelin man in every warm coat he owned, and the minibus was warm and inviting, which was good as we’d already decided on a 30 min stop to refuel & warm up. Sam was just leaving as we arrived so I shouted over that I’d see him at the finish and we climbed aboard a lovely warm minibus and I drank the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.

Next - Part 2 of ? - 31 hours inside a mindgame

Breaking News

The Thought Police have put out a warrant for the arrest of these two shady characters on 13 counts of kidnapping, false confinement and crimes against facial hair.

Unusual Suspects

In Other News:
Piece of String report to follow once I've recovered from BORDERLINE HYPERGLYCEMIC SHOCK from a Snicker binge.

Follow the String

At 10:00 on Friday 29th Nov "The Worlds Most Pointless Race" starts. When it ends, nobody knows.

Not even the race director.   Yet.

You can track me live below, or watch paint dry. I know which I'd rather do.
 

As I have absolutely no chance of winning (and it is a fun run after all) I will be tweeting, blogging, doing pirouettes, running with poles in full compression gear, shouting phrases in German and generally doing as much as I can to annoy the RD.

If I get banned from the race after 63.583 hours, it's not a DNF in my book.(RD patience factor has been measured using social media bots since mission PoS began)

When you get bored of following an increasingly futile series of circles, you can read Sam's nutrition strategy for the race. There's also Mark Hines' excellent piece on the futility of calories, which I ignored.

My main fuel source will be a boatload of Snickers bars.
I like Snickers.

After that it's foraging for berries and fungi.

I may have also gone overboard on kit, but I'm not the one carrying my drop bag.. (see prior line on potential ban).

 "We gonna' rock it 'til the wheels fall off". Dr. Dr. E / Snoopy

See you all on Friday ;)

43 seconds high*

I'm not going to be in the top echelon of ultra runners and never aim to be. Frankly if things don't ache, break or just drop off it's a bonus.

For me the joy of running is.. the joy of running. Cutting loose, letting go, pulling on the trainers and "seeing what happens if I run x". I suppose that makes me a fun runner, which despite being a fairly dismissive phrase actually makes real sense.

Why do something if it's not fun / entertaining / challenging? Why just grind out the miles if there's no real desire to do so? Having spent most of this year reading & researching perspectives on why & how we do this maddest of sports, one thing keeps cropping up - mojo. 

Without this elusive element, the desire to put in the miles and put up with the aches & pains fades, and suddenly questions begin to appear that without mojo are very hard to answer. Without the desire and enjoyment of both training and racing, it's very easy to just let it all slide.

I need to find a way to sell this as a drink supplement. I'd make millions.

I have to hold my hand up here and admit that the 2 month 'injury' I had over the summer was actually 3 weeks of injury and a further 5 weeks of 'couldn't be bothered going out for a run'. It was only after kicked myself up the arse and turned up to the SVP100 I found that elusive mojo again.There was no way I was going to be a DNS - I'm too tight to waste the entry fee & train tickets.

So back to current racing and a brief report on the Wye 50.. a point-to-point race through Wales from the start of the Wye to Glasbury just north of the Brecon Beacons.

The BatBelt

The compulsory kit for MCN events is fairly comprehensive. I'd bought Trespass 300gm waterproof top the week before & squeezed this in between the bottles on my UltraAspire belt - something that has become a firm favorite for kit & hydration. Mainly because I haven't got anything else. It works so well I'm not even looking. 

A medikit with space blanket, compass, whistle and an assortment of plasters, bandages & compeed complemented the kit, and finally the old blue pouch (£2 from a pound store) held 4 Snickers, Nuun tablets and the Petzl. All done. And unlike the packs, it lets me display the Idiot shirt to full effect.

HQ for Team Idiot was a tent in the luxurious surroundings of Cwm Bach. An apt name for the end of the 50 mile run. As for all ultras so far the tent was packed as standard pre or post-race kit. It may seem a bit nuts to some, but knowing you can lie down in a warm, comfy bed just meters from the finish line is as powerful an incentive as any amount of beer or chocolate I can imagine. And there's no trek to the start either 8)

Team Idiot HQ

Registration sorted on Friday night I retired early and listened to Radio Wales for a bit (you can't get many other starions up there). At 4:30 Saturday morning it was time to get up, pack up and get on the bus to the start. After a bit of standing around and a short briefing, at 7:30 as dawn just tickled the hilltops Matt rang the cowbell that signaled the race start and off we trotted towards the hills.

The early pace was steady, mainly due to two 1700' hills in the first 7 miles. Once those were done it flattened out a little and checkpoints started to roll around for a chance to scarf down some Gu and refill on water. I've found Gu reasonably palatable but I still think gels taste like sweet wallpaper paste. 

Crossing another hill shortly after CP2 brought us out at the Penygarreg Reservoir. As we plodded around the reservoirs it did seem like there was a bit too much tarmac for most people's liking. We had some long road sections that left us looking forward to the next hill, just for a change of pace. Slogging along miles of road isn't really what I was expecting, though one we got away from this and up in the hills things improved immensely. 

One of the most enjoyable parts to ultra running for me is chatting to the people I end up running with through the race. It's interesting how people go through good and bad patches at different stages - you may drop off the back of a group only to meet them an hour or two down the road. Or in my case at the finish for that sympathy applause as they're taking down the banners and clearing up.

You can also take a lot of motivation from the people around you. Through one of my rough patches I was lucky enough to be running with a lady from Wakefield. We chatted about everything under the sun and I was fascinated with her pending attempt on the Bob Graham Round. She was running so well & easily that I have no doubt she'll part of the 24 hour club very soon. One more on the "to do" list. 

Throughout the race I'd been leapfrogging Karl & Kitty. This was Kitty's first time running anything over 18 miles and she kicked my ass. Karl was pacing her and as it turned out had unfinished business with SDW100 as he missed the buckle by minutes this year. Both were great company and Karl, being a military lad, gave me some much-needed encouragement to break the 10h barrier.

The last 7 miles was pancake flat beside the Wye. By this time the legs were beginning to remember the efforts on the hills and though I felt like I had plenty left, they wouldn't obey and kept demanding walk breaks. At the last CP with 3.3 miles left I had 38 minutes to break the 10h barrier, so I ditched my water to save on weight and overruled my mutinous legs, managing to finish in an official 9:59:17.. 43 seconds to spare after 10 hours of running.

I'm pretty happy with an average 5mph. Not the top echelon but as I said, I'm in this for the fun. And those hills certainly were a joy to put behind you. I've promised myself a few trips over to Pen-y-Fan for some proper hill sessions soon.

In other news the gift of the blag strikes again, as I now have race number 1 for SVP2014. I may have to stick in some proper training to do that justice. With the race being earlier and all the footpaths intact, it should be perfect to go for 10-hour finish so I can qualify to kick Israel's butt in our Spartathlon Challenge 2015.

As I'd decided on long hills rather than a quick flat dash, I donated my Amsterdam Marathon place to a friend of a friend, so best of British to Arjen who will be running as #3011.

Finally I've spotted an intriguing 5 islands ultra around the channel islands, so in usual comedic style I've stuck in an entry. We'll see how that one pans out.

Next up: The Piece of String Fun Run 29-Nov.

*Apologies to @Simon_Lamb for nicking his blog title (ish).

*^&^$^%$ !! and a Piece of String

Since there are certain words that Twitter will not allow, I had to settle for a mild “*^&^$^%$ !!” to express my amazement that I’d been accepted for the Piece of String Fun Run this year. The reality is a Cheshire-cat grin that is in danger of requiring medical attention if it doesn’t subside soon.

String

Having read all the blogs, reports, twitter hashtag feeds and psychological analyses from the first running of this event, I’d (very cheekily) put in an entry without having competitively run anything more than 10k in the last.. ooh.. lots of years.

This was blagging at it’s blatant best and, as such schemes usually end, it was spotted and binned pretty much immediately. That and I only half-read the instructions. After all, I am a bloke. I don’t do instructions. A fact bourne out by the wonky Ikea furniture my wife kindly tolerates.

Fast-forward 5 months. After meeting James Adams (see previous blog) I hadn’t connected that he was the guy who, in conjunction with James Elson, put the PoS together. Despite my own foot-in-mouth syndrome my position in the race and obvious running talent persuaded him I was now an excellent candidate. That or the fluorescent Idiot shirt picked me out as an ideal PoS victim. 

OK, it was the shirt.

Now for something that has only been run once to date, it seems to have gained a fair amount of notoriety, as friends from the US of A and New Zealand have been sending their congratulations, telling me it’s been a topic of conversation in Ultra circles down there for a while. Franchise opportunity? Centurion  PoS Worldwide? ;)

So to the crunch. How long? 

a) Is the race?

b) Will I last?

The answer to both is a complete unknown. 

But hell, it’s going to be a barrel of laughs finding out. 

Perhaps.

SVP100 - 7 buffets in 14 hours

Well, it looks like normal running service has been resumed (touch wood). The 100km Stour Valley Path - my first proper ultra and 100% successful sweeper-avoiding run.

I had booked in to a local Newmarket pub close to the start. Downside = they had a band playing Friday night that would make Disaster Area sound like St Winifreds School Choir, so no sleep for me till midnight. But I did get a good back massage through the bass vibrations from the floor. Upside = they opened the kitchen early for me and I managed to scarf down a large fried breakfast before setting off, so I was amply fueled for anything the SVP may throw at us. 

Saturday morning 7:15 saw 30-odd runners assemble for the early start. The fast, lean running machines went two hours later. The difference in start times means I gained an advantage and managed to munch my way through 4 checkpoints before being overtaken by the more running-orientated competitors. The majority of the fast bunch did look like they needed the food more than I did, though to let such a great spread spoil would be criminal. So I did my best.

Yep.. idiots.

As the race progressed I cleared a slippery Devils Dyke in the rain, then buddied up with  Jem and Simon to lead the first group, after they first decided to add an extra 2k to the route by getting lost. Together we ran up some lovely ploughed fields taking most of the clay soil with us, passed the same beardy guy in a camper van at several key waypoints (thanks for the water refill) and were hooted, clapped and cajoled on by a load of cheery checkpoint chappies, including Organiser Matt, Matt's Mum, and James Adams who very kindly blogged LeJOG. I must admit I was very rude to the guy, pointing at him and saying something inane along the lines of "I know you from Facebook - you're James Elson". I was glad of the protection of my fluorescent "Idiots Running Club" T-shirt, which thankfully proved a great disclaimer throughout.

One part that sticks in the mind was at Long Melford Hall. The Stour Valley Path goes directly down the "grand avenue" though the gates half-way down the long driveway were chained shut, with only an open door to the gatehouse marked "gift shop". I jogged through, apologised for the muddy footprints to the the cashier, sheepishly pointed to the T-shirt by way of an explanation and exited quickly. Well, if you apply the "exit through the gift shop" policy on a national trail you have to expect all & sundry coming through - and at that point I definitely fell into the sundry category.

As the race went on it was clear that Simon was suffering, as he was losing touch with Jem and I on the hills. We hit the 50k mark in around 5h 30 and with back problems becoming too much he decided to bail at the next CP, which left the two of us to carry on. I was still feeling OK but Jem's knees were beginning to suffer. As both of us were in this for a finish rather than a time, we decided only to run the flat sections. My legs were overjoyed and we had the chance to stride out and look around a bit rather than head-down plodding.

The checkpoints started at mile 13 and the distance between decreased as the race progressed, though the last two must have been mis-marked as my legs were certain I ran 26 and 34 miles respectively. The mandatory head-torch came in handy as we ran the last 2 hours in the dark and river-mist. Eery, chilly but exciting at the same time. As an additional kicker the last 3 gates were padlocked shut so a bit of climbing was in order. Just what you need in the dark after 60 miles and 14h running, but we were so close to finishing we'd have crawled through barbed wire just to get to the point where you can stop running and lie down.

The organisation was second-to-none with great route maps and tape markers complementing the normal SVP signs. These proved to be invaluable as we played "spot the tape". First person to spot shouted "TAPE". Sounds like the sort of game a 5-year-old would quickly tire of but after 50+ miles neither of us had many marbles left and anything that took the mind away from grinding out the miles was a bonus.

We eventually managed to cross the line together at 9:35pm in 14:20, hands held high in celebration that it was all over. Job done. As is was pretty cold by the river, Jem and I said our farewells and he left.  I had intended to find a B&B but was so drained I just put up a tent by the trees and crawled in, crashing out till 7am and a short walk to Manningtree train station and home.

Two days down I can now walk up stairs without holding on to the walls, and may even try a light jog tomorrow. Chuffed to bits that I managed to avoid the dreaded DNF & really glad we both booked a finish under the cutoff. Despite his "never again" comments in the low-points I had the cheek to tell Jem that it won't be his last. I have a feeling it won't be.

Very well organised, marked and staffed ultra from Matt and Nic - already asked if I can pay now to book number #1 for next year. We will see ;)

For me it's the start of the winter lumpy stuff, next stop Wales for the Wye Valley 50