The Running Thread Vol 2
Discussion
Challo said:
Do many people run in racing style flats?
I'm a shoe w
e and have a few pairs of race shoes for the following situations:5k and 10k: Nike LT3 Streak (very, very light but lacks support and not much cushioning - I feel beaten up after hard 10k races in them)
10 mile & half marathon: Nike Zoom Streak 6 (if the course isn't flat, contains some off-road sections, or it's a training run)
Half marathon & marathon: Nike Vaporfly 4% (flat or entirely road based, A-goal races only)
I'm of the opinion that everybody could benefit from a pair of race shoes, even if only for the weight reduction and the mental boost (I'm wearing these shoes because I'm racing and going for a time).
Cybertronian said:
Challo said:
Do many people run in racing style flats?
I'm a shoe we and have a few pairs of race shoes for the following situations:5k and 10k: Nike LT3 Streak (very, very light but lacks support and not much cushioning - I feel beaten up after hard 10k races in them)
10 mile & half marathon: Nike Zoom Streak 6 (if the course isn't flat, contains some off-road sections, or it's a training run)
Half marathon & marathon: Nike Vaporfly 4% (flat or entirely road based, A-goal races only)
I'm of the opinion that everybody could benefit from a pair of race shoes, even if only for the weight reduction and the mental boost (I'm wearing these shoes because I'm racing and going for a time).
hyphen said:
Did your times improve a lot with them?
Difficult to say as I also obviously improved my training whilst also wearing the 4% Vaporfly. My half marathon went from 84:54 to 84:08 and my marathon went from 3:03:05 to 3:00:34 - I had hoped they would give me just a little more to go sub-3, but no dice.What they definitely do is make your stride more efficient by pushing your glutes and quads more, whist taking some of the strain off calves. I went for a sports massage the day after the above marathon and my physiotherapist couldn't believe the shape my legs were in - had I have not told him I'd run a PB marathon only 24 hours prior, he wouldn't have known!
egor110 said:
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
Anyone at endure 24 this weekend ?
I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Give us a wave as you pass marshal point 2 (confusingly the first marshal point, just after 2km) between 6pm and midnight. I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Plan to have some music on, we might remember to bring some jelly babies, and there's a disturbingly high chance that my wife will be dressed as a penguin (don't ask
) 
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
Anyone at endure 24 this weekend ?
I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Give us a wave as you pass marshal point 2 (confusingly the first marshal point, just after 2km) between 6pm and midnight. I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Plan to have some music on, we might remember to bring some jelly babies, and there's a disturbingly high chance that my wife will be dressed as a penguin (don't ask
) Just psyching myself up for lap 5!
WolfieBot said:
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
Anyone at endure 24 this weekend ?
I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Give us a wave as you pass marshal point 2 (confusingly the first marshal point, just after 2km) between 6pm and midnight. I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Plan to have some music on, we might remember to bring some jelly babies, and there's a disturbingly high chance that my wife will be dressed as a penguin (don't ask
) Just psyching myself up for lap 5!
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
RizzoTheRat said:
egor110 said:
Anyone at endure 24 this weekend ?
I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Give us a wave as you pass marshal point 2 (confusingly the first marshal point, just after 2km) between 6pm and midnight. I'll be running in one of the mnd teams so decked out in orange/blue.
Plan to have some music on, we might remember to bring some jelly babies, and there's a disturbingly high chance that my wife will be dressed as a penguin (don't ask
) ked , so we walked him to the finish line and the 1st aid , he went to bed and had 6 hours sleep then was back out again !There's a good vid floating around of my f1 style cider pit stop , one of our girls lobbed a can over the barrier at the start , i filled the water bottle , downed the rest of the can chucked it back to her and started the next lap.
Took some training that
Edited by egor110 on Sunday 10th June 20:26
egor110 said:
WolfieBot said:
6 laps done, off home for a sleep!
Bloody hell that's just rubbing it in i got to bed around 1230 then was out again at 4am with my trusty water bottle of thatchers gold for 2 laps then breakfast
I think I was out at 3pm, 7pm, 12pm for a double, then we had a gap and everyone else was asleep so I went out again at 4am as couldn't sleep, then put another one in about 10:30. Noone (including me) could face going out again after I finished around 11:15 though!
Cracking event, I did it a couple of times in the early years, couldn't believe how much bigger it's got now.
WolfieBot said:
egor110 said:
WolfieBot said:
6 laps done, off home for a sleep!
Bloody hell that's just rubbing it in i got to bed around 1230 then was out again at 4am with my trusty water bottle of thatchers gold for 2 laps then breakfast
I think I was out at 3pm, 7pm, 12pm for a double, then we had a gap and everyone else was asleep so I went out again at 4am as couldn't sleep, then put another one in about 10:30. Noone (including me) could face going out again after I finished around 11:15 though!
Cracking event, I did it a couple of times in the early years, couldn't believe how much bigger it's got now.
I though having done ultras before that would be good prep but in some ways i found doing the same loop over and over harder than a 50k out and back , next year i'll be mixing up the long runs with 3-4 short loops over the same same day.
Id also take a bigger tent or the camper van .
F1 style cider pit stop
Cracking work guys. I only managed 4 laps when I ran it last year. One of our solos managed 100 miles this year, nutter.
Sorry if I wasn't quite with it the second time you stopped Egor, once it got dark all we could see was head torches so when a torch came out of the night and asked me to sample his drinks bottle it took me a moment to figure out it was you
Loads of people stopped for selfie with her
I think we learned a few things if we marshal at it again. Both in fancy dress would be worth it from the response the penguin got this year, and maybe some signs before the marshal point for a laugh. Need to put more effort in the playlist rather than keep skipping tracks that felt too slow, and I reckon some kind of disco lights in the tent would work well if we're out at night. Plus more Jelly Babies, we only had 2 bags and they went quite quickly.
egor110 said:
F1 style cider pit stop
Sorry if I wasn't quite with it the second time you stopped Egor, once it got dark all we could see was head torches so when a torch came out of the night and asked me to sample his drinks bottle it took me a moment to figure out it was you
WolfieBot said:
I saw the penguin!
The penguin was getting a lot of love Loads of people stopped for selfie with her I think we learned a few things if we marshal at it again. Both in fancy dress would be worth it from the response the penguin got this year, and maybe some signs before the marshal point for a laugh. Need to put more effort in the playlist rather than keep skipping tracks that felt too slow, and I reckon some kind of disco lights in the tent would work well if we're out at night. Plus more Jelly Babies, we only had 2 bags and they went quite quickly.
If you marshall next year then you should have like a frozen theme , you can be oleg and your mrs a penguin with the frozen soundtrack.
Or go full on rave , loads of neon stuff , glow sticks etc or rip off white star running and go for a 70's disco theme.
I recon the bit down the trail with the fairies you could turn into a awesome night club
Out of interest do the race organisers give you a budget for your marshall post for things like sweets etc ? on some of these big american ultras the organisers seem to give clubs money to get food etc for the check points and let them theme it however they want .
Or go full on rave , loads of neon stuff , glow sticks etc or rip off white star running and go for a 70's disco theme.
I recon the bit down the trail with the fairies you could turn into a awesome night club
Out of interest do the race organisers give you a budget for your marshall post for things like sweets etc ? on some of these big american ultras the organisers seem to give clubs money to get food etc for the check points and let them theme it however they want .
Edited by egor110 on Monday 11th June 16:47
Funnily enough a few other runners suggested we should go for a Frozen theme. My Mrs suggested taking several different costumes and having music to match so we could change a themes a few times, but that's a lot of stuff to haul out there I reckon zombies or bears would be amusing in the dark Glow sticks would have been good after dark, maybe get a load of those thin ones around legs and arms...
The organisers provide the event shelter, some sandwiches and transport out, and you either get a M&S voucher or a free entry for next years race. The water station gets energy gels and the like as sponsored promo stuff I think. Only cost us a couple of packs jelly babies. Were many other marshal points doing much?
Not sure how Cliff's VDub bar operates, he seems to quite often get hold of promo packs of sports drinks, gells etc, so it might be he's got his drinks for free or via Endure, but it's equally possible he funds some of it himself. He organises quite a few races and does the VDub bar at loads more.
I reckon zombies or bears would be amusing in the dark Glow sticks would have been good after dark, maybe get a load of those thin ones around legs and arms...The organisers provide the event shelter, some sandwiches and transport out, and you either get a M&S voucher or a free entry for next years race. The water station gets energy gels and the like as sponsored promo stuff I think. Only cost us a couple of packs jelly babies. Were many other marshal points doing much?
Not sure how Cliff's VDub bar operates, he seems to quite often get hold of promo packs of sports drinks, gells etc, so it might be he's got his drinks for free or via Endure, but it's equally possible he funds some of it himself. He organises quite a few races and does the VDub bar at loads more.
I did Race to the Tower on Saturday. 53 odd miles of Cotswold Way, which is hilly. Hilly as fk. But then I knew this going, so no complaints there. Anyway, if you can be arsed, grab a beverage of choice and here’s how the best race of my life unfolded. If not, spoiler, I didn’t win (though they gave me a medal anyway). Apologies for the lack of photos, but I was quite busy.
Sub 12 hours was the goal. Sub 11 hours was a dream goal, plucked arbitrarily because you do want to duck under the hour. What I really wanted to do was lay down the best race I could and throw a couple of monkeys off my back. I’ve been guilty in the past of finding an excuse to slow down, which in hindsight was a neat way of reducing the agony, if only to extend the pain. Time to see if the mental side of my training had been effective.
I had been super chilled up to race day, as I'd had a great run in; a solid Newport Marathon, a great local trail marathon with a mate and a last training run of 50 odd km that felt very doable and had me running strong at the end. I’d even got on top of most of my niggles and so was as uninjured as I could remember my porcelain body being since I was young and indestructible. A week in Ibiza sunning it up and hunting nice quiet trails in the heat did me the world of good and I was Mr. Relaxed when we landed last Tuesday. In fact, I was Mr. Relaxed until about 70 mins before the gun, when the child we were hustling out of the house decided he wanted toast there and then.
Sunny Training in Ibiza
Cue a knock-on effect of me eating porridge in the van while the OH drove. I'd normally have porridge at home and drink about 500ml of water in the van. I was full of porridge, so didn't drink the customary water. Those of you who were outside on Saturday may see where this is going already. Shame I didn't. It’s the little things sometimes.
This late guzzle of food also made my tummy rumble a bit, so unusually for me I had to make use of the portaloos for more than a piss, meaning I wiped off all the lube so lovingly applied to bits I'd rather not rub raw. This meant with five minutes before the gun, instead of lazing in the start pen listening to the briefing, I was legging it from loo to Mrs, grabbing the keys, then legging it back to the car-park, which was about as far from the start as was possible. I proceeded to shove handfuls of Udderly Smooth chamois cream into my pants in front of some startled non-runners (runners would understand) and then leg it back to the start pen. I also remembered to hand the mildly soiled van keys back and so not strand my heavily pregnant partner with an unruly, buttery and becrumbed child in a field in the Cotswolds. Thus, my heart rate at three minutes to go was about a million bpm. Deep breaths… Deep breaths.
There was some shouting, some counting, some low-key and terribly British whooping and then some running. Then we all stopped, as the start funnel was a bit thin. Then we ran again. The race was, in fact, on. I’d only recently decided to actually “race”, as opposed to playing things safe and holding a pace I knew would see me to the finish. This meant, to butcher a Chris Boardman quote, I was trying to run as a pace I wasn’t sure I could keep to the line. Not fast enough to be certain of blowing up, not slow enough to be certain of finishing. It turns out this is a mentally tiring place to exist.
And they’re off!
The course itself runs from just north of Stroud, Gloucestershire, at around the mid-way point of the Cotswold Way and heads north to Broadway Tower. It mostly follows the National Trail route, deviating a few times for the aid stations, or to mercilessly take you further from your now visible goal, just to make up the distance. The bds. While the Cotswold Way nominally follows the Cotswold scarp, the high point of land before the Severn Vale to our west, the scarp is peppered with east-west valleys and the path meanders up and down the edge anyway, meaning almost nothing was flat. This is a bit of a bugger as gently rolling terrain, especially in the first half, is the nemesis of an ultra runner. Do I stow my ego and walk this slight rise, while all around me run on? Do I back myself to be iron-clad in nine hours time and mug these weaklings who are already strolling along like it’s a Sunday picnic?
Such were the thoughts rolling round my head as I tried desperately to get my heart rate, pace, and perception of effort to somewhat align. In the end, I started looking around and chatting to folks around me to take my mind off things and try to calm the adrenaline surge that could so easily derail things early on. It was a blue-sky day, about 15 degrees and slated to hit 20 that afternoon, with little in the way of cloud, wind or kindly spectators with portable AC units predicted. Essentially, very similar to the London Marathon, and that all went well, right? Right?
The first few miles were through gorgeous beech woodland but it wasn’t long before the climbing began in earnest. The first aid station was in Painswick at about six miles. The support through the town was polite and somewhat confused, as most folks wandering about at 9am don’t expect hundreds of runners hoofing through their pretty little village. I hoped to get to aid station one in about 70 minutes. The clock said 60. Gulp. OK – I don’t need anything, so I’ll run through I thought. I soon had my mood lightened, as my now de-crumbed boy was waiting with his Mam, Nana and Grandad, shoes on and ready to run. He did about 100 yards, then I got a kiss and the lure of the picnic rug and something chocolately from a grandparent pulled him back down the hill.
About half a mile past the family, I stopped for my first piss. It was yellow. Really yellow. Like I had just finished a hard half marathon, or a long run. Whaaaat? Ohhhhh. The water in the van. Rookie error - deviating from a tried and tested routine. Well, the advantage of an ultra is you have a long time to solve problems. A disadvantage is that if things get bad, they can be bad for a long time. So, proactivity, responding well to unforeseen obstacles and keeping your head straight is the order of the day. Probably not high on the list was running into the second longest leg without restocking your water, whilst already being dehydrated. bks. And thus mission Do-Not-Wrinkle-Like-A-Raisin began.
Leg two continued to climb over Painswick Beacon and stayed mercifully wooded around Coopers Hill (of cheese-rolling fame - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNj67kwWBoQ), before plunging off the escarpment and into aid station two in Witcombe. Here, much flat coke was drunk, water bottles were refilled and my first NUUN tab was deployed. The NUUN were pretty much my first and last line of defence, though I hoped the Gu gels and peanut/chorizo mix would also provide some help in keeping me from cramping into something resembling a dog-chewed slinky before half-way.
Enjoying the views still. I’m not even pretending to run for the camera here.
Leg three went up Crickley Hill. So, so up. However, up seems to be my forte, relatively at least, because my various injuries over winter meant many long runs were reduced to hilly walks. Win, I think. The sun was still low enough to mean we had far-reaching views away to the west. Again, the folks out for walks were politely bemused, but there were increasing levels of support now as locals were coming out to cheer us on and friends of runners around me were leapfrogging ahead and popping up. The friendliness of strangers never ceases to amaze and cheer me in races like this and so it proved. All too soon I was into aid three and necking back the fluids again using my trusty Hydrapak Speedcup, for this was a no-plastics event, which was nice. In fact, the litter post-aid station was almost non-existent, which says a lot about events setting the tone. Aside from being extremely nice, cheerful and helpful, the aid station teams always encouraged us to bin litter we were carrying, keeping the trail nice and tidy.
Somewhere on leg four I linked up a lovely Scots lady, who became my angel of sorts. I was starting to realise that I was on a very thin tightrope as I wasn’t feeling 100%. Already I wasn’t up to stomaching much of the food I was carrying. The contents were sloshing a bit, then cramping and the effort felt too high for 20 miles in, but I had committed to a race, so race I would. We chatted when we both felt like talking, but through aid four at halfway (5.08) above Cheltenham, and down to Winchcombe at 37 miles I spent a lot of time starting at her heels and wishing she’d stop bloody running the uphills.
Aid station five had been a run-through affair, only pausing for water and we pushed on, seeing as aid six was a mere 10km away. I lost my Scottish angel as I briefly paused to chat to some friends who’d come out to support, bestowing me with ice-cold water for my bottles and pouring over my head. Thank you the Gravestocks. And thus began the longest ten k of my life. I knew it was coming. There’s always a stretch when it just never seems to end. At this point, I was very fuzzy. I couldn’t remember if there was another hill or not (there was – the rule is, there’s always another hill). I couldn’t remember what distance the aid was supposed to be at, or if my watch was tallying with the course markers (it wasn’t). I was just about sensible enough to know the wheels were close to coming off with some style and to keep trying my food. Fortunately, the Gu gels were going down and staying down, with minimal stomach complaints, burping or gassiness. For one thing, my shorts were light in colour, so any errors in the wind-breaking department were going to be pretty obvious. At this stage, I had started to get twinges of the dreaded cramps in my left hamstring and calf. No. Bloody no. I tried to chill out and let the gels do their job. Then my OH rang and in my sweaty ham-fistedness I hung up instead of answering. There were naughty words. Many. I’m grateful the runner nearby had his headphones in.
The upside was I now had my phone in my hand, so some music seemed a good idea. I had a selection, so started with Moby’s 18, designed to be upbeat, but not too aggressive. This, combined with a caffeine gel served to perk me up mentally. This in turn allowed me to take stock properly and to my surprise, all was pretty pukka. Feet were good, knees a bit sore, but all in all I was just dog-tired. That’s to be expected and there isn’t much to be done about it. If anything, the solution is to go for it, since this ends the pain more quickly. This realisation represents a significant shift in my mid-race thinking, partially due to being in better shape physically than I have been and partially because I was mentally prepared to buckle down. I was invested in getting the best finish possible, not coasting. And if my fuzzy maths was right sub 11 was still on the table with 15 miles to go. I just had to keep to five miles an hour, 12 minute miles, for the next three hours. Oh, and climb three of the biggest hills on the course. It’ll be fine, my befuddled little noggin said. Just keep running.
At some point, Moby was exchanged for some dance music, and with six miles to go, Rage Against The Machine. There were ups. There were downs. There was a house on a hillside with the most inviting swimming pool I’ve ever seen, but mostly there was a hunched, cold-sweating bald man muttering “suck it up princess, you chose to do this” and grumbling every time he had to lift his legs across a stile. With five miles to go I was running west, AWAY from Broadway Tower, and the choice phrases uttered are not to be repeated here. I was amused to spot a pile of sick that was half pink and half orange by the side of the trail, presumably from someone who thought nailing large quantities of watermelon and orange segments was going to bring on a sprightly finish. At three miles to go I was running behind a man who, despite walking, was never getting any closer. It was extremely surreal making my way through Broadway itself, which is literally a chocolate box Cotswold village, getting cheers from supporters, pub-goers and confused but game tourists who were entering into the spirit of things. At two miles to go, I had closed some of the ground to the walking man but as the path tipped skyward one last time he raised his saunter to an amble and put me away for good. The final mile and a half was steeply uphill and though the watch had said 10.xx in Broadway, the dreaded 11 appeared and the tower was nowhere in sight. 7 minutes and 51 second later I had sucked in the tummy and put on a bit of a jog for the last wee flat to get me across the line.
Yes I’m running. Yes, it’s for the camera. The smile is real.
I ended up finishing in 11.07.51, 54th from 537 starters. I covered the first half in 5.07.42, placed 81st at that point and made the majority of overtakes in the second half via DNFs and being efficient in aid stations. The race was won by Mary Menon in 8.46.52, who, having gone wrong in the final couple of miles was called back to course by second placer Greg Price who was clear he wouldn’t take her win away. I’m still not sure how I feel about it, but if Greg’s happy, that’s what counts.
Finished at last. Good medal, good view.
Last year’s inaugural event was won by Tom Evans in 7.30.17, which is not to take away from Mary and Greg, but highlights the difference between the good and the world class. Tom Evans had just finished 3rd at the MdS and went on to finish 3rd at the World Trail Champs this year. I try to benchmark my performances on a 1:1.5 ratio. That’s to say, if the world’s best runs x, and I run x and a half, I’m going to be very happy. A 1.30 half would make me happy. A sub 3 marathon would make me (very, very) happy. So getting under 11.15, which is Evans x 1.5 makes me very happy. Did I have a perfect race? No. Did I set out to achieve what I wanted? I think so. I had some issues, dealt with them as well as possible, surfed the line between success and disaster and came out ahead. In short, I got everything out of myself I could on the day. Short of eating my porridge sooner and drinking that 500ml of water, I wouldn’t change a thing. And that’s why it’s the best race of my life.
Here’s to some parkrunning in the summer. Flat parkrunning.
Just in case you doubted the salt loss. I, a 72kg chap, lost 4kg during the race.
k. But then I knew this going, so no complaints there. Anyway, if you can be arsed, grab a beverage of choice and here’s how the best race of my life unfolded. If not, spoiler, I didn’t win (though they gave me a medal anyway). Apologies for the lack of photos, but I was quite busy.Sub 12 hours was the goal. Sub 11 hours was a dream goal, plucked arbitrarily because you do want to duck under the hour. What I really wanted to do was lay down the best race I could and throw a couple of monkeys off my back. I’ve been guilty in the past of finding an excuse to slow down, which in hindsight was a neat way of reducing the agony, if only to extend the pain. Time to see if the mental side of my training had been effective.
I had been super chilled up to race day, as I'd had a great run in; a solid Newport Marathon, a great local trail marathon with a mate and a last training run of 50 odd km that felt very doable and had me running strong at the end. I’d even got on top of most of my niggles and so was as uninjured as I could remember my porcelain body being since I was young and indestructible. A week in Ibiza sunning it up and hunting nice quiet trails in the heat did me the world of good and I was Mr. Relaxed when we landed last Tuesday. In fact, I was Mr. Relaxed until about 70 mins before the gun, when the child we were hustling out of the house decided he wanted toast there and then.
Sunny Training in Ibiza
Cue a knock-on effect of me eating porridge in the van while the OH drove. I'd normally have porridge at home and drink about 500ml of water in the van. I was full of porridge, so didn't drink the customary water. Those of you who were outside on Saturday may see where this is going already. Shame I didn't. It’s the little things sometimes.
This late guzzle of food also made my tummy rumble a bit, so unusually for me I had to make use of the portaloos for more than a piss, meaning I wiped off all the lube so lovingly applied to bits I'd rather not rub raw. This meant with five minutes before the gun, instead of lazing in the start pen listening to the briefing, I was legging it from loo to Mrs, grabbing the keys, then legging it back to the car-park, which was about as far from the start as was possible. I proceeded to shove handfuls of Udderly Smooth chamois cream into my pants in front of some startled non-runners (runners would understand) and then leg it back to the start pen. I also remembered to hand the mildly soiled van keys back and so not strand my heavily pregnant partner with an unruly, buttery and becrumbed child in a field in the Cotswolds. Thus, my heart rate at three minutes to go was about a million bpm. Deep breaths… Deep breaths.
There was some shouting, some counting, some low-key and terribly British whooping and then some running. Then we all stopped, as the start funnel was a bit thin. Then we ran again. The race was, in fact, on. I’d only recently decided to actually “race”, as opposed to playing things safe and holding a pace I knew would see me to the finish. This meant, to butcher a Chris Boardman quote, I was trying to run as a pace I wasn’t sure I could keep to the line. Not fast enough to be certain of blowing up, not slow enough to be certain of finishing. It turns out this is a mentally tiring place to exist.
And they’re off!
The course itself runs from just north of Stroud, Gloucestershire, at around the mid-way point of the Cotswold Way and heads north to Broadway Tower. It mostly follows the National Trail route, deviating a few times for the aid stations, or to mercilessly take you further from your now visible goal, just to make up the distance. The b
ds. While the Cotswold Way nominally follows the Cotswold scarp, the high point of land before the Severn Vale to our west, the scarp is peppered with east-west valleys and the path meanders up and down the edge anyway, meaning almost nothing was flat. This is a bit of a bugger as gently rolling terrain, especially in the first half, is the nemesis of an ultra runner. Do I stow my ego and walk this slight rise, while all around me run on? Do I back myself to be iron-clad in nine hours time and mug these weaklings who are already strolling along like it’s a Sunday picnic?Such were the thoughts rolling round my head as I tried desperately to get my heart rate, pace, and perception of effort to somewhat align. In the end, I started looking around and chatting to folks around me to take my mind off things and try to calm the adrenaline surge that could so easily derail things early on. It was a blue-sky day, about 15 degrees and slated to hit 20 that afternoon, with little in the way of cloud, wind or kindly spectators with portable AC units predicted. Essentially, very similar to the London Marathon, and that all went well, right? Right?
The first few miles were through gorgeous beech woodland but it wasn’t long before the climbing began in earnest. The first aid station was in Painswick at about six miles. The support through the town was polite and somewhat confused, as most folks wandering about at 9am don’t expect hundreds of runners hoofing through their pretty little village. I hoped to get to aid station one in about 70 minutes. The clock said 60. Gulp. OK – I don’t need anything, so I’ll run through I thought. I soon had my mood lightened, as my now de-crumbed boy was waiting with his Mam, Nana and Grandad, shoes on and ready to run. He did about 100 yards, then I got a kiss and the lure of the picnic rug and something chocolately from a grandparent pulled him back down the hill.
About half a mile past the family, I stopped for my first piss. It was yellow. Really yellow. Like I had just finished a hard half marathon, or a long run. Whaaaat? Ohhhhh. The water in the van. Rookie error - deviating from a tried and tested routine. Well, the advantage of an ultra is you have a long time to solve problems. A disadvantage is that if things get bad, they can be bad for a long time. So, proactivity, responding well to unforeseen obstacles and keeping your head straight is the order of the day. Probably not high on the list was running into the second longest leg without restocking your water, whilst already being dehydrated. b
ks. And thus mission Do-Not-Wrinkle-Like-A-Raisin began.Leg two continued to climb over Painswick Beacon and stayed mercifully wooded around Coopers Hill (of cheese-rolling fame - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNj67kwWBoQ), before plunging off the escarpment and into aid station two in Witcombe. Here, much flat coke was drunk, water bottles were refilled and my first NUUN tab was deployed. The NUUN were pretty much my first and last line of defence, though I hoped the Gu gels and peanut/chorizo mix would also provide some help in keeping me from cramping into something resembling a dog-chewed slinky before half-way.
Enjoying the views still. I’m not even pretending to run for the camera here.
Leg three went up Crickley Hill. So, so up. However, up seems to be my forte, relatively at least, because my various injuries over winter meant many long runs were reduced to hilly walks. Win, I think. The sun was still low enough to mean we had far-reaching views away to the west. Again, the folks out for walks were politely bemused, but there were increasing levels of support now as locals were coming out to cheer us on and friends of runners around me were leapfrogging ahead and popping up. The friendliness of strangers never ceases to amaze and cheer me in races like this and so it proved. All too soon I was into aid three and necking back the fluids again using my trusty Hydrapak Speedcup, for this was a no-plastics event, which was nice. In fact, the litter post-aid station was almost non-existent, which says a lot about events setting the tone. Aside from being extremely nice, cheerful and helpful, the aid station teams always encouraged us to bin litter we were carrying, keeping the trail nice and tidy.
Somewhere on leg four I linked up a lovely Scots lady, who became my angel of sorts. I was starting to realise that I was on a very thin tightrope as I wasn’t feeling 100%. Already I wasn’t up to stomaching much of the food I was carrying. The contents were sloshing a bit, then cramping and the effort felt too high for 20 miles in, but I had committed to a race, so race I would. We chatted when we both felt like talking, but through aid four at halfway (5.08) above Cheltenham, and down to Winchcombe at 37 miles I spent a lot of time starting at her heels and wishing she’d stop bloody running the uphills.
Aid station five had been a run-through affair, only pausing for water and we pushed on, seeing as aid six was a mere 10km away. I lost my Scottish angel as I briefly paused to chat to some friends who’d come out to support, bestowing me with ice-cold water for my bottles and pouring over my head. Thank you the Gravestocks. And thus began the longest ten k of my life. I knew it was coming. There’s always a stretch when it just never seems to end. At this point, I was very fuzzy. I couldn’t remember if there was another hill or not (there was – the rule is, there’s always another hill). I couldn’t remember what distance the aid was supposed to be at, or if my watch was tallying with the course markers (it wasn’t). I was just about sensible enough to know the wheels were close to coming off with some style and to keep trying my food. Fortunately, the Gu gels were going down and staying down, with minimal stomach complaints, burping or gassiness. For one thing, my shorts were light in colour, so any errors in the wind-breaking department were going to be pretty obvious. At this stage, I had started to get twinges of the dreaded cramps in my left hamstring and calf. No. Bloody no. I tried to chill out and let the gels do their job. Then my OH rang and in my sweaty ham-fistedness I hung up instead of answering. There were naughty words. Many. I’m grateful the runner nearby had his headphones in.
The upside was I now had my phone in my hand, so some music seemed a good idea. I had a selection, so started with Moby’s 18, designed to be upbeat, but not too aggressive. This, combined with a caffeine gel served to perk me up mentally. This in turn allowed me to take stock properly and to my surprise, all was pretty pukka. Feet were good, knees a bit sore, but all in all I was just dog-tired. That’s to be expected and there isn’t much to be done about it. If anything, the solution is to go for it, since this ends the pain more quickly. This realisation represents a significant shift in my mid-race thinking, partially due to being in better shape physically than I have been and partially because I was mentally prepared to buckle down. I was invested in getting the best finish possible, not coasting. And if my fuzzy maths was right sub 11 was still on the table with 15 miles to go. I just had to keep to five miles an hour, 12 minute miles, for the next three hours. Oh, and climb three of the biggest hills on the course. It’ll be fine, my befuddled little noggin said. Just keep running.
At some point, Moby was exchanged for some dance music, and with six miles to go, Rage Against The Machine. There were ups. There were downs. There was a house on a hillside with the most inviting swimming pool I’ve ever seen, but mostly there was a hunched, cold-sweating bald man muttering “suck it up princess, you chose to do this” and grumbling every time he had to lift his legs across a stile. With five miles to go I was running west, AWAY from Broadway Tower, and the choice phrases uttered are not to be repeated here. I was amused to spot a pile of sick that was half pink and half orange by the side of the trail, presumably from someone who thought nailing large quantities of watermelon and orange segments was going to bring on a sprightly finish. At three miles to go I was running behind a man who, despite walking, was never getting any closer. It was extremely surreal making my way through Broadway itself, which is literally a chocolate box Cotswold village, getting cheers from supporters, pub-goers and confused but game tourists who were entering into the spirit of things. At two miles to go, I had closed some of the ground to the walking man but as the path tipped skyward one last time he raised his saunter to an amble and put me away for good. The final mile and a half was steeply uphill and though the watch had said 10.xx in Broadway, the dreaded 11 appeared and the tower was nowhere in sight. 7 minutes and 51 second later I had sucked in the tummy and put on a bit of a jog for the last wee flat to get me across the line.
Yes I’m running. Yes, it’s for the camera. The smile is real.
I ended up finishing in 11.07.51, 54th from 537 starters. I covered the first half in 5.07.42, placed 81st at that point and made the majority of overtakes in the second half via DNFs and being efficient in aid stations. The race was won by Mary Menon in 8.46.52, who, having gone wrong in the final couple of miles was called back to course by second placer Greg Price who was clear he wouldn’t take her win away. I’m still not sure how I feel about it, but if Greg’s happy, that’s what counts.
Finished at last. Good medal, good view.
Last year’s inaugural event was won by Tom Evans in 7.30.17, which is not to take away from Mary and Greg, but highlights the difference between the good and the world class. Tom Evans had just finished 3rd at the MdS and went on to finish 3rd at the World Trail Champs this year. I try to benchmark my performances on a 1:1.5 ratio. That’s to say, if the world’s best runs x, and I run x and a half, I’m going to be very happy. A 1.30 half would make me happy. A sub 3 marathon would make me (very, very) happy. So getting under 11.15, which is Evans x 1.5 makes me very happy. Did I have a perfect race? No. Did I set out to achieve what I wanted? I think so. I had some issues, dealt with them as well as possible, surfed the line between success and disaster and came out ahead. In short, I got everything out of myself I could on the day. Short of eating my porridge sooner and drinking that 500ml of water, I wouldn’t change a thing. And that’s why it’s the best race of my life.
Here’s to some parkrunning in the summer. Flat parkrunning.
Just in case you doubted the salt loss. I, a 72kg chap, lost 4kg during the race.
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