These are the notes I wrote on the train home from Yorkshire after dropping out of the race at Hawes, after 110 miles and 39 hours.  They’re unedited and pretty … honest.

Spine 2018 Problems

Getting what felt like severe DOMS in my quads after Sunday night was definitely due to getting cold and wet, but the medic said not eating enough can also contribute. They do feel slightly better after a rest but still can’t sit down without support. The pain was constant and much much worse on downhills. I could have gritted it out, but the thought of 4 more days was too much. Wonder whether running the downhills contributed to this too?

Really bad chafing of bum cheeks and upper thighs. Never been this bad before. Lots of blood when I stopped at Gargrave, put more body glide on but the pain came back quickly. It pretty much hurt all the way from Horton to Hawes, and serious pain too, I was sharply exhaling (baby contractions style) for hours. Torture. Wonder if this happened because I’ve put on a lot of weight? This alone was painful enough to drop out, because it was an almost constant sharp pain. Occasionally I managed to put it in the background but it didn’t stay there for long. Wonder whether being so wet for so long also exacerbated this, the top part of my leggings were wet when I took them off at Hawes.

Too many sweet things and not enough nice things to eat, also often felt sick at the thought of eating. The pizza wasn’t that nice, and when I ate shot blox they felt horrible on my teeth. John gave me some jelly fruit things which were soft and very easy to eat. Didn’t like the tribe bar I ate, why didn’t I test them? Didn’t like the pizza pocket things at all. Should have eaten more when I had a chance, especially the dehydrated food, could even eat on the move. Taking tea in my stove pot worked really well, saved time and helped warm up after stopping.

New mittens were rubbish when wet. Thought they were waterproof but no. Also had a fleecy lining which retained water, had to turn them inside out and wring them out! Why didn’t I test them?! Meant my hands were often cold and had very limited chances to dry everything out. With my sealskinz ones they were breathable which meant my hands would dry out, like my legs. When I got to Horton my hands looked like I’d been in the bath for hours.

Hacking cough set in very early, just after Horton. So bad thought I was going to be sick.

Brown and pink pee. The medics thought it was just dehydration, but I drank lots between Horton and Hawes and went for multiple pees, and it was still brown at Hawes. Fine after more fluid and a lie down, but still pretty worrying, and another negative thing that starts eating away.

Feet didn’t get particularly cold so think the wool injinji and winter drymax combo worked, but they seemed wetter than when I’ve used sealskinz. Wore the big inov8 shoes and they were super comfy and feet didn’t hurt at all (apart from toes, obviously).

Didn’t pick up the second map as thought the first one went almost to Hawes, but it stopped just after Horton. Didn’t have enough extra batteries for GPS and they ran out at the top of Cam Road. If I hadn’t been with John would have struggled, and definitely missed the left turn at the top as it wasn’t signed. Why didn’t I check the map properly and check how many batteries my Garmin needed?

It was almost impossible to wake up my Garmin to see my position with the new mittens, so very hard to do a quick check. Again, why didn’t I test? This meant every time I wanted to look at it I’d get frustrated and annoyed, which didn’t help the overall mindset.

The run/walk combo was great, meant I covered a lot of ground, and coupled with low faffing meant very good progress. Just need to make sure get enough to eat.

New hat was good, but needed a buff when it got very cold to keep it close to my ears. Also it was thin enough to dry out when my hood was up and it stopped raining.

I felt like I was fighting the mud and rain, rather than going with it and picking a good path. When I got my head in the right place I just flowed along, but it kept going really negative. Was particularly fed up at Gargrave when I spoke to Zoe, long night of being cold and wet, was totally pissed off about my mittens.

Didn’t take my iPhone from CP1, figured I didn’t need the weight, but that meant when I started getting low I couldn’t listen to the playlist I’d sorted out. Kicking myself at the time. Also meant I couldn’t take the call from Phil. If I’d had music to distract me I think things could have been a lot less miserable on that last leg (and maybe beyond).

The top part of my Garmin holder broke off which annoyed me as it’s much more secure and easy to get at than the pouch. Fixable but I should really have made it more secure or found a different place for it.

Lack of training didn’t help. 9 months of 20-30 miles a week (slowly) isn’t ideal.

It’s very much like sailing. You need to make sure everything is completely ship shape Bristol fashion or when the weather etc kicks in everything falls off.

It’s really fucking hard and deserves a significant amount of planning and preparation. A small issue can rapidly get worse and can completely derail everything.

I seriously thought about all the blogs I’ve read about people who DNF and then regret it within a few days, and took that into consideration. I’m aware that in the moment everything is truly awful but that as soon as you stop it starts fading, so I really needed to concentrate hard and distinguish between normal pain and stop pain. Also whether I thought that the stop pain would fade after a rest (the medic said it would likely get worse). Losing all my toenails and having painful toes whenever they knocked into something is normal, but every step shouldn’t be horrible.

I’m really glad I pushed on for another 5 hours to Hawes and didn’t make the call until I’d had a sleep. It meant I kept my options open (though I was definitely leaning towards stopping).

Pain aside, all my kit issues were doing my head in and I wasn’t cognitively able to resolve them, Zoe said she’d muster the troops but it just seemed like way too much effort, I honestly couldn’t be arsed. Basically by that point my heart wasn’t in it and I didn’t want it (the finish) enough.

When I told the race staff I was “done”, they tried to talk me out of it, when I said every step was agony they sympathised.

So, what have I learnt?

Test new kit. Better planning , especially around the details.

Beware overconfidence, it doesn’t take much to derail things.

Figure out food. The cake and flapjacks were spot on.

Test food and kit in a run or if possible race situation.

Even though I didn’t get to listen to any, I really think music would really help to lift me out of low points.

Don’t forget how much this stuff hurts, 100 miles on a track is a very different thing.

Thoughts for Centurion 100 mile Grand Slam

Run/walk combo is definitely the way, practice this so that all the right muscles are strong.

Test food. Maybe rely a lot on super starch as it seems to really work. Supplement with cake?

Figure out the chafing, lose weight then do some long run/walks and see if it’s ok.

Do some more testing with my head torch and figure out how to get longer battery life. It was plenty bright enough but didn’t last very long at all, possibly as it got cold.

Don’t be complacent. These are still 100 mile trail races and will hurt, so do everything possible to minimise this. Do research, train, test things.

Micro-goals are a really good motivator, my bit of paper with landmarks and distance between really helped. Also lets you calibrate speed in terms of mph. Just had a simple watch and worked it out, really good. Definitely consider putting gps watch in pack not on wrist.

Buy an iPod shuffle or similar, small and long battery life so don’t need my heavy phone.

Carry as little weight as possible, and don’t stop unless really need to.

Get strong, get fitter and practice run/walk for long distances.

Started well. Faltered. Stumbled. Stopped. Didn’t finish.

Did Not Finish. DNF. My first (proper) one.

I’ve run enough races and read enough race reports that bailing out before the finish line was not something I took lightly. I’ve got enough buried regrets without adding to the pile, especially when doing something so inherently selfish.

On my way home from Yorkshire (I at least managed the fun run distance of 110 miles) I wrote down what was in my head, knowing full well that time always softens memories, especially bad ones. My notes are pretty fresh and raw so I’ll add them in a separate post. They still make me wince now, 5 months later.

It really wasn’t all bad, in fact quite the opposite. The first day was actually rather a jolly affair; motoring quickly along and making remarkably good time. I didn’t really talk to anyone, or rather nobody really wanted to chat (to me at least), and somehow the race seemed different to the one I ran 2 years ago.

There were a lot more people for one thing, and for some reason they all had various stuffed animals hanging off their rucksacks. One chap was wearing a velvet top hat (the technical version presumably).

For a supposedly brutal race this all seemed very frivolous, but maybe I was just even grumpier than usual. Having to ditch a load of stuff from my drop bag on race morning may have had something to do with that.

The marshals were a lot stricter than before (actually weighing bags) and I felt much more of a number than a person, which is always a big turn off for me in any kind of event. I do understand why they needed to be less lenient with weight, twice the number of runners means a lot more effort behind the scenes.

Once we were off it was all good, like it always is, nothing like some fresh air in the lungs and a few miles in the legs to get your head back in the right place.

I sang songs and smiled at anyone I saw. It was a good day.

Normal service had been resumed all round, with super friendly people at road crossings and checkpoints. I was even intercepted by a friends sister Lucy, who walked with me for a while and gave me chance to have a nice chat over a bag of haribos.

I got to the first checkpoint feeling really good and didn’t plan to spend much time there: quick kit change, some food and off. Which is exactly what I did, as well as making a small silly mistake which was to have a huge impact about 12 hours later.

On the face of it, chucking my iPhone in my drop bag seemed perfectly reasonable. I had my small Nokia for emergencies and why carry all that extra weight?

Erm, because it’s got that awesome playlist on it. The one that you knew you’d need when you felt really miserable in the cold and dark. The music that you’d spent hours and hours choosing to be as uplifting as possible.

Oh yeah. That’s why I was supposed to keep it in my pack.

Oops.

Fast forward 12 hours and I was indeed very miserable. The euphoria of the first day had quite literally been wrung out of me by continuous lashing rain and howling wind.

Oh and I think my jacket needs reproofing.

I was properly wet, and very cold. My sense of humour had long since seeped into the omnipresent mire, leaving me barking helplessly into the wind.

At one point I caught myself swearing loudly at a particularly large muddy puddle.

“Oh come on! You have got to be FUCKING joking! FUCKS SAKE YOU COCK FUCKING MUD. Fucking FUCK BAG! SHIT PISS CUNTHOLES!”

It was so ridiculous (and such rubbish swearing) that I almost smiled, shame I didn’t have a nice piece by Paul Simon to take the edge off things. Or a good 90s power ballad.

Instead I gritted my teeth and marched onwards, obsessively projecting pace and timing to the next point where I could legitimately stop for a brief distracting moment to eat and drink something, preferably hot.

Long events have ups and downs, events that span multiple days with severe sleep deprivation have many highs and lows. It’s all part of the fun.

Actually it’s all part of the challenge, and how you manage both of these emotional states is a large factor in the eventual outcome.

It’s very easy to get carried away and go too hard when you’re riding a high. You can inadvertently damage muscles and/or cause hot spots. Both of which are easily missed beneath the delicious endorphins sloshing around your system.

It’s equally easy to slip into a self reinforcing downwards spiral when everything isn’t quite going to plan.

If you don’t manage your mind properly it can fester on the smallest pain or problem, blowing it out of proportion and crowding out all other thoughts. Sometimes it can even cycle through a load of these, and the overwhelming feeling becomes one of despair and hopelessness in the face of such insurmountable barriers.

You can know all that, and still fall foul of them. I didn’t really notice I was going too hard on the first day (though being in the top 20 was a bit of a giveaway), but I was fully aware of what a depressing pit of doom I’d sunk into.

I just didn’t seem to be able to pull myself out, and I tried. A lot.

It didn’t help that some more things went wrong, mostly due to overconfident planning, and mostly avoidable (or at least a backup plan should have been ready to kick in).

Ultimately I chose to stop, some might say refused to continue. I know I could have finished, I had before after all, so knew it was physically possible. The spark from the first day had gone out, and the prospect of dragging my painful arse (literally) to Scotland with gritted teeth just wasn’t something I was prepared to do.

So I failed to complete the whole thing, but interesting it didn’t, and doesn’t, feel like a failure.

The jolt to my complacency, and realisation that my body needs a lot more attention than it’s been getting has really changed my attitude.

I’ve been reflecting on my notes, which cover various aspects of both race preparation and the race itself. Physical and mental.

It’s been very beneficial and I honestly feel like I’ve learnt a lot more about myself and ultra distances than I expected to.

The lessons have already manifested themselves in positive ways, the Thames Path 100 went exceedingly well (more on that another time). I’m looking forward to the South Downs Way 100 in two weeks and I’ve entered my first triathlon.

Fingers crossed!

My notes from immediately after the race.

https://www.strava.com/activities/1361810393

“Daddy, pretend that bear is happy”
“Ok”

“Go on then”

“I am pretending”

“No daddy, you have to say it too”

The Country to Capital 45 mile race marks the start of the UK ultra season, and (I think) this was the tenth year it’s been staged.

Starting at the Wendover Red Lion pub in one of the shires, it follows muddy footpaths through some lovely countryside before picking up the Grand Union canal at roughly the half way mark.

Finishing in Little Venice near Paddington means getting home is a doddle (if you live in London anyway).
It’s extremely well organised. Registration was a breeze, and the frequent aid stations were well stocked with friendly smiles and heaps of cake.

They even delayed the 8:30 start slightly to allow people arriving off the 8:15 train from Marylebone to register and drop their bags off.

This was to be my final tune up race before Crawley, a chance to test my pace and fuelling plan.

The plan. There’s always a plan.

Mine was to avoid bonking by eating frequently, stopping as little as possible and finish somewhere near the sharp end without doing myself any more damage.

The Thursday before the race, I’d left work to trot the usual 10k home and went straight out into a filthy snow and sleet storm.

Despite wearing skimpy shorts and no gloves, I thought I’d soon warm up and tucking my chin in bravely barged my way into the wall of frozen sky.

I didn’t warm up. At all. In fact I was frozen in no time, and a miserable 50 minutes later limped the final few meters with ridiculously sore legs.

Not being a doctor or in any way professionally qualified to comment on the optimal operating and recovery temperature of muscle cells, I do have anecdotal evidence from a few years of running.

They seem to work better when they’re warm.

A cold bath can reduce soreness after a long run, but icy cold during exercise just means poorly functioning body parts, that don’t recover quickly.

My legs still didn’t feel right, in fact they hurt horribly throughout the race.
The canal section called for gritted teeth and the “just give it up and walk” part of myself needing a stern talking to.

The first half was really nice though, crispy frosty fields and picking up 24h race tips from the affable James Elson, even if he did accidentally make me sad.

I was working pretty hard, but could still hold a conversation, James was clearly just out for a Saturday morning jog, and remarked that this was his 24 hour pace.

My 6 hour pace was his 24 hour pace. Good lord.

Better eat something.

The cake went down very well, but sadly I had too little food overall and pretty much ignored the eating part of my strategy.

Apart from breakfast, I covered 45 miles in just over 6 hours on: 2 snickers, 500ml of mountain fuel and 3 small squares of fruitcake. Nowhere near enough and I paid the price with a decreasing pace and prolonged recovery.

I wasn’t even that hungry at the end, I think my stomach had given up on me. A hot cup of tea did go down very well.

I was very pleased with my time, finishing just behind the first lady, but it required a lot more fighting than I was hoping for.

The lesson? It’s all very well having a plan, but if you don’t follow it you may as well be pretending.

To quote my 6 year old:

It doesn’t count if it’s just in your head, you have to do it too

Obligatory strava link

I wasn’t going to write this, or rather, when I started thinking about writing a race report, I was in such a dark mood that it didn’t seem fair or reasonable to inflict the miserable torrent of words on anybody.

Since then I’ve had some time to reflect, run over the paps of Jura and immerse myself in normal life for a few weeks, my mood has lightened but I still haven’t quite figured out what I left on those Lake District fells.

You can enter a race to finish, or you can enter a race to compete.  Either way you need to have a clear idea of your goals, and be prepared to put the right amount of preparation in.  Managing your own expectations is key.

∞

The race also known as the Ultra Tour of the Lake District, is actually 105 miles (the extra 5 miles were free apparently, nice touch). 

The route doesn’t hit any of the main peaks, but still manages to rack up a hefty 22,000 foot of ascent and descent. Starting (and finishing) in Coniston it takes you on a huge clockwise loop, taking in loads of beautiful views, calf screaming ascents and terrifying technical descents.

It’s bloody lovely.

∞

On the face of it, I had a great race, and the race itself was brilliant. Well organised, beautiful weather, plenty of like minded people to chat to (and follow, negating the need to use my map and road book).

Placing 28th overall in a shade over 27 hours put me in the top 8%. With 345 runners and a cut off of 40 hours, this was a sterling performance however you look at it.

I’d quietly hoped to do better though, which is where the problems lie.

My secondary goal, the one I actually spoke out loud, was to get back before my friend Ben and make it to the pub before it closed (11 hours before the cut off).

In Ben’s words:

You’re racing someone who isn’t even doing the same race, what’s wrong with you?!

His arbitrary target for the 50 miler was to get back before it got dark (because he’d never navigated by torch light before), which meant that our finishing times should align. Sounded like a race to me!

I beat Ben by about an hour, so why do I feel like I DNF’d the 100?

I was very positive throughout the race, happy and chatty, no dark patches or times when I ran out of energy (kudos to Debbie for nutrition advice). 

It seemed like the Spine support and running crew had turned out en-mass.  It was really nice to catch up with various people and it’s always a great boost seeing a familiar face when you’re deep into a tough race.

At one point I even had a nice chat with running legend (hero!)  Debbie Martin-Consani, who even recognised my name (presumably from being Strava-stalked, she was all smiles nonetheless).

I had one slight wobble just before the Ambleside checkpoint. The sun broke through the clouds just long enough for me to overheat (about 4 minutes), but a short sit down and some water soon sorted me out. This had the added benefit of forever ruling out the Marathon de Sables – if I can’t cope with sunshine in Northern England, the Sahara desert is definitely out of bounds!  I’m more of a mud and drizzle sort-of-a chap.

Nothing was really sore, and everything was still in good working order, but about 10 miles from the end I quietly gave up.

Didn’t stop moving, though I slowed down a bit, and still felt positive, I just, don’t know, stopped caring about my finishing position. 

I remember thinking that if I walked the rest of the way, I’d probably still be in under 28 hours and that would be just fine thanks.

I didn’t actually or consciously give up, or decide that I’d stopped racing, it’s more like I forgot about earlier goals and the driving spark just went out.

Mind mutiny?

If it wasn’t for the fact that I was running with Lee who was still going strong, I probably would have walked. This was his first 100 – what a machine!

∞

For weeks afterwards I wallowed in a depressive fug and groggily tried to dissect what had actually happened.

At first it seemed that the day of the race was guilty.

We’d got stuck on the M6, and instead of having a lazy afternoon fettling my gear in the sunshine, it’d been a mad dash to get kit checked, packed and into the briefing. For a few hours I thought I might even miss the start of the race (one of my recurring anxiety dreams).

On top of all that, I’d been pretty relaxed about what I’d need and hadn’t really thought it all through. Resulting in a load of other errors: crappy old pack that chafed my lower back horribly, a near empty bar of body glide (at one checkpoint I asked if they had vaseline, and nearly took them up on the closest thing available – butter), baggy annoying shorts and heaps of heavy stuff I didn’t use.

No doubt that all contributed.

At some point (probably when I got my feet wet in a bog) lots of memories of the Spine race came flooding back. They weren’t the good memories either. Then and there I decided to pull out of next years race, and actually the next two races I had planned (Ultra Tour Monte Rosa, King Offas Dyke).

All standard stuff for anyone who runs long distances, so what else?

Deep down I want to be good at this. I can’t run very fast, but I can keep on going when others fall by the wayside. 

Everyone wants to be good at something, I think I’m a not bad nerdy mathys type, I’d just really love to be good at running.

The realisation that I wasn’t going to make it into the top 20 was the final motivation killer.

Of course I had no right to expect that based on time off due to injury and a lackadaisical training regime, but those points only occurred to me recently.

Unrealistic expectations.

Last year I came 3rd in the Crawley 12h, recovered from a stress fracture and completed The Spine Race. Somehow I thought that meant I’d do well at anything I tried.

You get out what you put in.  Yes it’s a cliche, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

My next target is a 24h track race next April. In the meantime I’ve taken a large dose of humility, am planning a proper training and nutrition plan and am slowly starting to enjoy running again.

The mountains will have to wait for a bit.

I’ll keep hoping, I’ll keep keep training.

Never give up.

No goubunku.

∞

Obligatory Strava link