It’s almost 1pm, they’re starting to put the names and distances up on the leaderboard for the first time in the event, the first of 24 updates. If I’m anywhere other than near the bottom, I’ll know I’ve been going way too fast.
The fifty two starters had stretched out into a long procession in lane one soon after starting, there is enough room to overtake, and the urge to chase was really strong. Legs full of glycogen, sun shining, snacks and drinks on my table every few minutes, maybe I should just let loose and get some early miles in. Nobody would be able to take them away after all.
Kieran came flying past, lapping me uncomfortably often, and he wasn’t the only one, maybe I really was going too slow.
Glancing at my heart rate, the biggest display field on my watch (so I could read it without my glasses) it said 144 BPM. I knew what my coach would have to say if he knew I was in zone 3 this early on, he would say what I overheard someone nearby me mutter in annoyance, “they said if I’m doing more than 10:40s per mile I’m going too fast, but fucks sake, I feel great, I’m going for it”.
I slowed down until I was in the green zone, 132-138 BPM, my pace dropped to 11:30 minute miles, frustratingly slow, runners piled past me. I sighed, pulled my shoulders back, took a sip of Maurten laced water, and settled in for the long haul. Lets see if this works.
Three months ago the realisation that the race was no longer in the distant future came as a bit of a shock, life had changed quite dramatically (I quit my job) and without the twice daily five mile run-commute my training had faded away. Apart from gym sessions, but you don’t run a race with big shoulders, though my vest would probably fit me better. Something had to be done.
I was wary of employing a coach, previous experience had always ended in injury, but I needed the motivational boost, as well as the accountability nudges that ensured I actually put my running shoes on and left the house.
The other reason I hadn’t been training is because I hadn’t been able to walk properly for a while, years of kicking rocks in the mountains had transformed my right big toe joint into a painful lump of extra bone.
“See all those little bits in the X-ray? They’re tiny pieces of bone that are floating around, when they get into the joint you’ll notice that it hurts more than usual”
It did, I could hardly bend it at all, wearing sandals was totally out of the question, not only because my deformed foot was embarrassing to have on display.
“Look, it’s osteoarthritis, and it’s not going to get better on it’s own, and no steroid injection is going to help with all that rubble in there. I can fuse it if you want, that’ll help with the pain, but it’ll never bend again”.
I looked at him in disbelief, sitting in a gleaming white office in the Shard, my scruffy running kit very out of place. My right glute and hip were already vigorously complaining about my unbalanced gait, the sort of pain that boosts opioid sales and I wanted no part of that.
“Yeah ok, well that doesn’t sound very appealing, I’ve got a 24h race in a few months, is there any other option?”
“The other thing we can do is to open it up, pull the big tendon aside, saw off all that extra bone, fish out those loose bits and sew it all back together. Standard cheilectomy, day case”
This sounded….horrible.
“Ok, and that will fix it?”
“Maybe” he said cheerfully, “we won’t know for sure until six months afterwards, but you should be walking a few weeks after the operation, probably back to running in six”
I grimaced.
“I can fit you in next week, what do you say?”
It didn’t really sound like there was much of a choice here, I wanted to run, and hopefully I’d be recovered enough for Glastonbury, just five weeks away.
“Ok fine, let’s do it”.
Once the anaesthetic had worn off my foot felt exactly like you’d expect from the description of the operation, codeine helped a bit, and I just hunkered down and waited until I was allowed to start walking more than the short distance to the bathroom and back.
Which is all a very long way of saying that I really needed some assistance in getting race fit before the 20th of September.
The board had been updated and I was happily exactly where I wanted to be at the one hour mark, sandwiched near the bottom of the list between two veteran metronomes, Charlotte Smith and Jo Newens.
Ok, good, keep doing this, let the hares bound away and be the tortoise, keep calm and be vigilant, there are so many things that can go wrong in a race like this. Getting carried away early on is just one of them.
A few days before the start I found myself staring morosely at my packing list, the realisation that there were so few things within my control, so many ways for the race to end badly. I’d put in a lot of physical effort, but as my coach was only experienced in races up to 100K, I wasn’t convinced my training would extrapolate to the mythical 200K all that well, but at this stage had no other choice but to try.
Seeing the training plan laid out was pleasing, a familiar mix of slow runs interspersed with intervals, hill repeats and strength sessions in the gym. I resisted it at first though, acting like a stubborn teenager that won’t be told despite knowing deep down that this was going to be good for me. I mean, who actually wants to do hill sprints?
My coach graciously ignored confessions of boozy nights, and silently updated the schedule to account for missed sessions. He had access to all my garmin data and kept a close eye on resting heart rate and overnight heart rate variability which along with the subjective markers I provided for each workout, allowed him to tweak the plan to keep me working hard, but not injury hard.
Subjective markers being: “On a scale from ‘not very much’ to ‘OMG I nearly died from an exploding heart’, how hard was that?”, and “From a ‘pile of poo’ to ‘incredible, I could have done that all day’, how did you feel afterwards?”
That sort of thing anyway. All integrated with my watch which made it almost impossible not to adhere to.
Sessions would sync to my garmin which would helpfully beep and vibrate when I deviated from the prescribed torture, often I didn’t have enough breath to swear at it and just grimly gritted my teeth and dug even deeper as I attacked yet another nasty hill.
The weeks passed by sweatily and when both Garmin and Strava agreed that my fitness was improving, I released any remaining resistance to the plan, becoming a meek and obedient trainee. I made sure to get plenty of nutrients, lots of sleep and put my trust in this comprehensive data driven approach.
10:30pm and Dan and Zoe have just appeared through the main gate to the track, they said they might pop down but I didn’t really believe them (despite glancing at the entrance every few minutes). What a lovely boost to see their happy smiling faces, I treated them to some sweaty hugs and with a skip in my step hit the 50 mile mark. Average speed so far was still just over 5 miles an hour, and somehow I was feeling… fine? I mean, actually I was feeling good.
Recently I was reading one of my journals from 2018, and a line had become stuck in my head, “take care of the important details, and the rest will mostly just fall into place”, it had become my mantra today, and so far had served me well.
I’d glance at my watch to check my heart rate, then cycle through everything else that I could influence, not exactly control, but I had some agency in. Any hot spots on my feet? Do I need more or less clothes? Is that pain in my stomach something that needs to be dealt with now or can it wait another lap? Am I due something to eat or drink?
Then most importantly I’d assess how I was feeling. Was I being negative and critical of other people around me? Was I feeling euphoric? (both of which generally point towards needing food or water).
Afterwards I’d detach my internal controller and think of nothing much, just cruise for a while, thanking the lap counters as I passed, saying hello as I passed anyone walking, and a well done to anyone who overtook me (of which there were still plenty).
I felt calm and relaxed, my low heart rate meant that I could mostly breathe through my nose, I really wasn’t working very hard, and this was fine, if this is the speed I can go and feel like this, then that’s how it is.
It was only afterwards that I made the connection between all of the above and the name of the race, “self transcendence”. I wouldn’t exactly say that’s what was happening, but when you’re able to observe your thoughts and emotions, without them taking center stage, you really are on that path.
“We’ll talk about 200K at 6am yeah” I said to Ian J as he passed me around 3am. He grunted something non-committal and I laughed. It would be tight, maybe feasible, but probably not, I was ok with that. Mostly I was just happy that I was still moving at the same pace, and even though we’d entered the notoriously dark and bleak portion of the race, I still felt alert and happy. Maybe it was because I was still moving well, my foot was holding up despite some early grumblings and very very slowly, I was tortoiseing myself up the leaderboard.
Ian had kindly allowed me to shoehorn myself into his support area, and between Sophie, Julian, Nicky and Emile they were taking good care of both of us. Having someone available to fill up water bottles, make miso soup, and even just smile and clap from time to time makes a huge difference. I felt guilty for imposing myself but mostly just incredibly grateful.
8am didn’t exactly come around suddenly, but when it did, with the sun shining and the blustery wind in retreat, everyone looked happy and there where cheers and whoops as we changed direction for the final time. A lot of people were walking by this point and I’d set myself the consolation target of a top 10 spot. I just needed to keep eating, keep drinking, and keep moving. Incredibly I was still smiling, and my average pace was only slightly less than it was earlier.
Ian E turned up with a cup of tea and some sort of cheese bun thing, and I allowed myself a little sit down and a happy chat, he was full of early morning energy and sent me back onto the track feeling invigorated (and slightly more comfortable, I’d loosened the laces on my shoes, swollen feet still relatively happy in my altra carbon vanish, mercifully free from blisters).
Jim, Paula and Cooper the dog arrived at 9:30, another lovely dose of warmth and happiness, I lost some minutes chatting but it was ok, it’s not like I was ever going to win.
The race leader for some time now was Julien Cazoria, he was self supported and his pace had barely eased off, I don’t think I saw him walk once. By the end he’d covered 150.9 miles (242.9 km), with a solid 10 miles between him and second place. Some small part of me wondered what his training regime was, but right now I was having a lovely time and midday and the finish was almost within smelling distance.
Unfortunately Jo had to retire, her ankle wasn’t up for the punishment any longer, and I was sad not to be able to chat to her as we’d both been moving at a similar speed.
At 11am my daughter Trix unexpectedly arrived, could this day get any better?
“Wow you’re here!”, I literally screeched to a halt as she appeared on the other side of the fence.
“Yeah I felt bad about you running all night on your own, so skated down after my sleepover”
“I’m so happy, you’ve made my day! Now, I need your help”, the last hour of the race is actually the most fun part of the whole event, a bit of a game that Ian E started a few years ago.
“Right, get on the live tracker and figure out who I need to overtake to move up a few places”
“Ha ok, sure dad”
“Look at the runners that are walking and look a bit broken, they’re the ones we need to target”
The game was on!
Trix would quietly tell me a number and how many times I needed to lap them, then keep me updated using hand gestures as I went past.
I had plenty in the tank and picked up the pace, target locked and six extra laps needed to nab a top 10 spot.
Anna and Edward appeared and joined the throng of cheering supporters clustered by the first corner, energising everyone with their positivity.
By the time the hooter sounded the end of 24 hours, I’d got my heart up to 150 BPM and was moving at 8:30 minute miles, no point finishing without being completely exhausted!
I didn’t catch that runner, she realised that two of us were chasing her and started running too. Trix said that it was a good result, it would have been mean to knock the only girl in the top 10 out in the last few minutes, and I had to agree with her, grudgingly!
Sitting by my little bean bag marked 84 I caught my breath, marvelling at how well my legs had done, astonished by the lack of pain (though it would kick in later) and so, so happy to not be running.
Trix ran over and hugged me, Anna said “why didn’t you tell anyone you were doing this?”
“I find it too embarrassing, people ask me why, and what for, and it’s all just a bit awkward” I mumbled.
“Well I think you’re all amazing, what an incredible achievement!” she beamed at me.
“Yeah ok, let’s go with that, thank you!”
Afterthoughts
I was trying to explain to someone why I like this event so much (this is the sixth time I’ve done it), and the best I could come up with was “The organisers have this unusual mixture of calm and extreme competence, coupled with an incredibly warm and supportive atmosphere. The people who are drawn to it tend to all be very similar, and you rarely get any dicks showing up. When they do they usually crash out early anyway.”
“You never know up front what anyones target is, some are going for a quick 100 miles, or just 100 miles. Others are chasing a Spartathlon qualifier, some are going for records, and some are racing themselves from previous years. So you can’t sensibly chase anyone, and you just have to settle in and run your own race, it’s the only approach that works”.
If you liked the sound of my coach, then the good news is that you can use him/her/it too! I stumbled across Athletica.ai in a newsletter from Dr Phil Maffetone (author of The Big Book of Endurance Training and Racing), and it’s a lot more affordable than a real human being. I am in no way affiliated with the company, these thoughts (and any mistakes) are entirely my own.
Arturs son Alex asked what I ate to offset the 19,160 calories that Strava said I burnt, if you’re interested too:
- 16 Maurten 160 sachets
- 4 sachets of innermost electrolyte powder with water
- 3 small bags of salt & vinegar hula hoops
- 3 small bags of assorted McCoy’s crisps
- 3 cups of miso soup
- 3 small snickers bars
- 2 bottles of lucozade sport
- 2 cups of tea
- 2 cups of ginger root extract (diluted!)
- 1 bottle of powerade
- 1 cheese bun
- 1 small instant noodle pot
- 1 ginger biscuit
Honestly I wish I’d skipped the “real” food and stuck to liquid carbohydrate, but I didn’t plan well enough for that. My stomach didn’t thank me and hopefully I’ll remember for next year.
I covered 187.616 km (116.57 miles, 469 laps). 11th place, just 1 km behind Paula. You can see all the results here https://statistik.d-u-v.org/getresultevent.php?event=122057
jura runner 