Okay, so the title, like the film, Titanic, kind of gives away the ending. However, as with all good stories the fun is in the journey as much as the ending.
I had entered the Druid’s Challenge an 82 mile 3-day trail race across the Ridgeway, earlier this year, long before I had entered the Amsterdam Marathon, as I saw it as an ideal way to see how my body would shape up to the rigours of ultra running and multi-day racing in preparation for the MDS next April. Once I entered it I promptly put it to the back of my mind, as I focused all my efforts on getting the PB I craved at Amsterdam.
It was only after I had finished the Amsterdam marathon and was still hobbling about the following Friday did it dawn on me that three weeks later I would be running this ultra race. Not much training or preparation time. In fact I had two hard weeks of 90-100 miles each and then a four day taper.
On the Thursday before the race I sat in my Travelodge in Luton and it suddenly dawned on me that I had never done anything like this! 3 marathons in 3 days, all across hard trails, forest paths, ancient roads and tall grassy hills. I was actually scared. I sat there thinking about all the things that could go wrong.
Mostly I was worried about getting lost. I can get lost in a supermarket, even with numbered aisles and shop assistants eager to point me to sweets section. This race wasn’t marshalled. We simply had to follow the well marked trail paths.
I was always confident of getting through the first day. At 29 miles it would be the longest I have ever run in one go, but I felt with all the long 26 mile runs I had done and my high mileage training weeks I would be okay. I was more concerned about days two and three and how my body might recover from day one. Especially, considering I have a propensity not to hold back. I knew there was every chance that I would go out hard on day one, run as fast as I could, shredding my legs and leaving nothing for the next two days.
I was honestly frightened of failure. I pin a lot of stuff on my running, with plenty of training and boring people to death with my endless chat about it, so I didn’t want to come home having had to pull out or walking the last couple of days due to ruining my body on the first day. So, Thursday was a restless night.
Friday and stage one came. The 150+ competitors were organised into three starts a slow group, medium group and fast group. The slow group were set off at 10am, the medium group at a 11am and the fast group, which included me, set off at 12pm.
Stage One: Ultra Running Lesson One – the hard way!!
It was cold, very windy and heavy rain clouds hung over the horizon as we stood at the top of the hill at Ivinghoe Beacon waiting for our start. I felt surprisingly calm and in pretty good shape. My game plan was to stick with the main bunch of runners for the first 20 miles or so and then see how I was feeling and maybe push on from there or at least try and hang on to the leaders if they were faster.
Of course, this is me! So instead of doing what was sensible I blasted down the hill at in impressive pace opening up a 100m gap before we’d reached the end of the first field. I tired to tell myself to slow down and that 30 miles was a long way to go and that it was foolish, but none of it got through. I just went. It felt great and I felt as though I was skipping across the beaten mud and chalky paths through the green fields and into the forest paths. After about 4 miles I glanced back over my shoulder and there was no one in sight, I was clear. There was no one about and no one in front of me, as it would be at least 9 or 10 miles before I got the first of the slow runners. The course was magnificent and although it was breezy and damp with light rain it wasn’t too cold. I was having a great time.
At 6 miles I was following the little white acorns and finger signs that indicated the way to go and was starting to feel pretty good about myself. I was even patting myself on the back for following the course so well. I was about to learn my first lesson in trail running. Don’t get complacent with the route. I came out of a forest and the finger sign said left on to a tarmac road, which I followed. I was still all on my own and apart from a tractor with a hedge trimmer there was no sign of life. I followed the road looking out for the next finger sign for the Ridgeway, but nothing. The road kept going. There were a few footpaths, but we had been told explicitly that there would be either a white acorn or a finger sign saying Ridgeway and I couldn’t see either of them. I started to panic, it didn’t feel right.
Of course any sensible trail runner would have done some preparation before such a race and at least looked at a map of the Ridgewayshit, I am lost!, was all I could think! I ran back up the road and found an old lady getting into a car. I quickly sprinted up to her before she could drive away and asked if she knew where the path to the Ridgeway was. “Ridgeway?” she answered confused and my heart sank. She pondered for a moment and then said she would ask her son. Moving agonisingly slowly she wondered from her car to another cottage buried behind a thick hedge. I looked at my watch as the minutes and seconds ticked on. I felt for sure that any lead I had made would now be gone. I cursed myself and all the praise I had just given myself for not getting lost. Eventually her son appeared and was almost as confused. He thought it was back up the road I had just run from, so I had no choice but to turn back and head to the last clear sign I’d seen.
I headed back up the road quickly, and at the top saw a large bunch of runners who not long before I had been well ahead of. However, they too were lost and were looking for the sign. I told them it wasn’t at the bottom of the road for sure, so as a group we searched and not too long after that we found a turnstile hidden behind some hedges. It had to be it. I was really annoyed, as I remembered running past it and dismissing it, as it wasn’t obvious as I thought a turnstile for the Ridgeway would be. I was in too much haste to stop and check to make sure, which was what I should have done.
I was pretty angry with myself now, as I could see across the field that a dozen and more runners were now ahead of me. From my watch I reckoned that I had ran an extra 2 miles as a result of missing the gate. Instead of calming myself down I allowed my anger to dominate my thoughts and display itself in the only way I know how in a pair of running shoes. I dropped the hammer. Instead of doing the steady 7-7.30 minute per mile pace that I had done so far, I started doing sub 7 minute miles and then 6.30s and even some 6 minute miles. I raced past people, sprinted up hills without easing my stride.
The first checkpoint was due at 11miles. My GPS read just short of 13 miles when I got there, confirming to me that I had added an extra 2 miles to my day’s race. I was still angry, so instead of stopping for water and some food, I swiped my chip card and kept on running. By now I was catching the slower runners from the earlier groups. I wasn’t sure how many from my fast group were ahead of me at this point, so I just kept banging out the fast miles.
The countryside was beautiful, but a blur, as I carried on in my rage. I reached the second check point, which was meant to be at 17 miles, but for me was 19 miles. Still annoyed I didn’t stop for any food or drink, just to swipe the card. I asked the checkpoint guy how many more people were in front of me and he told me about a dozen, I then asked how many from the late starters and he said none and that I was in the lead. For some reason, this didn’t register at all. I simply didn’t believe him, as I set off. I continued at my frantic pace determined to catch everyone. In my head at this time I was thinking if I could just get within 10 or 15 minutes of the leaders then I could maybe make that time up on the next couple of stages. I passed a several runners and then another group of four runners not long after that, as we followed a path leading through some farm fields and up a hill. The next check point was due at 22 miles on the official course route, so 24 miles for me.
It was now I learnt my second important lesson about ultra racing and trail running – always refuel as you go!! I had a camelback on, but stupidly had only filled it with half a bottle of energy drink and the same again of water, so about 500ml of liquid. I had no food. Because I hadn’t been stopping at the check points for water or food I had now drunk my camelback dry and was starting to feel a little uneasy on my feet. I began to suck at the mouthpiece to continually find nothing coming back.
I carried on through the fields, my legs getting less and less sure. I don’t know if this was the reason for my next mistake, but I am sure it was a factor. I came up to a turnstile that led into another field, with a clear path leading away. It was quite dark now as it was approaching 3pm and the dark rainy clouds had made everything grey. Instead of slowing to look for the white acorn or any other signage I just carried on. I was now on a path that went straight down and turned a sharp right keeping it inline with the sheep field that was fenced off to my right. I ran down the full length of the field and then turned another sharp right before heading back up the field, it was only when I reach the top of this path and made another sharp right did I realise that I was now heading back to toward the turnstile I had just declined. I had made another course mistake. Worst of all, was this hadn’t been a small farm field, but a rather large one, so that by the time I got back to the turnstile I had been caught up by the group of four runners I had passed about a mile before.
Sure enough there on the turnstile was the white acorn that I would have clearly seen if I had been smart enough to slow down for just a few seconds and had a look. I passed the group of four again, and told them that I loved it so much I was doing it twice. They laughed and got the joke. I raced across the field. Again I was angry with myself and again I responded in the same way by upping my pace. This time, my body began to kick back. My watch read 24 miles at this point and I had guessed that my little excursion around the sheep field would have cost me another mile, so that meant I was still a mile away from the checkpoint. I tried sucking my camelback for any hint of water, but nothing. By now I was looking at the muddy puddles on the ground and seriously thinking about stopping to drink from them. My head was throbbing and I was very unsure on my feet. My pace dropped and I began to wobble a bit. I tired to keep going, begging for the check point to arrive. At 25 miles there was still no check point and I simply couldn’t go on.
For the first time in a very long time, I gave in. I simply had to stop. My body ground to a walk. I walked for a bit and then jogged for a bit. My head was all over the place. I didn’t feel well. I was still angry and annoyed with myself for having gotten lost twice! All I could think about was how I had thrown away the race on the first day through stupidity. I tried running again when I got to the top of a small hill, as the gentle decline allowed gravity to help me out. Then, in what can only be described as one of the greatest sights of my life, two men got out of a minibus and started clapping at me – it was the checkpoint. I ran to them and found a whole table full of fruit cakes, pasties, Jaffa cakes, jelly babies, biscuits and cup after cup of orange juice and water. I swiped my card and then emptied about 6 cups straight off without stopping for air. I followed this up by filling my face with something from every plate on the table. The guys were full of sympathy for me and gave me a bottle of water for the rest of the stage. Later in the weekend when chatting with me, one of them said that when I arrived at the checkpoint that day I had looked ghostly and eaten as if I hadn’t eaten in a month. It had felt like it. After about 5 minutes of pulling myself together I picked up some food for my pockets and wearily set off, knowing that there was still seven miles to go.
Within yards I felt sick. I had eaten too much, too quickly. My stomach started to spasm and cramp, as I struggled to hold everything in. I slowed to a real gentle jog to try and allow things to settle. It was terribly slow and my legs began to cramp as well. Now, my body was paying for all those stupidly quick miles earlier on.
My watch beeped art 27 miles and again I found myself stopping and walking. I’d simply had enough. I’ve always considered myself mentally tough and strong, but at that point, in that muddy field slipping from one tree root to another, soaking wet from the rain and freezing cold from the wind, I had never felt mentally weaker. I wanted to sit down and cry. I wanted to lie down in the bushes and go to sleep. I would have given anything to have pulled out then, to get into a dry car and go somewhere warm. I started telling myself that it would be okay, I started to try and find excuses about why. I blamed in experience, I blamed Amsterdam, I blamed anything I could think of and then from nowhere I got angry again and told myself how in reality it was all my fault. I thought of something my brother, Stephen, says, and had been told during his time in the Navy – Piss, poor, preparation leads to piss, poor, performance. That’s what I had done. Yes, I’d trained well and I was in good physical shape, but I had done little by way of preparation for taking on this challenge, which was so different from anything else I have done. I should have studied a map. I should have taken more water and some food. I should have run at a better, more controlled pace and evenly. This anger made me pick up my pace and begin running again. I did have to stop and walk for a bit, but I only allowed myself 10 seconds of walking whenever I did stop.
At 29 miles I looked at my watch and it read 3hours 50 minutes. I should have been finished, but instead I had 3 more miles to run, as a result of my stupidity. This somehow seemed to have a major affect on me, as I suddenly found some more pace and I was no longer stopping for walking breaks. Maybe the food and drink from the check point had started to refuel my body, but for whatever reason I was running again, at pace and not stopping. I went though mile 30 in 9 minutes, a marked improvement on the previous three or four miles. Not long after mile 30 I saw the yellow and black arrows we had been told would be there to lead us to the town and school we would be staying in that night. It felt great, mostly because I knew I wouldn’t be getting lost anymore, but also because I knew it was only a mile and a half away. I turned off the Ridgeway and on to the road.
Oh, how I had missed the road! I am still a road runner at heart! I picked up the pace and fuelled by Jaffa cakes, fruit loaf and a longing for a shower I banged out my last 2 miles in 15 minutes. Seeing the school gates and the final line I felt totally empty. I barely acknowledged the applause from the gathered organisers, helpers and volunteers as I crossed the line and swiped my card to mark the end of the stage. I’d finished in 4hours and 14 minutes and my GPS read 32 miles, 3 miles more than I had meant to.
I asked the guy how many people were ahead of me. I could see four runners sitting inside drinking coffee, so didn’t expect to be anywhere but at least fifth. It was then that I was told that I was the first of the late starters back and that the four in front of me had been from the early start meaning they had been given an hour’s head start. I was told I had won. I had won the first stage. I simply couldn’t believe it. I moved through into the building to get a coffee and collect my head.
Despite everything I had been through I had still won. It was hard to enjoy the moment, as I still felt a combination of anger, despair, and depression from everything that had happened. Not to mention the fact that I was utterly shattered!
We spent the evening sleeping in the gym and theatre halls on school gym mats. I went straight to my bed straight after eating. My legs felt pretty done in and I was really worried about how they would feel in the morning, as despite everything I would have to get up the next day and do another 27 miles!
Stage two – learning from my mistakes!
I woke up at 6am and had porridge and toast for breakfast. I also drank loads and filled my camelback to the brim with energy drink and water. I also stuffed my pockets with dried apricots and a croissant that I had left from breakfast. There was no way I was going to make that mistake again.
The start of stage two was the same as the first stage, the slower runners and some walkers set off first at 7am, the middle group at 8am, and then the top 25 at 9am. It was nice to have a little bit more time to prepare and stretch.
Despite the day before my legs felt pretty good. My body did feel like it had a hangover though, probably dehydration.
My winning time of 4hours and 14 minutes from stage one had given me a 15 minute lead over my nearest rivals a group of 4 runners. There were a few further back from that, but I knew that all I had to do was sit with the pack and not let anyone get away and I would be still in the lead for the last day. A good sensible plan or so I thought.
We lined up on the start line and then after a quick briefing we were sent on our way back down the road we had come the night before and back on to the Ridgeway. One of the other runners took to the front so I quickly took in step next to him. My legs ached a bit, but felt fairly good. Surprisingly, it was my lungs that hurt most of all. I felt as though I had them punched repeatedly by David Haye. The harder I breathed the more it hurt. It dawned on me that this was the first time I had ever raced back-to-back, day after day and that my lungs were also like muscles and were probably stiff and sore in the same way. They just needed warming up.
Unlike the start the day before, I ran as part of a group of three, with two guys, Ben and Ivan, who like me had also got lost the day before, so they were looking to make up time and get close to the top three. We were working at fairly good pace of around 7.30 per mile for the first few miles, which felt comfortable. I was happy with my plan. It was quite nice to have company and to chat as well.
However, after about 4 miles we hit a hill and Ben and Ivan slowed into a power walk. I decided that I would keep running and that they would catch me back up at the top of the hill. At the top of the hill I looked back and had opened up a gap of about 50m. I remember thinking at that point I had a choice of easing up and letting them catch me up or just going for it. My legs were now feeling good and my lungs only ached a little. It was a lovely fresh day and conditions for running were good.
It took me less than a second to decide. I turned and dropped the hammer. Flying down the other side of the hill we had come up and disappearing into the woods. It was another lovely route. Up to the first check point we ran through forest paths, by fields filled with horses, and even right through the middle of a golf course. We were told at the briefing we had right of way, so I took a little bit of pleasure running right through the middle of a game and waving at the golfers as I went. The club had been told we were coming, so I even got some cheers back.
I reached the first checkpoint at 8 miles, quickly swiped my card, grabbed a cup of water and a banana and was straight off. I wasn’t going to make the refuelling mistake again.
The next 9 miles went incredibly smoothly. I couldn’t believe how well I was running, how comfortable it was and how little effort it seemed to be taking. I was well clear of the faster group behind me and was making good inroads into the two other groups ahead of me. One of the great things about this race was there was a great camaraderie among the competitors and everyone I passed clapped and cheered me on. It felt great and really spurred me on to get to the next person.
The next check point was at 16.5 miles and again, I stopped briefly to grab juice and food before disappearing up the road.
The other lesson that I had learned from yesterday was about being a lot more careful on the route to make sure that I didn’t miss any signs, so at every point where I was on my own and had doubt, I slowed and made sure. Sometimes I even stopped for a second just to make sure the arrow was pointing down the path I was about to take.
By the time I reached 20 miles the number of people to pass had reduced considerably and I was really on my own. However, I was having a great time. I felt strong, fit and fast, and when I pulled into the final check point before the finish I met the guys who had helped me on the final checkpoint the day before. They were quick to tell me how much better I looked today and we shared a quick joke before I set off for the last stretch. The last 5 miles was undulating chalk and hard grass paths, which battered the feet as you went up and down them. I have to admit that at this point I could feel blisters on my toes and definite bruising, but that was it, they were my only concern.
The last two miles was all up hill, but at the top of that hill I could see the finishing flags. It was a great sight, as I knew two things for certain. I wasn’t going to get lost and I was going to win the second stage. It was a brilliant feeling. The last two miles weren’t a struggle at all, they were almost a pleasure, as unlike the day before I had done everything right and I felt like I deserved the win. I crossed the line in 3hours and 32 minutes, not bad for 27 miles of hills, forest paths, trails and slippery mud.
I finished seven minutes ahead of Ben who I’d left at 4 miles, but had stayed strong and ran well. My nearest rivals from stage one finished 25 minutes behind me, giving me a forty minute advantage for the last day.
Later that night as we chatted, shared stories and listened to a talk about the MDS from Rory Coleman people kept telling me that I was sure thing to win the race. Friends from home were texting me too, saying how great a chance I had to win. This made me incredibly nervous. I had never a won a race before, never crossed the line first and hadn’t expected to be in this position in this race. My hope had been for a top 10 finish, maybe top 5 and my secret dream finish had been a podium. It felt odd to think about winning the whole thing, especially as I still had a whole marathon to run the next day. One thing was for certain though, I was desperate to win. I really wanted it, so after a massage I took myself off to bed – another mat and sleeping bag in another sports hall.
That was an experience in itself. 100+ people all lying on mats and blankets. It was a like a refugee camp for runners, sponsored by Gore-tex. The smell wasn’t much better than a refugee camp either, as high protein diets, sweaty sports kit and damp trainers filled the air. Add to that the loud snoring that seemed to come from all corners of the room sounding like a bad impression of Paul McCartney’s frog orchestra and it was a wonder I got any sleep at all.
Stage Three: Feeling brilliant!
I did get some sleep, although not massive amounts. In the morning I tried to eat breakfast, but I don’t know if it was my nerves or as a result of two days hard running, but my stomach wasn’t enjoying eating. I managed a small bowl of cereal and half a jam sandwich before trying a banana. I hate bananas. I hate the smell, the taste, the touch, everything about them I hate. However, if I can force myself to eat them before or during a run they always help me. I discovered that in Amsterdam 2008 during the marathon when I just had to eat something and all I could get my hands on was a banana. I tried the banana and after one mouthful I quickly brought it back up again, which I had to then force back down, not very nice at all. I stopped eating.
I’d thought the night before that my legs had felt better than after the first day and I wondered if that would hold out till the morning. They did. They felt really good. I looked about the refugee camp and saw that most other people were limping, hobbling and shuffling about, but I was feeling quite light and fit. It filled me with confidence and I started to believe that I was going to have a good race, as long as I didn’t get lost!
My race plan was again the same as day two – to sit with the pack and not let anyone go. I had forty minutes on my nearest rival and so there was no way I could lose it unless I got lost or injured, or took it so easy that someone took forty minutes out of me.
We were taken to day two’s finish spot and set off. My race plan lasted a mile. I couldn’t help it. I felt brilliant for my third day of marathon running. Okay, I had a few tight spots and aches and my lungs were a little tight again, but apart from that all was good. I dropped Ben who had stuck with me for the first mile and just pushed on.
The first 16.5 miles of this stage were simple and straight forward. Heavy grass paths littered with chalky rock, sometimes the chalky paths broke to make a proper road, but it was fairly straight with few direction changes. It was just what I wanted. It was undulating, with a few hills thrown in, but I was really enjoying myself. There was a stiff breeze and the rain was coming down in fits, but it didn’t bother me. I stormed through both check points stopping briefly for refreshments and to swipe my card. I also began to pass the earlier groups, and again it was great to get their support. I’d got to know some of them by now and it was great to get their encouragement.
The last 10 miles was mainly through fields and farm fields across open country. By the time I had got to 22 miles I had passed most of the earlier groups and was very much on my own. After stage one I was still very paranoid about getting lost. I didn’t allow myself to think about wining at all. In fact I kept thinking about losing, and how that would happen if I got lost. I thought about how I would have to tell people I didn’t win, I thought about how I would feel about not winning. It was a strange negative image to pump through my mind, but it kept me focused.
We were due to finish on top of a hill at Barbury Castle. At mile 24 I moved into more open country and a farmer’s fields with a path leading through the middle up the hill. I kept expecting to see a castle in the horizon, but nothing. I started to worry a bit when I got to 25 miles and all I could see across the open countryside was fields and no castle. I kept telling myself that it would appear at the top of the next brow, but at the top of every little bump and hill there was yet more countryside. My watch hit 25.75 and I still couldn’t see anything. I was beginning to panic. I wondered, if I should have taken a different path or if I’d missed a turn. There was no one about either, so I couldn’t ask anyone. I could make out some signage at the end of the farmer’s field and decided I would go as far as that and see if it would point me in the right direction. By now my watch beeped 26 miles.
Thankfully the sign said Ridgeway right and as I climbed the gate and turned two guys started clapping at me. It was the two guys from the last checkpoints from stages one and two. They cheered and called out to me, pointed me off the road and then I saw for the first time the finishing gate and the flags. It was only at this point did it really hit me, that I was going to win. I was going to win!
It was an awesome sensation. I picked up my pace for a home straight finish with a small crowd cheering me on. I couldn’t help but smile, as I sprinted over the line to complete the 26.2 miles in 3hours 18minutes.
The organiser, Neil, shook my hand and handed my medal congratulating me on the stage and the race. Incidentally, I never did see the castle.
I have never won a race, ever, not even at school (well not that I can remember, there maybe an egg and spoon race way down the line, but I don’t recall) and as most people know, I have really wanted to win a race since I started running back in 2007. I have to admit I never thought I would do it on my first ever multistage race or in an ultra-marathon.
I learnt loads during my first ultra – mainly that training hard isn’t enough, preparation is just as important. I never, ever, want to go through what I did on stage one (well apart from the winning bit!).
It felt brilliant collecting my winner’s trophy in the tent in front of a lot of the people I had raced with over the weekend. I keep looking at it and pinching myself that it is mine and I did win it. It’s now sitting on top of the mantelpiece in pride of place. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before I can replace it with another winner’s trophy.
Overall, this was an extremely well organised event and one that I would recommend to anyone curious to try an ultra marathon/multi-day event.
Well, like Titanic, this report has not only given the ending away in the title, but has probably taken you as long to read as it would to have to watch it. Sorry about that, but hope you stuck with it.
You can see the results in full here
You can view some pictures here
