The Plague: Still infected

The Plague: Still infected!

Oh, I'm going to be sick. " Bleugh" . Bugger, stomach turning inside out, but nothing coming out. I'm tired, sick, hungry and thirsty; and it's only mile 20. It's going to be a long night. Maybe I really am infected! My demise at the Plague was swift. Everything unravelled with breathtaking speed. Unfortunately, everything didn't turn out in the long run. In fact my long run - my first attempt at a 100km - didn't last more than 36miles. How did everything go so wrong, so quickly?

I have had a whole day to reflect and analyse on everything that could have contributed to my demise, and the list is long. Maybe they all contributed, maybe none did. Maybe it just wasn't my day or maybe I just wasn't good enough.

Anyway,  let me go back to beginning. As far back as last year. My place this year was deferred, as last year I had an undiagnosed sharp,intense, shooting pain, along the base of my right foot whenever I went above 20ish miles. GP's, X-ray, ultra sound, podiatrists all failed to pin point the exact problem. The best guess by a podiatrist was an inflammation in soft tissue between 3rd and 4th Metatarsal. Advice: rest for 6weeks and roll your foot on an iced bottle of water or tin. Which I have done post run ever since, and no pain since. There is permanently a frozen tin of soup in the freezer! That's that problem solved.

So, that meant I have waited a year to do The Plague. For those of you not in the South West of England, The Plague is a 100km of Cornish Coast Path, organised by Mudcrew. Their tag line is "we don't do easy".  No shit, Batman. You start at Porthpean, St Austell, at 5mins past midnight, run 32 miles through the night to St Anthony Head, turn round and run back. Simples.

My training had gone well. I was confident. I had mixed it up, adding cycling, circuit training and yoga to my routine, in addition to my long back-back runs. I completed the Ham to Lyme 50km. I felt strong. Until about 3wks before the event. I had a disastrous training run. It was one of my last scheduled long runs and I ran out of energy. It knocked my confidence. I rested then and only ran once before the Plague. The days before I was nervous as hell.  My guts were in turmoil. I packed, unpacked, packed again. Checked the kit list again. And again. And again. Calm down dear, it's only a race.

Maybe the writing was on the wall when, on the morning of the race I was doing the last bits of washing up before leaving home, when I sliced my finger on a shard of broken glass. Omen? So, we get to Porthpean by 17.00hrs on Friday {'We', being my friend, training partner and fellow runner, Rachel}, put the tent up, ate  and chilled. The weather was good and the vibe around the site even better. Mudcrew run exceptionally well organised events and this was no different. Once the tent was up and last minute food and hydration was taken care of, I felt a sense of zen like calm. There was a surprising lack of nerves or even excitement. Just zen. Or maybe it was denial of the pain ahead, I'm not sure. Whatever the feeling was, this was it. Nothing left to do but run.

Time for safety briefing: watch out for badger holes. Stay safe. We are there to look after you and get you through. Miss the cut offs and you will be pulled off the course. Be nice to the marshalls, they are there for you. Look after yourselves and have fun.

Things went wrong from the start. Lost a good few minutes at the first kissing gate, only a few hundred metres in, which caused a bottle neck. Didn't start near enough at the front. Rookie error. Ten minutes gone within first few metres. The cut off times are fairly tight. Porthpean to CP2 at Gorran Haven is a total of 11miles with cut off at 02.45hrs. A running time of 2hrs 40mns. Not as easy as it sounds, on the coast path, in the dark. Dodging the badger holes, I was slowly getting in my running vibe, but Rachel wasn't feeling too good. But we made it OK, grabbed some food and water, and left. Now, Rachel completed the SDW100 recently, so knows what she is doing; she was meant to be getting me round this. So what happened next was not in our race plan. Not able to shake her stomach pains, we were losing time. Many times she told me go, she would be alright she said. I wouldn't. She would get through this, run it off. It would pass. I tried my best motivational pep talks . I think that even made her feel worse, but I was trying.

Eventually, I had to make a choice. Stay with Rachel and be timed out at CP3, or leave her. She knew this and was getting increasingly frustrated with me for not going on. But how could I?  Now, the S.W. Coast path is not easy terrain, but it is not remote. It was a balmy summers evening and she wasn't seriously ill or injured, just not feeling the love for this event right now. She was still moving, just not very fast! There were also sweepers not too far behind. I realised I had to make that choice. It was 04.00hrs and we had only done 14miles.  There were 6miles to CP4 at Portloe and that had to be reached by 05.15hrs. Mudcrew are lovely people- but they are strict with their cut offs. And for very good reason. I gave Rachel  a big hug and legged it. I had just over an hour on the coast path to cover 6miles. It was a very stressful hour. My race plan was in shreds, I was against the clock, alone, in the dark, and feeling incredibly guilty about leaving my friend and race buddy. My mind began, ever so slowly, to turn against me.

I made it. Just. The volunteers were great, helped me fill water and a flask, took some electrolytes - but all I remember was the cute little dog asleep in amongst the chaos! Got some supplies and went. Then my race really went pear shaped. Minutes out of Portloe  I started to retch badly. Dehydrated, I was unable to eat or drink. I was in bits. I had 8miles to Portscatho. It was a long, long, long 8 miles. I have read many tales of the dark places you go in Ultra's, how Ultra's are in large part a mental challenge and how you have to be ready for it when it happens. Well it was happening. And I was not ready. My mind was turning against me. It was not my friend any more. I had barely done a marathon at this point and knowing that made me feel worse. I was unable to cope. I was not ready. I mentally quite at that point. As I shuffled towards Portscatho, I started to mentally compose my Ultra running obituary; he tried, but he failed.

As the sun came up, I tried to gain some solace from the spectacular beauty of the universe. I was, at least in my line of vision, alone on the coast path and the scenery was quite spectacular. The sea was calm and the rhythmic sounds of the waves a soothing soundscape to the vibrant orange sunrise. A new day dawns. I even ran for a bit. It didn't last. Failure. You are not going to do this. Failure. What will everyone say?. Failure. I wanted to cry. SHUT UP HEAD. Twentyish miles? What has gone wrong? I can easily do 50km. Problems weren't meant to start until the return leg. Bumping into a friend and another fellow Plague sufferer, Ken, helped for a bit. But not much. We chatted and shuffled. Then even he was gone! FAILURE.

My new master plan was to get to Portscatho, just past the cut off at 07.45hrs. I would be timed out. I would be pulled off the course and it wouldn't be my decision to quit. But the bastards wouldn't let me stop. The conversation with aid station volunteers and medics went something like this {although I may have imagined some of it!}

Anything physically wrong with you?
Not really. Stomach issues. Probably dehydrated. Just not my day. My head's fucked. Can I curl up in the corner please.
No.
Why not?
You don't really want to stop.
Oh, but I do.
If you drink this magic potion {said the medic, I think}, and leave with these people here, you can make it to half way.
But I don't want to. Please let me stop.
I drank the water with the fizzy tablet in.
Get up, put your pack on and go. Or else.
I don't want to. I want a pint of Proper Job. {CP4 was in a pub, I could see the bar!}
GET UP
No
GET UP
I was too tired to argue further, got up and went. Bastards, wouldn't even let me quit.

Leaving Portscatho, it was only 4miles to the half way point. I wasn't alone now, with Andrea and Steve, fellow strugglers, who actually seemed in a more positive frame of mind. It started to rub off on me {thank you!}I felt better. Then came the tsunami of Black Runners {RAT also had Black 32milers / Red 20miles / White 11milers starting at different points on Saturday}. So about 08.45hrs we were suddenly running into a few hundred fresh faced and eager runners, all, and I mean ALL, shouting encouragement and clapping as they swarmed around us. They knew how far we had come, but I also knew how far they had to run. Poor bastards. You will suffer. But thank you for your support. For the second time that day I nearly cried- but I was too dehydrated! Quite emotional this running lark. The support from fellow runners really did mean a huge amount.

Newly enthused, the 'last' 2 miles were quite pleasant. St Anthony's Head. Half way. YIPPEEEEEEEEEEE.
I was, for the first time in about 4hrs, feeling positive again. The sun was out, the day was hotting up, and I was feeling hungry again. About time! But my legs were not responding to my new positivity. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. One foot in front of the other.

Mudcrew did all they could to get us to at least the half way point, but on the return leg, they needed to make a decision. They even came out onto the route to check on us. But I was done. So were Steve and Andrea. We were also after the cut off {10.10hrs}. Decision made for us. Stop. Relief. But more importantly for me at least, was that I was in a much better frame of mind. Yes, my race was over, but at 36miles, and not 28miles. Psychologically,  that made a huge difference. I had gone through a dark place, and still made it over halfway. With a bit of time to spare, if I could have stopped for some real food, I know I could have carried on. But I was already chasing cut offs, time was not something I had on the day. However, I ended happy, and mentally in a significantly better place than just a few hours previously. Today was just not my day. I did not have the experience, or the strength, to continue. I know that now. But I am also happy with that knowledge now. If I had been allowed to quite at 28miles, I would still be in that dark place. As it is, I'm raring to go again. Thank you Mudcrew and medic.

Back at Porthpean, I met up with Rachel again, and she was OK. Dehydration apparently. We chatted, debriefed and the very nice Dan made me a cup of tea. Rachel was sorry she held me up. Don't be silly. Running with friends is a pleasure. Did my race unravel due to Rachel? NO. I know not what happened to my race, but it wasn't anyone else's fault, that I do know. I would stay with her {or any other friend or ill runner} again. My only regret is that I didn't stay with her- my suffering would have been over sooner then as well  :-)

After food and fluid, I was a new man. Ready for pizza and beer! Meeting other friends and watching runners come in from completing various distances was uplifting and inspiring. I was well pleased for all of them. Their kind words and support for me also made me feel less and less like a failure. I started to feel vaguely normal again, almost wanting to do it again. BATs are a pretty amazing lot. Rachel, Dan, Mel, Emma, Fran {both of you!}, Sarah, Sam, Martin, Hilary, Mathew, Sam, Andrew. I salute you!

I still don't really know why everything unravelled so very, very quickly. It was scary actually. I know the coast path is brutal, but after 20miles. Really? I know I can do at least 32miles. Maybe that's what completely threw me into a tail spin. Knowing I could do more, but unable to. Maybe I need to do some more reflection. But what I do know is- I WILL BE BACK.

So what have I learned? Well:

• Dark times do not last for ever; they will pass. 
• Other runners are awesome. I know we all know that, but the support from all the 32milers made me feel like a champion- even though I was last.
• My friends and fellow club runners are awesome. You may not know that. I do!
• Constant eating / grazing / fluid intake IS REALLY IMPORTANT. However you feel, eat and drink. However bad you feel, not eating and drinking will make you feel worse.
• Marshalls and check point volunteers are nice people. Even if they wont let you stop.
• If you feel like quiring? DON'T!! Not at first anyway. I did another 8 more miles; it gave me the confidence to know that next year, I can, and will, complete the Plague. 
• Oh, and Mudcrew, you know how to put on an event!

    

Piccolo Sportive. Fun, but could do better

Gran Fondo: Piccolo (60km). 

Plymouth, May 31st 2015

(L-R) David, Mel, Me, Julian

There is a saying around around here, 

that really early mornings are 'sparrow fart o'clock'. 

The time we had to get up to travel to Plymouth for the  Gran Fondo , there were no

sparrows up. It was that early. Myself [Murray], Mel & Julian parked up in a multi story in 

Plymouth at 06.30hrs. Putting our bikes together and assembling our kit, I asked, 

"Butt cream anyone?" An innocent question for a cyclist just about to embark on a sportive. 

Maybe not so in a city car park early on a Sunday morning. 

We all made it down to Sutton Harbour, Plymouth , for the start of the inaugural 

'Rockets&Rascals' Sportive. 

The weather forecast for today, the last day of May, was not good. Fantastic.

 But the salty sea air, combined with the smell of fresh coffee in the shop was comforting. I

 wanted to have some coffee, I really did, but I had already had enough caffeine and 

did not want to chance it. Anyway, I digress. We registered, posed for a few photo's 

and were all set to go. Adrenaline was pumping, despite the early hour [or maybe that was 

the caffeine?], but then I realised something was not right. I had a puncture- and we 

hadn't evenstarted yet!

ooops!!

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A quick inner tube change, with help from the nifty hands of Julian, and all was good. 
Breath and Relax. Now we can start. Let's hope nothing else goes wrong!.Quite sensibly, 
the timing was not started until we had gone through the centre of Plymouth. 
We snaked through town, through Saltram , and then off. But Sportives are not races, are they? 
The weather so far, held off. It was damp, but it was not raining. Passing through the suburbs, we 
were warming up, literally. It was too warm. Starting at sea level, it was inevitable we would be going up. 
And up, we did. Sparkwell, Lutton, Cornwood. Up, Up, Up! 
We were also dressed for wet weather, and were getting hot. Stop to take off jacket? 
Decisions. However, we were soon up on the Moors and the choice of clothing was vindicated;
 it started to drizzle. It was also slightly misty, so the stunning vistas of Dartmoor were not declaring 
themselves. 

But the cycling was good and Mel [her first Sportive] was still strong. The climb from Cornwood 
to Lee Moor was something special. It was long. 
Not as relentless as some of the classic climbs in the cycling world, 
but uphill for a long way, none the less!

Pootling across the moors from Lee Moor to Sheepstor, there was some remittance 
from the climbing and the weather. Both had eased off. A nifty decent to 
Burrator Reservoir and an almost flat, semi circuit of the 
reservoir, raised spirits. Out towards Dousland and then the rain really did begin to fall. 
Proper Dartmoor rain. Rain that showed no respect towards Gortex. Basically, we got wet. 
Very wet.    Our hope, was that we were almost at the feed station. 
The thought of cake kept us going. Dousland, 
Yelverton. Crapstone, Buckland Abbey. FOOD. Oh, how disappointing. No cake. 
Fruit only; Banana or orange. Water or sports drink. That was it. Quite poor really. 
Not impressed at all. Wanted cake. Or at least something more than fruit.

Buckland Abbey back to Plymouth was , apart from a cheeky uphill soon after the feed stop, 
mostly downhill, on the Plym Valley cycle path. Quite a lovely way to finish, 
especially since the rain had now stopped. 
But all that changed when we got back into Plymouth. 
Joining up with the SkyRide was part of the route, 
and quite pleasant, on account of the road closures. 
But then as we turned towards the finish, it appeared a 
lack of marshals and signage caused more than us to go the wrong way 
and end up in city traffic. 
Again, quite poor.

The finish itself, once we found it, was OK. A good medal and a packet of Burts lentil crisps. 
Tasty. 
There was some consternation amongst riders, as there was one medal for all distances, 
the 60km, 100km 
and 100mile, all got the same medal, and there was no time categories, as there is 
in many sportives. 
Or any T-shirts. Or a goody bag.

As an inaugural sportive, it was OK. But nothing more. The organisation was Ok.
 The signage and marshalling was OK- until the return into Plymouth when it was poor / non existent. 
Feed station was poor. Ok, we only did the 60km, but I still think a feed station should have more 
than a banana & orange. The medal was nice- but if I had done the 100mile, 
I would be really peeved that there were no time 
categories and different medals.

I had a nice day out with my friends Mel, Julian and David and the atmosphere of the event 
was really good. 
But it could do better for next year. 

Murray Turner

getoutmoor   

GetOutMoor

​ 

​

Frozen soup, Horse feet and Hokas: 

The ongoing saga of my sore foot

Since the Imerys trail marathon in May 2014, I have periodically suffered from extreme pain in my right foot. I cancelled several races last year and had to abandon my fledgling Ultra running career. No Race to the Stones; no R.A.T Plague. Although I did manage to complete the Dartmoor Discovery Ultra [50km] in June, despite the last 10km being complete agony, so I am officially an 'Ultra Runner', and have a very nice medal and T-Shirt to prove it. Anyway,  I digress. Back to my sore foot.

Since May I have seen sports therapists, GP's, Chiropodists, Podiatrists, been poked, prodded and had both an X-Ray and ultra sound scan. I have messed about by putting new insoles and extra padding in my shoes. I self diagnosed from Google, read books, read blogs and even stopped running for a few weeks towards the end of last year! Nothing was found and nothing seemed to work. I was given false hope by the negative results of the x-rays and ultra sound, I had scaled back my running and all was OK. I started increasing my running again, and the pain returned.

I was becoming disheartened, but still determined to get this sorted. I could run for a short while[3+ hrs], then it would hurt. Should I only run short distances? The horror!! The scans say there is nothing wrong, so why the pain?

Then it was recommended, by the podiatrist I had been seeing, that I should see another podiatrist, Dr. Simon Spooner . So on Valentines Day morning, 2015, I went to see Simon. He really should change his profile picture. Anyway, I started by explaining the history of my foot. He listened intently. He nodded. He asked questions. When I said I had had x-ray and ultrasound scans and there was nothing wrong, he got angry. There is obviously an injury, he said, whether the technology picked it up or not, or my foot wouldn't hurt. Pain is your bodies way of saying 'there is something wrong, just stop it, now'. Which makes sense. But why? He examined my foot. Prodded my foot. Videod my foot. Even made me run on a treadmill. Explained without an MRI, he couldn't be sure, and even then, it may not be clear. And then he told me, in his opinion, what was wrong. He seemed to know what he was talking about, as he had name dropped his qualifications and the athletes / teams he had worked with, including the Exeter Chiefs [Premiership rugby union team, to those who don't know].

I have odd feet. I know that. But I didn't realise how odd. My toes curl up and don't touch the ground. This causes the tightening of tendons & muscles and undue stress on the ball of my foot. Or something like that. Simon used long words and I tried to keep up. Swelling. Fluid build up. Over use. Tight muscles. 2nd Metatarsal stress syndrome. I'm sure he mentioned 'equine' at some point. Do I have horses feet? The biomechanics of my feet mean they do not strike the ground as 'normal' feet do. This causes huge amounts of stress on my foot. At one point he said I may need to stop running for up to 12 weeks. If I was 18yrs old, it would be more like 6wks, he said, but I'm not 18yrs old. I'm 45yrs old. I must have nearly started to cry, as he said "don't worry, I haven't told you NOT to run yet, have I?" Phew. That was close. We talked about my race schedule, and mention of the Bodmin Bar8 Ultra in March, didn't get the reception I had hoped. I'm quite intuitive, and sensed he didn't think this was a good idea. I asked him if he thought I shouldn't do it. He said he was neither my coach, my mentor nor my Mother, so it wasn't up to him. I asked him if as a clinician, what his advice would be, and said don't do it. So I said I wouldn't do it, and we shook on it. Very firm handshake he has. This agreement on my behalf seemed to gain me some brownie points. 

So what were we going to do then? A treatment plan was needed. I would agree not to run for 6wks. That was a decision that was hard to take, but one that was well received. Now we are getting somewhere. In return I would get some custom, hand made orthotics, which were knocked up there and then. Very skillfully cobbled together by someone who knows what they are doing. I was to wear these in all my shoes from now on, to rebalance my feet. I was also to do some foot rolling with an iced tin {simply put a tin of 'whatever' in the freezer}, take a course of anti inflammatories for few weeks, and quite possibly the best advice I have received from a practitioner: buy some Hokas. I like this man. Apparently running in these would [or should, we hoped] alleviate much of my discomfort. After my rest, of course.

It seems then, that a solution to my foot pain may have been found. It took an experienced & trained pair of hands and eyes to get to this point, following several false dawns, not to mention an over reliance on technology. That's not really being fair to technology, as there may have been something wrong, such as a stress fracture or a neuroma, which needed ruling out. My Ultra running career may not be over after all. I will re start running in April, which gives me 16wks to train for the Mud Crew 100km R.A.T Plague, in Cornwall. Plenty of time. If training is going well {in my new Hokas!}, I really want to do Dave Urwin's inaugural 50km Ultra in Somerset. But I'm sorry Dave, I wont be able to commit until May /June time. Hope there is a place left for me.

And if all doesn't go well? I will just have to get really good at 26.2 miles and be happy with that!

Snippets from the Sidelines: A support crew views of Race to the Stones

Chinnor: Start of RTTS


Traffic. Lots & lots of traffic. As Rachel {who was running} and myself {who wasn't running, but should have been, but was told not to due to injury} headed north up the M5 and then East along M4, all we  could see was traffic. Cars , lorries, caravans, vans. Stop.Start. Stop.  The shear volume of motor vehicles - and idiots who think it is their divine right to drive in the middle lane and not on the left. Sorry, had to get that off my chest. This is a blog about Rachel's superb effort at her inaugural 100km Ultra and my inaugural attempts at support crew

Five hours after setting off we reached our base camp for the week end, Blackland Lakes Campsite in Calne. Pitched our tents and started last minute preparations for the big day tomorrow. So far so good, except Rachel realised she had forgotten her purse. Too late now, and it's not like she would need it for the run. Plans for a good nights sleep were shattered by several hours of violent and very loud thunder storms and rain. So after only a couple of hours sleep, it was coffee time at 04:00hrs. As this was a 'one way ' race,  we had decided that it would be better to stay near the finnish {Avebury}, than the start {Chinnor}.  Precise and detailed pre planning had calculated that it would take us 2hrs to get to Chinnor. Plenty of time to park and register. No worries. So off we went at 05.00hrs. Best charge you phone as we drive I said.  Oh, no phone [required kit], so a quick return to campsite to retrieve said item. Ok, no worries, plenty of time. It's all in the planning. Motorway was , thankfully, quiet {yet there were still vehicles driving in the middle lane on a virtually empty motorway}. Route was planned with military precision. Half hour to go, turn off motorway, head north to Chinnor. Oooo, something is wrong. This doesn't look right. Let's stop and look at the map. Ah, problem solved. We had been on the M4 and not on the M40, where we should be. Ooops. I wont say whose mistake that was Rachel, OK? Time was now running tight. Don't panic. We can still do this. And so we did. Just. There was a last minute panic as traffic was backed up all through Chinnor, but I guess thats what happens when you arrange the start in a small rural town with no transport links and expect 1600 people to turn up at the same time.

So Rachel got out of the car and ran to the start. What's a few more hundred metres when you're about to run 100km? Registration completed. Last toilet break. And relax.

We had made it to the start, not just on time- but with time to spare. Now all Rachel had to do was run 100km. The start was late and the safety briefing was inaudible for a lot of us; but at least it wasn't raining yet {the forecast was for major storms}. Last good wishes and then it was off. Good luck! My job for the day was to drive around and meet Rachel at certain places along route,  and make sure she was OK. Race to the Stones is an Ultra Marathon along The Ridgeway. One of Englands oldest trade routes, it is over 5000yrs old and stretches from the Dorset to the Norfolk coast. A route as important as this needed to be well defended- and it is. There are several magnificent Hill Forts along its route as well as other important sites, such as the Uffingtom White Horse . The runners and long distance walkers would be following the Ridgeway from Chinnor - Avebury.

Our first rendezvous was along the Thames Path, some 20km or so from Chinnor. I had the luxury of driving to South Stoke {and other sites} and ambling along the Thames and its countryside. The runners had to run it! So I ambled and took photo's and ran a bit, cheering along other runners and meeting up with Rachel. We ran some together before reaching the Aladdin's Cave Smorgasboard of the boot of the car. The weather was very , very humid , so I ensured that Rachel drank extra electrolytes. As well as eating plenty of Marmite Cheeses. Food of the Ultra Gods. A little sock faff and that was it.


Next stop was in another few hours around the 50km mark. Time for a spot of lunch and chat with other support crew /spectators / family / friends in the sun before a little stroll to meet up with Rachel

again. I came across her near one of the check points [4 or 5?]. She was looking very sprightly. Toes looked a bit odd, I discovered as shoes and socks were changed. Tapped up, Patched up and go. But not before more cheese & electrolytes. The weather so far had been kind. OK, it was humid, but there had been reports of major thunder storms. And just at that point the first rolls of thunder were to be heard. Ho hum. Maybe a little rain would cool everyone down. I didn't say that too loudly in front of any running though. Time for a little sight seeing for me know

One of the next stretches of the Ridgeway contained Uffington White Horse, Uffington Castle and Wayland's Smithy. I was quite excited about this, but just as I arrived at the site of Uffington Castle, The Weather arrived. Temperature dropped, big black clouds, high winds, torrential rain, lightening, thunder and then hail. BIG hail. Large pebbles of ice being thrown out of the sky with some force. Then the sun came out again. I was still in the car, but I did fear for the safety of those runners.  Slight delay, but there was still plenty of time -based on previous contact & race pace - to have a wee look around Uffington White Horse and the Hill Fort, before meeting Rachel again. It is easy to see, even now some 3000yrs  after it was first constructed, why it was. Sitting on the Ridgeway, it not only guards the trade route [which actually predates the fort], but also holds commanding views. In medieval times, scouring of the neighbouring chalk White Horse was accompanied also by a massive community party in the remains of the hill fort.

A quick circuit of the Hill Fort, a couple of photo's , and back on the Ridgeway. I ran a fair section of this bit, in opposite direction of race, so as not to miss Rachel. Taking in the atmosphere, admiring the views and shouting words of encouragement at the participants. But after a while I began to suspect something was wrong; there was no sighting of Rachel. I had passed all the usual suspects who over the past few hours I had confused by running past them in the opposite direction several times, and knew were running at about the same pace as Rachel, and started to see new faces. I was now worried; she shouldn't be this far back unless something serious had gone wrong, so I decided to stop and get my phone out, to check if there had been any messages. Lo and behold there had.  A text from Rachel saying she had just seen the car parked up. This was sent at 19.05hrs. Time now was 19.45hrs. Rachel was now ahead of me. I had one job to do. And I blew it. Whilst having a jolly around Uffington Castle, Rachel had gone past. I hadn't seen her and had set off in the in the opposite direction intending on finding her. Ooops. I'd had a nice time none the less, taking in the views and archaeological sites; even had a nice little run. But that wasn't why I was here. It would be unlikely I would be able to see Rachel again before the end, so I hope she didn't need anything from the car. I did feel bad.

My drive back to Avebury was a slow one, racked with guilt about my failed mission, hoping it hadn't messed up Rachel's race. Parking up at the finish, the sun was just setting. A beautiful sunset over the Wiltshire countryside. I hope the runners appreciated it. As I had missed Rachel in broad daylight, I decided against running back out on the Ridgeway in the dark looking for her. Probably a sensible move, as I would also have been running into oncoming racers and blinding them with my headtorch. After 14hrs on your feet, you really don't need someone shining a torch in your face, however well meaning and accidental. 

So I waited in the 'stones' section of RTTS, the one short section of Avebury stone circle that the race covers, cheered in runners, looked at the stars and messed around trying to take some arty photo's. Avebury  is an interesting village, springing up amidst one of Europes most spectacular Neolithic stone circles and ancient spiritual landscapes. The stones themselves being largely abandoned, destroyed or buried, either deliberately or through pure neglect, until the Victorian era. Leaning against one of these giant monoliths, head tilted upwards, a glimpse of the MilkyWay, transported back millenia, my inner hippy was awakened. Just why was Avebury built? How bright the sky must have been 1000's years ago! Where's Rachel? Ah there she is. Nearly missed her again!

After over 15hrs of running, Rachel was nearly finished. Less than 2km to go. I ran the last leg with her [and her new Ultra friend whose name I forget, sorry] and there was still life in the legs for a sprint finish. Outstanding. Collect medal. Get results. Sit down. Eat melted ice cream [long story]. All that was left was the short drive back to the campsite.

The day dawned on a new day and realisation that she was now an 'Ultra Runner'. Respect. Returned to Avebury for a touch of sight seeing and a photo opportunity. Wear that medal with pride. You've earned it.

Post race thoughts: 

Rachel finished 255th / 594 finishers. Almost 100 DNF.  {Full results}. That's pretty damn good in for a first 100km. She enjoyed the route and said the official support and pit stops along the way were great. Special mention she said should go to the crew at pit stop 6, who rescued many a runner from the hail stones, held the tent down AND still served hot drinks. 

Musings of a Wannabe Ultra Runner: Half time report

It's week 8 / 16 of my Ultra training programme. Half way there. Race to The Stones on July 19th is D-Day. Eight weeks to go. I am, as they say, entering the 'business end' of the training now. If it didn't seem real before, it certainly did now. It all suddenly became very real this week end. Do I have what it takes to make the transition from marathon runner to ultra runner? I guess I will find out over the next 8 weeks. Why did it hit home this week? I think the turning point was Imerys trail marathon. It was 'only' 26.2 miles, yet it was tough and it hurt. Race to the Stones is twice that and then another half on top. Then there is the Roseland August Trail, {August 16th}, which although the same distance {100km / 62.2miles}, I have a feeling may be tougher. And I barely finished 26.2 miles!  I hurt, yet I rested. I saw a chiropodist , who mended my feet and was back out Friday for a 5.5hr run, only five days after Imerys. It was during this run that I began to fully appreciate the effort that was now required. A moment of clarity, if you want.

It had all seemed 'do able' up until now. A few hours run her, a few hours run was mostly enjoyable. But from now on, there would be no resting up. A marathon would become a regular weekly training run. Then get up the next day and do it all over again. Towards the end of this run though, I also began to realise that maybe I could do this ultra thing after all! The weather was good. The country hedgerows, glorious in full bloom of blue bells, cowparsley and pink campeon. The views North - East - South - West were a soothing panacea to my tired limbs. My mind wandered and the end result is a few other musings from this week ends efforts:

• Use of barrier cream is essential: apply liberally to all essential areas, then apply more. And then take some with you just in case.
• Take time to stop and admire the scenery. If only to take a photo and post on facebook so you can enjoy from the comfort of your own home.
• Taking in the views whilst running is recommended- but do keep half an eye at least on the ground & where you are going. Or you may fall over.  Or run into something. Or not notice the path has changed direction when you are running in straight line.
• Singing 'pain is an illusion, pain is a dream' to the tune of the Buzzcocks 'Everybody's Happy Nowdays' doesn't actually make the pain any less real, but it does take your mind off things for a  while.
• When passing through a field, if you see a cow smelling another cows bottom, this is natural and nothing to be afraid of. If you then notice this cow is larger than the others, is different colour, has no udder and is sporting a very large ring in its nose, then it is not a cow. It is infact a bull. Probably best to leave said field quickly.
• A 5.5hr training run, may only be a training run- but it is still a 5.5hr run. Prepare properly and treat it with the respect that it it deserves. Or it will make you suffer.
• Chafing occurs on training runs as well as in races. 
• What is the best post run treat; beer, pizza or cake?
• If all else fails. Smile. You are, after all, doing this for fun, right?!

Imerys Trail Marathon 2014: Cornwall's answer to Marathon des Sables!

The weather all week had been hot. Very hot. The sun had been shining, winter layers of 'Gortex' had been shed and people were down to single layers of clothing. As Sunday drew closer, I actually found myself in the strange position of wanting the weather cool down. Maybe a light shower on Sunday, please. A 26.2 run around a hilly Cornish china clay pit would be tough anyway; in baking hot sun shine it would be worse. As Sunday dawned, a colony of BATs set out from their roostings on the Bere Peninsula and swarmed across the boarder to Cornwall. At first light it seemed as if the weather would be kind to us, as it was cool, damp and a bit misty. Perfect running weather.

As we all congregated at Cornwall College , St Austell [race HQ], the tension was mounting- as were the nerves. The cool wind was still blowing off the sea and sky still cloudy. As I burn at the first hint of sun, I covered myself in sun cream anyway, just as a precaution. Took my new desert hat as well. English weather is known for its changeability and unpredictability; but we were in Cornwall, and Cornish weather has its own protected minority status!  

The Imerys Trail Marathon offers a unique experience to runners. For one day the land of Cornwall’s China Clay Industry are open to the public and the operational working sites along with land which has been regenerated from the industrial past provides a challenging and spectacular course. With only short sections of road, this multi terrain route takes runners on sand roads which will leaves them thinking they have been on the moon! Together with private farm land and picturesque tracks and trails, the course also offers stunning vistas of Cornwall’s countryside and coastline at its very best.

I had never run this event before, only read race reports, and descriptions were full of phrases such as 'moonscape' , toughest race yet' , 'hilly' and 'scenic'. All said it was friendly and well organised. I was just about to find out for myself. Five BATs were running the full; nine were running the half. We were ready. Altogether 284 taking part on a course which offered no shade.  The split between the two distances was 110 for the marathon and 174 for the half

10.00hrs, and the race began. Twice round the college grounds 'to thin the runners out' apparently, before heading up our first hill. As if on some sadistic cue, the sun also burnt its was through the morning cloud and the temperature began to rise.

Within the first two miles, it was hot.  China clay is white. The mine scape is exposed. There is no shade. The heat was reflected back off the surface. The temperature  was increasing with every step. I was feeling very glad of my suncream and hat, despite all the comments my headgear received about the French Foreign Legion. I would be running in this heat for the next 3 - 4hrs at least.

Oh dear. The scenery was, as promised, quite spectacular. It was a surreal, artificial landscape. Nothing in it was natural. It was a landscape hewn by dynamite and very large machinery. Yet it was undeniably dramatic and stunning. A bizarre, hot, alien- esque scenery. And I, along with a hardy / foolish bunch of other runners, was running around it. Over the hottest part of the day.

My sense of direction is usually pretty good, but I'm sure we were running around in circles! Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe we really were. But we did pass at least 3 drink stations twice, that I am sure of.  In this heat I was very glad of the drink stations and the friendly faces that greeted us there. Unusually, I hadn't looked at the course profile or route prior to the event. If I had, maybe I would have had a better idea of where I was going!

As the temperatures sored, I kept thinking this is what it would be like if Cornwall did the Marathon des Sables. I had the headwear anyway.  

It was advertised as being a tough course, and it was. The heat added its own set of challenges. By the end, it was a matter of slogging it out. Finish it, I would! Of the nine BATs who took part in the half marathon, Philip King was making his distance debut and finished in a great time.  Mike Smith was the first man home with Pam Adams and Heather Smith running together to be the first ladies home, (the Imerys marked the 30th half marathon for Pam). It was PB of 30mns by Hillary as well.

For the marathon, I was the first BAT home with Rachel Wood and Dotty King being the first ladies.  Rachel and Fran Morgan were making their marathon debut. Although Rachel had actually run an Ultra [Dartmoor Discovery] previously.

Team Bat Imerys 2014 are pictured with their times.  Half marathon: Mike Smith 01.58.29, Dave Adams 02.02.03, Philip King 02.06.24, Grant Lawrence 02.17.00, Martin Head 02.19.58, Pam Adams 02.28.59, Heather Smith 02.28.59, Sarah Cohen 02.32.37 and Hilary Head 03.24.35.

Full marathon: Murray Turner 04.15.52, Paul Mingo 04.59.56, Rachel Wood 05.19.59, Dotty King 05.19.59 and Fran Morgan 05.32.42.

Full results here.

It was a hard & hilly course, but well organised and friendly event. Marshalls of all ages were fantastic and the massage at the finish was very welcome for my hot & tired limbs. And any finishing goody bag with a bottle of 'Tribute' beer is an excellent goody bag.

Thank you to St Austell Running Club for all the hard work. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Even if my feet didn't.

A special mention to Paul Mingo who took most of the photo's, the official photographers who Took the one of me in full stride with desert hat and to Dotty King, who is not only our head coach, but from whom I  shamelessly plagiarised bits of this race report.

Brighton Marathon: Sunday 6th April

Brighton Marathon was my first big target race of the year and I was very excited and very nervous in equal measures. My training schedule since December 2013 had been geared to this race and I was hoping for a good time. Apart from a few scares over my ankle, my training had gone pretty much to plan, but that didn’t seem to reduce my anxieties. Nor the nagging doubt; was I was as fit as I thought I was? All week I had a knot in tummy, which got  tighter and tighter as the race day got closer. The gels and supplements had been ordered and my legs had been given clean bill of health from Nathan. But first we had to get to Brighton and that turned out to be quite stressful - but not as stressful as the journey home turned out to be. More about that later.

Friday: After days of packing, unpacking, checking, re-packing, angsting, it was time to depart Devon for East Sussex. The journey to the Brighton Marathon had begun. It started reassuringly uneventfully, until we got to about to about Taunton on the M5, when we hit heavy traffic, and things didn’t get much better until we got to Northiam in East Sussex some 8.5hrs later. It was, apart from a brief reprieve on the M4, solid traffic, with the M25 especially living up to it’s reputation as the worlds largest car park. However, as we approached our friends Katie & Neils house in Northiam, crossing over the River Rother, from Kent into East Sussex, the  stress of the journey dissipated. Following a brief hello, it was time for a run. Neil understood- he was running Brighton as well and had been kind enough to collect my race number. It wasn't a long run, just enough to stretch out the legs, but as I headed out into the E. Sussex countryside, everything seemed all right with the world once more.

As well as kindly collecting my race number & pack, Neil had also been slaving over a hot stove cooking dinner. A curry feast, consisting of Dahl, Aloo Gobi, Chana Korma, rice and bread. Carbo-loading was in full swing. A tough part of training eating lots of food, but a necessary part and after returning from my run, I was refreshed and ready to eat, and eat I did!


Saturday: A day of rest. Oh, and eating. Rest & eat. That's all I had planed on doing. My kit was laid out, race number was pinned proudly on my BATs vest, gels sorted and photo's had been taken and put up on Facebook to validate the whole experience!

As the day wore on, my nerves increased and as they did, my gut reacted. All I will say is that a lot of trips were made to the toilet. I tried to relax, but couldn't, so took the dogs for a walk. Georgie decided the E. Sussex countryside was too scary, and went back to the house, so I carried on with just Daisy, Katie & Neil's Labrador, who was a proper dog and enjoyed being outside. She was a little upset about the shortness of our outing, but still showed her appreciation as only labs can. The weather was checked and re checked when we got back, so final kit alterations could be made. All forecasts pointed to a very wet day, with strong gusty winds, so I panicked a bit and went for a short sleeved base layer and gloves. Stop panicking. Keep calm. It will be all right. Any way, dinner was ready. Katie had made a tasty roasted vegetable lasagne, which I ate a lot of. Pasta, a long distance runners friend. After that I was sure my glycogen were fully stocked. A near perfect rest day was spoiled slightly as Georgie misbehaved and tried to eat the cat, but timely interventions thankfully prevented any feline injury. Bad dog.


Sunday. 06.45hrs. A deep sleep was shattered by by alarm. It was race day. A hasty, yet hearty, breakfast of a large bowl of home made muesli, yoghurt & honey and strong coffee was consumed before jumping in the car for the hours drive to Brighton. The weather forecast was correct; the weather was wet & misty. Neil kindly drove, so I ate and nattered, nervously. Further pre race nutritional intake was a banana and a High5 energy drink. As we approached Brighton, the weather improved. All that was left [apart from run!] was to park up, get bus into town and meet up with other BATs for team picture.

Simon, Johny, Pam, Dave, Me!

I had also arranged to meet up with an old friend from Uni, Marcus, which I did. Good times. As the tension mounted, it was time for last food intake, which consisted of a SIS sports energy bar and SIS electrolyte&caffeine hydration tablet. Oh, and a few chocolate covered coffee beans.

By now, I was fairy bouncing. Adrenaline, excitement and caffeine is a heady mix! Into the starting pens, squash up, starting gun, then we're off. High five Paula Radcliffe on way past and run. Except it was stop / start for the first few miles, before I could get into a steady rhythm. Dave Adams, a fellow BAT, had agreed to buddy up and pace me for good time. We had our race strategy planed out; it was 6 gel race. One for every 4miles. Contrary to popular opinion, not all of all my gels were caffeine infused. Ok, 3 were; but 3 weren't! I had a mixture of High5 Isotonic and caffeine and SIS electrolyte and caffeine. I also had a sneaky little SIS bar stashed away for when the going got tough.

This was my first proper marathon distance race and first mass participation run, and I was very impressed with the crowds. They really do make a difference and give for an altogether louder and more surreal experience than a quite and lonely wind swept Dartmoor, where the majority of my training took place. I was out for a good race time, but I also wanted to enjoy the experience. Little kids had arms outstretched, waiting for high-fives, and I didn't want to disappoint. I doubt I lost much time, but it seemed to make them happy. The route was predominantly through the centre of town, passed a few major landmarks such as the Pavilion and then out and along the seafront and back, with a few twists and loops inland. There were a few slight undulations, but no hills to speak of. The weather was good. The rain didn't make an appearance after 09.00hrs and the wind was gentle, certainly not gusting at 30mph. To be honest I was glad, but I was overheating slightly in my gloves.

Routine of gel taking was working well and it also helped break down the race into bite size chunks of 4miles. Dave was an excellent run buddy, far more experienced than me and I was learning a lot about race tactics from him. We passed the half marathon mark at 1:47hrs, a tad slower than our target time, but nothing to panic about. Besides, my legs were starting to hurt. The next 6miles were the toughest of the race, physically and mentally. My right leg threatened to cramp on several occasions and the balls of my feet were sore. Dave saw me through this. Despite the increased tiredness, our pace was relatively stable; we weren't just continuing to move forward, we were actually overtaking tired runners. That felt good. I kept saying to myself that pain is an illusion. But it still felt very real. As we did the final switch back and started to head back along the last few miles to the finish, I realised I could do this and do it well. Everytime during the past 25 miles I had asked my legs for more, they had given me more and best of all they kindly didn't cramp when I asked them not too. At this point the euphoria and adrenaline took over and I found the energy for a sprint finish. I willed Dave on, but he couldn't. Taken in by the whole atmosphere, I kicked again and went for the line. Sorry Dave.

It was a fantastic experience running through a wall of sound to the finish. I had done it and although I knew I hadn't quite got under 3:30hrs, I wasn't far off. I cheered Dave over the line, only slightly behind, and we collected our medals together, big smiles on our faces. Exhausted, but elated.

Time to collect bags, get changed, eat pizza and drink beer!

There was free Gatorade Recovery Drink, which I decided to try. It was disgusting. Don't try this at home, or anywhere else for that matter. Horrid stuff.

My brother had been following me on live text and let me know my time; 3:35hrs. Not too shabby!

Other BATs times: Dave Adams 3:36. 37 ; Pam Adams 4:26.34 ; Simon Griffiths 4:38.12.

Significant others: Neil Baker 4:27.32 ; Marcus McTurk 4:13.23

The sun even tried to make an appearance as we made our way to the beach and our meeting point. Post race photo, beer, Pizza and catch up was had; then it was time for home.

Cheers!

As Neil drove back, I contemplated the race that had just been run. My experience would not have been as rich without Dave Adams, that's for sure. The crowds were fantastic, that much was true. But what I really took away from Brighton was that the training really does work. Now that might sound an odd thing to say, but let me explain. I started off the year aiming for sub 3:30hrs, followed the training plan found on the BATs website , but I found the training too hard. I revised the time, and the schedule I followed, to 3:5hrs - 4:00hrs. I put in the miles, I put in the time. I trained smart [don't laugh!], did circuit training and yoga. My time was 3:35hrs 20sec. The training works- if you believe in yourself. I now have the confidence that any distance is possible, provided you train. 

Once back at Katie & Neil's , a celebratory meal and drink was in order, with more race talk. Before sleep beckoned.

Monday: Woke up with slightly stiff legs, but still elated. Said our goodbyes and left. After the journey up, was hoping for an easier journey back to Devon. Wrong. M25 was still bunged up. We crawled along. Stop. Start. Stop. Stop. Start. Then our exhaust fell off. Then it rained. Several hours later we left a garage in Leatherhead with a new exhaust system. Avoiding motorways, we headed West, to Glastonbury to stay with a friend. The journey, was, thankfully, uneventful, and as we approached Glastonbury, the sun came out.

Thank you to Dave Adams for support during the marathon, Katie & Neil for their hospitality in East Sussex and Marcelle for her hospitality in Glastonbury.