Soup and Salbutamol

Soup and Salbutamol

A short story about an attempt on the Arc of Attrition

It was 6pm on Saturday evening, and I was sat in the pub with a friend, pint in hand. I was warm and dry. Outside, it was cold, misty, wet and windy. But outside was where I should have been, for this was not just any Saturday, this was Saturday 10th February, Arc of Attrition weekend, and if my race had gone to plan, I would have been somewhere on the north Cornish coast path, heading towards Porthtowan.

Towards my first 100mile Buckle.

But my race had not gone to plan, and in fact had ended in a flurry of violent coughing fits at Lamorna Cove, on the South Cornish Coast, in the wee small hours of Saturday morning; not even half way through the race.

Friday 9th February. 2018. Race day. 

Alarm went off at 05.00hrs. I was ready. I had trained hard for this. I had given up a lot over the past year. A year of planning had gone into this race, and I was excited. I felt slightly off colour, but put it down to nerves. First Breakfast; porridge, toast & coffee, and it was time to go. Thanks to one half of my excellent support crew, Martin & Hilary, I was picked up for an uneventful drive down to Porthtowan for kit check and race briefing. Second and third breakfasts followed. 

More food. 

More fluids. 

On coach to start. 

Nerves and excitement rising. 

Breath. 

Focus. 

You're ready. 

You've got this. 

Game on.

Coverack 12:00hrs: GO!!

I raced from the start, as the going would be tough and the cut offs tight. I wasn't going to be chasing cut offs. Not me. Although mucky underfoot, and a cold wind, it was a gloriously sunny day and I settled into the race. My legs felt a bit weak, but they'll warm up soon enough. Look at the scenery. Rugged splendor of the South West Coast Path, sweeping panoramic views.  

Chat to fellow runners. 

Try not to slip in the mud. 

Eat. 

Drink. 

Move forward.

Kennack Sands, first contact with the other half of my crew, Rachel & Jo. Good to see them. Quick chat. Food, water, carry on. First detour along the lanes. Back on the coast path. 

Up. down. Around. Mud. Rocks . Mud. More mud. A few hills. Steps. Beach. Rocks. River crossings. Bogs. More steps. More mud. 

Can't get no rhythm. 

Very, very scenic. Can't stop to look at the view though.  

Why do my legs feel so weak still?    

Around Lizard Point. 10miles done. All my crew in one place. I love my crew. They will get me through this. Food and onwards. Not far off planned times. The Lizard really is some of the most dramatic scenery on the course, but it is exposed, and the wind is cold. Coming down into Mullion, I needed to put leggings and jacket on. I was beginning to have trouble breathing and eating at this point. Rachel got cross with me for not eating. But it's because she cares I told myself. My chest hurt. I was beginning to cough. Maybe it was just the effect of the cold air on my poor , old, asthmatic lungs.  My 'Bricanyl' inhaler was having little effect. 

Press on though. 

Look at the views! 

Think of the Buckle! 

I so want that Buckle. 

I was slowing down though. Get a move on. 

Loe Bar and the big detour. Got chatting to another runner, Adrian. Headtorch on and prepare for the big slippy mud fest that awaits on the detour; and it did not disappoint. 

Energy sapping fields of mud. 

Mustn't grumble. 

Almost at Porthleven.

The Arc Angels of Porthleven were welcoming and efficient, and between them and Rachel, I got sorted. Soup.  This weekends Nectar of the Ultra Gods. Breathing wasn't good, and the medic decided I needed Salbutamol, and said I should have shit loads of it. So I did. (NB: I am a bit deaf, and may have misheard and misquoted the medic here, but he def gave me some Salbutamol!)

A combination of soup and Salbutamol, and I was back on it. For some time after Porthleven I felt good. I like running at night and find it quite meditative; your vision is limited to the area of your head torch, and, especially during an event, there is nothing to do but move forward and concentrate on your running. The simplicity of it is soothing.  The rhythmic sound of the sea, swishing on the rocks below and the clear shiny stars above, helped bring some much needed clarity. 

This is it. 

This is what it's about. 

Nature and running. 

I'm enjoying this. 

I'm in the zone. 

But another violent coughing fit shook me out of my reflective mindful state.  

Fuck, that one hurt. 

My brain is rattling around I coughed so hard. You're slowing up. Shock those legs into action and run fast for a bit. So I did. But not for long before I coughed again. 

My whole body began to ache with the tell tale signs of a flu virus. 

Tough shit. 

Deal with it. 

Move on.

At various points my crew popped up, Food, water, inhalers and words of encouragement were all dispensed. 

Runners passed. I couldn't keep up. I've still got this though.

Marazion. First costume change. Out of wet muddy shoes and into road shoes for the next stretch which was all on tarmac and mostly flat. Make up some time here. Hilary did the dirty work (thank you!) whilst I ate a porridge pot. I felt good. Let's do this. With renewed energy I trotted along the seafront to the Penzance CP. It was 23:49hrs. Rachel and Arc Angels sorted me out. Soup & potatoes. Medic gave me some more Salbutamol. Out the door, soup and snatched flapjack in hand. 

Only 10mns inside the cut off. 

I was chasing cut offs now. 

This was not in the plan. 

Plans change. 

Deal with it.

As I shuffled through the deserted quay side streets of old Penzance, I re-evaluated my situation. It's OK. You can slog this one out. You've trained well. You have an excellent support crew. You know the course. I remained positive.

Mousehole. Rachel & Jo changed me back into trail shoes (thank you!) Pizza. Water. Encouragement. Back on the coast path proper. 

A technical section. Narrow paths, slippery rocks. Jagged outcrops. Sheer drops. Racking coughs. Getting more violent. 

I can't go on. 

Cough, after cough, after cough brought me quite literally to my knees. 

I was bent over double leaning on my poles. I'm sure I've bruised my frontal lobe with all the coughing, it hurts so much. 

I had to sit down.

Fuck, I feel like shit. 

Week and feeble. Nothing like a highly trained Ultra runner at the top of my game. Oh, how quickly things change. I turned off my lights, took a moment. Ate some food. Drank. It was like swallowing broken glass. I looked at the stars. Listened to the sea. 

Regroup. 

Get up. 

Move forward. 

It was now taking all my energy to stay upright. This isn't safe anymore. Runners caught up. I moved over to let them pass. All asked if I was Ok. Fine, I lied to them, just a bit slow. If I actually told anyone how ill I was now feeling, they may actually stop to help (because that's how considerate ultra runners are), and that would ruin their race. So I lied to them.  I had a phone and an emergency bivy bag if it really did go all Pete Tong.  

As I saw the lights of Lamorna Cove, I knew that was where I had to stop. I was barely moving. My coughing was now relentless and very, very painful. My whole body ached. I still had 60miles to go. This was not something I could tough out. I knew my body well enough to know that I was rapidly becoming proper poorly.   I just hope there would be mobile MudCrew support there like last year. There was. 

And I stopped. 

My race was over, less than half way through. It had ended with a cough and whimper. 

No feats of heroism. 

No stories of fighting sleep monsters. 

No athletic feats of endurance. 

No fireside stories. 

No bragging rights. 

No buckle. 

Just a DNF. 

Just disappointment.  

And a broken dream.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 As I left the pub on that Saturday night, I reflected on what might have been. Could I have finished? Could I, Should I even, have slugged it out? Then the cold , damp air got into my lungs and I bent over double, coughing relentlessly and painfully.   

No, I couldn't have made it. It was a hard reality, but I had made the right decision.

More importantly. I was safe.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Saturday 17th February: As I finish writing this, a week after my DNF, I can report that I really have been very ill over the past week. I also managed to infect most of my support crew and my wife (sorry!), who can all attest to how nasty this virus has been. I am also aware that in writing this, it could sound a little bit like one of those sick notes you got your friends to write for you at school, when you were little, so you can miss P.E:

" Dear MudCrew, 

Sorry Murray could not finish the Arc. He had a cold. 

Lots of Love, 

Murray's Mum". 

But I did develop a virus, and I was too weak to finish. But that also begs the question, would I have been strong enough to finish anyway? Maybe, maybe not. The Arc had a 65% DNF rate this year and you really have to be on the top of your game to finish. 

I wasn't. 

And I didn't. 

I guess we'll never know if I could.

Until I return...........

Slackers Guide to a 100km

Slackers Guide to a 100km

As many of us gear up for the running season ahead, and training is in full swing for our ultra's, the question :
" how far should I run in training?" is on the tip of everyone's tongues.

After  DNF'ng the Plague in 2015, I was determined to complete it in 2016. It was my mission,  a year in the planning. But in December 2015 I began to get a recurrence of a foot injury and couldn't run for several months.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.

Towards the end of March 2016, I began to run again. Between April - July (four whole months) I only managed 364.9miles running. When training for an Ultra, that's not a lot, especially when it is 100km of the Cornish Coast Path.

For the sake of fairness, I should add I had a reasonable fitness base (having completed several 50km runs the previous year in 2015) and was also cycling and walking, as well as doing 1 session a week of circuits and 1 session of yoga per week; I also ran some specific step sessions and recceed some of the route on the coast path; but running wise I was averaging around 100miles per month.

  And if you want to do well in a running race- you need to run. A lot. Especially when that is an Ultra.

And I wasn't.

But that's the way it was. Family. Dogs. Time. Commitments. Work. Couldn't be arsed days.
They all conspired against me.

But I started the Plague; and I finished the Plague.
100km of Cornish Coast Path.
It wasn't fast, and wasn't pretty, but I enjoyed it; and I finished.

And here is how I did it:

MARCH:
Sunday 27th March -- First run for nearly 12 wks --2.78 miles

Total distance covered: 146 miles  (run /bike /walk) of which only 7 miles total run

APRIL

In April  71.9miles of running
Longest single run 10 miles

Total distance covered: 202 miles  (run /bike /walk)

MAY
May 107 miles running

Longest single run 19 miles

Total distance covered: 158 miles  (run /bike /walk)

JUNE

June 104 miles running ,
Including a 15 miler followed next w/end by Giants Head Marathon (27.2 miles)

Total distance covered: 117 miles  (run /bike /walk)

JULY

July 89.miles running
Longest run being Ham-Lyme 50km

Total distance covered: 178 miles  (run /bike /walk)

AUGUST

August 12miles week before Plague in 3 runs,
Followed by The Plague 100km (64miles)
Finishing time 19hrs 5mns.
Not fast
But I felt comfortable all the way around and finishing was never in any doubt



So there you have it boys and girls.
How to run a tough 100km Ultra on an average of 100 miles a month.
Now, although I finished, and I enjoyed my race, and it was never in any doubt I would finish;
 I knew my limitations.
The winner that year was Dan Lawson in 10hrs 55mns.
Over 8hrs quicker than me.

But here's the thing.
If you're not injured
If you've got the time
If you're more dedicated than I was
If you have no other commitments
If you have the talent
And if you run more miles
You can run faster than I did.
Obviously.

But if you don't
And you can't
You still can run 100 km
All on less than 30 miles per week.
You just need to know when not to stop.
And you don't stop until the end.

Happy Running,

Salted Potatoes, Rice Pudding and Dirty Socks: 34hrs in the life of an Ultra runner

Arc of Attrition

Views from a support crew

It's all about the bling.

Lands End on a February night time is an unforgiving place and it was blimmin' freezing. I was part of the team crewing for Rachel Wood and from the relative warmth of the vehicle, I was drifting off to sleep watching the 'bob, bob, bobbing' of a slow stream of torch lights coming into CP3 at Lands End. I wanted to be outside cheering them on. But it was cold. And i was tired. Rachel was not due in until about 03.30hrs and it was only just past midnight. It was a stunningly clear sky, with a large full moon. It was cold, but it could be worse. It could be raining!

I had just drifted off to sleep, buried beneath layers of clothing , sleeping bag an duvet, along with fellow crew & driver, Jo, when:

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Wake Up!"

WTF......

"Wake up, your runner has dropped out and he is being brought back to the check point."

"But she was doing so well, what happened"

"Don't know, but he will be back soon and will need you"

It was about 02.00hrs, Saturday 11th February, 14hrs into the Mud Crew Arc of Attrition, a 100mile point to point coastal run around the Cornish Coast Path and we were being woken up by the terrible news our friend and ultra runner Rachel had dropped out.

Bang!Bang! Bang!

"Wake up please"

I was awake now and untangling myself from the layers of warmth it had taken so long to accumulate. As Jo opened the car door to speak to Mud Crew, an icy blast blew through the door, ensuring I was now fully awake.

"So what happened- is she OK?"

"Yes, we think so, he just can't carry on"

"He? We're supporting a 'she'. Rachel"

"Is this a blue Mitshibushi Shogun?"

"No. Our runner is Rachel, 115. What number has dropped out? "

" Not 115, it is 70something. Oh, shit. Sorry.  It's dark and cold and we are tired as well !."

"Don't worry. Sorry to hear about the other runner, but we're glad Rachel is still in it"

(NB: To be fair to the MudCrew Marshalls, we were in a dark coloured Mitshibishu 4x4 truck-style vehicle. Just not a Shogun or the one they were looking for! It was dark, and they had probably been up since dawn on Friday themselves. Hope the other runner was OK; and no hard feelings. It wasn't a very comfortable sleep anyway!!! )

So we settled back down and watched the runners lights snake their way along the coast path, making sure our alarms were set for 03.30hrs.

Thankfully, that was the most drama we had that night.  So let's retrace our steps a little, and go back to the very beginning. Because that's a very good place to start.

Team Weirdchicken

Actually,  I lie. I wasn't at the start. Along with Jo, I didn't get to the race until about 19.00hrs Friday, a whole 7hrs in. But here is the story of Team Weirdchicken at the Arc of Attrition, as far as I remember! Gilly was team leader. She drove Rachel Wood (the star of the show and the one actually running!) down on the Thursday night, ensured that pre-race faffing was kept to a minimum and that Rachel got to the start on time.

The start was at Coverack at mid day on Friday 10th February, and along with Gilly at the start were Martin and Hillary - who had a luxury motor home. This meant that along with moral support and  their kindness, there would be hot drinks as well along the way .  Gilly, Martin and Hillary would take care of Rachel for the first 7 or so hours, until Jo and myself got down after work.

As with many long distance races now, runners had tracking devices; which meant that 'dot watching' on a screen was becoming a pastime in itself. So during breaks in work on Friday, I was able to monitor Rachel's  progress, and along with Facebook updates from the support crew on the ground, could see Rachel was doing well. Time at work always drags on a Friday, but 16.30hrs couldn't come soon enough as I finished what needed to be done at work and waited excitedly for Jo to pick me up and the week end adventures could begin.

Food Anyone?

Now, we at Team Weirdchicken take our crew responsibilities very seriously. While there were checkpoints along the way, for this race, it was very beneficial to have a crew as well. Unlike many 100 milers where checkpoints / aid stations were about ever 10 miles- at the Arc, they were about every 20miles. It was possible without a crew, but a lot easier with one. Rachel had a 5 person & 3 vehicle crew. And a lot of food! There was also fancy dress and kazoos, but that is a story for later on. Perranuthnoe was the first place Jo and I actually saw Rachel at about 20.30hrs. The whole crew of Martin & Hillary and Gilly were also there. They had been doing a sterling job of looking after her for the first 8 or so hours, but I was excited about seeing her for the first time.

Weidchicken Crew & Vehicles at CP2, Penzance.

As we waited, we caught up on how Rachel had been doing so far today (very well), chatted to other crews and cheered on other runners. This is one of the pleasurable social sides of ultra running - meeting other people and runners. As  Rachel trotted into the car park she still looked quite fresh and we all cheered. We also made sure she ate and drank, whether she wanted to or not. It didn't matter whether is was sweet or savoury. You need to eat and drink. In the early stage of a race, you can give your runner a choice; after about 40 miles or so, your runner begins to lose the ability to think properly and then they get what they are given; which in Rachel's case was nearly always salted potatoes or pizza.

Rachel had been running with another runner, Lisa. They looked to be a good team and ended up running through the night together.   So throughout the first night, Team Weirdchicken Support Crew leap frogged each other (figuratively speaking; not literaly!) through the various car parks that had access to the coast path. As we stood around in said car parks, we got to know Lisa and her support crew quite well, and they became part of our team. As the night got on, it got colder. The wind was bitter. At around 0c it was cold; with the wind chill factor, it was approaching -5c.

The Darkness, takes its toll! Or maybe it was a constant ear worm of Moonlight Shadow (L-R) Jo, Me, Gilly

The sky was clear and bright. the full moon was imposing and the moonlight shadow meant my ear-worm for the night was the Mike Oldfield tune. ALL FRIGGIN' NIGHT. Round-and -round-and -round my brain......

But enough about me. This is about Rachel and the other AoA runners. We are but bit players. But hours waiting, in the cold and dark, can change a person.

And so we moved around the coast, the southern bit of the 'Arc' until we reached Lands End, before the runners headed north and east, to complete the 'Arc'. I've never been to Lands before. It was starkly beautiful, exposed and cold. And the buildings looked very , very tacky. Cheep theme park tacky. But Mud Crew were in town and the cafe was rockin'. Albeit rockin' with Angels, broken runners and those who don't know one Mitsibushi from another (!). There was an air of organised chaos. The warmth of the welcome from the CP Angels (as MudCrew call them) , the sweet aroma of hot food, all mixed with the pong of sweat and wet muddy feet. Runners were waited on and kindly cajoled so as not to get too comfy and waste valuable time. Rachel & Lisa rocked up just before 04.00hrs and Team, Weirdchicken swung into action. Food, change of clothes and change of socks, all taken care of. Hot, sweet tea and hot rice pudding. Water bottles filled up. Hugs all round and then Rachel and Lisa disappeared once more in to the night. The cold, windy, moonlight night. On time, and well within the cut offs.

The next 20ish mile stretch to St Ives is tough, and remote. There would not be be the frequent contact we had had during the day.

Sunrise at Pendeen

Cape Cornwall is apparently quite stunning. I'm sure it is on a balmy summers day. As the night began to turn a lighter grey on a February morning, with a bitter south westerly wind, it is a bleak old place. Thank goodness for Martin & Hillary's kindness of heart, hospitality, camper van and hot tea. At 07.30hrs, a little behind schedule now as they got lost, Rachel & Lisa came in to view. It had been a cold night. Quick warm drink and off. There was time to make up now.

Morning Tea! (L-R) Gilly, Rachel & Jo

At Pendeen, the sunrise was spectacular. There's nothing like a good sunrise to lift the soul after a long cold night. It's what I look forward to when running all night anyway.  Fresh as a daisy, all be it a little behind time, Rachel and Lisa ran past about 09.00 ish. No time for stopping now. The second half of this section was brutal and they really didn't have a lot of time. About 5 hrs seems a lot, when you're fresh, to cover about 13miles. But after 21hrs of running it's a big ask. And anyone who knows the coast path, knows it is anything but flat. It is very, very, unforgiving. They would have to dig deep now. Very deep. If they do not reach St Ives by 14.00hrs, they will miss the cut off. And that's the end of their race. Mud Crew are a nice bunch, but their races are anything but nice- and the time keeping is strict. Miss a cut off at the check point and it's over.

The wig blew off- but I'm still in a tutu! (L-R) Lisa, Me, Rachel

Rachel In Red

To surprise them and offer some additional moral support, Jo and I decided now was the time for the fancy dress and kazoos, and a little further up the coast from Pendeen we dressed up and walked to the coast. I mean, after over 100km of brutal coast path running, who wouldn't be cheered up by the sight of me & Jo in a wig and a tutu, blowing a kazoo?

So as Rachel and Lisa came into view, they got a right sight and a rendition of "Damn Busters" on a kazoo. What a great start to Saturday. Except all was not well. Rachel knew the cut off was tight and for the first time doubt was creeping in.  Self doubt is a terrible, terrible thing in an ultra. If your mind is strong, you can push your body through almost anything, but the slightest doubt and your mind begins to unravel. Maybe the kazoo was ill- conceived.  Worried now, that for the first time Rachel & Lisa were struggling, me and Jo decided on another coastal jaunt. Parking up at Zennor we trekked from the road onto the path. Before long we saw Rachel. But not Lisa. Disaster. Lisa had dropped out. Gutted. Over the course of the past 23hrs, it felt like she had become part of our team as well. Hope you are OK Lisa if you are reading this. But we told Rachel she wasn't dropping. Or we would get the kazoo out again. Now pull your finger out jog on to St Ives, quickly, we told her. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

There were no more easy access points again until St Ives, so Jo and I drove to St Ives, with Gilly following. Martin and Hillary were there already. We got our shit together, got Rachel's kit together, and we waited. And waited. And waited. Where was she?  Tracker said she was close. The clock counted down. We spread out over St Ives looking for her. Martin & Hillary on the cliff tops, Jo & Gilly in the town, I was at the CP. Tick-tock.  Tick- tock.  I was getting worried.  At 13.56, with four minutes to spare, Rachel came into the Guildhall (CP4), cold , tired and wet - for it had been sleeting - and she had 20mns to get back out again or she would be timed out. Gilly was close behind and got to work. It was emotional.

" I can't go on " Rachel said.

Shut up and sit down, we said. ( although I think we may have been a bit more tactful)

Socks, dry shoes, change of clothes. CP Angels fed her rice pudding and sweet tea. Whilst Gilly actually did practical stuff like take off Rachel's dirty shoes and socks, dry her feet and put clean kit on, I faffed , gave words of encouragement (whilst being inwardly concerned) and kept a close eye on the time. And in essence, that was how the race crewing went!

Banner. Don't forget the banner. Luther, Rachel's son, had made her a banner. We unfurled it,

"Don't Give Up" it read in big, colourful lettering.

And she didn't. And it was all down to Luther's banner. You saved the day Luther.

The last cut off at St Ives is tight, but she now had 8hrs to do the last 20ish miles. No worries. Even after 80miles and 26hrs of running.

Feeling very emotional (and that was just us, her support crew!), Rachel headed back out. Mud Crew crew and Angels cheered the loudest, because that's how they are,

Breath And Relax. The hardest part was over. For the crew, at least. Rachel just had to dig deep and grind out the last few miles.

There were a few more points along the way where we bumped into Rachel. Team Weirdchicken caught up and chatted. Loitering in remote, cold dark car parks along the Cornish coast had become second nature to us. Salted potato, officer!!

Rachel had new people to run with. New people to thrust salted potatoes and pizza upon (I have to get rid of them all!!) but no real drama's. Rachel was cruising now, finishing was never in any doubt. She was fully focused and as strong as at any point in the race, so we retired to the finish to have a well earned pint at the Blue Bar, Porthtowan. It is, after all, stressful and thirsty work crewing.

At 22.21hrs, we were waiting for her as she crossed the line. Over an hour and half to spare. By the end of the race, over 50 % of the field had either retired or been retired. But not our Rachel. She had finished, and deserved all the praise & applause. Job done!

Well Done Rachel!

Full Results and race splits here

And relax! Laughing with co-crew Martin & Hillary The Blue Bar, Porthtowan

Look what I got! Looking a bit too fresh after 100 miles.

Plague 2016: Closure

Roseland August Trail

The Plague

Infected Until You Have Finished

Scared? Not me!

It was 00.05hrs Saturday 13th August and I am lined up at Porthpean, on the Southern Cornish Coast for my second attempt at the Plague, a 100km of the South West Coast Path. Which is basically a 100km / 64miles of running up & down steps.

Navigation is easy, you run out from Porthpean to St. Anthony's Head (32miles) and then turn round and run back. Made more interesting by the strict cut offs. The whole event is made more bearable as Mud Crew have a superb team and there are also other runners out there (setting out at various times during the day on Saturday), doing other R.A.T distances, which are conveniently colour coded; BLACK R.A.T is 32miles (St Anthony Head- Porthpean); RED R.A.T is 20miles (Portloe - Porthpean) and WHITE R.A.T (Goran Haven-Porthpean).   Last year did not end well , but this year I was better prepared. I had unfinished business. I had a race plan. I had a positive mental attitude. I hadn't had alcohol in two whole weeks. I was ready. I was not going to quit. I WAS GOING TO FINISH.

Steps!

Countdown; 5-4-3-2-1-GO! And we were off. The first 5 miles were incredibly fast for me, and made Pentewan in under an hour, on some of the toughest and roughest terrain of the course. I knew I would pay for this later, but I got carried away (!), however, within the first hour, I already had a 45mns cushion regarding the cut offs. Result. The rest of the night didn't go too badly. It was very humid, and at times I did have trouble eating and drinking, I felt a bit sick. I mean, it's not natural to be running at this time, is it? But following the troubles of last year, I made myself eat & drink. History would not repeat itself. Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress.

Mevagissey, Portmello. So quiet & calm at night. No problems, keep going. Goran Haven check point, 11miles in. In & Out. Fill up water bottles, drink of coke, slice of melon. GO!  Focus on the positives. The night was stunning- bright and starry and the steady progress of fellow Plaugers' in the night, head torches weaving up & down & around the coat path, bathed in a blood red moon, resembled a troupe of Wood Elves. But where were they headed. Mordor! Or rather St Anthony's head and back.  Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress.

The runners were spreading out now, and I suddenly found myself running alone. No one in front. No one behind. All alone on the coast path. Up down, around. Up, down, around. Oh look, more steps. Repeat. All alone on the coast path. Up, down, around. Up, down, around. Oh look, more steps.

It was around here my race began to unravel last year, and right on que, The Voices started.

"You're all alone again. You're going to fail AGAIN. Just like you did last year. You're rubbish"

I'm not having this again.  I'm finishing this year. " SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I told them. And to be fair to the voices in my head, they did shut up, and I didn't hear from them again for some time. Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress.

Somewhere along this stretch of coast I bumped into Paul &  Juliette (?) from Plymouth coastal runners. A lovely couple of runners, who were fantastic company through the last hours of the night. And we shared the most fantastic of day breaks.. As black skies rapidly turned to cobalt blue, with streaks of orange of red, a new day dawned. The night was over. Torches off. Now for the day race. In and out of Portloe. Still time in hand. Bottles filled. Drink of coke. Piece of Melon. Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress.

The front runners were passing now on the way back. Words of encouragement all round. Oh, to be that good!

Round the Roseland Peninsula. Still going strong. The day was hotting up, even at 06.00hrs. Must put on some sun cream. In the early morning light, the rugged beauty of the South West Coast path was plain to see, and we had it all to ourselves. I was even enjoying the steps! Portscatho loomed. By this point last year, I was done in. I wanted to quit. In my head, I had quit. I carried on to the St Anthony's Head, but stopped on the way back . Not this year. Oh, no. Stop for food, drink, put on sun cream and head out. Get to St. Anthony's head before the Black RAT starts. This few miles is the easiest running of the whole course, undulating, only a few sets of steps, wide paths and actually, well, run-able. Pity it only lasts about 4miles!! Passing more Plague runners who were on the return. High five those i know. Vicky. Martin. Shaun. I made it at the turn around, grabbed a drink, and back; before the Black RAT started. Oh yes! Race plan going well. The Black RATS shouted words of encouragement as they past and I picked up my pace, chatting to a few along the way.  One guy ran with me for mile, really helped. A mud crew runner (Mike?). I may be shit with names, but I remember you running with me! Spirits were high. Back in to Portscatho. Drink bottles filled. Quick chat with Mud Crews' Justin and Lloyd, who saw me broken person last year, and cheered me on my progress this year. More words of encouragement and out I went. Further than last year. Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress.

I HAVE GONE FURTHER THAN LAST YEAR

The way back was hot. I remember that much. There was a brief reprieve from the heat with some light rain and cloud, but that didn't last long. The sun was back out soon enough. My feet hurt, but my determination to finish never wavered. The soft flasks of my Salomon S Lab vest (which is a very comfortable and great piece of kit overall) were now really irritating me. Soft, floppy, flaccid, useless things. Disappearing into the pockets, sliding to the bottom. Hard to get to. Never the less, one must maintain a positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress.

Melon and cups of coke. Freshness and rocket fuel. That's all you need. Oh, and water and electrolytes. Words of encouragement at every check point. Feet sore. Carry on. Chat to random runners. The day got hotter and the steps were beginning to hurt, going down more than up! Somewhere along the way, around Portloe I think, I ran into Vicky, which was a surprise as she was way ahead of me at one point. She'd had a bit of hard time over the past few miles, and we ran and chatted for several miles. Scrambled over the rocks at Portholand and there was a little shop. Ice lolly time. Thank you Vicky. Feeling much better. Almost forgot to run! Run. Don't loose track of cut offs with idle chit chat, however fun it might be. Sorry I couldn't sing any Queen songs Vicky. Up through some woods. Cool reprieve. I don't why I swallowed a fly, but it made me cry. And puke. And almost lose my false tooth. Disaster. Come to a halt. Retch. Recover. Pick up tooth and put in pocket. Drink. Walk. It took me a while to get over that, as I watched once close runners, disappear up the coast line. It was some time before i caught Vicky up again. Remember the mantra:  Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress. Let's do the ultra shuffle!

Goran Haven. Tourists enjoying themselves in seaside cafes. Sweaty tired ultra runners shuffling past. Taking longer to get in and out of check points. Only 11miles to go. When I leave here, it will be the furthest I've ever run. Ever. My feet hurt. Do I stop and get them sorted, or carry on for the 11 miles? I mean it's only 11 miles. Mr Chair is not your friend, Do not sit down. Do not sit down. So I didn't. Mistake. Big mistake. Not getting my feet seen to by the medics would cause me much pain. Oh well, too late now. Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress. Let's do the ultra shuffle!

The coast line is stunning. The sea, a crystal clear turquoise green. I'm hot, tired and sweaty. My feet hurt. The sea looks so inviting. The voices pop up again.

" Can we just pop in for a little swim. It's so inviting . You don't really need to carry on. Loooook, clear, refreshing water"

" I suppose i could.....NO! Stop it. Just Stop it. Shut up. I'm not listening"

Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress. Let's do the ultra shuffle!

It was somewhere around Portmellon I crossed paths with Kensa. I was tired. Kensa's conversation kept me going.  Not far now. Keep going to the end. Let's grind this out. Chat. Shuffle. Run. Mevagissey. Late afternoon now, Still full of tourists. Let's run a little to show off. Ouch. it hurts. Whose idea was this to run? Oh, mine! My feet hurt. Smile! We do this for fun. Smile. I am smiling. Look!

Mevagissey: Kendra & myself.
I am smiling. Look.

 It's only about 6 miles to go. Fuck, I wish I had my blisters seen to. I can feel them growing by the second. Swelling on the bottom of my feet, squishing with every footfall. It is like running on a water bed. But more painful. Not long to go. Nearly there. Talk more rubbish. Encourage each other. Let's do this.

Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress. Let's do the ultra shuffle!

Pentewan. Beer festival and final check point. 5 miles to go. Miss out the beer for now. A quarter of an Orange and a melted ice pop. Water top up. Took tooth out of pocket. Washed false tooth and slotted it back in. Must keep up appearances. Now contemplate the 5 miles of steps. This is the worst of the course.  I hate the coat path now, but am still over an hour inside the cut off. Keep moving, but plenty of time. Don't mess up now. My feet hurt. Despite my Hokas', I was now feeling every stone and lump and bump on the path, to painful effect. I could manage uphill and up steps OK, but my right knee was now threatening to give way going down steps- and there were some mighty steep steps to negotiate. Ouch. Ooohhh. Ahhh. Knee hurts. Squishy blister feet. Don't fall down the steps. it will hurt. A lot. 

Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress. Let's do the ultra shuffle!

Almost there. Suck up the pain

Almost there. Suck up the pain

Almost there. Suck up the pain

Almost there.

Almost there.

Almost.

There.

Then I saw Vicky again. Ouch. Struggling for a minute, like I was. Lets finish this together. I was hardly able to walk down the steps any more. There was a real danger I could fall, and they were steep, long stretches of steps at this point. Don't fall. Don't fall. I could, however, easily run up the steps. Vicky was skipping down the steps with slight of foot and a big smile, yet barely making the uphill. We made an odd sight together.

Round the corner, along the coast. Almost there.

Positive mental attitude. Eat  & drink. One foot in front of the other. Relentless forward progress. Let's do the ultra shuffle!

Shall we finish this together?

Yes, let's do it.

Round the corner, up the hill, and there's the finish. Fellow Bere Alston Trekkers shouting encouragement. All of them having run their own various RAT routes. Orla (my wife) runs to meet me. Very emotional. Big hugs. Big sweaty hugs!

Emotional
Orla meeting me at the finish

And then it was over. Crossed the line in tandem with Vicky. Job done. Thank you Vicky, it was a pleasure running with you. A hug from Jane Stephens of Mud Crew who gave me my medal. My hard earned medal.  I had finished the Plague. 100km of Cornish Coast Path, in a little over 19hrs. My feet hurt, I was tired, but my spirit was not broken. In fact I was elated. I'd done it. It wasn't fast, but I'd comfortably finished inside the cut offs. 

BLING
Mine. All Mine.
RAT Plague 2016

Beer. Now for beer.  I want beer. Thank you David Garcia. That beer washed the dust from my throat! Your advice after last years DNF was invaluable as well.

I hobbled. I could barely walk now, but I didn't care. My wife was at the finish to share with me longest Ultra to date (Love you!). Many of my club mates were also at the finish (Thank you!). I had my medal, and I had beer.

One of my many blisters.

And after a year of plotting, and hard training, I conquered The Plague. I am no longer infected. 

Thank you Mud Crew. Thank you Jane. Thank you Justine. Thank you Lloyd. Thank you to all at the Aid Stations.

You all looked after me.