Timed Lap Racing - When it's good, it's very, very good!

I like racing laps.  Long laps, short laps, in-between laps.  Once upon a time, I used to think racing laps was stupid - why race around the same route more than once?  That was before I figured out how to get my head in the game, and use the format to push myself to new levels.  Racing laps, whether on a distance basis, like at Rocky Raccoon, or on a timed basis like Thunder Run, Endure 24, or our own Ellenden Farm Frolic, gives runners the chance to mentally reset and put bad patches into the past while looking forward to a new lap where the problems of the last lap can be sorted out.

In the last 2 months, I've taken part in some very different lap races.  In May, I ran at Trail Attack 24, mostly to scope it out and as a tune-up for the planned A-Race at Endure 24.  In June, I went back to Endure 24 as a solo runner, with grand ambitions of some big PBs.  On July 3rd, I returned to Merrill's Mile to make good last year's early exit, and with an aim to get on the podium.

Trail Attack 24 is about half an hour from home, so it seemed churlish not to have a go.  I entered with no intention of running into the night - I needed a long training run that weekend, so decided to do it there instead of in the hills. It was a bit of a test event, so the route had a few issues that can be ironed out, and I expect the 2nd outing next year will be an enjoyable weekend. I ran 50km at a pretty high effort level, stopping when I turned my ankles a few too many times on the pitted, rock-hard ground.  I was out for a long run and a bit of a laugh, so wasn't about to risk ruining my summer race plans.

Endure 24 is, in theory, a 5 mile loop of mostly trail running.  The reality is a fairly fast course which, in a dry year, is more like a road run than a trail run.  This year was pretty dry, and the newly gravelled sections meant that there was only about half a mile per lap of terrain that was trail-like.  Having raced as a relay runner last year, and knowing just how quick the route had become, I went into the race with Plan A of 120 miles and PBs for 50mi, 100km, and 100mi along the way.  Knowing that I would be at home responsible for a very active and increasingly heavy baby on the Monday, Plan B was to stop before I reached a condition where I was the one more in need of a pushchair.

Race day was relatively warm and very sunny.  The night before hadn't been the smoothest sleep, with a night feed and an early start for the drive down (thanks Caroline and Andy!), so I spent quite a while pre-race trying to get into the right place mentally to be racing.  Half an hour of Garth Brooks classics did the trick, and I got to the starting line in the mood for a good run.

As usual, I started off far too far to the back, and tried not to get in a hurry.  The plan was to run roughly 10:30/mi with 2-3 minutes per lap of aid-station refuelling.  Repeatedly, I had to slow down, trying to find that "go all day" pace.  I finished lap 1 a couple of minutes ahead of schedule, but very comfortably, in 51 minutes.  The fantastic crew of friends and teammates from Evesham Vale RC had me refilled and out of the homemade aid station super-fast, and I was off on lap 2 in no time.  I added a bit more walking to allow for eating and to slow down the pace a bit more, dropping down to 53 minutes for the next 2 laps (plan: 55 minutes).  Then I turned off my GPS and ran off the watch and km markers for the rest of my race - which promptly resulted in my fastest lap of the day before I finally dialled into the splits that I needed to match the terrain with my goal lap times.

Running comfortably throughout day 1 (Photo: Charmaine Mitchell)

By the time I got to 30 miles, I knew I had a good 50mi time on the cards. I was 15 minutes (30s/mi) ahead of my target time, and felt really good.  The BLT wraps and Bourbon biscuits were keeping my energy levels high, and I managed to keep on top of my hydration, so stomach and brain were both in good shape.  I knew I needed to slow down, and kept trying to aim for the 58 minute laps on my plan.  I kept failing, though, with 55-56 instead.  As I approached 50 miles, I started to get excited that I was running so well that I was looking at a 9-hour 50.  When I finished my 10th lap in 8:55 (a 30 minute PB), I knew I really needed to back off, and that a 100km PB was pretty much in the bag.  I was having the run of my life - running felt fantastic and fairly easy, eating wasn't too much of a chore, and I was drinking loads without issue.

With plenty of time in the bag, I spent a little more time in the aid station, first forgetting my head torch and grabbing a banana instead, and then the next lap doing the opposite!  I successfully gave back some of my time over the next 3 laps, dropping to 1:03ish instead of the planned hour.  Once I'd knocked an hour off my 100km PB (11:30 now), though, I started to lose focus.  The 100mi point was quite a distance away, it was now after midnight, I desperately wanted to be asleep, and the general camaraderie of the day was giving way to the earphone-driven deafness of the night.  By the start of the 16th lap, I was struggling to keep my spirits up.  I started walking a bit more, and then noticed some blisters under the callouses on the balls of my feet, probably a result of walking more.  Those blisters aren't treatable in the normal fashion, with tape or blister plasters.  They're caused by friction within the skin, and really are best treated by not having the callouses in the first place.  The more I walked, the worse they would get.  I also really, honestly, didn't want to do much walking.  I had really enjoyed running everything but a few snack-break hills each lap.  So, at 4am, knowing that I could get a 100mi PB, but at a price to my feet that I wasn't really willing to pay, I curled up and went to sleep in the back of the car having done 80 miles in 16 hours - well over an hour faster than I've done that distance before.

I don't mind too much that I stopped early, but there was a part of me that was disappointed that I had stopped before I had to.  When I've DNF'd a distance race, I've always felt like it was the right thing.  Here, I knew I had a sub 22h hundred available, even if I walked almost all of the remaining 20 miles.  In reality, that wasn't enough of an achievement to draw me into a long walk, or even much past the mouth of the "pain cave".  I had 110 miles available in the 24 hours if I worked hard, but that would have led to some serious curtailment of my summer's running - and that certainly wasn't worth the effort.  Over the next couple of days, as the aches and pains from the race worked through, I was pretty sure that stopping was a good idea.  I'd learned that I wasn't interested in simply completing 100 miles or 24 hours - I wanted to run, and to race.  Walking up the hills, or a few relatively short walking breaks are fine, but I've found that to get the satisfaction I was looking for, I needed to be running the vast majority of the time. Until 70 miles, I'd run consistently better than I had in any race in my life - ever.  And I enjoyed it at a level that I've rarely enjoyed any race before.  I had discovered what I was looking for from my next few races, as soon as I figured out what they would be.

Shortly after Endure, Nic suggested that I have another go at Merrill's Mile in Georgia.  She still doesn't get why I like the idea of running laps of a .99mi road loop, but took the view that as long as she didn't have to either run it or sit there watching me run in circles for six hours, I should have a go.  So, I entered a daylight 6 hours instead of the night-time one, prayed for a cool spell, and packed light clothes.

My goal at Merrill's Mile was simple - run 40ish laps, match or beat the course record, and get on the podium.  I entered fairly certain that, barring injury, I had a good shot.

On the drive to the race, I watched the temperature climb up into the 80s.  The high was due to be nearly 100, and I was glad I'd put most of my water in the freezer the night before.  I didn't want to spend a lot of time using the aid station, just grab a bottle and go as I went by my little box of refreshments.

As the 9am start approached, I started chatting with Anthony Shapiro, who was aiming for a sub-24 100mi, and his crew, who were entertaining themselves trying to put up a small sun shelter.  They were a great bunch of guys, and when Anthony's crew saw I was crewless, they offered to refill my spare belt bottles.  Being able to just swap bottles in whenever I needed was a huge help, especially once the heat piled on.

The race plan was pretty straightforward - aim for 8:30ish miles while there was shade, and then slow down as little as possible, depending on how the temperature affected me.  I was hoping to get through 21 laps by noon.  We had shade for the first half of the lap (a slight upward drag), and then full sun on the down leg.  Being able to run nearly 50% of the route in the shade meant I could keep a reasonable temperature while still maintaining a solid pace.  At around 11:30, the shade finally disappeared, and we had full sun reflecting off the tarmac track.  I was still nearly on schedule, but that was about to change with the flick of a switch.

At around 17 laps, Bob Hendricks caught up to me - he'd been hanging out 2-3 minutes behind for about 15 laps, and must have put in a fair effort to close me down in the previous few laps.  It was his first attempt at an ultra, and he was curious to see what his body could do.  We had a chat, and then I led him into the 18th lap.  As we started the lap, I realized we'd finally lost our remaining shade.  Heading up the gentle drag really raised the core temperature.

Without any shade, I had to change almost immediately from pace management to heat management.  During my 19th lap, I took a long walk with plenty of ice water and surrendered 4 minutes to the heat in an effort to make sure I could fuel up for the 2nd half.  Bob carried on, picking up half a mile on me.  Most of the rest of the race I ran at around 9:30-10:00/mi pace with roughly 300m of walking per lap on average. I was going through nearly half a litre of water every 20 minutes - wearing most of it.  I had on a cool tie, which is meant to absorb water and remain cool against the skin; I squeezed warm water out of it regularly.  The heat and sun were actually blistering one runner's back (maybe she should have worn a t-shirt, but that's an indication of just how hot it got).  Bob came back to me in the early 20s, and I lapped him by the time I'd done my marathon.  Once the heat built up, the only way to cool down was to slow down, and the hotter the core got, the longer the walk got.  So, I tried to maintain short walks and slow running up the slope and no walks down the slope to keep from getting too overheated.  The strategy, along with loads of ice water - it's the first time I've had to pour ice water onto my thighs! - seemed to work.  Most laps remained sub-12, while I kept hoping for a break in the sun.

Too hot & sunny for a vest. (Photo: Cotswold Running)

With around an hour to go, a cloud finally offered some shade and I was immediately able to run easily again, knocking 2 minutes off that mile compared to the ones either side, so I knew I could push hard for 1-2 laps at the end if I had to.  Nic and a huge gathering of my side of the family arrived just after 2:30 - with me needing 3 more laps in 30 minutes. I tried to up the pace so I could get in a couple of sub-10 miles, but got a little light-headed and had to hold to around 11:00/mi instead.  My brother, Chris, shouted to me as I approached the finish line with just over 8 minutes to go, that I needed one more lap to take a lap lead over runners from the previous 6 hour races during the event.  I swore to myself, because I really didn't want to have to pull out a fast lap, and accelerated up the track.  I was down to 8-ish pace, and kept running up to the turn for the first time in over 2 hours.  I started to feel a bit light-headed, and ran with an irrational fear that I'd be cranking out all this effort only to get to the line seconds after the time ran out.  On the way down to the finish, I pulled out all the stops (and nearly pulled out my small breakfast and the previous night's dinner), to get down to under 7:30 pace, finishing my 36th lap with 30 seconds to spare.  The 40 lap goal had gone out the window at 11:30, but I managed to tie the men's course record of 36 laps (ladies' is 39 laps).  I had to wait for the night-time 6-hour race to take place to find out my placing, but was pretty confident of a podium finish.  When I went back in the morning, I was very pleased to discover that I'd won by that horrible, hard last lap.  Bob finished 3rd, 2 laps back.

My first ever win - celebrated next to a soon-to-be-packed gazebo.

The joy of the lap race is that mental reset each time you start a new lap.  In May, I was out for a training run more than a race, and really struggled to look at each lap individually, so I really struggled to get into that "in the moment" mindset you need for a good race.  In June, I managed to keep my head right for 14 hours, but started to struggle against the sleep monsters and wasn't really up for the mental challenge of the rest of the event.  In July, getting to reset every 8-12 minutes worked for me, and gave me the opportunity to completely revise my running plan to match my ability to respond to the extreme temperature (the car read 103 when we got back to it, so I'm guessing we weren't much cooler on the track).  When I was getting battered by the heat, all I had to do was break my run into 2 pieces - up the track and down the track - and then repeat that until the clock ran out. The regular mental refresh made it incredibly easy to stay in the moment.

I still love racing on more traditional routes.  But if you haven't tried timed racing on a short lap, you really should - it's a fantastic way to push yourself to new heights.

Race Volunteers: you ran well because they made it happen

I haven't written any race reports for a while, and I started to wonder if it was because I was tired of blogging, or didn't enjoy the races, or just because I needed a vacation to empty my head enough to process what has actually been a pretty busy summer racing schedule.  In the end, I've realized that it's because as much fun/effort as the past few races have been, I'd come away from the race thinking as much about the race as about my running in it.  I'd spent a lot of time over the month trying to get to grips with what really makes me come home raving about a great event.  The answer: the volunteers.

We all know volunteers make races happen, but how many runners actually show that appreciation during a race?  Race Directors choose the course, set the wheels in motion, and try to steer things in the right direction.  Volunteers do pretty much all the hard work of getting aid stations up, pointing gormless runners in the right direction (yes, I've been both the pointer and the pointee - we all have our witless moments), having water, sweets, crisps, and goodness knows what else spilt all over them.  In nearly all cases, they do it with a smile or a look of incredulous awe, depending on just how crazy your event is.  In nearly all cases, they do it because helping someone achieve their goals is at least as enjoyable as achieving that goal yourself.

Just a small part of our medal collection: it takes more than good running to have a good race.

Here are just a few thoughts about volunteers and volunteering based on my June races.

Last month, I had the chance to return to one of my favourite local races, the Cleeve Cloud Cuckoo.  This year, it was 5.5mi of driving rain, cloud, and generally miserable weather.  I mostly had an absolute ball, and was quite thankful I was running.  It's daft enough to go out and race in that, but how crazy do you have to be to simply stand still?  Volunteering takes stamina and a warped sense of humour sometimes.

Ten days later, I headed out for another hard training run at Humph's Hilly Half, in Bourton-on-the-Water.  It was a glorious evening for racing, and perfect for volunteering.  When you sign up to help out, you hope for balmy weather, some nice sunshine, and beautiful surroundings like we had on the day.  On my way around the gently undulating course, I enjoyed a few low-fives with the younger volunteers, made one lad's day by stooping down to take water from him instead of his mum, and managed to knock over about 6 cups trying to get 1 off the table, rather than the bottles that were being handed out (I only needed a sip).  I was all smiles for the first two stations, and mortified when I cleverly tried to grab the final cup (to avoid knocking any over) and missed with superb malcoordination.  Still, all handled with friendly conversation and a smile.  Even when you're running hard, it's not much effort to grunt or gasp "thanks" or "sorry", or give a smile or a thumbs up as you pass.  That little bit of interaction lets the volunteers know they aren't taken for granted, and it generally gives the runner a boost, too.

A few days later, it was time for our club's annual fell race, the Bredon Bash.  It's a simple one-hill course. Run a bit, cross a field, run up the hill, run along the top, retrace your steps to the finish.  It's my turn to do a bit of payback, so I was stationed on top of the hill, encouraging everyone up to the turnaround point and then back down.  Since it's a pretty small local field, I knew about half the runners already, so I had a jovial time cheering, cajoling, and just occasionally shouting good-hearted abuse to help them on their way.  Having a friendly face on the route cheering you on is great. Apparently, though, when it's your coach it might not always seem like fun at the time, as you try to look great even though you really just want to decorate your shoes with your lunch.

The next weekend, I headed up and down Cleeve Hill again, in the Cheltenham Circular Challenge.  I rather arrogantly entered the ultra (48mi), deciding that it was just silly to go for the marathon when I could do an extra 22.  After all, it's only another lap of up & down the hill plus a flat 10K and a flat 5K.  As it turned out, it was also incredibly warm, and I got more than a bit stupid as I got tired. I enjoyed chatting with volunteers, they enjoyed encouraging me on, and we had lots of pleasant interactions (the joys of a lapped route) as I kept passing them.  Unfortunately, what I didn't have, until I'd gotten particularly dim, was an experienced ultra runner looking at me and telling me to stop, have some crisps, and cool down for 10 minutes.  After 39mi, Nic was waiting for me (having done the marathon, and looking quite happy and relaxed).  She asked me questions about what I wanted, shook her head in despair when I refused any sensible intervention and insisted on carrying on, and ended up having a fairly pathetic wreck of a husband for a few hours after I DNF'd. We've now adjusted my personal crew instructions - when I've been going for more than 20 miles, don't ask me questions, tell me what to do.  Otherwise, I'll probably insist everything is perfect and refuse all sensible support.  Friendly volunteers are amazing and will carry you through most races.  Bossy ones will get you to the end of an ultra.

Then came the big event of the summer: Endure24.  Nic and I spent so long trying to decide if we wanted to enter as a pair, enter as solos, or not enter at all, that we ended up defaulting to the 3rd option when the race filled up.  In reality, we didn't really mind, because it meant we would be happily crewing our friend Mitch as he attempted to win it and wipe last year's agony out of his mind.  Another friend, Matt, had sneakily entered so we crewed him as well.  We sat and cheered or clapped as runners passed again and again on their 5mi laps.  We dolled out drinks, food, encouragement, and instructions for hours on end.  When it got dark, I tried to cheer or clap less loudly.  To all those trying to sleep nearby, sorry about that, as it seems I wasn't as successful as I'd thought at keeping the noise down.  I couldn't accept just sitting and watching and not encouraging, so after setting Mitch on his laps, I tried to walk around a bit to keep from having all those trying to get some rest come out and throttle me. Encouraging is addictive.

In the end, Mitch did win the race.  He set a new course record. Once it was over, we all hugged and congratulated him and rumour has it I might even have shed a tear or two.  He was elated, we were overjoyed for him, his wife and daughter were full of emotion (and probably relief!), and all of that happiness could not have happened without a small army of people willing to sit in the woods for hours at a time, watching mud-covered runners pass by lap, after lap, after lap.  Nobody achieves a race goal on their own.

If you're not in the habit of somehow thanking marshals during the race with a nod, smile, cheery word, wave, or some other friendly gesture, change your habit.  Give them something back to help them continue to enjoy helping you.  If you haven't volunteered at a race, look at all those medals and t-shirts you've collected.  Then get in touch with a local running club or race director and find out how you can help someone else achieve something special.  Helping someone surpass their own expectations will certainly give you some tools to use when it's your turn to push past your known limits.  I guarantee you'll gain something from helping out, and if you help at a race or distance you'd like to step up to, you'll learn a lot as well.

Endure 24: Chapter 2 - Food Enough and Time

Let us roll all our strength and all

Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

(From Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress")

Once upon a time, in a town far, far away, I used to ride 100-mile cycle races.  I also read a lot of westerns as a kid, and had read that in the dim and distant past, one of the tribes of the Great Plains had a “coming of age” trial for its warriors to run what we now know as roughly 100 miles in a single day.  Knowing how short a distance 100 miles actually is from my cycling and believing that running it should be possible, I’ve had a not-very-burning ambition to run 100 miles for about 25 years.  Since that first cycle century, ultra running has become a bit more mainstream, drawing me into its web.  Having enjoyed my Highland Fling experience, I decided to see if I really could move up to 100.  Not too far away from home, Endure 24 offered the chance to see just how far I could go in 24 hours. It also had the bonus of being held on a five mile trail loop, rather than the more traditional track or 1km road loop. Knowing I'm not really in the best shape (perhaps recovering from one race before running the next would help!), I knew the century would be around what I could do on the trails.

I suggested to Nic that she might like to enter with some friends as part of a relay (see how that idea worked out) and before I knew it the entries were in.  Mitch had already entered, as a bit of a fitness test, and I tried to get together a relay team from all the volunteers from our races.  I'm always amazed at how many people are willing to set aside their day to help make a race possible.  Somehow, though, they all had other places to be (several were doing more normal length races).  As it turns out, only Glenn had the combination of no injuries and available time.  Rather than a relay team, we ended up with a team of 4 solo runners.  Mitch aimed to finish at the front, Nic would keep going until she ran out of time or was dragged off the course, I wanted to reach that magic century, and Glenn was going to take his first step into the 30+ mile range.

The run up to the race was a bit odd.  My feet have been bothering me since before the Fling - something to do with repeatedly twisting my ankles, I expect.  Two weeks ago, I decided to do something totally radical and took a full week off running.  A little light hiking around Nic's birthday kept the legs moving, but a bit of recovery goes a long way.  With a few short runs in the final preparation week failing to ease my mind, I headed to Wasing Park wondering if I would be able to make it past the first lap before something snapped.

What are the chances of them ending up like this? (Nic painted hers blue in anticipation)

One of the great aspects of this race is the campground that suddenly appears around the start/finish.  Although the footing in the field was unpleasant, running past all the other competitors meant fantastic support as we wound about the tents.  Nic and I set up our tent just after the finish line, along the route among the other solo runners, where it was easy to create our own miniature aid station.  Being inexperienced at such distances, we had a buffet that was actually longer than the table set aside for all of the solo runners to use.  I think we had at least one of everything we've ever seen in anyone's drop bags and plenty of the stuff we normally eat on shorter ultras.  We both knew that a favourite food can suddenly taste awful on any given run, and wanted plenty of variety available.  After setting everything up on Friday, we relaxed into the evening, ready for Saturday's big event.  When I say relaxed, I talked non-stop and Nic tried womanfully to avoid wringing my neck to get me to shut up.  Glenn and Mitch were due to arrive on Saturday morning so they could set up in plenty of time before the noon start.

When Saturday finally arrived, sunny and warm with a steady northerly breeze, we were ready.  I had finally sunk into a terrified silence while I worked through the last-minute prep list.  It was Glenn's turn to gabble his nerves away for a few hours.  Mitch had a fairly strained look about him, let's politely call it his "game face".  Nic seemed nearly calm, the weeks of waiting were past.  We were all pretty happy to have a dry and sunny start.  Temperature control can be a bit of an issue, but we've seen so little sun  over the winter that it cheered the heart even as we applied the factor 30 and hoped to avoid those painful red stripes that happen when you're a bit slapdash.

Team Cotswold Running - Glenn, Nic, Kurt, and Mitch (Photo: Charmaine Mitchell)

The start area was a bit unusual as the solo runners politely "jostled" for position (who could get furthest to the back).  After the safety briefing which I was too nervous to properly take in (did I correctly hear something along the lines of "relay runners, try not to knock over the solo runners if they're in your way"?), we had the obligatory inspirational music to keep us going for a couple of minutes until noon, and then we strolled off on our way.  I was in such a non-hurry that it took me 20 seconds to get to the timing mat on the start/finish line - and I was towards the front of the solo runners.

Some of these folks were in a bit of a hurry.  Note the lack of green numbers for the solo runners.
(Photo: Charmaine Mitchell)

Ah, the running bit.  That's what you've been skimming along to get to, isn't it?  Lap 1, nice and easy in the sunshine.  It was fairly chatty, with plenty of "come here often?" kind of exchanges.  I ran the second half of the lap with Glenn, who was keeping half an eye on his heart rate to avoid blowing up.  Thankfully, he then left me behind.  It's very easy to jog along chatting with someone you train with regularly, but it could have been quite dangerous since we were effectively running different events - he would stop and take a break after his ultra and then do the odd lap towards the end with whichever of us needed some company.

Me & Glenn finishing the first lap

At the end of the lap I started what became an amusing trend.  I stopped at the tent to pick up a sandwich that I would eat over the first mile.  Sometimes I had a drink in hand - mostly during the first 5 laps due to the heat.  I only got to the 1km marker once or twice without food in hand.

Eat, run, eat, run, ad nauseum (Photo: Charmaine Mitchell)

After my second lap, I remembered there was a water station at the start line as well as the one at the half way point.  This station was just off the route behind a few ranks of waiting relay runners, so was easy to miss as I concentrated on deciding just what culinary delights would carry me through the next lap.  Mitch's wife Charmaine and daughter Hannah were taking some great pictures, but it seemed like every time I saw them I had my hands (and squirrel cheeks) full of food.

Charmaine had to do some walking to find me without food.

The running from there on, by and large, was uneventful and repetitive.  Jog along the road eating, walk up the hill (still eating), head onto the tracks and jog along to the next hill a few km away, get some water at the half way point, walk the hill eating anything I'd carried from the start, etc.  There were enough people to chat with as we passed and were passed, but very few that were going the same pace as me for any length of time.  So, although I had quite a sociable run with plenty of chit-chat with both relay and solo runners, I spent most of the race in my head.  There wasn't much going on in there, to be fair, so it wasn't a stressful place to be.

Great scenery made for an enjoyable Saturday afternoon

The route had an excellent variety that made it very easy to chunk.  All of my pre-race organisation was broken into 5-lap blocks - roughly marathons, but on the run I tried to think in laps.  I enjoyed one of the early laps (maybe lap 2, possibly 3), chatting with Jim Seaton who had only returned from a long-haul business trip the day before.  For most of the first daylight section after that, we crossed paths as our refueling stops varied.  Eventually he left me behind to finish 2nd, lapping me twice.  I also enjoyed regular exchanges with Janine, who was power walking wearing a duck outfit as part of her fundraising, and had a great chat with a relay runner named Steve (I think, it was late and I was tired) whose team had enjoyed lager and pizza for dinner.  So many runners, so many good chats, so many people whose names I can't remember!  I'd have loved a pepperoni pizza at 2am, but we never could figure out logistics for enjoying it either fresh and hot or properly next-day cold, so it was one food item that never made it into the buffet.

With no watch, it was hard to tell if I was keeping a consistent pace or not.  My stops at the buffet table were fairly short unless I needed a kit change or comfort break.  The longest stop in this first marathon block was a quick chat with Nic after my 5th lap.  It was great to see her, if only to tell her about the water station at the start line.  Being petite, she had only seen the wall of relay runners and was managing her hydration based solely on the half-way water stop.  The half-way "watering hole in the woods" was a real highlight of the route.  The jolly couple who worked it for the entire event kept the cups coming and were a source of cheer at all hours.  It was a welcome oasis, but I saw the inviting stop as a danger to momentum and just grabbed some water and walked up the nice hill around the corner.  It was an ideal spot for eating crisps, as the hill was close enough to the water stop, so I did in fact carry crisps for 2.5 miles just to eat them on that hill (more than once).  It's amazing how concentrating on not smashing your food helps you keep your hands relaxed!

Nic testing out the chairs at the Watering Hole on our pre-race walk

Running only on feel, with a time check every 5 miles, was surprisingly not a problem.  I knew the first lap was going to be a little too fast, and hoped to keep it slower than 45 minutes.  After that, I hoped to be in the 50-55 minute range for a few laps, and to not drop below 70 minute laps until after dark.

As the second block started, I ticked off the actual marathon (approximately 4:30), and was feeling decidedly knackered.  The heat was taking its toll.  In reality, the weather was stunning and perfect walking and camping weather.  I'd say it got up to all of 23C.  Given the extended cold Spring, though, the effect was as though it was actually a hot day.  I had my first bottle of TORQ Energy on this 6th lap, quite a bit earlier than I'd hoped to.  It was scheduled for morning, when I was likely to be running on sugary things rather than food.  I normally run long races on water and get my salts/sugars through food, because that way I don't have to worry about my pack bladder getting all manky if I forget to clean it out when I get home.  But, with the amount of water I was drinking, I felt it would be a good idea to have some thicker fluids to keep from getting a "sloshy" belly.  It seemed to work well, so I decided to have some salt tablets when I got to the end of the lap.

By this time, I was starting feel pretty rubbish, to be honest.  I started to think about what a good idea giving up would be.  After all, my feet had been sore for so many weeks that I was surely going to end up seriously injured and unable to run for months, so wouldn't crawling into my sleeping bag be the best in the long-term?  During this point in an ultra, as the body reaches the marathon distance, I'm pretty sure most of the muscles are sending messages to the brain along the lines of "we got you through a marathon, now go have a beer and talk about it while we rest, you idiot".  So, with all this whinging from feet, legs, back, hips, etc., the brain starts to justify stopping.  I had just agreed with myself to have an extra little walk when I saw Glenn and Nic about half a mile behind me as we all wound our way around the field.  We cheered each other on, and then I saw the one thing that I'd hoped not to at that point - Mitch.  He was bombing along at a ridiculously fast pace (9:30/mi looks fast when you're doing 12).  We shouted a bit of "encouragement" to each other and I quietly swore.  There would be no walking on the flats with Mitch in view - he would give me some serious grief (deservedly) when he finally caught up to me.  A few salt tablets and yet more food at the tent and I shuffled off.  By the time Mitch caught me I was feeling less bad and settled into a fairly consistent pace that would hold for the next 40ish miles.

Mitch on the move (Photo: Charmaine Mitchell)

The start of lap 8 broke the pattern of several years of racing.  My feet and ankles were killing me, but the rest of my body was feeling pretty good, so I took a couple of paracetemol (Tylenol) and headed out.  I haven't taken painkillers before or during a race of any distance since I recovered from an achilles injury in 2008.  After spending many weeks managing inflammation and pain from that injury,  I generally prefer to know what hurts and work with it or around it.  But, with 17 hours left to go, I figured it was a good time to break that rule.  I washed them down with a cup of instant coffee and proceeded to have two of the best laps of the race - they weren't the fastest, but they felt good compared with the two before.   It was also finally starting to cool down as the sun set, which helped a great deal.

With the foot pain alleviated, I just concentrated on my impending 50mi PB.  Considering my only other 50 was the Highland Fling, and the hills on this course weren't really even big enough to use as hill training, it would have been a travesty for me not to set a new PB.  Finishing 50 in 9:26 was made even better by seeing Nic at the end of the lap.  She was about to start the lap that would take her past her previous furthest run of 41 miles.  From that lap forwards, we would both be enjoying that "wow, I've never run this far before" feeling with every step.  Unfortunately, Glenn's body hadn't been enjoying all the rough underfoot in the field, and he'd had to slowly hobble his 7th lap to get to his minimum target. On the plus side, he stopped before totally ruining himself and has now run an ultra.

My next target was 100km.  To me, that was "just another couple of laps and I'll have a 100km PB".  At some point, I realised that, without a watch, I wouldn't actually know what the time was when I got to 100km.  I also celebrated reaching the milestone twice - once at 2km into the 13th lap (60mi + 2km = 100km, right?) and once when I got half way around and was a bit clearer in my head (60mi + 2.5mi = 62.5mi, 100km~62.5mi).  Running sucks blood away from your brain, making basic arithmetic somewhat difficult.  I'm hopeful that I'm not going to be permanently more stupid than I was last week as a result of this race, but only time (and my next race entry) will tell.  Anyway, I reached 100km in approximately 12:20, so I now have a target for the future.

Towards the end of the lap, Mitch caught me up again, but wasn't his usual bubbly self.  He'd picked up an injury that was bad enough to make him think seriously of stopping.  He was struggling to the extent that after a short chat he stopped for a walk and started to drop back again.  I knew he was in trouble because he was very quiet, and was walking on a flat.  I've only ever known Mitch to walk anything other than the steepest of hills when he was keeping someone company or was about to pass out, so when we regrouped at the tent I didn't push him to keep going.  As we chatted about his ailing leg, Nic appeared from the tent where she'd been having a short break to stop the ground from wobbling about so much.  I was stopping to add some luke-warm water to dried noodles, and felt pretty wobbly myself, so suggested we walk together for a bit.  As she tried to make a cup of tea, I could see she was shivering pretty badly.  I left Mitch to his own devices and ordered Nic to go put on another top and then to get walking to get her body warm again.  I caught her up once I'd filled my waistband with some more food for the second half of the lap and got her jogging until she was warm again.  By this time, we'd reached my feeding station (the first hill), but my noodles were still rather crunchy, so we kept walking at a reasonable pace and chatting by torchlight.  I eventually got to eat my "dinner" and Nic was again in good spirits, so I carried on jogging and she kept a good speed walk going.

By this time, we were well into the night run.  I quite enjoyed the light being thrown by my head torch, and never really felt like I was running in the dark.  I did, though, struggle to regulate my temperature.  The baking hot field had become cold and windswept, while the woods were sheltered and a gentle cool.  I added a long-sleeve baselayer for the dark hours, and had the sleeves and zip up and down repeatedly in response to the little microclimate changes along the course.

Cool and dark, must be time for some malt loaf (Photo: Charmaine Mitchell)

The wee small hours were, as I expected, a bit of a trial.  I was starting to get tired and by 2am was finding it a little hard to concentrate.  Trail running requires at least a basic constant awareness of the ground ahead, and at night this can be particularly difficult.  I had plenty of light, but my brain wasn't processing images as quickly as it ought to and I tripped on a stone that I had thus far managed to avoid 13 times.  I managed somehow not to face-plant on the rocky path, but the trip jarred my least-good toe, reawakening all of the nerves I had pummelled into submission over the previous 67 miles.  By the time I got back to the start, my feet were again shouting at me.  As the hours wore on, I felt the wheels starting to come off.  In the final dark lap, I finally dropped below 4mph and I took an extended stop before the sunrise lap to add some layers because I had decided that I needed to walk a lap.

The extra rest of a walking lap must have done some good for my body, but the brain was no more useful than it had been before the walk.  When I got back to the start I was ready to start lap 18, I had a quick check with the relay runners who were looking at the computer with live updates on it (I wasn't going to walk an extra 30 feet just for that!), and they kindly informed me that I was about to embark on lap number 17.  In my head, I'd just finished 17, but wasn't too surprised that I'd lost count.  It was 5:30am and I was tired, so I shrugged it off, changed shoes, dropped some layers, and headed out to run lap 17 again.

The shoe change was something I'd been thinking about for a while.  I had been wearing my trusty Inov-8 Roclite 295, but my feet were in mutiny. I'd actually meant to change the lap before, but forgot by the time I got to the tent.  I needed extra cushion and different pressure points.  I changed socks as well, because I had to take them off to check for external damage.  The skin was in pretty good condition, with no significant blistering or tenderness.  It felt nice to put on some cold socks, and the pair of Brooks Cascadia 7 needed to be loosened a bit but overall felt fine - it was only their second run, but they worked out well on their first outing so they got to make the trip as first reserve.

Laps 17-19 were pretty good.  I had switched from food to gels as I got tired of chewing.  At some point in this early morning run, the phrase "world enough and time" popped into my head.  I couldn't remember where it came from, but it seemed to suit the context and it's been on my mind ever since (I now know it was Andrew Marvell, who's literary extension of "life's too short" includes some lovely turns of phrase).  I took my final round of painkillers (2 paracetemol + 2 ibuprofen) at the start of lap 18 and was able to happily knock out a 1:09 (nearly 14min/mi felt like sprinting), my fastest lap for 30 miles.  When I got to the end of lap 19, I thought I would just double-check I hadn't miscounted again and was told I had just completed my 18th lap.

To say I was distraught would be an understatement.  I had time to get in 2 more laps, but the analgesia was hardly touching the pain in my feet now, and I wasn't about to take any more pills.  I got back to the tent and saw that both Glenn and Mitch had decamped and headed home.  Considering neither could walk particularly well enough to stay warm and that the campsite was now cold, windy and not the place to be with injuries, I could understand the decision (to be honest, I was amazed they hadn't packed off earlier), but it meant that the debate I'd been having in my head when feeling good an hour before was easily decided.  I was not about to have Nic finish her race with nobody at the line to cheer her in, there would be no extra lap.

I swore all the way up the hill back into the woods, venting my frustration at my inability to tell time and count while running, as well as berating my fickle feet and pretty much everything else that had been bothering me in recent weeks.  After about a mile, I finally accepted that I had everything I needed to do yet another lap if I wanted to except for willpower.  This would be the last one, and I would have to settle for 95 miles.  I was broken, and that was that.

As I continued with lap 19 (again!) I chatted with other soloists and the volunteers on my farewell lap of the route I had come to know better than some of my regular training routes.  By the time I got back to the field, the relay teams were all up and about, taking down tents, and cheering everyone who came through.  Donnington Way 105 winner Peter Heald and his friends had staked out a vantage point at the end of the field and had been cheering and doing the wave and goodness knows what else to keep spirits high, so I stopped very briefly for a final chat.  I carried on along the campsite and thanked all the people who had been encouraging me through every lap, and tried not to cry - I really didn't need to lose a contact lens at this stage.  With about half a mile to go, I saw Nic enter the field.  I cheered her on and as soon as she was out of sight promptly slapped myself to stop the tears running down my face (it worked).  Then I got a bit of a shuffle on so I could get to the car in time to get my phone out and get back to the finish to take a picture of her crossing the line.  Race training kicked in and I noticed another soloist not far behind me, and I broke into a proper run.  I had no idea how many laps he'd done, but I knew I wasn't going to lose a place just 200m from the finish.  It felt great to put on some speed, and even better to know I was nearly finished.

I crossed the finish line with plenty of time to start another lap if I wanted to, and promptly exchanged my timing chip for a finisher's medal.  I expect I had quite a happy if somewhat shattered look on my face.  I managed to get some pictures of Nic and gave her a big hug and we were both hugely relieved to have made it to the end.  In hindsight (you know, when the pain is less and the beer has kicked in), we thought it would have been great to do one last slow walking lap together to get me that 100 miles.  I spend much of the afternoon and evening wondering how I'd screwed up the time calculations even more badly than usual, and chalked it up to being tired.

On Monday, when the official results came out (I'd checked Nic's results on-site but stupidly didn't check mine), I found out that I had, in fact, only miscounted the first time and had completed the 100 miles.  I also learned I'd finished in 8th place - and that doing another lap would have still had me in 8th place, so stopping when I did was just fine and dandy.

Having started the race just hoping to complete (Plan C), I am pleased to have achieved Plan B (100mi).  Plan A will just have to wait for another day.  Now, it's time for the first planned non-running week since 2011.  If I can cope, I may even make it 2 weeks.

3 out of 4 ain't bad, and the 4th will recover in a day or two.

Food and Drink (that I can remember):
2.5 turkey & mustard sandwiches
1.5 peanut butter & banana sandwich
1 houmus sandwich
1/2 a malt loaf (with butter)
handful of pretzels
3 lunch-sized bags of Squares (a particular kind of salt and vinegar potato chips for the non-UK readers)
1 pot of strawberry rice pudding (if only I'd remembered it earlier!!)
2 homemade oatmeal raisin cookies
3 fig rolls (aka fig Newtons for the US readers)
1 luke-warm spicy chicken mug-shot
handful of breaded chicken nuggets
3 small cups of coffee
5 TORQ Ginger & Pineapple bars
2 TORQ Energy uncaffeinated gels
2 TORQ Energy caffeinated gels
1.5 litres TORQ Energy Lemon-Lime flavoured drink
.5 litre TORQ Recovery Strawberry & Cream flavoured drink
.5 litre chocolate milk
gallons of water
3 salt tablets
2 ibuprofen
6 paracetemol

Endure 24: Chapter 1 - Believe and It Will Happen!

Nic has been off to the races again, and her view of the Endure 24 is below.  If she keeps having this much fun I'm going to have to make her a page of her own!

I ran my first ultra last September and loved the experience of running long.  If I hadn’t had so many other commitments in the winter of 2013, I probably would have entered another, but I didn’t have enough time to fit in the training.  A few months ago, Kurt started talking about an event called Endure 24, an event where runners would complete as many 5 mile laps of a trail as possible in 24 hours.  He wanted to try and run 100 miles.  At first, I wasn’t particularly interested, until I saw an old friend in March.  He was asking about my running and I made a throwaway comment that kept coming back to me – I said “I’ll never be a fast runner, but if I’m running the right pace I could run for 24 hours.”  This got me thinking… could I really keep going for 24 hours?  Not long after, I had an evening out with my friend Claire Parry, who has MS and is trying to raise funds to get to India for a radical treatment called HSCT.  I’d only had a glass of wine or two so I was fully compus mentus when I suggested that I could help with the fundraising effort by entering Endure 24.  I thought it would be pretty unlikely that anyone would sponsor me to do a marathon, as I’ve done quite a few already.  People would be more likely to give me money for doing something which most of them think is quite bonkers.

So, I set up a fundraising page and upped the ante on my training.  I didn’t really go out and do super-long runs.  The furthest I went was 20 miles.  But I did lots of back-to-back running, where I’d do a long run, followed the next day by another longish run and then try to run again the next day.  I needed to know I could run on tired legs.  I’ve never been brilliant at training – the highest mileage week I managed was 37 miles.  So as the weeks ticked by, I started to feel a little anxious about how I was going to cope with running for 24 hours.  I didn’t set myself a mileage goal, I simply wanted to keep going, keep moving forward, to endure for 24 hours, whether running or walking.  I hoped I would be able to reach in the region of 60 miles.  Not thinking about mileage too much kept it manageable.  I’ve worked enough nightshifts and done enough long-haul travel to know that I can keep going for a very long time.  I would just need to draw on this experience.

Endure 24 takes place at Wasing Park, which is near Aldermaston in Berkshire.  We drove down on Friday, my little car fully loaded with our camping gear and lots of food.  We set up our tent, then sat in it for an hour or so listening to the rain.  I did feel a bit despondent at this stage.  I was in a very bad mood and poor Kurt had to bear the brunt of it as usual!  Where is the fun in camping and running in the rain?  However, soon the rain cleared to bright sunshine and my mood lifted with the clouds.  I was feeling ready!  We walked the five mile loop that afternoon and were quite surprised to find a few hills:  a long drag at the start to 1 km, a short sharp climb between 2 and 3km and another steepish climb at just after 4km.  It was a very pretty course though, mostly through beautiful woodlands, where the rhododendrons were in full bloom.  The final mile was a wiggly loop of the start-finish / camping field that was pretty unpleasant underfoot – very hard and rutted, great for spraining ankles if you’re unlucky.  We tried to relax for the rest of the day, chatting to those around us and doing the most important thing:  eating!  Endure 24 had put on some nice live music, which we enjoyed from the sunny spot in front of our tent while sipping a nice glass of wine.

Small lake with big carp

Rhodies galore

Ankle-breaker Field

I slept pretty well considering.  Race day dawned bright and breezy.  Our friends Glenn and Mitch arrived, Mitch with his wife Charmaine and kids Hannah and Adam.  Glenn was aiming to do his first ultra and Mitch was running to win.  After multiple warm-up trips across the field to the portaloos (ah the glamour) and lots of eating, lubing and organising of food and kit, noon finally arrived and we lined up.  Most of the field was made up of team runners – there were only 73 solo runners and we were competing to get closest to the back of the field!  My aim was simply to run at a comfortable pace for as long as I could and to keep moving forward as long as I could.  I ran a couple of laps with a nice lady called Clara.  We thought we would try and stick together and keep each other going as we seemed to be about the same place.  But after two laps, she was struggling and I wasn’t so I kept going on my own.  I actually revelled in running alone.  It was beautiful in the woods, just hearing the crunch of gravel underfoot and the birds singing, occasionally passing the time of day with other runners.  I continued in this vein for a long time, keeping a nice easy steady pace.  I was regularly passed by the super-speedy relay runners, and also by Mitch and Kurt which was lovely.  Glenn also caught up to me at about 20 miles and we ran a lap together.  Unfortunately, he’d suffered a knee injury early on and was struggling.  He did manage to pull out his first ultra though, doing 35 miles.

Team Cotswold Running - Glenn, Nic, Kurt, & Mitch (Photo Charmaine Mitchell)

I felt great until about 30 miles.  It was a warm sunny day.  Great for spectating, and in the woods the temperature was pleasant.  But the long lap in the open field which felt like a furnace was taking its toll and I was getting tired.  I was eating at the end of each lap, but I started to struggle and feel a bit negative.  I was only a quarter of the way through the 24 hours – I couldn’t imagine ever getting to the end.  I had to really focus on the reason why I was running in the first place – to raise money for my friend – to keep me going.  After 30 miles, I sat down for the first time and had a chat to Glenn and Charmaine.  I’d also just been passed by Mitch, who was also suffering, but who was now in first place!  I had some food and got going again.  A little sit down worked a treat and I felt fine and positive again.  I started Facebooking at 30 miles, which was a great boost as my friends had left so many messages of support on my page and I got a huge response to my status updates.  They really kept me going and made me smile.  The next milestone was 40 miles, as this was my previous furthest run.  I don’t remember much about this part of the run, aside from relief that the heat had gone out of the sun.  I put on some extra layers and donned my headtorch.  I was looking forward to experiencing running in the dark and enjoying the peacefulness of the woods.  I did really love the first lap I did in the darkness.  It was such a different experience and I felt quite intrepid.  The route was marked with glowsticks and looked very pretty.  Other runners continued to speed past me – so impressive that the relay runners maintained such high speeds in the dark.

Short chat over a few drinks - how romantic (Photo Charmaine Mitchell)

The next bad patch came at about 50 miles, or around midnight.  The fatigue was really setting in and I wanted so badly to stop.  I decided to take a short break in the tent.  Glenn and Charmaine had gone to bed, so there was no one to talk to.  I set the clock on my phone for 30 mins in case I fell asleep and closed my eyes.  I don’t think I slept, just rested.  After about 20 mins, I started to get really cold, so roused myself and prepared to move again.  Just then, Kurt and Mitch arrived at the tent.  I was so pleased to see them!  Kurt was doing well, Mitch not so much, having picked up an injury.  We left him sat down, wondering whether to continue.  After standing outside the tent waiting for Kurt to make himself some instant pasta, I had got very cold and was shivering uncontrollably.  Kurt ordered me to run up the first hill, which I did and soon got warmed up.  Hypothermia was a real possibility at this point, but thankfully I was ok.  We walked/jogged together for a little while before he left me alone again.  I just kept going, listening to podcasts, having the odd chat, but mostly I was in my own little world, with only the beam of my headtorch to look at.  I decided to walk the next lap, as I was so sleepy I didn’t feel safe to keep running.  I was worried about tripping and falling and walking seemed a less risky option.  I knew I only had another lap before daylight and hopefully a new lease of life.  A lovely lady team runner from Reading Roadrunners, called Kim, came up behind me and we got chatting.  She was very talkative and asked me lots of questions which was exactly what I needed.  She was walking due to an injury, so we walked the lap together and I was totally lifted out of my fatigue.  Thank you so much Kim!  She handed over the next runner and I started running again.  I hadn’t set myself a mileage goal, but I’d hoped to reach 60 miles in 24 hours.  I had done it!  And I was still going!

Getting plugged in and ready for the night shift (Photo Charmaine Mitchell)

Day had dawned, and I was glad to ditch the headtorch.  I was tired but ok and still able to run.  Glenn was up and about again so I had someone to chat to during my short breaks.  I was gleaning a huge amount of strength from my friends on Facebook.  Sadly, Mitch had had to pull out after 15 laps, with a very healthy lead, due to injury.  Kurt was still going strong.  I knew I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, I was in the last phase of the 24 hours and I started to truly believe I could do it.  At just under 70 miles, there was an almost disaster as my Achilles tendon started to object.  I had a huge pain and then another and I thought something had popped.  Shit.  I walked along gingerly and it was sore but I could keep going.  I tried to jog on it and felt ok so I kept going.  When I reached Ankle Breaking Field, I did stop and walk to try and minimise the stress on it.  I sat down in the car at the tent and seriously considered whether to continue.  I’d completed 20 hours, 70 miles, a fantastic achievement but I would have felt a failure.  I had a long discussion with Glenn and Mitch.  The tendon felt tender but I could still move.  While I could still move, I had to keep going.  I took some ibuprofen, had some more food and carried on.  I started at a jog, and before long, my lovely Kurt caught me up.  He was in good spirits and we had a nice chat.  Seeing him gave me another huge boost.  He had one more lap to do to make it to 100 miles – I was bursting with pride for him.  I decided at this point that the best strategy was to walk for the rest of the race.  I could make it to 80 miles, or 16 laps.  I would finish under 24 hours, but not with enough time to justifiably do a 17th lap.  I probably could have run a bit more of lap 15, but I didn’t.  By lap 16, I was exhausted but felt elated knowing it was my last lap.  The cheers from the relay teams and supporters around Ankle-breaker Field in the last mile was amazing and I kept crying.  Writing this now makes me cry.  I saw Kurt ahead of me across the field, about ¼ of a mile ahead of me, waving and blowing me kisses.  It was all I could do not to sob!  With joy, obviously.  I ran over the line having done 80 miles, 16 laps, in 23 hours 27 mins.  Kurt was there waiting for me with a big sweaty hug, and I think we both had a few sobs in between the delirious laughter.  He was a little disappointed as he thought he’d run 20 laps, but in fact he’d lost count and the computer said he’d ‘only’ run 19 laps, or 95 miles.  He chose not to do another lap as he felt quite broken and just needed to finish.  This morning, with the official results online, it turns out he was right and he did run his 100 miles – I’m so thrilled for him!  Thankfully, I did manage to keep count correctly – 80 miles, 6th place lady!

That was fun, right!?

I’m feeling pretty sore today, but not that much worse than after 40 miles.  I am quite astounded by it all.  Probably the most dangerous realisation is that I know now I can run 100 miles – if I want to.  Something tells me it will only be a matter of time….  I have raised more than £1000 for my friend Claire’s cause.  And the support and encouragement I’ve had from my family and friends has been incredible.  One very happy girl today!