Endurancelife CTS Sussex Ultra - Fun in the Sun

The Endurancelife sun-god mojo is back, and the weekend it was back with a vengeance!  Sun, sea, and trails make for an amazing combination, and Saturday's CTS Sussex ultra had it all.  I had been approaching the race with regular alternation between a nervous tick and smug calmness.  As the weather report continued to show sunshine and warmth, I couldn't wait to tackle the hills without needing to worry about staying warm.

Being me, though, I took three choices of top and two choices of long-sleeve windproof (mandatory kit), and mentally changed between short-sleeves and vest repeatedly in the pre-race lounging period.  In the end, Nic (in her 2nd marathon) and I both opted for to replace sleeves with sunscreen as the temperatures edged into the teens (>50F).  Thankfully, I was in the early start, so I didn't have time to vacillate further.  Unfortunately, I was still a bit vacant and neglected a few pre-race plans that would come back to get me a little later.

I lined up with the other ultra runners for the first time with a bit of trepidation and a clear race plan.  I'd only run over 30 miles once before, in last summer's Trailblaze on the Cotswold Way.  Then, it was a rather lonely start line.  This time, there were a few familiar faces from other CTS events, so it didn't feel too much like a new experience.  The only difference between this and the other races would be that, upon reaching the finish line of the marathon, I would keep going and take in the "10K" route (more like 8 miles than 6.2).  With an extra 7 miles and around 2000ft of extra ascent compared to last month's effort in Devon, I'd already decided to run the ultra at around 40 seconds per mile slower than I had the marathon.  I figured that would see me comfortably through the first 26 and leave me a fairly manageable task to get around again to the finish line.

Don't look back, those hills are for much later! (Pics by Nic)

We set off, dibbing in at the start rather than as a bunch.  This meant that we would be ranked in chip-time order. With a staggered start, there were no pinchpoints on the path and I started off fairly steadily, easing along the flattish start before the attack on the Seven Sisters.  As usual, my plan was to speed-hike the steep ascents (or slowly walk, depending on the distance into the race).  This tactic resulted in a fairly rhythmless first 10K as the course took us up and down the hills like some sort of demented fairground ride.  The highlight of this first section, aside from the excellent views, was when I cracked open the larder for my first bite of the run - a yummy, garlicky hummous (hummus to the North Americans) wrap.  I've grown tired of only sweet foods, and have been playing about with savouries for a little while.  It was quite pleasant to hike up a hill in the sunshine eating food that reminded me of the beaches of Zakynthos.

See hills, run hills.

With all the ups and downs, I managed to keep an average of around 10:40min/mi until we hit the largest climb of the day, starting just after 7 miles and climbing a mere 680 feet over the next three miles.  It wasn't the hardest climb, but it took us to the highest point.  It also provided me with a chance to open my first aid kit and get out some micropore to tape my nipples.  I generally do this as a matter of routine before the race, but somehow forgot.  Wearing a vest meant that I had a bit more flapping fabric on my chest than normal, and so I noticed at about 10K that I would have a problem in a few hours if I didn't protect myself.  That's the great thing about uphill hiking - your hands can work on running repairs if necessary.

The bad thing about going up hills is that your feet move slightly differently in your shoes to when you are running.  In my case, this exposed that I'd also forgotten to put a blister plaster on my heel.  I'd planned the prophylactic plaster to avoid any issues with the hole I'd put into the shoe liner a few weeks previously.  Oops.  It's not particularly efficient to make running repairs to your feet.  So, upon reaching the top of the hill I promptly sat on the grass to tape the vulnerable heel and just as promptly lost about eight places.  A couple of runners kindly offered help if needed, which eased the annoyance of dropping so many places.  Normally, I don't bother too much with placings in the early part of a race.  However, when you've been keeping people at bay for miles, only to see them trotting off in the distance ahead of you, it's pretty galling.

Over the next eight miles, which were mostly down even though they included five short, steep hills, I concentrated on keeping my pace up and trying not to get lost.  A few near misses where signs had kindly been "adjusted" by passers-by only added a few hundred yards. There were a couple of handy water stops that slowed me down as I re-filled but meant I never had to struggle to stay hydrated.  By now, it was lunch time and there were plenty of hikers and picnickers offering support as we passed.  Then came "the hard part".

The eighteen-mile point in a marathon is traditionally where things start to get properly hard.  At this stage, you've worked through the excitement of the start, the "easy" 2nd 10K where your body is flowing well and you (hopefully) feel like there's plenty in the tank to get you through.  The 3rd 10K is where you realize you are actually running quite a distance.  Typically, from around 18 miles, you're into the realms of your longer training runs and your mind and body are subconsciously preparing to wind down for a meal and celebratory beer.

Tired legs love this sort of stuff!

So, how better to celebrate reaching 19 miles than to climb some hills?  It's only 500 feet, and it's only half a mile.  What's the problem?  To be honest, not much.  The run down to the foot of Beachy Head was not unduly uncomfortable.  Then comes the 350ft climb over a mile up Beachy Head.  Again, it's not that bad. The half-marathoners were running up full of huff and puff.  But, with 19 miles in the legs and at least 15 to go, I just watched them speed away into the distance.  As I found last year in the marathon, this section just draws the life out of the legs.  Steeply up, steeply down.  Repeat.

Running in a rhythm didn't really happen again until around mile 22, when a nice long downhill gave me a chance to get the legs moving for a while in a normal running motion.  I carried on merrily towards the finish line, knowing that I had less than a half marathon left to go.  As I neared the finish line (first pass), I noticed I was still in the 11 minute/mile range I'd set myself as a target, and that I was also faster than when I only had the 26 to do the previous year.  I stopped to refill my water again, and then carried on past the finishers heading towards their cars.  The extra 10K loop was looking pretty lonely, with only 2 runners in view.

Once more into the breach!

Back onto the Sisters I went, struggling to gather myself into a good rhythm.  I kept the nearest runner in my sights, but couldn't seem to reel him in fast enough.  He provided a good target, but with the penultimate check point at 28 miles, I lost more time as I refilled again. In hindsight, I'm not entirely sure why I stopped here.  I'm pretty sure I had plenty of water.  I can only think that the closer I got to running further than I ever had before, the less sure I was about my decisions.  However, from this point, I was back into the course I'd already run, and immediately felt more confident about what lay ahead.  I started to get it back together and tried to steadily get back some time.

By now, I knew it really was only around 10K left to go, and all I had to do was get through it.  The downhills didn't feel great, but I was able to run them.  I pushed hard again to hike up the hills (only a few left now), and turned around quite happy at the final check point near the top of Beachy Head (again!).  From here it was basically down hill and with the breeze.  I also noted that my target had made one last bio break, which had him within catching distance.  So, I sped up to catch him.  After about a minute, my head went quite light and fuzzy and I realized that a full-speed 800 to finish and catch up would be more likely to result in a spectacular fall than gaining a place (due to the chip-timed placing system).  So, I eased back just enough to not feel like I would pass out and carried on to finish about 100 yards behind  him (1:37 in chip times, though) in a solid 17th place.

Oh, so very happy to get to stop at the finish line this time!

All told, it was a pretty good experience for my first time over 33 miles.  Certainly there were some good learning points for next month's Exmoor race.  Who knows, I might even keep it together long enough to do some racing after 18 miles.

CTS Sussex Marathon - Stage 6 of 8

The preparation for the latest Endurancelife event was pretty straightforward:  recover from the last one enough to make it to the starting line.  With only two weeks between Pembrokeshire and Sussex, I focussed on rest and rehab for the first week, rebuilding the little tweaks and tears that any race will cause.  I did a bit of light running in the second week, more for relaxation than for physical training.  My body wasn’t really in the mood to run, but we were due a sunny week and I was looking forward to some excellent scenery.

As anticipated, the morning dawned calm and hazy.  It wasn’t warm, but we were due to start at around 10 degrees and climb up to around 14 with some extra warmth if the sun broke through the mist.  Morning preparations went well, and I felt fully fuelled by the time we arrived for registration.  The only worry was that my legs felt like lead and I wanted a few more hours of sleep!  So, while I waited in the milky light for the race briefing, I found a nice patch of grass and stretched out for a cat nap.  Nic evidently found this amusing and kindly captured the moment for posterity.

Pre-race preparations

After what seemed like only a few seconds, but was probably a good few minutes of snoozing, it was time to get up and get warmed up.  My intention was to take it very easy in the first few minutes and then just take the day as it came.  I had no idea how my aching bones would cope with another day in the hills.

No need to hurry, the hills aren't going anywhere.

The course started at Birling Gap, in the middle of the “Seven Sisters.” The Seven Sisters are a series of short, steep hills on the English Channel coast, associated with the famous Beachy Head.  We headed west, taking in just over half of the Sisters on our first coastal section.  I’ve seen this iconic coastline on television many times – the stark white chalk offset by the blue sea, blue sky, and green grass.  It was invigorating to not just see it in person, but to be a part of it – to take on the challenge of the terrain and to appreciate its rugged beauty.

Looking back over Birling Gap towards Belle Tout Lighthouse

The course heading off across the Seven Sisters

The ascents were short and steep, and I hiked up most of them to conserve energy for later in the day.  The descents were built for speed – steep, generally soft under foot, and not too technical.  So, in typical fashion, I flew down the hills with arms and legs flailing and then slowed to a fast stomp once the momentum ran out on the uphill.  I was having so much fun, I even tried to get a few snaps on the way.  And, yes, I did actually exclaim “Wheeee!” on one of the more exciting drops.

This is what happens when you point the camera to the side on a fast downhill.

Steeply down followed by steeply up!

Plenty of hills to come

Only the leaders can run up all of these!

Green rolling hills just keep coming

Only a few Sisters left to go!

Wheeeee!!

Finally, the chalky Sisters are behind us

By the time we turned inland at around 5k, the field was completely spread.  All of the people I chatted with as we leapfrogged our ways up and down the Sisters were strung along the countryside.  I could see pairs of runners, but there were no more large groups.  I settled into a rhythm with the expectation of 24-25 miles of solitude broken only occasionally by the short exchange of running tales while passing or being passed.

Our trip through West Dean and the surrounding hills was fairly uneventful.  I reached the first check point at 5.5 miles feeling slightly better than I had at the start, but in generally high spirits.   The sun was occasionally shining, the wind was very light, and I was running comfortably enough in spite of the little aches and pains left over from my trip to Wales.  There was even a mile of flat running between Litlington and Alfriston (well, almost a mile).

Approaching Alfriston

From Folkington, the course turned south and back towards Birling Gap.  To get back to the coast, we had to climb back over a few miles of the South Downs.  As the coast neared, the wind speed increased.  The promised stiff breeze out of the Northeast was cool, but not overly unpleasant.  I donned my windproof vest that had been tucked away for the previous eight miles.  Happily, it never got cold enough to need a hat or gloves for the first time in months.

The long climb out of Folkington

Mist burning away on the South Downs.

The highest point in the race.

At about 11 miles, I started to figure out how far I would finish behind Nic.  She was running the half, which started an hour and a half after the marathon.  It’s funny how useful I now find all those irksome math problems from school that start “if a train starts from point A at 9AM, and another train starts from point B at…”.  Anyway, I guessed that I would finish 30-45 minutes after her.  Playing with the mental math and a few different scenarios kept my brain occupied through the final stretch of woodlands – there’s not much to see when you’re surrounded by trees.  It also confirmed that unless she was having a shocker, I wouldn’t catch her, so there was no point in trying to recover that amount of time just for the fun of passing her on the line.


At Birling Gap, I ran into (almost literally) the back half of the 10k as they started their race.  There was a small pinch point where we were going in opposite directions.  Thanks to those courteous 10k participants who let a fairly ragged and confused looking runner through! 

Next came the climb up to Belle Tout lighthouse, which had been shifted away from the eroding cliffs edge a few years ago.  This was a nice, gentle reminder that the remaining Sisters were still here and still steep.  On the way down from the lighthouse, the course turned directly into the ever-increasing breeze.  The remaining coastline became a trial against the wind, the hills, and general fatigue.

It was a long, slow climb up Beachy Head!

Beachy Head itself was a long, slow drag followed by a 1:2 descent.  I normally avoid leaning back on a downhill, but to lean forward wouldhave resulted in a very long and uncomfortable series of somersaults.  I ran / hopped my way down, barely in control.  By the time the gradient eased to a 1:3, I was still going too fast to open into a normal running stride.  It was easily the steepest descent I had ever successfully navigated, and was exhilarating.  It was also slightly exhausting, and I returned to a jog for the next mile or so while I recovered.  I was moving along easily enough, and sent Nic a message to say I’d finish somewhere between five hours and 5:15.

It wasn’t long before I left the coast again at Eastbourne, heading back up into the Downs.  For a while, the wind was again from behind and the sun gently shone.  The course led across the hills towards Birling Gap for a little over a mile.  Then we turned south towards the coast, and then again east back towards Eastbourne.  This little inland loop existed to make up the mileage, but the open downland provided some pleasant surroundings. 

There weren’t any flat sections, just up and down, into and out of the wind.  At 20 miles, I started to feel light-headed.  I realized that I was fast-approaching The Wall.  I had planned to take my final gel at around 21 miles anyway, so I downed it with plenty of water and slowed to an easy walk for about 5 minutes to give my body a chance to process some of the sugars floating around my bloodstream.  The south-bound segment started with a nice steady downhill, so I eased back into a run while I had gravity on my side.  I started to feel better, and was able to keep a reasonable pace until the turn back into the wind at 23 miles.  The wind pushed me to a slow trudge, and then a long, exposed drag broke me.  I dropped back to a walk and sent Nic an update that I was going to be an extra half hour, given how things were going. 

My experience of these races has led me to plan for a 28 mile run, regardless of the official distance.  At Pembrokeshire, I felt like rubbish for the last four miles, always thinking that it wasn’t too far to the finish, so I might as well just push on.  In the end, I lost quite a lot of time in those four miles, and finished completely wiped out.  With that in mind, I opened my “emergency” pack for the reserve gel and took it.  Gels normally take about 15 minutes to have an effect.  At the pace I was moving, that would give me some benefit at 24 miles.  With luck, I would also be moving from the simple sugars of the previous gel to making use of the complex sugars at about the same time – a double boost.

Just before the 24-mile checkpoint, Nic sent me back a message to say that she’d finished the half, and the final 5k was basically flat.  So, as I climbed to the checkpoint and watched the paragliders launching themselves off the cliffs, I held out hope that I was nearly over the worst.  The marshals confirmed that only a little over 3 miles remained (only 27 miles this time!), and I started to feel human again.  We headed down towards the road, and I saw the earlier treacherous drop from the top of Beach Head off to my left.  At that point, I realised that we would not re-climb that monstrosity, and cracked a grin.  Obviously, the sugars were also starting to work, because my improved mood coincided with improved pace.

The course carried on along the lower portions of the cliffs, and my legs started to feel strong.  I eased down the last steady hill at a good run, texting Nic as I picked my way among the gorse, to let her know I was running again and would finish soon.  The bad patch well and truly behind me, I pushed the pace for the last two miles, knowing I would have three weeks to recover.  With the stiff wind now at my back, plenty of gentle downhill, and refuelled legs, the finish came quickly. 

Speeding to the finish!

Looking back, those last two miles were two of the three fastest of my race.  The tailwind made an enormous difference.  And, with the help of a little sugar and water, I managed to recover the 5:30-5:45 I’d anticipated when everything was falling apart and finish in under five hours.  Mentally, the race was as difficult as any I’ve done.  It was made a little easier by also being one of the most scenic courses I’ve experienced for any distance.  And completing it in a good time gives me confidence that I might just manage the stupidly hard Exmoor (5/5 on the difficulty scale) in a sub-6 time.  Bring on the recovery, and bring on the next race!