The background
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
My plan had been to run the whole of the Cotswolds Way just as a run – not as a race at all. Since January, I’ve been recceing the route, planning my water stops and where to stash food, with the aim of completing the whole thing, in my own time, in August to show that these little adventures can be just, well, done.
And then the heatwaves happened.
I’m daft, sure. Some might even say stupid. But I’m not so daft to risk running 102 miles on my own in 32+ degree heat, without access to regular water and crucially medical support. Having ran Race to the Stones this year in similar heat, I decided that it just wasn’t safe to risk running it in a heatwave. So like a good little ultra runner – I adapted and pivoted. I ditched my solo plan, checked I thought I could meet the cut-offs, and signed up for the Cotswolds Way Century in September.
While the right decision, the pivot did of course mean that my training had to adapt too. All year I had been building towards a peak of late July for an August run. With that now pushed back for 6 weeks, I needed a new approach. The problem was – I was mentally done.
When you build up for a long training block, it’s the mental fatigue that gets you as much as the physical. I was done with training. I was bored of long runs. So I cut myself some slack. I entered and ran the 45 mile Green Man Ultra in Bristol in late August, did one more recce of the trail which had a diversion in, and called training done.
The expectations
The taper was the exact opposite of all conventional wisdom. Sure, I got one last decent long run in, but then was cooked emotionally, mentally and physically. So while my last few training week’s volume should have been: 80 / 80 / 68-72 / 40-8, it was: 78 / 23 / 9 / 46. Hmm.
The other part of conventional wisdom is outside of running, do very little. Well, with an active job – that’s not possible. So I was on the bike coaching clients, running S&C sessions right up to the night before. And frankly, the mind needed the distraction.
I’ve been fairly chilled about this for most of the year, mainly because it didn’t feel real until the week of the race, when it suddenly felt very real indeed. And I was excited. Excited to race a new distance and see what it was like. It had been a long time doing something completely new, and I was totally looking forward to it.
The race started at 11 am from Chipping Campden, so I chunked it up to three phases:
Phase 1: Day 1 daytime. To first big check point at mile 35. Cut off time: 18:30. aka the “it should be fine” phase.
I had 7 and half hours to cover a distance that, for me as an experienced ultrarunner, really shouldn’t cause too much bother. Sure it was hilly, but also beautiful. This was very much the get through it before the race starts phase.
Phase 2: The night. Cut off times at mile 47: 1 am, and at mile 70: 8:15 am. aka the unknown but home phase – ?
I have never run through the night before. I practiced a bit in winter and got spooked out and developed a fear of bumping into cows. I did my last run the week before starting at 4 am so I had a bit more of a sense of what to expect. But I had no idea how much my pace would slow to deal with the terrain. Doing the maths, I realised if I could get to Coaley Peak by 3:30 am, I should make the cut off at mile 70.
This was my hood though. I grew up not far from this section and went to school in Wotton-under-edge. By my timings I should make the descent down from Wotton hill just as the sun began to rise, and I was so looking forward to that magical moment that 100 milers talk about where I found a little piece of myself, just at my home patch.
Phase 3: Day 2 daytime, to the finish aka the big unknown – ??
My longest run to date has been 65 miles, so while the night was unknown at least I had the confidence in the miles. The big unknown was what would happen after Wotton. The course itself flattens out a bit after this point, which helps the mind at least. But the old adage that a 100 mile run’s half way point is at mile 80 loomed large. I knew it would hurt, and I knew I would slow. By how much I had no idea.
I spent the final few days, as best I could, getting myself in the right head space. With key ultras like this, I always set myself DNF rules. For this one, there were only two: medical advice is to stop or I missed the entirely fair, but pretty firm, cut off times.
The realities
Phase 1 aka the very much not going to plan phase.
Miles 1-8 – excitement comes to bear
I always look a bit of a state at the start line. I like to pack lots of things in case I need them, and I’m always layered up because I find if I get cold, at ultra pace, I never shake it. So there I am like a homeless snail with all their belongings. This has the added benefit of forcing me to stop after a mile or two to delayer, repack, and not get caught up in “race mode”. This little routine usually puts me near the back, which is where I prefer to be.
I met some really nice people in the first few miles – although I was amazed by the amount of people who signed up for their first 100 miler after running the minimum entry requirement (40 miles). I couldn’t imagine doing it without a couple of 100 kms behind me, but I admired their go for it attitude.
As I was trotting along, I saw my heart rate climbing. I usually aim for below 140, but it climbed up to 171 and I couldn’t get it down, however slow I went. A combination I suspect of excitement, running with others at their pace, running into wind and not slowing down, and a subconscious concern about the cut offs and banking time, and those 8 miles really set the tone…
Miles 8-27 – the early death march
I was in trouble. I felt so nauseous, and for the next 20 miles I spent my time forcing down different types of food, burping, rubbing my stomach, repeating. I didn’t actually throw up, but I was in so much discomfort. My brain just kept saying “don’t quit, don’t quit”.
I saw my lovely supporters at miles 18, and 23-4 who were all cheery and happy, until they saw my face. Massive thumbs down from me, I think this mile was probably my lowest point in the whole race. Logically, I knew it would pass eventually, but emotionally I was done with feeling rubbish. Their faces confirmed how bad I looked. But I sucked it – and some ginger beer – up, and pushed on.
Most ultra runners will encounter stomach issues at some point. It’s a strange sensation forcing yourself to consume calories when you’re retching, but if I had any hope of finishing that is precisely what I needed to do.
Miles 28-35 – the power of potato and coke
I got to the second checkpoint at mile 27 bang on time and had a good moan to a lovely volunteer who gave me some coke and told me other runners had also said they were feeling nauseous earlier on. While I’d never want others to suffer, it is a hard reality that misery loves company. I necked some coke, and some water, and grabbed some potatoes from my drop bag in the hope they’d stay down. Chewing a cold boiled potato did not have the desired effect.
I made it half way up the hill out of the checkpoint before I remembered I’d left my cup, so headed back down for some extra elevation. Annoyed I shoved my potatoes in my bag and made some pulverised mess.
The next bit of route is lovely – it’s a gentle decline, through picturesque scenery and I noted the temperatures were easing off. I found myself thinking about something other than my stomach for the first time in six hours. I grabbed my pulverised potatoes and squirted them in my mouth – it worked! For the next few miles, I shoved handfuls of gooey potato in and finally felt in a rhythm. Back in the game, just before nightfall.
Phase 2 aka the best bit
Miles 35-47 – it’s going swimmingly
Having seen my supporters, who were relieved to see me moving much more like normal, I got ready for the night section at the next checkpoint. There were two clear goals in my head – get to checkpoint at Painswick for 12 pm and Wotton for 7 am, giving me an hour clearance ahead of cut offs.
I’d been so worried about the night section. I’m clumsy at the best of times, but bar one wake up trip which I caught, I had no issues at all. In fact, I really enjoyed it. I met some cows and felt reassured by their presence. It was cooler than day time and simpler. The mind had quietened from the silly nonsense of the first 20 or so miles, but the lack of light brought an unexpected discovery. Instead of using sights to mark the miles, I used the terrain. So I knew there was a wooded bit, a short road section, then a rocky bit etc. Deliberately this helped me stay present so I could concentrate on what I was doing but also helped the miles tick over. And when my light completely went after only 3 hours and I needed a battery replacement, I felt smug at my massive bag and decision to overpack multiple spares.
At mile 40, I had a moment. Not only had I not just survived, but thrived, in some night hours, I also realised I had less than my longest ever run to go. Ultra runners do all sorts of weird maths, and conveniently I ignored the fact I’d already ran 40 miles. But I knew I could run 65 miles. I knew then I would finish this. I then got to see some surprise supporters feed me wine gums and tell me to do this for the girls.
That feeling strong just about lasted to seeing my crew before the big checkpoint and when I stopped to chat to them suddenly felt very wobbly indeed. Calories. That’s what I needed – not running calories, living calories. I left them pretty quickly and headed into Painswick well ahead of time, so took a seat and sorted feet, ate some food, and generally took advantage of not pushing for a time, for anything other than finishing. Cracking on I was now on home turf, with a surprise appearance from a friend at 1:30am offering ice-cream! I declined (stupid stomach) but that boosted me all the way to Coaley Peak. Arriving at 2:45 am I was elated. My legs felt totally fine, I was coping with the sleep deprivation through a steady stream of Coke. I had enough time banked and had been through too much already to not get this done.
I was aware of a tough section of woods coming up with some gnarly downhill with roots. I’ve tripped in daylight there and had met another runner who DNFed the race from falling last time. Staying hyper aware, I had somehow already passed it. And as the chills from dawn set in, getting a wee bit lost around Stinchcombe golf course, I was now officially into my longest ever run with thoughts turning to the joy of dawn approach.
Mile 69-70 – the non-moment
Coming down into Wotton, the sun was starting to break. This was it! The moment! In which I felt absolutely nothing!
Yep. Sorry to report, there was nothing whatsoever. Just a movement from night to day, which probably says more about my pragmatic mindset. What did happen was a surprise appearance from two other supporters – who were racing that day – to come say hello. Now that *was* magical.
Phase 3 aka the worst pain imaginable + more
Mile 70-80 – still going fairly swimmingly
Now I knew this was when the race would bite, hence my wanting to bank time. And I remember my first ultras, that quad pain from downhill, the foot pain from being on your feet. The general relentlessness of it all. I was becoming aware of sore spots in feet, stopping to dust out perceived stones in shoes.
I was moving ok and had the happy company of sleep deprived illusions. Not full blown hallucinations, but the usual seeing animals in leaves, animals in shadows and a new favourite – faces in pebbles! More surprise supporters appearing for hugs and pineapple chunks, and I started thinking maybe I could finish by early afternoon – wouldn’t that be a treat! HA…
Mile 80-100 – the race bites back
The famous saying of nothing new on race day is absolutely nonsense for a 100 miler. A man who will forever be in my heart handed me a bacon sandwich at mile 80 and frankly Ed Miliband had nothing on me.
I was chipper enough here when my supporters were out. Stomach issues had settled, it wasn’t perfect but I was finding a system of cola + ginger biscuits, plus gels/chews and sports drinks were keeping me going.
At mile 82 though, it started to bite. In many ways, it might be easier to list what didn’t hurt. The quads had definitely gone, and the calves were a bit fed up from the hills. But it was the feet that got me. Not the blisters, they’re sort of expected, but the relentless pain of taking steps on sore, swollen, battered feet.
Walking hurt as much as running, so I carried on with the ultra shuffle as best I could. I developed a new sort of skip to deal with the downhills which all I can say is looked like I was still having tummy troubles, to put it politely.
For 20 miles all my brain could do was repeat these two phrases: don’t be a wimp and pain is temporary.
I totally understand Courtney Dauwalter’s pain cave analogy now. In every other race, my trick has been to focus on the mile I’m in – and for 80 miles of this race, that worked beautifully. But when a mile passes in such slow rhythm and every step you take is like standing on hot coals, chipping away makes so much more sense.
Mile 100-103 (!)
The last few miles the race allowed a pacer, where my good friend Laura (one half of the full weekend crew) was waiting for me. She knew Bath like the back of her hand and was a pocket rocket for bulldozing people. Just get to Laura and it will all be fine was the new mantra.
I got to Laura and those final few miles were longer than I expected. Suddenly being surrounded by people, having been in the woods for over 29 hours pretty much by myself, was an assault on the senses. I wanted to just stop there. For it to be done. And thankfully, after 102 (plus a few wrong turnings) miles, I got to the finish and very slowly bent down to touch the stone, marking the end of my race.
The aftermath
Yes of course I’ll do another. Probably the very same one, with an aim for breaking 24 hours. But truthfully, I was expecting more spiritual moments than I had. This was probably because I was so focused on getting the thing done, that I didn’t allow those moments in.
I am a selfish runner – I run long to escape my responsibilities and frankly other people. I enjoy doing it solo and the challenge of being self-sufficient. I like the peace and quiet. I never doubted my ability to complete – not arrogantly, but because I waited until I had sufficient experience under my belt to safely complete 100 mile race. The pride hasn’t come yet, the feeling at the minute is primarily of relief.
That and being loved. The countless messages I received before, during and after of support and congratulations. With special thank you to my crew Sarah, Laura, and husband Jon and Ozzy the dog for seeing me at my absolute worst. For the swearing, the rice puddings, and the giving up their entirely weekend to come and support. To Angela and Stuart for being there both days and scooping me up at regular points. To Jen, Jane, Keila and Jess for seeing me at my lowest and not telling me to stop (although they wanted to!) and Alex for the much needed energy boost on the Sunday. To Tom, Hazel and Angela for appearing throughout the night and telling me to be the strong woman I am. The early morning crew – to Ben and Ben for surprising me at 6:15 am, to Tom for the hug at 6:45 am and to Laura, Jilly, Jon, Jim and Dodge the dog for appearing at 7:30 am. And to the volunteers, for the refilling bottles, the cokes, the biscuits, and the gently pointing out I might be overdosing on electrolytes…
The reality of running your first 100 miles is exactly then what you’d expect. There will be downs and then ups when you least expect them. That the things you were worried about won’t happen, and the thing you weren’t worried about will. That it’s going to hurt for a very long time. That you are going to have to draw on your mental strength for hours to push through. But. With the right people on your side, anything is possible.