"This doesn't look like Farnham," I offered helpfully. My mum, today playing crew member and driver, agreed. "You're right. Oh, shit."
We re-checked the paper itinerary for the day and realised our obvious mistake; we'd put CP2's postcode into the sat nav instead of St Polycarp's Primary School. I mulled over my ability to make a navigational error so severe that it might cost me the race before it had even started - while frantically entering the correct postcode into the GPS. We had 20 minutes until check-in closed and a 20 minute journey ahead of us.
A number of wheel-spins and sideways corners later, I was finally at St Polycarp's Primary with a minute to spare. I put all the mandatory kit items into a plastic bag and ran into the school and had my kit checked. Despite the unusual Sainsbury's bag, the lady doing the checks seemed satisfied enough with its contents, and I registered with seconds to spare.
Following the very calm race brief, I dashed back out to the car and started throwing kit into my stylish bum bag with the composure of an electrified squirrel. I had rehearsed my packing routine many times in my head over the past few days, so I knew more or less what I needed to take - despite it being my first ever 50 mile run.
At 7.56am, with 4 minutes until the race started, I had already acupunctured myself a few times with the race number safety pins and got sun cream in my eyes. I also hadn't had time to eat anything since leaving home in the car, and I wouldn't have time to eat until the race started.
Talking of which, I still had to get from the car to the start line in 4 minutes. I ran down to the station only to find that the level crossing barriers had come down for a train to pass through. Luckily I spotted the foot bridge stairs, which I took 3 at a time to make sure I ended up at the start on time.
I was happy to arrive at the start 30 seconds before the race started with a racing heart beat, an empty stomach and not enough food for breakfast. This ultra thing is hard, isn't it?
---
I wrote before the race that I wanted to finish - in last position would be better than a DNF - but ideally not too last.
This was quite a presumptuous goal. The longest race I'd ever done was 30 miles (the Stort30), so finishing this race was not a foregone conclusion. It was further than I'd run on harder terrain than I'd ever run.
Nonetheless, I figured I had the best chance of not finishing last by taking it really easy at the start. I began the race by jogging right at the back and found myself alongside a lovely American chap who was already lamenting his high heart rate and lack of breath. My sort of company.
My race strategy was originally to avoid gels until mile 25 and try to eat as much real food as I could; bananas, nuts, dates and burritos were the order of the day. However, I was hungry, and due to my rushed bag-packing, I was only carrying a small packet of almonds and a couple of nakd fruit bars to see me until check point 2 where my mum would (hopefully) be dutifully waiting for me. My energy levels felt very low and I ripped through the supplies I had in no time at all. In my rush to eat the almonds, I also choked on the dry almond skins a few times.
That said, I did find a good rhythm early on as my legs did feel very good. My training hadn't gone amazingly in the months leading up to the race, but I was certainly "well rested". An "extended taper," a coach might say. I was happy enough to let the majority of runners speed off ahead - leaving me to leap-frog with a group of two or three ladies.
I'd decided to drink 50% water and 50% electrolyte mix (nuun) during the race. Due to my unorganised start, I had to mix my salt drink while running. I managed to put them tablet into the water and then put the lid on, only to realise that the fizzing of the salt tablet was creating pressure which caused the water to leak all over my bag. Good thing I had barely anything in it. For about half an hour, I went through a cycle of unscrewing the cap, letting pressure out, and screwing it on again, cursing, and repeating. This was quite good in a way, as it kept me entertained and out of trouble.
After this little drama subsided, I looked around me and grinned stupidly, thinking, "Oh my god I'm actually running this thing. I'm actually running the North Downs Way 50. I can't believe this is finally it." I had been looking forward to the race for so many months, it felt amazing to finally be doing it instead of just talking about it to those poor folk around me.
My plan was to make up for slow running by being extra-speedy at check points; so as I hit check point 1, I topped up my bottles, grabbed some nuts, and pressed on with minimal time wasted. If only all of my stops would be so uneventful.
At Check Point 1
The journey to check point 2 at Newlands Corner was where the hills really started. Due to the fact that I was running the race without a GPS watch, I was using a transfer of the elevation profile (courtesy of Climbers.net) to gauge how far I had gone based on recent/upcoming hills:
Applying ridiculous temporary transfer with ndw50 course elevation and split info. pic.twitter.com/JpRz0k9jt8
— Kris Peter (@krispeterrun) May 17, 2014
The product of this quirky idea was that I was constantly trying to figure out where I was based on the hill that I had just ascended or descended. During the first climb up St Martha's Hill, I must have checked my forearm about 20 times to try and figure out how far up the hill I was. Firstly, this was impossible to work out purely from a line on my arm; and secondly, I knew where the top of the hill was anyway. It's funny how the mind finds ways of driving itself mad when there is nothing else to do apart from run.Crossing a beautiful bridge over a canal, I found Allan Rumbles giving direction down to his infamous Bacon Boat. He regretfully informed me that he had no bacon butties left. I didn't ask him if he had any facon.
After five very hilly miles, I was relieved to arrive at check point 2 where I met up with my mum who had prepared a plastic bag for me full of gels, bars, topped up bottles, and a foil wrapped burrito.
I bumped into Lindley Chambers at check point 2, the race director at Challenge Running. "Kris, I'm sweeping today! Only half an hour until I set off! They're giving me cattle prods, too! Haha!"
Aw shit, only half an hour inside the cut off already? I'd hoped to build up a bit of a buffer this early on while I was feeling good. Alas, I had to push on into the heat of the day; and at 25 degrees, it was really hotting up.
Feeling good early on. Hotting up. (Image copyright Centurion Running.)
The burrito tasted so good. The real food flowed down into my body and give me energy and nourishment. I had four to last me the day - I knew I'd need them to avoid eating a million gels, too.
The course from mile 15 to Box Hill consists of rolling hills and a long downhill through Denbies Vineyard, which by itself is a nice route; but the heat was making me feel really rough. I just felt so slow and low on energy. I'm normally pretty good with the heat, but a wet and cold winter hasn't left much opportunity for heat training in the south of England. In my mind, I was running through Death Valley in the Badwater Marathon - a though which didn't quite work with the acres and acres of fresh grapes growing a few yards off the side of the road. I could definitely feel the heat from the sun reflecting off the tarmac of the road, and hotspots started to form on my feet which would later become blisters.
The long descent finally abated and I arrived at check point 3 at the bottom of Box Hill. I was one of the slowest runners of the day, but I wanted to be fastest through this aid station. I got my crotch scanned, refilled my bottles, grabbed some fruit from the table and ran off towards the stepping stones crossing. Not even a banterific yell of "Those are some absolutely delightful gaiters, by the way" could deter my focus.
A quick hop across the stepping stones, and my mum was waiting for me at the top of Box Hill for me (crews weren't allowed at the bottom). She seemed to really be enjoying the day, the weather and the views, which I was really happy about. She was spending her entire day helping me through the race, and I'd have felt really guilty if she had a really boring day out crewing me round a track or something. She had another burrito for me along with some gels that I'd take with me this time.
---
The next six miles were a real low point for me. I had run this section of the course before a few times, so I knew it really well; but I'd never felt this bad while doing it. It's mostly through woodland trail, but there are stairs every 20 yards which makes it impossible to get into any kind of rhythm. Tree roots, dry river beds, rocks, slanted paths and sharp stones are what this section is about. And to top it all off, it ends with a slog up Reigate Hill. My legs were really aching, and weird little niggles were annoying me in places where they shouldn't.
Up until Reigate Hill I'd run most of the race by myself. But on the way up I was caught by two guys running together. Both agreed that Reigate Hill was worse than Box Hill. One guy looked like he was about to keel over and die, and he asked me if I had any spare water. I'd always assumed it was an unspoken rule that you never ask someone else for water in a race - after all, we're all running our own races as efficiently as possible - so a request for water could results in a kind runner slowing himself down because of the poor planning of another runner. I'd never ask for water - I'd only accept it if it was offered. But by the looks of this guy, he was really in a bad way. I also briefly considered how guilty I'd feel if I didn't help him out and he went on to suffer heat stroke or worse. Besides, I was fairly sure it was only half a mile or so to Reigate Hill, aid station 4.
I gave him the rest of my water and we chatted for a minute or two. I like chatty people in races. I'm probably one of the guys in a race who quiet people hate running with. I just like being friendly when I run, and there were a few 'silent' types on the course whose quietness I made sure not to mistake for rudeness. Different folks, different strokes.
---
What occurred next can only be considered karma. Within 2 minutes of my water donation, I started to feel amazing. I felt a surge of positivity and my legs felt as light as air. With 30 miles on the clock, I had no reason to feel like this, so I was naturally slightly concerned. However, I took what was given to me, and kicked on towards the aid station.
I think that I'd finally caught up on my eating and recovered from the lack of breakfast. My energy levels were finally adequate enough to run properly.
I covered a mile in what felt like seconds - it might have been as low as 8 minutes, which for me, was either an amazing time or complete suicide. I wasn't sure which at that stage, but I was enjoying running well for the first time that day, and I wasn't going to waste it by dawdling along through a runner's high.
My mum awaited me at Reigate Hill where I changed my socks and stuffed another burrito in my bum bag. I changed my cap for a water-soaked buff and stuffed a few more gels in my pouch. I said a brief "hello" to the aid station volunteers. One guy said he was going to be sweeping the course - and he wouldn't be leaving the check point until 45 minutes' time. That meant that I'd added 15 more minutes between myself and the cut off! With that great news ringing in my ears, I pushed on.
I trundled out of the aid station and down the other side of Reigate Hill still feeling great. I walked for a few minutes with a guy who was running the event in Luna sandals. He told me of some amazing adventures he'd had over the past few years in the ultra world - the highlight was the Caballo Blanco Ultra Marathon in Mexico. The temptation was to carry on walking down Reigate Hill while this chap regaled me with tales of simpler times and simpler races. He stubbed his exposed toe a few more times on the hard ground, and with that, I pushed on pain-free in my nicely padded Altra Lone Peaks trying not to look as smug as I felt.
My Altras. Image courtesy of Runblogger.com.
The smugness was also due to my amazing mood, which didn't seem to abate even after the course flattened out. The temperature was still high, but my buff was keeping me cool, and I just seemed to be floating around the course. I was worried that maybe I was just about to die, and this feeling of euphoria was just a result of my body going mad. But I cruised on in this dream like state, enjoying myself more than any run before. I must have passed about 30 people in an hour. We've all had dreams where no matter how fast we run, nothing hurts and no energy is spent. This is how I felt. I was desperately hoping I wasn't just about to wake up and find this amazing feeling was just another running dream. But it continued.
One pair of runners who I passed too quickly asked, "Is that guy in the race?" - "No, he can't be..."
At this stage I had run further than I'd ever run before. The distance seemed entirely make-believe; and combined with the fact that I felt like a video game character, I kept pinching myself.
I knew I would meet my crew near Oxted Downs where I could change into dry socks and refill my bottles. On the way down to Oxted, I could see a chap about 500 yards ahead of me. Due to the fact I was feeling so good, I decided to see if I could catch him before I changed my socks. There was no good reason to do this other than the fact that it was fun. I had never actually raced anyone else in an ultra before - so I decided to make the most of feeling good and pretend I was Sage Canaday at Transvulcania. It was terrific fun, but I would come to regret it later. (I did manage to overtake him though. Ha! Sucker.)
I took longer than I wanted to change my socks, longer than I wanted to refill my bottles, and fell over while I put my gaiters back on. I grazed my arm and thought the world was about the end. (Spoiler: It did not.)
Just before falling off my chair. My first ever ultra-hissy-fit.
I pressed on, trying to chase the guy who I'd worked so hard to overtake. Seven miles of the course went by in what felt like 10 minutes. I reached the top of the hill near Caterham - a beautiful field full of yellow flowers - and an overwhelming feeling of happiness flooded over me. I thought about how lucky I was that so many people were helping me complete this endeavour - from my crew of 1 to all the volunteers - and how lucky I was that my partner willingly put up with my year-round training. I suddenly became certain that I would finish this race. As the sun shone down on me, I felt like Mother Nature was giving me energy, embracing me with her warm rays of sun, and blessing my endeavour. In what was one of my most spiritual of moments, I nearly even felt like a contributor on iRunFar.
I stopped, turned around and looked back down the hill I'd just ascended. I knew this would be the best I would feel all day. I was full of energy, positive in mind, making great progress, and my legs felt fresh.
After 20 minutes, I emerged from a nice wooded path to find myself at Caterham aid station. I thought I still had a few more miles to go. In between mouthfuls of banana, I asked about the cutoff, and thanks to my crazy speed (well, 'speed' is relative here), I had added 30 minutes between myself and the cutoff. I now had 1.15 until the sweeper would set off. I felt invincible.
I started to believe that I could hammer the remaining 12 miles out in no time at all. After all, what is 12 miles but a puny half marathon? I had just run three of those! I could probably smash a half marathon in about 2 hours at this pace!
I continued on towards the final aid station still feeling great. I can't really remember much about the course to Botley Hill. There was obviously a large hill, and I do remember slowing down slightly. It wasn't because I felt tired, but my feet were starting to feel quite raw. I'd never suffered from running blisters before, so wasn't entirely sure if the hot spots between my toes were blisters or not.
I reached Botley Hill and only wanted to make a quick pit stop. I mashed some bananas into my face while perching painfully on the edge of a deck chair to adjust my beautiful gaiters. I drank some gu tablet mixed in water, and there were even tomatoes at the aid station. Everything I needed. The aid station crew here were quite amazing. They refilled my bottles, told me how close I was to the finish ("very close", they assured me), and enthusiastically cheered me out of the aid station. One guy pumped a fist in the air while shouting, "Go on 198! Go on!!!!" It's things like this which really help during a race, and it really motivated me. I was spurred on for another mile after Botley Hill.
Then my feet really started to hurt.
---
I was trying to work out how much left I had to run, and judging my the course profile on my arm, I reckoned I had a maximum of 5 miles to go. Another runner's GPS watch had 45 miles on the clock, so I figured I could just slog out the final hour. I ditched the contents of one water bottle, figuring it would just slow me down.
However, despite having nothing else to do but to work out far I still had to go, I completely miscalculated. I had around 7.5 miles left, and it was not as flat as my arm's elevation profile let on. Hills which are relatively flat compared to Box Hill certainly look flat on an elevation profile; but in real life, they are very difficult.
A long tree-lined descent was very uncomfortable on my feet. I started to feel low on energy and my legs started to hurt. My moment of glory was coming to an end. The rest of the race for me would be very slow indeed.
I hadn't recced the final part of the course, which only added to my woes. I was following the NDW signposts as carefully as possible, and there was nobody in sight ahead of me to follow.
I found myself in a weird field with no obvious path cutting through the grass and no gate leading out of the field. I couldn't see any course markers either. It seemed like a dead end. The only thing in the field were cows. Lots of cows. I hate cows. Cows hate me. The cows ran at me, and I tried to run away. I ran to the edge of the field and tried to look like a bush, which seemed to stop their attack. I did a sweep of the field's perimeter only to find that I'd missed an obvious gate out of the field which was behind a tree. I stepped in four thousand cow pats and finally escaped from the field.
Only to find myself in another similar field - except the only difference was that there was an additional bull in this one. The bull hated me even more than the cows did, and began charging. I desperately searched my brain for any tips I'd heard in the past about how to deal with a charging bull. Where was Lindley with his cattle prod now? The only thing that came to mind was a bull fighter's cape, which I didn't have, so I tried to 'run' away again. It worked. Again. Phew.
Two other gents in the race who were speed walking by this stage passed me. "I fucking hate cows," one said. It made me feel like less of a wimp, but did not help the feeling of my feet.
The course to the finish is field after field, which I hadn't anticipated. Gone was the soft, flat woodland trail of before; I was walking very delicately across the interminable uneven, hardened mud.
I had decided there and then that I would walk out the rest of the race. My exact observation was, "I have run enough today." Even now, I can't fault the argument.
An hour ago before this thought, I reckoned I was in with a shot of a sub-12 hour finish. Hopes of achieving that evaporated faster than the remaining water in my bottle. I found myself walking for what felt like hours - because it was hours. I was tired - sleepy tired. I wanted to sit down and have a kip. I felt low on energy, but tired of gels. I was a bit dehydrated due to foolishly ditching my water. It was getting dark and I didn't have the energy to get my head torch out. My hands started to go numb, and I was getting chilly. I had offloaded my gloves earlier.
All that said, I wasn't feeling too bad. After all, I was a mere couple of miles away from completing my first proper ultra. Not even stepping in 300 cow pats could take that away from me.
---
301 cow pats later, I was still walking through fields. The course just didn't seem to end. It always surprises me how much slower walking is than running. But eventually the finish line came into sight. I had heard that it was a "false finish", and that I'd have to loop round the field and come back to the finish line, so it wasn't too disheartening for me as I ran past the finish on my left and rounded a huge field.
Walking into the finish
However, I quickly became aware that the cutoff was approaching. I'd been 45 minutes ahead of the cut off about 7 miles ago, and I only had 20 minutes now until the finish line cutoff. I managed to break into a slow jog down the final road to Knockholt Pound, turned a few corners, where I found my mum cheering for me. She jogged up the path with me towards the finish line as I walked over the finish line.
Final crotch scan
---
Before the race, my goal had been "not to finish too last". I finished sixth last. I'm not too sure what to make of that, but I don't really care. It just gives me something to beat next year.
My partner is expecting our first child in June, and it really excites me that if I run the race again next year, I'll be returning with my mum, my partner and our daughter.
Thanks, Mum. (Image copyright Centurion Running.)
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