In 2014 I ran 13h 13m, and the following year I shaved off over nearly two hours to finish in 11h 30m. For a year I've been working hard with coach Lindley Chambers of Challenge Running, and my goal for the 2017 race, secretly, was to finish inside the top 50. Looking at results of previous races, I figured that a sub 10 hour time would be needed - maybe even as low as 9.30. My training had been going so well over the past few months that these times seemed possible, if not entirely probable.
The first half of the race ("the fast half") started well enough: I missed the start of the race. To be fair, most runners missed the start too. The walk down from the location of the race registration to the start of the trail is intersected by a railway crossing. The barriers came down right in front of me (and about 70 other runners) and by the time I had gone over the bridge and walked over to the start, everyone had run off. I'd actually had recurring nightmares about this very occurrance for weeks before the race, but I was too preoccupied with trying to covertly lather my groin with bodyglide to let it bother me too much.
The race is underway.
In London, many folks moan about how unfriendly and rude people are. At races, I tend to find the opposite; I get annoyed about how lovely and friendly everyone is. I end up chatting to every Tom Jeff and Jill on the course, and before I know it, I know the names and star signs of all their pets, and my race strategy is half way out the window. The same thing happened this year. I tried to regain composure and I tore myself away from the too-lovely-runners, and tried to muster my terse inner Londoner. Every time someone ran past me, I tutted and elbowed them in the face, which seemed to work.
I was trying to get to the half way point of Box Hill aid station in about four hours. To achieve this, my strategy was:
- Don't be afraid to push a bit too hard or be out of breath.
- Jog up gentle hills. I've never done that before. It felt naughty.
- Don't mess around at aid stations. Ask aid station peeps to fill up my bottles while I put food into a zip lock bag and then hightail it out of there. At CP1 I even forgot to say "thanks" to the aid station peeps. It made me sad.
Waving to the camera man to make up for my rudeness at CP1.
Trying to look fast.
There was an added complication thrown into the first half of the race: the fact that a completely different race was taking place on the North Downs Way... at the exact same time... in the opposite direction. So for about half an hour, there was complete chaos as two races forced their ways past each other. At one point, I was practically forced off the trail by two oncoming runners who refused to run in single file. At another point, I moved to the side of the trail to allow someone to pass me, but in doing so I tripped on a tree root and went flying down the trail upside down. Luckily the only outcome was two bloody elbows, so I carried on undeterred.
I got to Box Hill ten minutes behind schedule - 4 hours and 10 minutes. The day was hotting up, and I knew that running too slowly was the least of my concerns. I didn't want to provoke the anger of the heatstroke gods, so I took my time at Box Hill aid station and drank my bodyweight in coke. I also tried Tailwind for the first time, and was underwhelmed by the effects - perhaps unfairly so.
Carrying my picnic over the stepping stones.
My strategy for the second half of the race was:
- Hold on for dear life.
When I told Coach Lindley of this strategy, he seemed a little upset that I didn't have more faith in his expertise. "Believe in your training", he urged. So I believed.
At mile 35 I had a huge lift when I saw Lindley who had come out to support. "Looking good Kris!", he said while high fiving me. Buoyed by this, I ran the next few miles probably a bit too hard. Mile 38 is Caterham aid station, and I knew I could take a minute to refuel and rehydrate properly before continuing the last half marathon to the finish. I was still on for a sub 10 hour finish - and maybe 9.30 at a push.
However, it was at this precise point that my race started to fall apart. I took my aid station strategy too seriously and left in such haste that I forgot my two water bottles. Luckily, I realised my mistake just a few minutes after leaving the aid station, so I ran back and picked them up. In all my speedy strategising, I had probably cost myself more time than I had saved at aid stations all day in one silly mistake. The military slogan 'Slow Is Smooth; Smooth Is Fast' came to mind.
A mere two miles later at mile 40, I was too busy cursing my water bottle mistake to fully pay attention to where I was going. While trying to calculate splits in my head, I became aware of the road beneath my feet that had recently been beautifully tarmacked. "Oh, they must have paved this road since the last race!", I cheerfully commented to myself. "Oh, that's a nice view, too! Maybe the view is new, too!"
By now you will have realised, as did I, that I had gone off course. I knew I couldn't be too far off the trail, and I was fairly sure that the trail was to my left up a hill which was covered with dense bushes and trees. Despite the obstructive greenery, I made an attempt to climb the hill (think Barkley Marathons terrain, but more overgrown and with more sharp things) to find the trail. I couldn't get more than about 20 metres before I became so heavily entangled in the hedge that the worry of finding the course became secondary to worry that I'd never detangle myself and that I would have to survive on rations of 300ml tailwind and 2 strawberry flavoured energy gels for the rest of my very short, prickly life.
Alas, I freed myself, drawing a little more blood from my arms in the process. I cursed at myself yet again as I jogged back up the road to find the turning which I had missed. It was only half a kilometre away, and the sign was as plain as could be. "Never mind", I thought, "it could always be worse." And then it was.
At mile 40 my legs decided that they didn't want to play running anymore, so they stopped. My groin, hip flexors, calf muscles, quads, hamstrings, shins, and foot muscles all cramped up at once. I dropped to the floor and yelled in pain. I became aware of the fact that my little performance was being witnessed by a lady who was supporting runners with her three young children. The youngest came bounding up to me enthusiastically cheering me on while I lay there prone on the ground. Thanks, kiddo. I recovered after a few seconds, and tried to give him a high five, but then I got cramp in my neck, so I just ignored him and carried on. Sorry, kiddo.
A few minutes later, I saw my coach Lindley again. The memory of seeing him a few miles before seemed a long time ago. I was so hopeful back then. I had everything to live for. Now I had forgotten all notions of finishing times, and I was instead just wondering if the NHS covers the cost of helicopter rescues. Would Centurion Running pay for prosthetic legs if mine fell off? Would they chip in for my funeral if I got tangled in another hedge forever?
All exageration aside, I was having a pretty grim time, and wasn't feeling all that terrific. "The wheels have fallen off" I moaned to Lindley. "Put them back on, you look fine, come on, you're doing great!", he replied. I quickly realised that I was having a bit of a silly pitty party, and with Lindley's help I snapped out of it. There was no denying the existence of my cramp, or the fact that sub-10 hours was now off the cards, but I reminded myself that I could still enjoy myself regardless.
Soon after seeing Lindley. Going down the steps shortly after. Photo credit: Jon Lavis.
Just before the final aid station, fellow running buddy (Twitter pal? Ultra chum? Race colleague? I'm not sure what we are) Conrad Wild came bounding up behind me. "My race is over!" I moaned again. "Oh yeah, same here! Mine finished all the way back at Box Hill." Oh. I was a little deflated by this; he out-despaired me in a single sentence. Nevertheless, we briefly shared war stories from our day and hiked together for a few minutes. As people started passing us, Conrad excused himself and left me behind, looking infuriatingly energetic as he half bounded, half sprinted off ahead of me. Again, this filled me with hope. If he was suffering as much as me, maybe I could also pretend to be energetic. I did my best gazelle impression, but settled for a slow jog.
The final aid station came and went without incident; and shortly after, the ten hour mark came and went - equally uneventfully. I half waddled / half jogged towards the finish line with jelly legs and a loose sense of achievement held together with some old string that I found holding together a kissing gate. On the other side of the kissing gate was a horse who tried to give me a french kiss. I politely declined, and before I knew it, I was running up the finishing straight.
Goofy finishing grin. Photo by Lindley.
My final time was 10 hours and 20 minutes. Still 70 minutes quicker than my previous effort, despite a less than perfect race. I'd say there's even wiggle room for another realistic PB attempt next year! All I have to do is not go off course. I missed my 'top 50' ranking goal, too - I finished 102nd. But it was a quick year, and a finish time of nearer 9 hours would have been needed to get top 10, so I can't really complain there either.
Another ultra friend Ilsuk Han was volunteering at the finish line - he patted me on the back and said "You're the poster boy for the race!". I only found out later that Centurion had used my photo from the 2015 race as the social media pic announcing this year's live race tracking:
Please send all sponsorship requests to my agent.
Lindley was there cheering as I crossed the finish line, and as I stopped moving for the first time in ten hours, I realised that I couldn't stand still without falling backwards. Lindley helped me limp across the field and sat me down and fed me thick sugary tea.
Informing family that I am alive
He debriefed me and reminded me it was still a great time. In his Facebook post he proudly stated "Kris (coaching client) NDW50 finished. A little over 10 hours (time TBC) top work mate really well done great result and a new 50mile PB. Roll on NDW100."
Oh, yeah. I nearly forgot. NDW100 in August.
Aw, shit.
Strava link of race
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