10/08/2017

NDW100: This time a bit further

Scene: A crap runner at NDW100

When: Two years ago - August 2015


Where: In a dark field, far, far away.


Scene: The crap runner lies down in a hedge and proceeds to get mild hypothermia.


Runner tells his pacer: "I will withdraw from this race. But I will come back stronger. I will train hard, and I will return." [Pacer turns to stare wistfully off into the distance.]


Cue determined Rocky-style training montage that lasts for exactly two years.


Scene: It is two years later. Runner says to nobody in particular: "Wow, that was really hard. But I am fitter now. I can also use italics inappropriately in blog posts. Hooray."


This is what led me to NDW100 in 2017. I was nervous because I knew how much it could hurt, but excited to test my new level of fitness against the same course that completely destroyed me.



At the start line of NDW100


The first half (KM 0 - 80)

I've done the first 50 miles of this course a few times, so it felt like I was just waiting for mile 51 to come around so the 'real' race could start. That said, here's a summary of the great or weird things from the first 50 miles:

The first thing of note happened when I was overtaken by a competing runner at KM10 who was smoking a cigarette. That was a first - at any distance.

At KM20 I met another runner called Ollie who is in the army. He recounted various army training exercises he'd done recently, from early morning press ups in the sea at the beach, to week-long full-day hikes with 60KG of gear. I passed time learning new army slang ('nailed' is means 'tough', and 'kit pig' is someone who can't organise their kit efficiently). I was sad to see that he didn't end up finishing the race. Presumably not due to lack of training - or lack of kit organisation.


Only on ultras can you chat to a stranger for a few hours and become best mates

On the note of strangers, Ollie and I came across a man (not in the race) who was sat at the top of a hill in a puddle. He had the facial expression of  Humpty Dumpty, and seemed to be in quite some pain. Ollie had some basic medical training, and asked him if he was okay. He said "No... the army is controlling my spine... with radio waves". This seemed weird,  as Ollie did not seem to have a remote control in his hand, but who knows what clever kit he had in that huge organised army bag of his.


Smiling - still feeling good early on

From Box Hill (KM40), the day started to get really warm. I dumped a few litres of water over my head. The weather gods must have noticed, so they sent two huge thunder storms to dump water all over the rest of me in an attempt to freeze me to death. I spent the next few torrential hours trying to keep warm and dry. In ultras, sometimes all you can do is try.


Just after it started to chuck it down

I only learnt at that morning that my coach Lindley Chambers and his partner Maxine Lock would follow me around the course to give me supplies and support. It was an amazingly kind thing to do.

That said, Lindley seemed to enjoy having a go at me all day, so who am I to deny him fun. "Get a move on", "stop milking it", "you're not finished yet" were some of his favourite phrases for the day.


Still feeling good

I enjoyed counting down to my arrival at the half way point: Knockholt Pound aid station (mile 50, KM80). It was an interesting experience arriving at Knockholt Pound without feeling completely spent. In fact, I'd go as far as saying I felt pretty good.

How that would soon change.

Kilometres 80-100

I was really pumped to meet my first pacer Jonny. I always have a laugh with Jonny, and between mile 50 and 60 we told shit jokes and made fun of crap cows. I managed the best running of the day between those miles. Not recklessly fast, but certainly banking some time for later, which would turn out to be handy.

We suspected we'd missed a turn at one stage, and Jonny went back to find out where we went wrong. I asked a passing cab driver if he knew if we were on the North Downs Way. He said "your lot come out of that field over there, mate". I waited for Jonny to return, and we went back to continue running with 'our lot'.

The miles went quickly in the remaining daylight. Before I knew it, the sun had gone down and I was saying bye to Jonny and hello to Lindley.

Kilometres 100-130

Lindley turned out to be exactly the sort of pacer I needed in the night section. He kept me focused on the task at hand and made sure I stayed on top of eating and drinking so that I didn't end up slowing down or getting ill/cold during the small hours of night.


Heading into the darkness

When the temptation was strong to sit around at checkpoints drinking tea, he reminded me to get a move on; and when I started to get cold, he reminded me about wearing the correct kit. Basically, he looked after me like I was a 2-year-old.

I reached the point where I had last year dropped out of the race alongside my pacer Tony. It was a railway bridge at mile 73 or so, and I stopped before crossing it. "This is where I dropped out last year! Every step is now the furthest I've ever run." Lindley looked back at me as if the only milestone I was about to reach was getting slapped by him for being too melodramatic and wasting time. We waddled up the dark hill instead, quietly breaking records with every footstep - as undramatically as possible.

I got past Holly Hilly checkpoint (mile 75 / 120KM) and the sleep gremlins started to creep in. It was approaching 3AM and I started to get the urge to lie down and sleep. I started seeing some things that I knew weren't there: loads of mice running around in circles, and at one point a baby sat in a puddle. I remember thinking at the time "I would take tiredness over severe pain any day". I would end up having both.

To stave off the sleep demons I put on some music from my phone. I sang to some songs and tried to enjoy myself. Lindley complained of my singing later, but I think he was secretly enjoying it and a little bit jealous of my superior falsetto capabilities - especially during the crescendo sections of several songs by The Feeling.

From mile 70 onwards, my quads started to get quite sore from the constant pounding. Running became quite difficult, and my pace started to drop.

Kilometres 130-140

I reached the final big aid station at Detling (mile 82 / KM130) at some time during the night. I don't really know when - I was too sleepy to check. I'd been having issues with my GPS watch all day; one died early, the next lost GPS signal at some point, and then I paused it by accident.

I was also a couple of hours behind my ideal schedule. That said, I'd managed to build up a nice cushion of time for me to eat into for the rest of the race, so I wasn't at immediate risk of missing the cutoffs at checkpoints. I just needed to keep moving forwards at a brisk walking pace to ensure I finished.

To help me with the task at hand was my highly qualified pacer: my brother Marc.

To work against me was the dreadful hills after Detling aid station. I'd had dreams about those hills in recent weeks, and they turned out to be as much of a nightmare in real life. Plus the ground was all wet from the earlier rain we'd had, so the stairs were slippery. The terrain is either straight up or straight down for 5KM, and there are trees that surround the trail so you feel like you're running through a cave. Compounded with this was the fact that it was still night time, and navigating by headtorch. My headtorch had started to go flat, and I couldn't be arsed to get my spare out, so I plodded along in semi-darkness navigating a tunnel by what felt like candle light.

Marc paced me at last year's race, and got me from mile 50 to 70 - fuelled by encouragement and coke fumes alone. It was pretty much the same formula this year, except I was eating and drinking more this time. Newsflash: It turns out that consuming calories is helpful for running long distances. Who knew?

From Detling onwards, my quads were completely dead, and going up/down hills and stairs was really painful. It wasn't a show-stopper though, and I plugged away slowly. It took us about 2 hours to cover 8 kilometres, a gruellingly slow pace. We were passed by a dozen runners every hour or so, as well as a few passing snails.

It was a major relief when we emerged from the tree-covered section to find ourselves on a lovely hill with a view of dawn breaking. A line of sheep made their way past us serenely in the pink daylight. It didn't help me stay awake, but was very pretty. We trudged down to the town of Hollingbourne (mile 86 / KM 140).


Wooly sunrise

Kilometre 140

Lindley and Maxine were waiting for us at Hollingbourne. Lindley was getting some well-deserved sleep following his pacing duties, and I felt a bit bad when Marc and I came along and woke him up. "Go get it boys" he said. So we did.

The terrain from Hollingbourne to the finish is mostly stony paths. Compared to the rest of the race, people use words like "rolling" and "flat" and "downhill" to describe it. At mile 86 of this particular race, I would have described it as "mostly uphill" and "treacherously rocky underfoot" and "not as advertised".

I had mostly clocked off by this section. I was a zombie, just trying to move forward and not think about how many hours more I had before the finish.

On the other hand, Marc had a lot to keep in mind. He had to continually do time/pace calculations to make sure we weren't getting too slow ("this lap needs to be faster, let's jog until that puddle"). He also had to make sure I wasn't eating/drinking properly to avoid hypoglycaemia  ("Have you eaten anything in the last ten minutes? Go on, have a bit of Clif bar"). He also had to keep my spirits up by talking about fun things and putting on music that we could sing along to.

We met a guy called Chris around this point, and serenaded him with our best rendition of some Tenacious D songs. If Lindley was there, he'd have probably jumped off a ledge. Chris seemed pleased to be part of a determined band of runners (despite the singing), and we tried to pass the time and lift our spirits with uplifting talk of the good things that awaited us at the finish line.


Rocking it with Chris

To be honest though, at this stage my race had completely fallen apart. I don't remember much of what happened from mile 90 onwards. I think there was an aid station at mile 91, but don't remember passing through it. I'm not even sure if we stopped.

I had been seriously struggling to get food down for the past ten miles. Everything was dry in my mouth, and it took me ten minutes to eat one biteful of anything. Nothing appealed. I couldn't even drink coke without feeling sick. My stomach had shut up shop for the day - at mile 98.


Nothing left

At this point I had completely run out of energy. Motivation wasn't even a factor at this point, I didn't need motivation to move forward because a) I was so close to the finish that I could smell it, b) Marc was giving me no choice but to move forward anyway.

But when your muscles run out of energy, there's nothing you can do except fall over. So that's what I did. Marc tried to get me up, but I just lay there with my face in the dirt and cried. "Oh god I hate this stupid fucking race", I remember screaming. "I feel like I'm going to die, I can't feel any worse, there's no way I can finish. Oh god. Call an ambulance. Oh god."

It all just felt so unfair that my stomach had given up five miles from the finish. I remember thinking that if that pesky race director James Elson had just made a 100 mile race that was actually 100 miles, I would be able to at least crawl to the finish on my hands and knees. But the race is 103 miles. God damn him, and god damn this race.

Then everything became quiet and peaceful. I passed out.

I woke up and realised where I was. I wished I could pass out again so I didn't have to face the task at hand. Instead, I threw up on Marc's shoes. "Come on, we need to get you to the finish. We don't have time to stop." He was right. And I wanted to get up so badly - but just couldn't.

Some runners passed us and asked if we were okay. Marc assured them he had the situation under control. He got me into the recovery position and told me to just get myself to the next aid station which was just round the corner. Instead, I threw up again.

For the first time in hours though, I wasn't feeling sick anymore. It was a major relief. That said, the very real problem of hypoglycemia was still present - there was simply no energy in my body to propel me forwards. And I couldn't face the prospect of eating or drinking.

Marc wrapped me in a foil blanket to prevent me getting cold, and managed to get me to my feet and press on shakily towards the checkpoint at mile 98. An aid station volunteer came out to meet us to ask if we were the runners in need of medical assistance. Marc said "No not at all! We were just resting." I said as little as possible, except give him a thumbs up. He must have known I was in a pretty bad way though, as I was walking along with a foil blanket wrapped around me and dirt/puke was plastered to the entire right side of my face.

We passed the aid station and wandered through some corn fields. My stomach was still turning and I couldn't regulate my body temperature anymore. We were moving impossibly slowly, and I wasn't able to predict whether or not I would finish. It all depended on whether I could eat something in the next hour.


Trying to recharge

I lied down again out of necessity, with the additional hope of getting some blood to my vital organs in order to feel better. It worked temporarily, but then I had to lie down half a mile down the trail. At this rate of progress, I would certainly miss the cutoff.


Running on fumes - superman space blanket

I lied down a third time, and got up again. I realised a few minutes later that I'd left my glasses on the grass a few hundred yards back. Marc ran back and got them. While he was gone, I checked my food bag and found some orange segments. I put one in my mouth and it tasted good. I chewed it and swallowed. It went down. And stayed down.

My legs started to move more quickly, and I felt better within seconds. I suddenly felt euphoric. I was eating! Oh christ, at last I was bloody eating. I had another piece of orange, and another, then the whole orange. I realised at that moment that I could finish the race.


After some food

My partner and our daughter called me on the phone at that exact moment and I nearly lost it. I was a complete physical, mental and emotional wreck. "I'm going to the finish line! I'm going to make it", I told my 3 year old daughter. "Well done dad you can do it!"

Marc returned with my glasses, and he admitted to being surprised that I hadn't collapsed on the floor in a pile after he left.

We plodded happily along, doing some quick calculations to make sure we hadn't left too little time. We calculated that I'd finish in 29 hours and 45 minutes - 15 minutes inside the cutoff of 30 hours.

The realisation that I was about to finish the race was completely overwhelming at that point. I was happy, but couldn't really understand how significant the achievement was in the bigger picture. I'd been training hard for two full years, but could only think about sitting down after the finish. As we walked down the road to the Julie Rose stadium in Ashford, I would have probably even shed a tear of happiness - were I not so dehydrated.

We went into the stadium and saw Lindley and Maxine by the track. They waved happily, and Lindley pointed to his watch as if to say "come on, you haven't finished yet".


Felt like a strange dream

I did the slowest jog of all time round the track, and Marc and I saw the clock on the stadium wall. We laughed at the ridiculousness of coming in 15 minutes before the cutoff of a 30 hour race.

It was indeed ridiculous.

And it was finished.

Finally.


Marc, me, Lindley, Maxine. Not pictured: Jonny

Post-script

My quads struggled towards the end, but that was to be expected. Aside from that, my legs were absolutely great all day. In fact, my legs have only taken a couple of days to recover. What let me down was my stomach. It's a difficult thing to emulate in training, but I need to practice getting better at eating on long runs.

I don't know what this finish means for my running. I love the 50 mile distance, and the 100 mile distance was too much for me. I can't fathom doing it regularly, and I'm not sure I'd enjoy it if I was better at it. I wouldn't mind sticking to 50 miles and shorter for a while before deciding whether or not to return to the 100 mile distance.

With a Western States qualifying race under my belt, I'll put my name into the lottery for that. The chances I'll get in are nearly zero, so there's not too much risk of me actually having to do it!

Race stats

Finish time: 29hrs 44m 30s
Cut off: 30 hours
Rank: 145th out of 147 finishers
178 runners started the race (36% drop out rate)
Number of runners that completed the last aid station to the finish slower than me: 1
Strava 1 / Strava 2
Official race report
Official finish results

Thank yous

Thanks go to Lindley Chambers of Challenge Running for the top coaching over the past two years. Were my physical condition not so much better than 2 years ago, I would have definitely dropped out again. Thank you for putting up with me in the night time section, too.

Thanks to Lindley and Maxine for driving around the course to support me. It was an amazingly kind gesture, especially from Maxine who I had never met before that day.

Thanks to Jonny for driving a six hour round trip to pace me for three hours. The promise of mega-bants got me through the first 50 miles with something to look forward to. The time we made between mile 50 and 60 was absolutely vital for later in the race.

Thanks to Marc for pacing me through what is probably the most difficult 20 miles I will ever run. Without him pacing me, I would have definitely dropped out before the finish. You're the perfect pacer. Especially when times are tough!

Thanks to my lovely partner, my daughter, and my mum for encouraging me in my running and helping me find time to train while juggling the rest of life.

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