Brecon Ultra 40 – 7th
December 2013
Race description
This race was the fourth event in the MightContainNuts 1-day
ultra-series. I am happy to announce I did not participate in the other three. This
was the best organised event I have undertaken to date, with the team running
it being enthusiasts in the sport, and that showed through. Only one gripe
being the medals running out. It was reported to be a 41 mile event. In the
Brecons in a circular route starting from Talybont, with the highest point
close to pen-y-fan reaching an altitude of 700m at 28 miles. Overall there
would be 2100m of climbing.
To start this blog I need to shift back in time to the
Winter of 2012/13. Our family had spent three months in Asia visiting family
and travelling. During this time I had the opportunity to train almost daily in
the mountains, including some mountainous marathon length training runs. On
return I was probably the fittest I had ever been. Soon after I was to get my
highest ever finish position, equal first place in the Bath Beat, an off-road
marathon with plenty of ascent. I wasn’t fast; it was just that on that day
there didn’t happen to be any good runners, with the only one ahead pulling up
before the end. It was luck but that didn’t matter to me, it was a feeling of
accomplishment knowing that I could still go faster. At that stage I thought I
had a great season ahead of me, and had room for improvement. Just over 50 now,
so I was in for some M50 trophies.
That all came to an abrupt end and is history. Now fast
forward three months to 28th July 2013, following a forced three
month break from running. A good start straight back in with a very tough off-road
marathon, The Bath Running Festival. An hour slower than hoped for, but in the
situation with no training, a satisfactory result. The Cheddar Gorge marathon
next, with an even tougher course and half hour behind schedule, but general
improvement in fitness detected. This was the stage at which I put in for The
Brecon Ultra 40, a 42 mile race with 2100m of ascent. I would have postponed
entering until my readiness was at a more advanced stage, but then this race
provided two qualifying points for the TDS Mont Blanc race which I had long had
my eye on. Therefore it was a no brainer. I parted with my money and was in.
Anyway I had 4 months to prepare for it. It was going to be a breeze.
Training peak
For the next couple of months it was regular training
inter-mixed with the normal hilly long runs and occasional off-road marathon, together
with a 33 mile recce of the Imber Ultra, all purposely at ultra marathon pace. This
would later prove to be my peak following my three month break. However it seemed
all well and good at the time with 8 weeks to go.
Over Training
That was mid-October and The Talibont Trail, a 20 mile run
with 1500m of ascent was next. This was the perfect run to test out my
readiness, being in the same locality and with some running sections in common
with the Brecon Ultra. I planned to do it in 5 hours allowing for a remarkably
conservative 15 minute/mile pace. I wasn't going to be racing it, more
run/walk, checking I have plenty left in me at the end of it, thus giving me
huge confidence for the big day. In reality this went disastrously wrong. It
was an exceedingly tough event with 1500m ascent over 20 miles covering every
summit around Talybont Reservoir. Even with a mind bogglingly slow pace, I almost
felt I couldn't go on from mile 10, and in the end struggled to the finish in
over 6 hours. I was completely done for and wouldn't have made another mile. At
this stage I contemplated dropping out of Brecon.
For the next three weeks I felt completely exhausted and
lost the incentive to train. I forced myself to do a couple of 5K events, each
paced at slower than marathon pace and leaving me drained. I only managed one
longish 21 mile run and ended up walking half of it. I had reached the lowest
point in my running career (so I thought). I put it down to over training
syndrome. After some research on this, it looked like I would have to drop my
intensity of running for anything up to a year to recover. That wasn't very
helpful with now just 5 weeks to go for the big test. If I didn't now put in
one more sterling effort it would be two months without a big run before the
Brecon Ultra 40. I decided therefore to put in one last tester to prove one way
or the other as to whether I could make it in Brecon - The Broadway Marathon
the following week. Again another nice hilly off-road event.
T minus 4 weeks
'The Broadway
Marathon' was a race that deserved a 4:30 finish from me. However by 15 miles I
couldn't go on, and asked a fellow runner to send a car back from the next
checkpoint. Then my heart sunk as the road turned to trail and I realised there
would be no car - I would have to make my own efforts to get to the next
checkpoint 'just' 2 miles on. Even my walking effort was looking poorly. I
struggled to the next checkpoint which luckily was a mile closer than I had
noted. I immediately notified the marshal I was quitting which he had been for-warned,
and was offered a seat in his car until the back markers had passed, then could
get a lift to the finish. I wrapped myself up miserably in a blanket. This I
must admit was the true low in my running career - I had failed completely. I
couldn't believe I could be this exhausted going so slowly and after just a
short distance. I was then notified that the back markers were an hour back. I
was getting cold, and would have to wait another hour. I did a bit of quick
thinking and decided the better of the two bad options would be to walk on to
the next checkpoint 5 miles on at mile 21. That way I wouldn't suffer from the
cold and the backmarkers would be that much closer by then assuming they
weren't also walking. Cutting to the long and short of it, I walked the next 11
miles all the way to the end in third to last place, and dropped to the ground
on reaching the finish line, and stayed laid there on the ground for 10 minutes
before trying to lift my weary body.
Everything looked hopeless from here. There was no time for
further training and without a decent long run there wasn't much hope for
Brecon. It was too long to taper, and what base was I tapering from anyway?
I decided to completely rest for the next four weeks apart
from a few 3 or 4 milers to keep my legs turning over.
Last training run
Over the next couple of weeks things didn't get much better,
I was completely out of action for a week with the flu, and then twisted my
back. This just improved enough to allow me to enter The Bath Hilly Half. As I
had entered this one months ago I decided at the last minute to go along hoping
against hope that there would miraculously be some indicators of improvement. It
was only 13 miles so not a lot could be proved anyway but I felt it would split
my too long taper and somehow would thus help. In the past I’d always done
better on a two week taper. It wasn't to be the case; I was walking again much
earlier than before and finished near the back of the pack. It was now just T
minus 2 weeks.
What was I to do? I decided that I had to give Brecon a shot
or lose my qualifying points for TDS. If I had a go at it, and gave my best
effort and failed - well I would have tried. If I didn't try I would always be
wondering whether that slim possibility of pulling through it would have come
off...
New race plan
needed
I had worked out an almost failsafe strategy. I had a 14 hour
cut off to contend with, which was enough time for my plan. The race comprised
of approximately 20 miles up hill, 20 down, and 2 on the flat. I decided to
walk all the up hills, walk/run the flat, and run down the hills. This sounded
quite achievable. I figured I could quite easily do 10 minute miles down hills
(this part later proved very optimistic due to the terrain on some of the down hills
where picking a route through mud, slush, holes and stones/rocks slowed the
pace considerably, not to mention the associated zig zagging...). This way I
could finish in just over 12 hours with plenty of contingency. That was the
theory anyway. I would only focus on the next hill and not on the finish as it
is quite demoralising to work on percentage remaining or miles remaining when
it is such a huge distance. Previously I have set myself an average pace and
seen actual average constantly drop until the target is reached, after which
you know you will only slow further and further and the average drop and drop –
this is all rather negative and I wanted to avoid negative thoughts this time. With
a plan allowing for a slowing pace my running could slow whilst at the same
time possibly pick-up time according to the schedule.
Race Day
Slept at 11pm. 3:30am wakeup call. Had a good 8 hours sleep
the previous night so wasn't to bothered about tiredness. Felt quite buoyant
actually. Burned some porridge so filled up instead with toast, and was on my
way, just a two hour drive along the M4 then up through the Brecon National
Park.
Everything was looking as good as I could possibly ask for.
Even the weather forecast had changed from snow when it first appeared on the
10-day forecast, to cloud/drizzle and mild. At the race briefing we were told
the course was as dry as it had ever been (yes the majority was dry, but other
parts couldn't have been much wetter/boggier). On arrival I felt the four weeks
of virtual rest had paid off and I was eager to get on with the task at hand.
It was a fuss free start with parking permitted at
registration before heading off for the carpark 100m from the start. No getting
cold, no loss of energy walking this way and that. Nothing irritating so far.
Just sit in the car until near the off.
The Off
The gun was fired at 7:30am. It was still dark and head
torches were required for half an hour or so. Of a field of 250 I purposely
dropped towards the rear with about 30 or 40 behind me. That is where I wanted
to be now, and that it where I wanted to be at the end. No getting carried away
was the order of the day. The first half was crucial to success - too fast and
I knew I would blow up and then it was goodbye to my 2 TDS qualifying points.
12 hours was the rough plan and any slippage up to the 14 hour cut-off would be
just fine so long as it didn't get too close for comfort and propel me in to
panic mode. Being better prepared for the onslaught can be saved for another
day. Today was for finishing. My usual rule of keeping at least one runner
behind me can today be abandoned if necessary. Today I don't give a fig about
coming last, but I care very much about not DNFing.
Virtually straight away we were on to the first climb. I'd
calculated 20 minute miles up the hills at the start, and my comfortable
walking pace at the time was 15 minute miles. That was until we hit the styles.
There was of course a queue, but worse than that were the accompanied dogs.
These had to be carried over by the owners and seemed to take longer than
usual. I was already this early in to the race getting frustrated at not
moving. Moving slowly was fine as progress was being made, but standing still
was messing up my plan. Why didn’t the dog runners let others go ahead? Of
course now in retrospect I can see that it wasn't justified criticism, as they
were just taking their place in the queue and couldn't possibly wait for 250
runners to pass - it was just someone to aim my frustration on and dogs aren't
my best friends. There is always that decision to be made at the start - do I
go off near the front and avoid the first few bottlenecks, or go off steady to
preserve the energy stores for later. I opted for the later as a risk free
option, and was now regretting it. I only had myself to blame and what was the
setback - probably less than 3 minutes overall. This really wasn't going to
make an iota of difference in the grand scheme of things.
When it came to the down hills the 10 minute/mile planned
pace turned out to be very optimistic. This was due to the terrain on some of
the downhill’s where picking a route through mud, slush, holes and stones/rocks
without falling or twisting an ankle slowed the pace considerably, not to
mention the associated zig zagging...)
However despite these early problems, overall everything was
going pretty well to plan! I had a conservative pacing schedule and I was more
than matching it. All my nutrition for each hour was pre-planned and that was
also on schedule without any feelings of nausea. I decided to stick to my
pacing schedule quite rigidly, not falling behind, but allowing myself to go
ahead if the going was particularly easy (ha ha), or if a slower pace didn't
feel beneficial. For the first 10 miles I was banking time - a not to be
sniffed at 17 minutes to be precise. I was very pleased with this, particularly
as the terrain was extremely gnarly, to include vast bogs, sections of lose
uneven broken rock, minor river crossings, and virtual rivers along the pathways
where you had to continuously climb up and down the not so stable or level
embankments whenever they were available.
The easy bit
20 miles and everything going hunky dory. I had stuck to my
nutrition schedule of energy drink, energy bars, gels and biscuits. I had
gotten further than in any time in the last four months without hitting
trouble. I had now banked 50 minutes without any over exertion. The scenery was
mind boggling beautiful. The weather was perfect. The camaraderie remarkable
(even more so I think being at the back end of the field without the concern
for finish time) I was on cloud nine at this stage. It was almost too good to
be true. I can't say I wasn't suffering the usual, but I could still run at
will, all be it taking a bit of persuasion each time to get going after a
walking spell. The hills were very tough and relentless, but I was managing.
There was a lot of lifting the feet over small boulders and planning the next
foot fall which was a bit exhausting. However I was now nearer to an hour ahead
of schedule which gave me three hours of contingency to beat the cut-off. At
this stage I couldn't see anything stopping me get to the end.
First mishap
That was until I took a detour around a particularly boggy part,
carefully putting each foot on a clump of growth to lessen the sinking in of
the feet in to the sloshy bog beneath. My foot landed half in a hidden hole and
I went right over on my left foot and shrieked in pain. I stood on the spot for
a minute to just contemplate this incident and what to do now, and telling
myself off for such a stupid avoidable mistake. My ankle hurt in a way which I
knew was trouble from a few previous identical incidents on the same ankle. I
decided to test the foot praying the pain would suddenly subside. I walked very
slowly to assess the extent of the damage. It hurt but I could limp on. I
limped on with a slow walk for twenty minutes wondering what to do. I decided I
couldn't limp to the end but could possibly limp to the next checkpoint.
Luckily the terrain was now uphill for a good number of miles, which is much
preferable to down with this injury. Anyway luck was on my side and within 20
minutes the pain had lessened to a constant ache and to my relief I was soon
able to walk without a limp. Then I was able to break in to a slow plod and
realised the injury was not going to affect my outcome even if it did swell up
later which I suspected it would.
Another niggling but not yet too painful problem had been
bothering me for an hour or so - this was to do with my shoes. Two days before
the race when I was preparing the kit I would be taking, I noticed a tear in
the side of one of my trusty and only pair of trail shoes. I decided to gamble
with a brand new pair of road trainers out the wardrobe. I weighed up that it
wasn't a big risk as I had run an identical pair in to the ground a year or so
ago. Don't know what happened with this pair but they seemed loose. As well as
the disadvantage of not being trail shoes for stability and grip, they were
rubbing in one particular area above the arch on the side of my right foot. It
was a constant grinding back and forwards. It was hurting a lot but that was
all, and it wasn’t an injury that could prevent me running, at least I hoped.
It was of a far lesser concern. In fact the shoes had taken a two inch strip of
my flesh off in this location as well as three other locations which I wasn't
aware of until taking my socks off later at the hotel. My toes were also
hurting from the sliding back and forth of my feet within the shoe and being
forced in to the toe section on the down hills, but this didn’t bother me much
and was to be expected. Because I lacked waterproof trail shoes, I was wearing
waterproof socks and my belief is that these contributed to the foot injuries
which I invariably avoid.
Storey Arms
From 22 to the 26 mile checkpoint at Storey Arms was a
lonely trek – there was nobody in sight behind me, and only occasional glimpses
of one runner up ahead. I had started coping with the foot and putting it
almost to the back of my mind. Following a very tricky bit of picking the route
around marsh, river gullies, 20 foot dune like mounds of mushy stuff, I had reached the Storey Arms check point. I
wouldn't normally say this but it was welcoming to see a busy trunc road and
motor vehicles. This was mile 26 and I was feeling pretty good at having
reached marathon distance in 6:45, the exact same time as my recent Broadway
marathon effort but this time with something left in the bag. I was feeling now
that so long as the foot holds out I could struggle to the end. This location
meant a lot to me. I have never been here before but had google viewed it and
had visions of it in my imagination from the start. It was a source of 'real'
food by which I mean rat burger from a van and what was more pleasant a cup of
bean-to-cup coffee.
Pen-y-fan - The
Big Climb
I’d had a perfect feast to prepare for the Pen-y-fan ascent
up to 700m from 250m before the climb which started in truth from mile 20, but
now only started in earnest with a steep ascent. The incentive here was also to
get up and down the other side before dusk. It would be a horrible place to be
lost in the dark. At this check point I hooked up with Rob Nelson a seasoned
ultra runner and veteran of the course. He was suffering like nobody’s business
with stomach problems and even had to miss out on his regular burger stop. It
was a godsend to have his company over this unknown terrain. In fact one runner
went straight up towards the summit which we only needed to circumnavigate. Rob
managed to get him back on course after he had done a needless extra 100m of
ascent. This was a big big climb and although a fantastic path with steps at
the start, I was finally beginning to suffer from exhaustion. This was not
helped when I joked 'is that a false summit ahead?'. Not only was it a false
summit, but we had to descend in to a small valley only to climb back up even
more altitude than the section before the valley. Exhaustion on this second
section was now creeping in exponentially, and nausea also beginning to take
effect. I forced a gel down unwillingly.
Finally we made it to the top, took a right turn and were
now on the way down for a few miles. The saving grace was that Rob seemed to be
suffering even more than me, and I could manage to keep up with him and
sometimes get ahead. He did insist I didn't wait for him a couple of times, but
the truth is I could have happily stopped if he had stopped and it was merely a
bit of yo-yoing. We were now at the stage where we were taking walking breaks
on the flat as well as some gnarly downhills. We passed through a field that
had been muck spread, with the muck sticking like muck. I now know I would
never train with ankle weights. I was now losing a fair chunk of the earlier
banked minutes, but I now felt with the two hours contingency and with less
than 12 downhill miles left, that was a concern I could happily put on the
backburner.
From bad to worse
Another mile on and disaster struck. Over again on the same
ankle. Rob was already 100m or so ahead. On putting a bit of weight back on my
foot, the pain was reminiscent of the first episode, and I decided to just grin
and bear it – I really didn’t want to lose Rob with this mileage left. At first
I was putting all the weight on my right leg and taking a tiny step with my
left. This time it was downhill, and it was indeed more painful. I was
determined that this would not let me lose Rob, as I would then be prone to
slow considerably and also mentally would be weaker. I got in to a slow plod
again and didn't stop until I reached him. By this time we were joined by two
others who I think were named Matt and Ben. Also Rob, who would on another day
be at the front of the field, was beginning to pick up. I on the other hand
started to hit further trouble. First I had to stop for number twos, then
twenty minutes later I was retching but couldn't get anything out. From then on
I wasn't able to eat anything, and even threw away my energy drink. I wasn't
thinking rationally. Next checkpoint, I managed to catch up with the gang
before they departed. Where were we, 32 miles in the bank and 11 to go. I
switched my Garmin to a display showing XXX miles to finish. I was very confused
as it showed 12.5 miles to go. I sort of refused to believe it; instead
considering the earlier reported route change would later make a few short cuts
compared to the GPX. Of course this was far too optimistic and didn't turn out to
be reality. The race would be 42.5 miles, a full and unwanted extra mile and a
half. On the next section to the final checkpoint, I used everything in reserve
plus a bit more to keep up with, or at least the occasional sight of Rob's
gang. This became increasingly difficult even with them and myself walking 80%
of the terrain. They were sometimes plodding along on the flat following a
downwards incline - I just couldn't match that. In addition the nausea was
constantly there, along with total and utter exhaustion, and the foot pain.
Apart from that I became a little concerned at my breathing. I was breathing
very noisily and fast as if I was running up a flight of stairs only it was
relentless and wouldn't pass even when walking at a 30 minute/mile pace. Still
I somehow had the will to look at potential finishing times and 12 hours seemed
easily within grasp, with 11.5 looking more likely at a moderate 20 minute/mile
pace.
The final
checkpoint
The final checkpoint arrived. I wobbled over and in to a
vacant chair. I was relieved and surprised that the gang were there. They
couldn’t be feeling a whole lot better than me! But my worst fear was confirmed
from the marshal at the checkpoint regarding the remaining distance. It was 6
instead of 5 miles! Physically I felt worse than the worst I have ever felt at
the end of a race when you know you couldn't do another mile. If I was now at
the end of the race I would be saying ‘thank god I couldn’t have gone on another
mile’, but here I was and I had to go on, not just one but SIX miles!. The
possibility of a DNF was erased from my mind. Instead it was the horrible thought
of these next 6 miles. We all set off together, but I immediately fell to the
back, and within half a mile the group were only in head torch range. A mile and
a half on, and I was dropped from the group completely. This was a relief. They
had done the job of getting me near enough to the finish for me to walk to the
end, so I couldn’t and wouldn’t have asked any more. I was pleased they had got
me this far, and was equally pleased to slow the pace now they were out of
sight. The gang were going for a sub-12 hour finish. I was going for a finish. I really hoped they made the 12 hour time. I
could now slow even further and my breathing could return to something like
normal.
The problem with being on my own was that my concentration
diverted from keeping up, to watching my Garmin 'distance to finish'. It wasn't
going down. Well not noticeably. After what seemed like half a mile it had only
ticked over from 4.7 to 4.6. My race notes forgot to mention two hills at the
end. On the elevation plot, on the way down from Pen-y-fan they hadn’t looked
significant. Now these two 100m climbs were very significant and moral changing
events. The final few miles though were not that hilly and part was on the
canal. I had to get there first though. My breathing seemed to becoming more
laboured despite my slowing. Yet I passed the Japanese contingent whom had
yoyo'd from being in front and behind several times prior. Now they looked
worse than I felt. They were significantly slower than me and I didn't expect
to see them again.
Soon the exhaustion brought on hallucinations. This is a
subject I previously thought to be much exaggerated and thought was something
reserved for proper ultras of the 100 mile order. I am still not 100% sure I
was hallucinating, but I did see what I was convinced was a dog standing with its
head turned to me jaw open and with a menacing stance. I decided to give it a
wide berth. When I passed it turned out to be a section of fallen tree with
branches leading off in various directions. Only a few minutes later I saw a
couple leaning on a fence chatting. The man had a cowboy hat. When I got nearer
they stood up straight and looked as if to stare at me. It is only due to
having two consecutive experiences like this that I think I may actually have
been hallucinating but then it was dark so maybe just tricks on the mind.
I somehow managed to keep on going in sections of a few hundredths of a mile at a time until I reached the '2.5 mile to finish' point on the Garmin. It took all I had left to climb over a tallish metal gate, only to see a 5 foot high style immediately following this. I didn't think I could climb over it, so just sat down on the style step. I just stayed here exhausted almost in tears at the thought of another 2.5 miles. When when when will I get to the end. My body was starting to relax and my breathing slowing to a more comfortable rhythm. I probably would have remained sitting there for an indefinite time or fallen asleep had I not been interrupted five minutes later. It was the Japanese contingent. They were happy to see my headtorch to get the next bearing. I had to get up to let them climb over the style, so I then tried to refocus. Although only really fit for a pathetic slow walking style, I decided to take some pre-race advice and run 250 paces then walk 250 and so on. That would knock the remaining distance down in nice chunks. I reached a count of 58 and then gave up counting because I needed to walk again. This method was hopelessly short lived. I decided I would just walk at a pace at which I was in least discomfort from here on. I looked and headed for objects in head torch range and that seemed to work at knocking off 0.1 mile sections for a quarter of a mile at least until my mind forgot that technique. Now I was back on a road and was grateful for that small blessing as I wouldn't have to lift my feet higher than an inch off the ground. Once again the mileage just didn't seem to budge. After what seemed an eternity I still had 2 miles to go. Oh, if only that extra mile could be taken off I could envisage getting to the end. I just desperately wanted to see a figure on my Garmin under a mile but that was going to be 25 minutes off. A few more runners I had previously not encountered passed me, and it reminded me of how slow I must be going. I had been walking with just the odd hint of running for 2 or 3 hours now. It was dragging on far too long. I needed a chair and a beer.
Lost near the end
Just when I couldn't imagine things getting any worse they
did - I reached a marker by a gate. I hadn't the strength to open the bolt and
couldn't face another climb. After several attempts I had to give up on the
bolt and heave my body over the gate. My beam picked up the one track away from
the gate and I headed off in that direction, which was 180 degrees off the
correct bearing. The episode of getting over the gate left a blank in my mind regarding
the direction arrow. It just seemed to be the only path at the time and it was
downhill. Up until now the markers had been placed in every possible location
you might expect to see one. Now I reached a gate without a marker. There was a
junction, but on further investigation it looked like one track was to a farm
building so I gathered a marker was not 100% necessary and carried on even
though doubt was beginning to play on my mind. Another 0.2 miles on and I hit a
dead-end. I was furious with myself as I immediately realised what I must have
done. I had not even paid attention to my Garmin saying I was off the route (it
had done this numerous times before for what I gather was route compression on
the GPX provided). Now I had 2.25 miles to go. To say I was devastated is an
understatement. I was mortified. Mostly due to the remaining increased distance
but also because I now had to do the uphill leg of the quarter mile detour.
It's all a bit hazy from there to '1 mile to finish'. One mile was supposed to
be my saviour, but 25 to 30 minutes was still a long walk.
The End in sight
Once I hit the canal with less than a mile to go my spirit
and mood did a U-turn. I was now becoming euphoric that I was going to make it.
What at 30 miles looked increasingly desperate had been turned around. Without
some prior very memorable DNFs I think I would have happily quitted at the checkpoint
before last if I hadn't set my mind so strongly from the outset. The canal walk
seemed to go on for ever but I was enjoying it. I started getting back to a
run/walk/run routine. My Garmin said 0.25 miles to the finish so I didn't get
too carried away as that was still six minutes of struggle, then unbelievably the
next thing I saw was a ‘200m to go’ sign and had to take a double look to be
sure. I couldn't see the end so walked. For some reason I didn't want anyone at
the finish to see me walking, so I would save the run until I was in sight.
Once the hedge came to an end and I saw a light from one of the marshals, I did
my finishing 100m sprint (thank you Ben for that reminder a day earlier). There
were 6 or 7 runners who hung on to cheer me on to the finish line including Rob
whom had waited there 17 minutes to be sure I finished. One of the first things
I wanted to know was whether he got his group over the line in the 12 hours –
he did, fantastic job. I was ecstatic regarding my result even though there
were only a handful of runners behind me. I apologise for not staying to cheer
them over the line – they almost certainly suffered more than I and had stronger
resolve. I also apologise for my miserable attitude to anyone who was on the
other end earlier when I was suffering. I also have to apologise to the 6 or 7
runners whom I had earlier convinced them that the last 11 miles was all an
easy downhill. After a coffee and a 30 minute rest life seemed rosy again and
the process of memory erasure of the period of misery (3.5 hours of it or 12+
miles) was doing its job. After a few beers even better. By the morning I was
even contemplating repeating this insane experience someday soon. I wrote this
blog the day after whilst everything was very fresh in my mind for this purpose,
as the memories that were still there of the suffering fade all too quickly.
Pro-log
My final thought is for those 100 mile ultra nuts. If I had
today been doing a 100 mile ultra, how would I have changed my strategy in
those first 40 miles? I don't see how I could have. Going slower would have
made things worse. A further 0.1 miles I could have coped with for sure, maybe
at the outside another mile or even two, BUT another 60 miles? How much more
suffering could I have coped with to continue on? How on earth is it possible?
I've been asked the same about doing 40 miles from a 'normal' runner. Whenever
I have asked this question I have been answered with 'its all in the mind, if
you have the right mind-set you can do it'. Can it be that simple? I will try
and push the limit further and maybe, just maybe, one day I will do the 100.
Right now I haven't got the mind-set or the will for the required training. For
now I am happy to revel in the glory of my lowly Brecon Ultra 40. This
experience will be etched in my memory for my lifetime. I could have sat in a
comfy armchair today - how I thought about that during my agony, and the lunacy
of what I was doing, but I would have missed that satisfaction of pushing to
the limits, that euphoria at the end, the well-deserved beers in the pub
afterwards, the camaraderie and social aspect, not to mention the fantastic
memory that will live forever on. I want to be that 102 year old who is still
running, that extra longevity, that extra quality of life in old age, but they
are just secondary effect of my passion for running.
A couple of ironies/coincidences regarding my experience.
- With all the trouble and pain with my left ankle for the
second half of the race, it was my right ankle that swelled up the next day.
- Of all the hotels, guest houses, and B&Bs, I was pre-booked
in to the adjacent room in my B&B to Rob.
- My race plan was based on paces for different hill
sections, so instead of a round number for the finishing time, I had a very
flexible target that worked out at 12:12. Despite all the problems I hadn’t
expected or taken much account of in planning, when I later checked my Garmin,
the time it displayed was 12:12. I was precisely on targetJ That is pretty freaky. Final mileage 43.01.
- All this effort was for the sole purpose of gaining two
qualifying points for the TDS next year - one of the lesser known of the UTMB
series. In fact I had picked this specific race solely for this purpose. I
wouldn't normally pick a winter event of this magnitude, and certainly wouldn't
have otherwise contemplated any form of an Ultra at this stage in my regressing
fitness. Now that it is over my wavering on the TDS option has come to an end.
I am not going to do it. I calculated that it has three times the ascent of Brecon
and is nearly twice the distance. There is testing the limits, and there is
total insanity. I am not prepared for the upheaval of all that training. I will
do a few more like Brecon though, and build up step by step. TDS is relegated
to the back burner again, but one day? who knows?
- The sight of my feet 24 hours later was a shocker. No
blisters, they were in shreds with abrasions all over as well as the customary
black toe nails that go with the territory. Will take a few well-earned rest
days, some massage, Jacuzzi/sauna, no work, then back to real life, and preparing
for my next event, The Winter Tanners on 6th January – a mere 30
mile canter. That will be a breeze – famous last words.
