I am not sure why I entered this 32.75 mile ultra-marathon as part of my first-marathon training. I suspect it was Jerry weaving his Pied-Piper magic. I had decided to drive down to keep things simple. I was feeling fairly confident. Sure, it was further than I had ever run but I had put in the training. My worst biggest concern was staying awake on the drive home.
On the journey down, as we head East we suddenly hit rain. A combination of drizzly and soaking rain. I hadn't really planned for this. We arrive at the small village. I get out the car and it is cold and miserable. We go into the pub and the friendly administrators sign us up. It is a Gazebo in the side of a pub. There are picnic-benches to leave your kit on, which you can access on each 6.5 mile lap.
These are my favourite kind of events. Run professionally by amateurs. The organiser do all to help you, but trust you to get on with it. No nanny-statism.
The cold and rain is getting to me. I am scared. My confidence saps away. Jerry and then Matt seem to pick up on this. There are lots of other wiry looking runners. At most running events there is usually a range of fitness levels. Here everyone looks super fit and organised. Everyone with a head-torch.
The pre-race briefing is short and to the point. The race is started with a firework and dead on 6pm. Jerry zooms off. I follow Matt for a while, but then look at the Garmin and realise I am running 5"45/km, far too fast.
I am now feeling a lot less scared. The first 400m is on the road, and then we turn on to a concrete road through the farm. So far, not too bad. It is raining but not too hard.
Then we hit the mud. I have my long-distance running flats on. And I slip, and slip and flail. This I do for half of the next 32.75 miles. Running 32.75 miles is a challenge, but tractable. Slogging through the quagmire which saps every ounce of energy from you is something else.
I try various tactics. The hump in the middle of the tractor tracks, is still too slippery, even with a little bit of grass. There is grass on the side of the track, but there are also sharp brambles and the danger of slipping off.
Fortunately my Seal-Skinz socks prevent my feet from getting wet. I can tell my shoes are soaked, and yet my feet are dry as a bone.
I complete the first lap, enter the Gazebo and announce to the counter "Number 40". This I continue doing on each lap. I also grab various carb gels, drinks and Wham bars.
As I run I break it down in to 10 minute treat-sections. One 10 minute, I'll have a slurp of drink. Another an energy gel. Another, maybe a quick wee. A couple of times the 10 minutes start to really drag. I then realise the Garmin has stopped. I punish myself by starting the timer but still insisting on waiting the 10 minutes.
Every couple of miles there is a tent with a Marshall. Some points the course crosses itself, so they send you off the right way. They also have water and rubbish bags. Every so often I stop, to deposit rubbish or get some water, chatting with the Marshal.
At one point I joke with one of the Marshals:
"Am I winning?"
It back-fires as he thinks maybe I am delirious. I have to convince him otherwise.
It is hard, but I keep going. There is no attachment to thoughts of pain, or struggling. I just get on with it and keep going.
On the second lap I nearly go wrong. I spot a light going the other way and realise my mistake. Me and three other runners go wrong at another point, another runner saves us by calling us back. I spend the remaining laps, focusing on not missing these turns again.
I have my super-bright light, but the rain, drizzle and mist reflect the light back. I end up frequently turning it down to the lowest level.
On the fourth lap, I see Matt at the start/finish. He has stopped at 20 miles. I warn him he will have to wait for me to do another lap, but he seems pretty content. By now I am seeing hardly any other runners. No light behind me or in front of me. The only time I am seeing life is at the checkpoints, and occasional points at crossovers.
I can feel a blister developing on my right toe but it never deteriorates.
On the last lap I thank the Marshals. I also say goodbye to all the landmarks.
As I approach the start/finish for the last time, I can't resist sprinting full tilt. This is crazy and a good way to get injured, but hey.
I have a huge smile on my face. Matt and Jerry welcome me back like a long lost friend. I get changed, have some soup and a coffee. I have a wonderful feeling of satisfaction. I am so happy with my attitude. Every time I stopped, for a drink or to navigate a muddy bog, I started running again.
In the end the drive back was not too bad though the mist and rain were on the motorway too.
6.5hours, 32.75 miles doesn't really do justice to the effort involved because of the mud. But I just got on with it
32.75 miles (52.5km) 6"29:00 Slippy Mud
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