My nerves had been building over the preceding week, and by the time race day arrive, I just wanted to get running already.
The registration point was a hive of activity. The organisation from Centurion Running was flawless: kit check, disclaimer, and race bib. Then I chatted with some of the other runners as we waited for the event to start.
The start itself was a long pen along the trail. I found my place towards the back, where I could still see my wife and daughter, and also because I knew the one thing I did not want to do was set off too quickly. Then, after a last minute briefing from the race director, we were off. As the pack started to move, I overheard someone say: don't forget to start your watch now, as all of the cutoffs are to gun time, not chip time. This was the first of many valuable lessons I learned that day. I started my watch a mere 17 seconds after race director set us off - 17 seconds which would haunt me later. But we'll come back to that.I was very pleased to see that the back of the field set off at a very moderate pace. Within the first kilometer there were several points at which the pack slowed to a stop as people took turns to go through a few gates on the trail. Everyone seemed to be in good humor. I was even more pleased when we got to the first hill, a very modest affair which I could easily have run without breaking a sweat, and almost everyone walked up it. That had been my plan all along, but it was encouraging to know that everyone else had the same plan.
The first quarter of the NDW is a picturesque and gently rolling trail. It was a beautiful morning to be out for a run, and everyone, myself included, seemed to be enjoying themselves. Two very old friends had turned out to cheer me on at about 13km, and they walked a short distance up the next hill with me. It was all feeling just fantastic to be out.
My wife and daughter (aged 9) met me at the first crew stop at about 20km. I'd given my daughter a clipboard with a checklist to go through with me at each stop, hoping that would help her to feel more involved: check / refil water, get rid of any wrappers, replace any fuel used, stretch, etc. Daughter was there with the clipboard: "do you need any water, daddy" she asked, perfectly on cue. It was all I could do to stop myself from laughing: "why, do you have any?" I asked - they had left all of the supplies in the car 200m away. That was the first point at which it really struck me exactly how inexperienced both I and my extremely encouraging crew were! Fortunately, I did not need any water at that point. Daughter was clutching a banana, and I ate half of that.
It was at that point that I relaced my shoes as well. I was developing hot points under the balls of my feet and on the outsides of my little toes. I'd been feeling it for quite a while, and concluded that my feet were slipping forward ever so slightly on the downhills. Fortunately, a friend in Canada had reposted a video to Facebook about how to use the extra lace hole at the top of your shoes just about a week earlier. I am pretty sure if I had not relaced my shoes at that point, I would have been in for some nasty blisters. On the other hand, I did suffer a little minor brushing across the top of my feet where the laces had taken up the extra strain.
Newlands Corner was also where I started to pay more attention to the fuel being supplied at the aid stations. Pepsi was the first surprise, but boy did it hit the spot. I think I had about 3 small glasses, which I regretted ever so slightly for the next 5km as all that gas jostled around in my stomach. There was also chocolate, jelly babies and crisps: I sampled a little of each.
The slog over Ranmore Common toward Denbies is a long slow mostly up hill. "Will this hill never end?" I overheard another runner exclaim. (Actually, there were a few other words in that sentence, which I've omitted for the benefit of more sensitive readers.) My pace was definitely slowing down, and my walk to run ratio increased on the long uphills. I passed another runner walking very slowly with a terrible limp. I asked him if we was OK and he replied that he was done for but that he would be able to walk to the next aid station where he would DNF, and that I should leave him and push on. It was a sobering reminder that starting an ultra marathon is no guarantee that you will finish it! The other thing that worried my slightly is that when we got to the long steep downhill through Denbies Wine Estate, I found my legs were too tired to take the downhill pounding and I was forced to walk much of the downhill! Fortunately once it leveled out again, I found I was running and still feeling OK.
There was an aid stop at the bottom of Box Hill, just before the stepping stones. I did not stay long as I knew my crew wee waiting at the top of Box Hill, but I had another cup of Pepsi and surprised myself by by gravitating towards a few segments of satsuma, a fruit I am not normally keen on.
I then headed off up Box Hill. The NDW trail goes over the steeping stones and straight up the steepest side of the hill. I'd run it before on the BoX Hill Fell race in January, and walked up it enough times to know how thought it was, and it did not disappoint. I had to stop and rest a few times just to walk up it.
My crew were a sight for sore eyes at the top. Wife and daughter were now joined by Iron Man and his daughter. Iron Man stuck with them for the rest of the race, and to be honest, I don't know what we'd have done without his voice of experience. He'd laid out a picnic blanked with a few choices of food, replacement gels, etc. - a far cry from our first crew stop! He helped me stretch a bit as my hip flexors were particularly tight, and that seemed to induce excruciating calf cramps. I also made use of the 'facilities' a short way away. The top of Box Hill is about 40kms, or half way through the race. I'd done 2 marathons as part of my preparation for the NDW50, but both of those had been really flat. Whilst I'd been running much more slowly that morning, as well as walking a bit, was conscious that the hills were really taking their toll.
I'd packed a number of white bread peanut butter rolls for the race, thinking they be the perfect easily digestible solid food carb source. I took one bit of one of them and it was all I could do to not spit it out. Apparently, my body does not want peanut butter rolls when it is fatigued! Iron Man offered me an apple, which I wolfed down - another reminder of how inexperienced and ill prepared I was. I later confirmed with Iron Man that I'd been tucking in to his lunch! Luckily he is a very good natured chap.
Apparently I spent 30 minutes at the Box Hill crew stop. Much too long. But I'd obviously needed it, to sort through the stretching, the cramps, the loo break, and figure out what to eat. That time would cost me dearly, but on the other hand I obviously needed it, so there is no point in having regrets.
The section from Box Hill to Reigate Hill was slightly surreal in that I saw only one other runner for the entire time. He was another walker who said he was done for an pulling out as soon as he found somewhere he could get picked up from.
Reigate Hill itself was another killer. I'd run/walked up it once before, but with over 45-50km behind me it seemed so much worse this time. In fact, so much so, that I had to check my phone a few times to make sure I was still on the trail! I had loaded the NDW route onto an app called ViewRanger which I'd highly recommend to any trail runners. Not only is it great for discovering the trails in an area, but at the click of a button it can confirm if you're still on your planned route or not.
After the Reigate aid station I finally saw some other runners again. A group of four runners had passed me at the aid station and we're now running about 150 meters ahead of me. I don't know what made me stop and check my phone again, but I realised that we were heading off in the wrong direction. I yelled out to them to stop, but they were already round a corner, and with the noise you could hear at this point from the M25 highway, I don't think they heard me. There was noting I could do as I couldn't catch up to them. I am not sure whatever became of them, but I retraced my steps and found the trail again.
After Merstham, I was then on parts of the NDW I'd never run before. That meant lots more phone checking and retracing my steps. All of which cost me time, of course.
I remember at the darkest point in the race, looking down at my watch and seeing I'd the. Run about 61km. I was beat. I was walking along a road, up a hill that never seemed to end. I was panting, one breath per footfall, and struggling even to maintain that pace. Distinctly remember thinking to myself that if a car would just come along and hit me, I'd be able to drop out of the race without shame! Either way, I thought that if I made it to the next aid station they'd tell me I'd missed the cutoff and was out... Mentally and physically, I was completely finished.
By the next crew stop, I could see my crew were starting to get worried. I was going too slowly and was loosing time fast. I could tell they were being deliberately vague about the details but that I was now well outside my slow estimates for a 12 hour finish and was chasing the 13 hour cutoff time. At the last aid station, a volunteer took my back-pack saying he'd top up my water while I grabbed something to eat, because if I wasn't out of the station in under 5 minutes, I'd miss the cutoff and they'd not let me go. Myself and a few other stragglers made it out just in time.
The final stretch was long and slow. Probably more walking that running, but at least I was still moving. The very last section is through a number of hedged fields. Each time you get to the the end of what you think must sure be the last one, you're through the hedge and looking at... another field. I walked and ran the last section chatting with another runner. I am not sure what we talked about, we were probably both too tired to have talked about anything of consequence, but it was welcome company.
Finally we started to hear noises. Could that finally be the end? My watch was saying I'd already run more than 50 miles. I'd known it was over-reading as I'd noticed that it was showing each of the last few aid stations as being further into the race than advertised. But knowing that somehow didn't diminish the physiologically crippling effect of looking at a watch that said I should already have finished and knowing that there was still some indeterminate distance yet to go!
We came through the final hedge and I could see the finish arch a few hundred meters to the left. But the trail markers said to continue straight, taking us on a loop before heading back towards the finish. Cruelly at one stage we were actually running with our backs to the finish.
We then looped back down a tar road through the small town. A chap in a yellow track suit top who appeared to be looking for someone else started running along side me. I looked at my watch: am I going to make it, I asked. I don't know, he replied, it's very tight. I ran on another few paces. OK, I said, let's do it then. I've always had one last little bit left for a sprint finish, and that day, even though I'd been completely broken and spent 23 km earlier, I still managed to find one. As I accelerated, yellow tracksuit guy ran along side yelling encouragement. Iron Man appeared shortly thereafter with daughter, they ran me in together: yellow tracksuit top guy yelling in my right ear and Iron Man yelling in my left ear looking anxiously at his watch.
We rounded the final corner and I could see the finish arch. Daughter dropped back at this stage. She later told me she couldn't keep up any more. I have no idea how fast we were going, but it must have been pretty quick, because daughter, although only 9 years old, is no slouch as a runner.I immediately saw that Between me and the arch was one more bank to run up to get onto the field. Not huge, but cruel. Everything was burning. For a split second my brain saw that bank and said: fuhgedaboudit. But I pushed on. I could hear the crowd chanting the countdown to the 13 hour cutoff.
I crossed the line and looked down at my watch - 12:59:52. I'd made it with 8 seconds to spare! A little bit close for my liking, but I'd take it...
Someone kindly leapt out of their camping chair and I collapsed into it. The volunteer hung a medal around my neck. I felt like a million bucks. A crumpled and torn million bucks, but a million bucks none the less. My crew were all congratulating me and Iron Man handed me an electrolyte recovery drink. I sat there exhausted. During the last few hundred meters of sprint, the world had become a very small place and I was barely aware of my surroundings.
But I did overhear Iron Man saying to my wife: that doesn't look good, the race officials are having a little huddle, I'd better go and check it out. He came back a few moments later and told me they were waiting for the system to confirm my time. A short while later the race official confirmed that I'd officially missed the cutoff by 9 seconds! (Remember those 17 seconds I mentioned right at the beginning of this post?) The confusion had been because in all the years they'd been organising ultramarathons, no one had ever been that close to the cutoff before, so I guess it had never mattered that much..
Surrendering the medal already hanging around my neck was so incredibly different. I remember my daughter, almost in tears saying: daddy you can't give it back, you ran all day for that medal. But rules are rules, and I sure red it with utmost respect for all the runners who earned it by making the cutoff, as well as for all the others who, like myself had not made it. At the end of the day, as proud as I'd briefly been of that medal, no piece of metal changes how proud I am of myself for having covered about 50 miles in 'about' 13 hours!
I could spend hours, weeks, even months agonising over those 8 seconds. Could I have wasted a little less time at the aid stations; could I have walked a few hundred meters less; could I have run a little fast towards the beginning, etc. But at the end of the day, I put in everything I had, and that was the result. I know for next time I just need to be fitter, stronger, wiser and more mentally prepared.
The NDW50 was an incredible experience. I learned so much. About the ultra running community: an incredible bunch of runners volunteers and race organisers. About race conditions: how to prepare, how to fuel, etc. And mostly about myself: how to dig deep, and what I am capable of when I think I've got nothing left.
I am now writing this almost a month after the event. My running has been a little bit hit and miss since then. Nothing more than a 5km jog here and there.
But I know I will be back. I have unfinished business on the North Downs Way. And I want one of those medals - this time to keep.
See also:
But I know I will be back. I have unfinished business on the North Downs Way. And I want one of those medals - this time to keep.
See also:
- Official Results
- Official Race Report (in which I get an honorary mention)
