The easy bits I forget. The hard bits I remember. At this point the guys at Cp9 said less than 10km to the finish. Bollocks. It was 13km+
That was negativity slipping between the cerebral hemispheres. The bastard had got in and was starting to rot my PMA like it had done with Dave many hours earlier. We had targetted finishing at 9.30am. I knew that we were 25 minutes outside our last estimate for CP9 so I feared for where we were going. A sit down and watch the rest of the runners go past and amble in under 24 hours was a flood that was suddenly taking over my brain. Dave was good here. He was playing reverse psychology. At the time when I needed it most, the big man from Molesey was there and demonstrated that his ball of PMA was massive. Well at least acorn sized.
The Ridgeway is a ridge. Just that. The last leg was undulation from 160-280m on long slow hills. Metalled track gave way to rutted muddy pathways, too deep to run properly and switching from rut to rut demoralised me. We saw a few runners in the distance. The sun picking out the reflective strips and day-glo colours from the chalky farmland that surrounded them.
The last 5 or so miles were a bit of a blur. I couldn't walk. However, the last ounce of energy, the last gift in the sac magique was to run. That was all I could do. Spasm in calves and the knowledge of lost and broken toenails gave way to a trot. the trot broke into a canter and then a gallop as we descended from Fyfield Down and off the hills down Herepath. As we did we flew past 6 totally dejected runners and did what we always do when we run. Finish strong. We did a sub 11, a sub 10 and then an 8 for the last 3 miles. 8 minute miles are bread and butter to most runners but 8s at 88 seemed a symetrical way to end the best run of my life.
And then it ended......
At the line, handshakes and medals. The UK Ultra Trail Championships were over =46th place for me and Dave. Bacon butties cider and a sleep in the crew car all the way to London.
Sublime. Ridiculous. Unforgettable.
We said never again. Ever. But now? I think maybe 100 next year.
Thanks Astrid and Susie, Jezza and Dave. Massive well done to Di, Dave, Tim and Linda for support. Thanks to Susan Smith; Chairperson of DPR who turned up and waited for us hour after hour at some ungodly hour! Well done to Claire and Helen, Draconian one and Colin. Well done to Beardy man and the PMA stealers. Well done to the Jungle crew. Well done to you all. If you came 1st or last. That was a run that defied expectations and gave everything in memories that it took from you in spirit and energy.
See you next year?
Monday, 30 August 2010
Ridgeway Race Report; CP9 to finish
Ridgeway Race Report; CP8 to CP9
This was the hardest individual run I have ever done and this was the hardest part. We arrived at CP8 to a roaring fire and Swindon Striders were manning the CP. Flat coke and coffee was all I could muster. I attempted a Jaffa cake but my mouth was not accepting it. We had arrived at the CP expecting solace and all we had to do was soldier on. Bloody friendly bunch though and I made sure I thanked everyone at the station as at 4-5am, what a great thing to do for others. I think that is one of the essential components to the success of this event. The cameraderie and the unselfishness of the supporting crews and marshalls. This cheered me up no end thinking about this.
Dave was poking his head above the flatline where depravity ends and humanity begins. He warmed to the log fire and found some elbow grease from somewhere and off we went...after a piss stop of course!
This stage was a long one and soon off Ashbury Hill at Bishopstone, we descended off the downs from Foxhill to Liddington. The down was an opportunity to have a speedy hill descent and we quickly caught up with Beardy Man who we had seen at Chequers (and had found a £20 note blowing across his path!!) and had a chat with him. He was in good spirits but as soon as we had conversed, he had an impromptu stop and was not to be seen again.
A long and boring stretch of tarmac now and a gentle upwards towards the M4. Crossing this dirty track via a bridge we noted on articulated lorries on the road, pushing on through the night with the drivers in comfort, while we were in agony.
Off the road finally which was a welcome break and another punishing 700ft climb past the aptly named Upper Upham. Right! Dave darted behind a redundant combine harvester, fresh from the threshing of wheat the day before (we did spot one at CP7 working through the night) and alerted me to his toiletary requirements. After this Dave was back from the dark side!
Whilst Immune dealt with the necessary ablutions, 2 runners attempted to steal my PMA and this had a lasting affect on me. Both were suffering. Badly. All they could do was tell me how hard it was and after asking me how far did I think it was to the end, they scoffed and said it was much further? So why ask and why steal my PMA?
Anyway. Dave came back from the rim of hell and we started to get a clip on. Onwards towards Ogbourne St Andrew and we had decided to keep our windstoppers on as they were breathable. If we walked, we would still be sweating and get cold, as it had dropped to 7-8 degrees and we would be more likely to cramp. Light had crept across the contorted duvet of pathwork fields and downs, dithces and woodland. Torches were off, saved now for some other senseless run.
We approached Ogbourne down a quad busting mile long hill and after taking the PMA-stealers, we took another runner, clearly limping and enduring huge sufferage. He was nearly crying. Words of encouragement as we sped past was all of the crumsb that we could offer. Aside for a serious injury, all of my energy was focused on the Self and Immune, who was now very perky. I sensed that Immune was an anti-vampire. a man scared of hard work in the dark! All of these silly thoughts kept me going as we raced past these poor souls. Each time my feet chiming to the rhythm in my head of "Another one bites the dust".
It was my turn to feel the pain. Dave was feeling good and had a fast clip. I lagged behind for longer periods now, having spent a long time focused on both of us I now needed to look inwardly to myself. Sugar and caffiene was lacking from my bloodstream and I knew it.
Lying between us and CP9 was Barbury castle. A 700ft climb of relentless and head on windiness. This was ultra running stripped bare. 7.30am and I found a capri-sun and flake in my back. I necked both, feeling sick but knowing that otherwise a balckout would ensue. I quickly reminded Dave of the 3 in my club who had failed at the final hurdle and to keep an eye on each other, as low blood pressure and the wall were looming ominously on the horizon. My mind was on overtime. At the top, the beacon of CP9 and a luke-warm coffee and the support crew! Susie and Astrid we late and we saw them pull in. We needed to motor on but seeing Susie's eye well up in acknowledgement that the pain written across my face was unbearable nearly made me cry. Onwards...quickly.
Ridgeway Race Report; CP7 to 8
The have lots of Horse racing on the Downs, I told Dave, and recounted stories of gambling and horse racing and why I am not a fan of gambling. I am rubbish at it!
If we could see the downs, then they may have looked like this. However, we continued, up to some of the higher points on our journey. Rams Hill, White Horse Hill, Lammy Down, Uffington Hill and I recounted the history of the White Horse and Wayland's Smithy. We chatted with a couple of runners who caught and left us on this oppressive stage of the race. We looked down at the watch and we were close to 70 miles....and despair. All we had to look forward to was the next CP. We were pretty quiet now. Occasionally we discussed athletics. Mostly we were quiet. Moving forward. Slowly. I can't remember how many times we stopped for a piss. Both of us felt dehydrated but urine colour analysis proved otherwise. Nothing else to do but move forward. I popped an anti-inflamatory pill.
Ridgeway Race Report; CP6 to CP7
I have to admit that his pace quickened across the top of Bury Down but Dave appeared broken. Even the little piss take (East Ginge Down!!!) went down like a sack of shit and the little jokes and gee-ups were not working. There was no plan B. Plan A was to put one foot in front of the other and as quick as possible.
The relentless North Wessex Downs offered little in the way of anything to pass the time other than the red-topped masts that dotted the horizon and made you feel like you were on some night time treadmill going no where. We passed the point where Dave wa in new territory, over 57 miles. I tracked in front of Dave for long periods here, part trying to give myself a PMA and part from not letting any demons get inside my head and make me negative. The only solace was to count off the miles and to stop us from going to slow. Jezza had stated that 3 miles an hour at night across the hills would be good but that would have been too slow. We had to keep the pace up if we were to challenge for a sub 24 hour time. We were in dangerous territory here. Road crossing after cart track came and went and with some deft navigation, we apexed corners and made it to CP7. Dave was coming to the light at the end of the tunnel, but her wasn't there yet. I was in some form of madness/psychosis as the marshalls at CP7 thought I was mad. Coffee here (note to self; should have had sugar!) and a top up of water was needed. I couldn't face any food which was silly as I would need it too later as I was to find out.
Off we went
Ridgeway Race Report; CP5 to CP6
Say goodbye to the crew car. After Goring where Jezza arrived as we left, although I didn't see him we walked for a while to let the food go down. After a mile or so of crossing the Thames and roads,we hit the trail again. I turned my headtorch off as Dave's was bright enough and the stars and the moon were out. Up to Bury down (Down was up!) and as we approached the 50 mile mark Dave started to nose-dive into a patch of not feeling great.
We were up on the downs and it become very open with the relentless gentle up and down that we had been used to on Neolithic. It was too steep to run up to Bury Down so much of this we wlaked. Dave was dropping back so I tried everyhing to gee him up, asking questions and whittering on about stuff. We approached and overtook a runner who I had to block out mentally. he was so negative about everything and I had to work hard in my head not to let the negative thoughts creep in just as I could have been feeling crap too. I had to drop back and keep Dave away from him as Dave was not feeling great and this negativeness could really kick him in the goolies. We let him pass but we were conscious of the ticking clock and made our way towards CP6. As we got there we picked up 2 other runners. One was an essex girl who told us of the Jungle Marathon that she had run. Her and her mate from "team Jungle" had met and run the race that Mark Hines wrote a book about. We listened in and I was in very high spirits at this point. I left them with Dave to have a chat. Dave was not chatty but they were. I took the opportunity to head about 500m in front of them to do some thinking, keep my head positive and have good run walk posture, making sure that I was tracking towards CP6 by cutting off apexes and not going wrong with the mapreading.
A mile from CP6 we went under a road bridge with the most minging murals on. It looked really grim. Up the hill and the word was that CP6 had hot dogs. I had a call from Susie to let me know that. They had left CP6 to go to the hotel. Unfortunately we missed them. Up the hill towards CP6 I ran all the way and arrived about 5 mins before Dave. Cup of coffee and 2 hot dogs later I was right as rain, fueled by cheap flat coke I was read to rock and roll. Dave on the other hand, looked grey. He managed a cup of tea and off we went.
Ridgeway Race Report; CP4 to CP5
This was the longest stage of the day so far and we were keen to keep the pace high. I must admit that as we entered Grim's Ditch, a 5 mile long earthworks that I was feeling a little low. We had been running with Draconian One and Colin on and off for some time but something was bothering me. My arse! I was going to have to stop for a moment. relief! I bounded up to Dave who had kept running so I knocked off 1km at about 7.30s to reach him. Grimmer Ditch I thought.
It was surreal running along the earthwork thinking that some 2500 years ago many people had built this and we conversed about why they had done it. There was a lot of downhill on this stage and we made quick work of what seemed like over an hour of the ditch. Straight forward towards the River Thames and towards the halfway point. The light faded quickly and we ran walked along the thames watching parties and boats and big houses whicle we chatted as a group of 4. We picked up a couple of other runners as we left the Thames and it was now pitch black. Through the beautiful village of North Stoke and along pathways and roads towards Goring. I have a habit of speeding up towards checkpoints. Why? Perhaps to stay longer and organise, perhaps for the sweet thoughts of food and hot drinks. ANyway, I motored ahead of the group, leaving them for about 2 miles and to Goring, where my food was on the table before they arrived. Brilliant service from the marshalls and volunteers and thanks for my coffee, jacket potato with beens and cheese and homemade quiche!
Shoe change! Wow. Comfort from the buggered up old shoes. This was the 44 mile point and I was in need of fresh feet. This would be the last time we saw the crew until CP9 tomorrow morning, but at what time? Dave and I departed in total darkness with headtorches showing the way