Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
Race to the Stones (lite) 2023
by Russell Turner - 11:43 on 09 July 2023
So we only got half way, but even that was an achievement. This morning, the B&B breakfast room resembled a war zone trauma ward as runners swapped grim stories of mud, rain, cold, blisters and trench foot. Only one had completed the full 100k. At least we were all in one piece, unlike the unlucky runner we heard of who slipped in mud after less than 21k and broke an ankle. It had been a challenge.
The previous day couldn’t have been more different. The car journey from the Wirral to Avebury – a nightmare of motorway diversions, choked A roads and road works – featured blazing sun and a top temperature of 28ºC. Not fun. Fortunately Dorwyn Manor turned out to be as good in fact as in its website, and La Strada, the Italian restaurant ten minutes up the road, a splendid place for pre-run fuelling.
After that we checked out the finish line at Rutlands Farm, two minutes from where we were staying, and ensured we knew where to catch the shuttle bus to the start next day. All looked good.
Back at the B&B, final race preparations didn’t go well – for me, anyway. The race pack I’d practised with suddenly felt too awkward and heavy. Did I need a second spare shirt? No. Or pants? No. Or all that bulky Tailwind? That was a big decision. Tailwind had been part of all my training fuelling, but word was that newbie ultra runners always bring too much food. I emptied all but a litre from the bladder and ditched most of the stickpacks. A bold move. We set the alarm for 5am and attempted to sleep.
Next morning, more faffing meant my breakfast was a High5 energy bar. Matchgirl enjoyed her usual porridge pot. Shortly before 6.30 we boarded the coach for what turned out to be a 100-minute journey to the start at Lewknor in Oxfordshire. We watched the temperature rise from a balmy 19º to 22º by the time we arrived, although it felt cooler when we stepped off the coach.
Baggage dropped, toilet business completed, we joined the crowd for the 8.30 wave start, Matchgirl having decided that her official 8.10 start, which would have necessitated catching an even earlier coach, was more trouble than it was worth. The race director began his briefing (follow the red-and-white arrows; help anyone in trouble) and the first faint suspicion of rain drops could be felt. Moments later we were off, and two minutes after that half the runners had stopped to pull on waterproofs as the shower came down harder. Matchgirl and I toughed it out; maybe ten minutes later it was dry again.
We walked the first kilometre together, to loosen up, then I trotted ahead as we’d not planned to go round the whole course as a pair. I reached the first pit stop, at 8.7km, in under 1:10, which was satisfactory. The weather was mild, I was running, and all was well although I probably dawdled a bit too long at the pit stop for my first taste of ultra fuelling. I can’t complain.
The next three kilometres were more of an ultra test, climbing more than 160m with a 60m drop in the middle. More walking was done and chatting with fellow runners. Some of the tracks were single-file narrow, and muddy (all the earlier, faster runners hadn’t helped), and low-hanging branches were a nuisance, but all was going to plan, with some decent spells of running included, until after 14k I heard the first distant rumble of thunder.
Between 15 and 20k the rain came down in torrents. The mud turned even more gloopy and impossible (for me) to run in safely. It was around here that the broken ankle drama happened. I pressed on, soaked but optimistic that it would end soon and I wouldn’t need to stop to retrieve the waterproof from my pack. Amazingly, it did, although mud was still thick (I had to stop to scrape my shoes clear) and the tracks often narrow.
I reached the second pit stop, at 21.6k, in around 3:40, where I dawdled even longer than at the first one, swapping stories with other runners and discovering the restorative properties of white bread cheese sandwiches, salt and vinegar crisps and a variety of fruit and sweets. Lots of juice and Zero-fortified water was also taken and I refilled the 500ml bottle in my pack. I could have topped up the Tailwind but despite occasional slurps there was plenty left so felt no need.
Matchgirl arrived at the pit stop just as I was about to leave. We compared notes then I left her in the care of medics who’d learned a lot about treating blisters and associated foot complaints. Their tent was doing a roaring trade. I had spare socks but the effort involved in bending to swap damp for dry, then putting on wet shoes, didn’t appeal.
The third section was the longest so far – 14.2k – much of it moderately flat (ie undulating but not desperately so). Some running was achieved, occasioning cheers when I passed walkers, although now it was getting hotter – more like the conditions we’d expected. The final three kilometres featured a 100m climb to the third pit stop – tough going, but I pressed on at a fast walk and even ran when I could, reaching the third break at 35k in 6:45. At this rate I’d hit 100k in 20 hours.
However, by now we knew that finishing was unlikely. Matchgirl was beset by more blisters and my motivation was waining anyway despite – or possibly because of – the hot sun that now blazed across the landscape which we could see for miles around from the top of the hill. I found what shade I could, enjoyed more ultra fuelling, gossiped with runners I’d crossed and recrossed along the way, and waited for Matchgirl to arrive so we could decide the next step.
When she did arrive, footsore, she joined the queue for more medical attention then forced down a peanut butter and jam sandwich – she was finding fuelling more difficult than me. Our decision was reached without too much debate: we’d walk together to the fourth pit stop – Base Camp at 50k – partake of the promised hot food then find a way to get back to Avebury.
The final stretch was was more of a country ramble than a race, walking together, enjoying the views (when I wasn’t staring at the rocky path ahead for obstacles). We were fooled by an early 30m descent, at 39k, followed by a 40m ascent; from there the route was almost all uphill, the ascent gentle but unrelenting. Despite that, we were half wondering if we could get past 50k, even if dropping out after that might be logistically more challenging for getting transport to the finish. The thought even survived coming across a wrecked American at the side of the track, staring forlornly at her feet and begging for plasters. Matchgirl the Good Samaritan supplied her with KT tape and a dry pair of socks.
We pressed on. The temperature had cooled a little, which was no bad thing, and the breeze had picked up a little, ditto. But then…
With less than 5k to Base Camp everything changed. Within minutes the wind was cold and rain lashing down, the combination forcing me to don my waterproof for the first time. This had stopped being fun. We trudged on, hitting 50k in 11:43 (my only other 50k was 6:30 on the flat) and crossed the finish line, hand-in-hand for the cameras, at 11:54 and 50.54k. At least we’d smashed the 12-hour barrier.
We informed the smiling greeters that we’d had enough, upon which we were presented with 50k finisher medals (good substantial ones) and directed to the info desk so we could officially withdraw. The bonus was that a crew vehicle was soon to make a run to Avebury, with other drop-outs, so we wouldn’t need to wrangle a taxi. There was even time for the desperately needed hot meal in the huge marquee a short totter from the info desk. Brilliant. Except we’d barely had a chance to see what was on offer when we were told the minibus would leave in five minutes and there wouldn’t be another for two hours. Bugger – the curry looked good.
Sense prevailed. After a 45-minute trip through flooded roads and non-stop rain we arrived at the real finish, collected our baggage, then chose from a much less inspiring culinary collection which had to be eaten al fresco. Thankfully, the rain had let up. Around us, 100k finishers ranged from those doing the Frankenstein walk to those who looked like they’d run an easy 5k. The freaks.
Back at Dorwyn we creaked and groaned out of damp, muddy clothes, warmed up in the shower and climbed cautiously into bed in case cramp attacked us. I felt like I didn’t sleep much but Matchgirl assures me that snoring suggested otherwise. This morning we’re both in reasonable condition and Matchgirl’s already wondering if, given the right conditions, she could realise her 100k ambition. I think I could but have no immediate desire to prove it.
So was it all worth it – the training, the discomfort, the not inconsiderable cost? Yes. It was an adventure, I learned I can spend 12 hours on my feet (when I wasn’t sitting at pit stops) and that fancy fuelling is not always necessary (although maybe it is when running harder). And I now have a huge mileage base from which to launch my bid for a half marathon PB on a wonderfully flat Royal Parks course in October.
Ever the optimist.
So when is the next run?
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