“This
is MY distance!” I thought as I charged up the hill.
I
was running leg 8 of the Hilly Hundred team relay and I had 10 miles
to run from Moreton-in-Marsh to a village called Paxford - where my
teammate was waiting for me to hand the baton over – and I was
LOVING it. The sun was shining, I had hills to run and my starting
point had been the pub! Plus I was also pretty sure there would be a
pub at the end too. Most good English villages had a decent pub,
right?
I
knew the area a little bit – it was all very English, neat hedges
and banks full of Cow Parsley and dandelions, fields lying like
patchwork squares over the rolling hills and dusty lanes winding
through them, all under a sky as blue as forget-me-nots.
And
I was running through the middle of it all enthusiastically with my
grey relay baton clasped firmly in my sweaty hand.
The
route was a hilly one – I’d seen the total elevation map on a
t-shirt for the entire 100 miles and it looked like a heart rate
monitor reading. But I wasn’t fazed, I LIKED running hills. I
enjoyed it all - the hard push up the hill, the views at the top and
the exhilaration of running down the other side and seeing the good
numbers on the Garmin. There was satisfaction in that.
I
was on the mass start at 1pm on what was to be one of the hottest
days of the year so far. I don’t run well in heat, but there wasn’t
much I could do about it so had slathered on the sun cream, whipped
out my cheap sunglasses and gone with the short shorts. If I was
going to have to run in ridiculous (for England) temperatures then at
the very least I was going to get a tan out of it. (For ‘tan’
read ‘more freckles’)
I
had Googled the elevation of my relay leg and was pleasantly
surprised. I’d been expecting a few more hills, but it looked as
though there was about a 2 mile climb which started at 1.5 miles and
was at its height at 5 miles, then it was all downhill to the end.
Like a pyramid but with running instead of sand and camels. Sounded
pretty good to me and it meant as soon as I got to the top of the
first hill I could push on knowing there wouldn’t be any nasty
hills hiding further along the route.
The elevation profile I'd found on Google ... |
My
tummy had been roiling in the car on the way there. I get so nervous
before races and even more so when I think there’s a team depending
on me to try and run my best. I don’t know why I get so anxious –
if things go wrong, they go wrong. I wouldn’t put pressure on
anyone else, but can’t seem to help doing it to myself.
I
arrived at the start which was ‘The Swan’. It had a beer garden
and a comfortable bench. Things were looking up already.
![]() |
Photo Credit |
There
were a few runners from other clubs waiting for the mass start at 1pm
so we all got chatting about the usual ... what races have you done
recently (are you faster than me?), what club are you in (are you
competition?) and who are you here with (if you’re faster than me
and I push you in the hedge will anyone see?).
There
was an air of competitiveness, but it was friendly and there was a
nice sense of camaraderie. It seemed as though a lot of people did
their 10 mile relay legs and then followed their team members in cars
or on bikes or in their cars offering support and water. It was an
unmarshaled course so there were no water stations or marshals giving
directions. Apparently there were small arrows on some of the
signposts but a few had been tampered with so it was a case of use
your map and get yourself to the end. Or try to keep someone in front
in sight and hope like hell they knew where THEY were going. I was
going for the latter tactic.
As
it was so hot, I was running with my ultra vest and 1.5 litres of
water. I’d brought some gels and planned to try and approach this
race like I would a half marathon. I’d never raced 10 miles before
so it would be a PB even if I came dragging in at the back of the
pack having lost all the other runners and my map. And probably my
sanity and love of hills.
I
finished my coffee and regretfully gave up my sunny spot to start
pinning my number, checking my shoelaces and studying the map. Vinny
and Tony from my running club arrived and it was nice to see 2 other
Northbrook Sunburst vests. I was pretty sure they knew the way and
thanks to Tony’s height I was relying on being able to see him over
the top of the hedges to give me a clue as to which direction I
should be going.
![]() |
Looking overenthusiastic. And gurning for some reason. |
Apparently
we were running to the highest point in Warwickshire. Oh. But
apparently it was worth it because of the amazing views across the
yellow rapeseed flowers. Oh good. Couldn’t I go and look at some
flowers on a flat bit instead?
The
race briefing went something like this. “You can’t get lost. Just
aim for the hilliest bits. GO!”
The
man from the Godiva Harriers set off at a blistering pace, through
the centre of Moreton-in Marsh, pedestrians and market stalls
flashing past. I attempted to keep up but when I checked my Garmin
and saw I was running at about my 400m pace, I decided that this was
possibly my worst idea since my
I-know-let’s-all-see-how-many-99p-burgers-we-can-eat plan. That
ended in vomiting and wanting to crawl into a hedge and die too. I
let him go (like I had any other option) but bellowed after him; “I
hope you know where you’re going as we’re all following YOU!”
and gave him a big grin. No pressure there then Mr Speedy Legs!
We
turned off the main street of Moreton-in-Marsh and into a peaceful
country lane. I slowed my pace down a bit – I had to remember I had
10 miles to run today. It was a pleasant temperature under the trees
with the sun dappling the stones of the lane. After slowing, I was
expecting a flood of runners to come past but the only set of
footsteps behind me belonged to Northbrook Tony who comfortably
overtook me, chasing the Godiva runner who I could just see in the
distance.
No-one
else was around now, just the two figures in front and me and the
pat-pat-pat of my footsteps in the quiet lane.
Up
the hill, a gentle slope, but we then cut right as per the map and
onto a short downhill. Huh. I hadn’t expected this but assumed it
was too small to show on the elevation profile, left turn again into
a small lane which stretched upwards. Ah ok ... so this must be The
Hill. After which it would all be downhill to a glorious finish. And
hopefully a cold pint.
My map of the relay leg route |
It
was peaceful and still, the hot sun on my shoulders – almost as
though I was running alone although thanks to the height of my
Northbrook team mate I could occasionally see his head bob along
above the top of a distant hedge.
It
was glorious running along in the sunshine, the dusty road under my
feet – eyes set to the horizon and the relay baton clutched in my
hand. I couldn’t help smiling. This was a brilliant race, winding
lanes, hills and a nice long distance you can get your teeth into.
Yep. 10 miles is definitely my distance, I told myself.
Although,
I couldn’t help noticing that despite having climbed a monster
hill, the hedges were high and there was no sign of the amazing view
promised. Or even any yellow rapeseed flowers. Consoling myself with
the thought that maybe the person who had mentioned these drove a
Land Rover or double-decker bus or something that could see over the
hedges to the views, I had a brief moment of self-doubt. What if my
downloaded elevation map was wrong? That there might be another hill?
Nah. I dismissed the thought. I’d done my homework, downhill to the
finish and the pint.
Over
the top and into a blissful downhill. Lovely! This is more like it.
But I can’t help noticing that I’m running down into a valley
shaped a bit like a bowl. How exactly do I get out of this valley
without going up a hill? My downloaded elevation map PROMISED me no
more hills! Bloody map. Bloody Google.
I
got to the bottom of the dip and followed the hedges round and yet
again the lane stretched upwards. I huffed a sigh and urged my legs
onwards passing a horse and rider and a cyclist. Eventually. We were
all going uphill, my speed wasn’t up to much and I didn’t want a
race photo with a hoofprint on the forehead.
This
was the hill that just kept on giving. Every time I rounded a corner,
there was more UP in front of me. Stupid up. Where’s the down?
Slogging
my way up this transplanted-and-transported-to-Warwickshire-Alp I
spotted some yellow flowers through a gateway. Right. This HAS to be
the highest hill. Please. Let this be the highest hill. Let this be
the LAST hill ...
I
used my tried-and-tested tactic to get myself up the hill. My legs
were going on strike and my head was telling me to walk. I picked a
landmark and ran to that. Told my head and legs that I just needed to
run to the landmark. Just to the next shadow, just to next telegraph
pole, just to that piece of cow parsley. And kept picking landmarks.
And then I was at the top.
And
looking at the next hill. Bloody hills.
My
pre-hills-of-doom race plan had been to just get up the hills
steadily and then make up time by relaxing and running faster on the
down hills but I hadn’t counted on my legs being replaced by what
felt like wooden pirate peg legs. They were still moving but they
were refusing to move any faster. In fact they wanted to stop. Nope.
No stopping. Faster run, faster pint.
Cars
were leapfrogging me, overtaking me in the lanes then stopping in a
gateway or at a junction and pouring out water ready to give to their
runner. They were supporting their own teams but all acknowledged me
and encouraged me and several asked if I wanted water. It was great
that despite it being different clubs competing we all wanted
everyone to do well. However, it was also a reminder that if I DID
stop or took a walk break, there was someone just behind me who would
overtake me.
The
cars were annoying as the lanes were so narrow, but the drivers were
courteous and passed me as safely as they could. It also kept me
running. And guessing. “That car overtook me much quicker than last
time – their runner must be gaining on me.” Push, legs, push!
No-one
had overtaken me since Northbrook Tony in the first mile and every
time I slowed to climb a hill or didn’t push hard enough down a
hill, I expected someone to come tearing past me. Running down a hill
at about mile 4, I heard footsteps behind me but I didn’t dare look
behind. I couldn’t go any faster and sustain the effort on these
hills. My gradient map was obviously wrong and I have no idea what’s
coming up. If someone is catching up I don't want to see. I just
couldn’t push it any more. I was hurting. How can it only be mile
5?
Somewhere
during the run, I seemed to have picked myself up a mantra. It
appeared to be stuck on repeat and went “Just one more hill? (sees
another hill over horizon) Bother. Just one more hill? (sees yet
another hill over horizon) Bother....”
It
wasn’t just the hills that were causing me problems now. The heat
was intensifying. I was trying to run in the shade from the trees,
but the problem with starting at 1pm was that there weren’t a lot
of shadows I could run in. I was glad I was wearing my trusty
Poundland sunglasses. Cheap AND cheerful plus if I sat on them and
squished them (the usual demise of my sunglasses) then I could get some
more for the price of a car park ticket. Also they made everything
LOOK cooler, although this was confusing my body and eyes and they
were arguing about who was getting the correct info. I let them
carry on. So long as my eyes and body were bickering, they weren’t
telling my legs to stop running hills.
And
there was always another bloody hill.
My
plan of keeping a steady effort up the hill and hoofing it down the
other side was being replaced by plan B which was ‘everything is
too much effort but don’t stop’. I was plodding and boiling hot,
I didn’t seem to be able to get enough water out of the water
bladder and I was feeling like hell. I was trying not to get to plan C which was ‘collapse in road and hope someone will find you and
carry you to the finish line’.
I
remembered an article I’d read on Runners World about ‘Head Vs Body’ and how a lot of running suffering is actually our head
telling us we can’t do it
and briefly I had a spurt of energy. Very brief. Which dried up at
the start of the next hill. Nope. It’s definitely my body telling
me to slow the hell down.
Can
I stop or will team be disqualified? Please let me stop! What if I
fall over? Or lose the baton? All of this was going through my head,
but I was still running. I wanted to stop, but wouldn’t slow down
to walk as then I’d be overtaken by the runners I was sure were
behind me. How’s that for fuzzy logic? Although I did notice that
while I was having this internal dialogue I was actually running
better as the voices were distracting me.
So
... if a car hits me I can stop?
It
felt like an endless Groundhog Day of uphills and downhills. Just
more and more miles of lanes and hedges and hot, hot sun and more
hills. More bloody hills.
I
passed a race supporter’s car, who had been leapfrogging me, for
the umpteenth time. “Nearly there!” he shouted. I was suspicious.
What is ‘nearly there’ to a supporter? Another mile? Another 2?
I’m pretty sure I’ve shouted “Nearly there” to a marathoner
at mile 15. Maybe this is karma.
I
came round the corner and onto a main road. Just keep pushing, keep
running. I passed a turning on the right. Was I meant to turn there?
I was lost, there was no-one to follow. Just keep running. The Bad
Runner voices started in again; “You’ve gone the wrong way!”,
“You’ll have to backtrack a mile!”, “You’ll never make
another mile – look at you. You’re done in!” My legs kept
going.
A
car slowed near me – it was my family. “Well done!” Shouted 4yo
from the back.
“I
think I’ve gone wrong.” I shouted to The Mr. “I feel like I’m
running through treacle and hell and I might be running in the wrong
direction.“ I kept running and the car screeched off and reappeared
a few minutes later. “You’re nearly there! There’s a turning on
the left!” The car disappeared again.
Left?
Their left? My left? Which is left? My brain wasn’t working any
more. I was so close, I just had to keep going. Just keep going. Legs
don’t fail me now.
A
turning! That’s a turning! Is that left? I have NO idea.
Veering
across the road. Is that Liz from Northbrook? Can I stop? No. I’m
told to keep going.
Left
foot, right foot, left foot ... please let me stop ... runner coming
the other way ... won’t take the baton.
“I’m
not on your team” and they run on.
Someone
please take the baton, I can’t stop until then, why won’t they
take it? Left foot, right foot, a club vest I recognise, the baton is
taken. Left foot ... and down.
![]() |
Feeling RUBBISH!! |
I
rouse myself to find:
- 4 year old has eaten my recovery banana.
- Ants are eating my arse.
Yep.
I finished my relay leg, crashed out on the bank for some recovery
time during which 4yo finds my banana and eats it. Ants then discover
I am sitting on their house (Hill? Nest?) and are exacting revenge by
snacking on my arse.
Apparently I did some amazing dancing.
What
did I learn?
- Ants are evil.
- Hills are evil.
- 10 miles is NOT my distance. At least not if there are massive hills.
- Don’t try and chase people quicker than you.
- Don’t give your relay baton away to an opposing team. You’ll be standing there looking confused when you could be sitting down.
- 4 year olds snaffle your recovery food given half a chance.
- Don’t trust downloaded elevation maps.
- I was running in the hottest place in the country on the hottest day of the year.
![]() |
The actual elevation profile. Damn you Google!! |
Garmin
info here.
I
was 10th
overall for my relay leg (3rd
on 1pm start) and 1st
lady.

Oh Sarah, I'm so sorry but I was laughing my head off at that!! That must have been soul destroying to keep seeing all those hills coming into view. Never trust Google! You had a brilliant run though, congratulations on being first lady on your leg, what a superstar :-)
ReplyDeleteI don't know how you do all your amazing fell running! These were only little hills - and no mud!! Lots of respect!! :)
ReplyDeleteLife has its ups and downs Sarah, you seem to have packed them all into one run lol ;)
ReplyDeleteAnd the ANTS - don't forget the ants!!! ;) Couldn't believe all those hills!! Arrgh!!! :)
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