It had all
seemed like such a good idea at the time. I’d had a couple of
drinks and had been encouraged by all the fervour on Twitter into
thinking that entering a 24hr event as a solo would be a good idea.
It all sounded pretty simple.
Run as much
as you can, eat as much as you can hold. Don’t stop.
Easy, right?
I had
recruited Lozza, one of my running buddies as my support crew (read:
Run Servant) for Thunder Run 24 ... and I was already a bit concerned
that she was going to be a bit too conscientious about keeping me on
target.
 |
| Lozza making sure I'm not sitting down. |
Initially I’d
asked her to shout at me if I tried:
She took it
seriously. In fact she took it a bit too seriously. And after an
email chain which culminated in her threatening to put me in adult
nappies if I tried going into the portaloos for a quick sit down I
was considering all the hiding places I could think of should I need
a nap.
When I told
her I had vetoed the adult nappy idea, I got this back:
"From: Laura
Sent:
Thursday, July 24, 2014 4:46 PM
To: Sarah
Subject: Re:
TR24
You just have
NO commitment Saz!!!"
 |
| The perfect spot for the tent ... |
Canvas and
Confusion
I’d been
set up.
I was
surrounded with string, springy poles and confusion. It had all
sounded so simple. “Sarah – I can’t get to Thunder Run until
Saturday, will you pitch my 3-man tent for me? It’s easy.” I’d
accepted this. I have a 3-man tent – it takes one person 7 minutes
to set up and I can have a beer open and my feet up within 7 ½
minutes. It’s the perfect tent.
But here I
was trying to manhandle the equivalent of a canvas mansion into
position, assisted by Lozza, Caroline, Paul and Liz. And we weren’t entirely sure it was supposed to look like
this.
“It’s a
bit lumpy ...” We whipped the top layer off and tried it another
way round. Are tents supposed to be this confusing? We then realised
we had half the poles in the wrong holes. Stupid tents.
After a brief
debate in which the idea of
sticking-all-the-poles-upright-in-the-field-and-throwing-the-tent-material-over-the-top-and-waiting-to-see-if-Chris-noticed
was discarded, we took it all apart and started again. Eventually we
got the tent up. It was MASSIVE.
“What’s
all this extra leftover material?”
It was
supposed to have BEDROOMS. Sod that. We pretended we hadn’t noticed
the extra tent material and stashed it in a dark corner for Chris to
find. If he wanted a bedroom, he was going to have to make it
himself.
However,
despite our tents looking a bit slapdash, we had found the perfect
location. About 200m from the start/ finish crossover point and on
the other side of the 2km point. And even more importantly about 100m
from the portaloos. No middle of the night long distance treks across
an obstacle course of dark tents, guylines and whatever else runners
leave in a field in the hours of darkness for US, thankyouverymuch!
We had
started setting up and heard a “Hello!” and discovered that not
only were we camped right next to Paul and Caroline (Yes – the same
Caroline who had saved my butt at London Marathon with her magic Garmin fixing), but we were also camped opposite Liz and Damian and
about 2 tents down from Yvonne and Andy Windsor. So in several fields
of over 1000 tents we were next to our run buddies.
See - running
really IS magic. And ultra running makes for a very small world.
Everyone knows everyone.
Or there are
actually only 25 people who actually run and the rest are actors
brought in by the race directors. It would explain a lot. Maybe these
are the people who go into the portaloos and make all that mess. I’m
sure it wouldn’t be anyone I know.
The Start:
Are they SURE this is an ultra event?
I was
daunted.
So many
impressive looking solos here. Lots of wiry, leathery tanned people.
And there was me. Skulking at the back with my English tan (pale with
freckles) and my impressive lack of experience. And lack of plan.
In fact if
there was a competition for leathery skin, impressive running vests
and a less toenails per digit than the average amputee, then the
Thunder Run solos would win hands down.
I was so out
of place. And thanks to Plantar Fasciitis the previous couple of
months I even had 10 toenails. I was expecting to be kicked out of
the race any moment to cries of “Fake runner! She hasn’t even
read Born to Run! AND her toenails are normal colour!”
Luckily there
wasn’t some sort of test you had to go through to cross the start
line as a solo. I wasn’t spotted and asked to demonstrate barefoot
running technique, my opinion of the Salomon S-Lab vest Vs the
Innov-8 Ultra Vest or even to participate in a gels Vs Real Food
debate. Didn’t even get asked if I was vegan.
Huh. Are they
SURE this is a proper ultra running event?
In fact, the
start was the most relaxed start of a race ever. We hung around at
the back in the shade trying to keep out of the blazing sunshine
which was already hitting temperatures of 27 degrees and just started
pootling along when the starting horn blew. It took me even longer to
cross the start line than at the start of the marathon ... well
that’s 2 minutes of the 24hrs done already. If the rest of the time
passes that fast, I will be DONE before I’ve even had a chance to
make a proper dent in the snacks.
I was liking
this. There was sunshine, long slow running and a tent full of snacks
to get through in my immediate future. Life was GOOD.
I was running
with Paul, a friend I’d done the Thames Trot 50 with earlier in the
year. The vague plan was to run together as much as we could as the
company would make the miles easier. We started out running with
Chris – he of the confusing tent – and Caroline – of London
Marathon Garmin rescue fame – too and our mouths were running twice
as fast as our legs.
Spirits were
as high as the sun and I was relieved to have slathered on the sun
cream and worn a cap. I may end up with dodgy tan lines around the
hat and the ultra vest, but better than burning and being in pink
burny agony for the next 23 hours and 55 minutes. We had upgraded our
pootle pace to a trot ... and just as we got to the first hill at 1km
everything ground to a halt. The trail narrows here and there was
only room for one or two people to run side by side. Also the solos
were point blank refusing to run any of the hills and one or two of
the more enthusiastic ones (cough, me, cough) were already digging
out the first snacks.
Chris,
Caroline, Paul and I were having a good old catch up and Chris
mentioned to Caroline about how he’d got into running originally
and how he had lost 6.5 stone. A runner behind us said “Wow!” and
we had our first introduction to Antonia as she chatted away. She had a brilliant bouncy style of running and
every time we saw her she was flying around the course as easily as
if she was running a 5k, her blonde plaits bouncing earning her an
affectionate nickname of “Pigtails” at our camp. She was friendly
and chatty and we would have loved to have envied her effortless
running style but she was just too likeable.
The course
for Thunder Run is beautiful and every section is completely
different to the last making it perfect if you’re going to do lots
of laps as you don’t get too bored of the course. There are a lot
of ‘technical’ sections (which basically is a runner way of
saying ‘easy to fall over in’) and some big hills. I bloody LOVE
big hills in an ultra. They give me an excuse to walk. And eat more
snacks. In fact my perfect ultra would probably be up the side of a
mountain and involve my own bodyweight in snacks. (Preferably carried
by some sort of solo runner servant). And then a nice run down the
other side. But gently and with a couple of portaloos along the way.
And snack stations. And cheering.
 |
| High on sugar from all the snacks. Source: |
There are a
lot of twisting woodland sections at the Thunder run and one
particularly maze-like section through the trees with plenty of
exposed roots on the ground. You end up River Dancing your way
through trying not to trip. And at night the headtorches flashing
make it even more fun.
The team
runners were dashing past us at top speed. It all looked a bit tiring
in the heat. Sod that, I thought. I’d rather run slower and
further. Plus I bet *I* have more snacks.
Heat &
a Good Hosing
The heat was
extremely intense, with another runner confirming it had hit 32
degrees. The main problem was the humidity and lack of a breeze –
you’d get hot and sweaty but it just wasn’t evaporating. I was
rocking the Sweaty Runner look by about mile 3. Another thing that
was concerning me was the amount I was having to drink. I’d brought
my ultra vest so I wouldn’t have to stop for water too often, but
I’d found that I was drinking 1–2 litres per lap – that’s 6
miles! We’ve all heard of hyponatraemia which is something that long distance runners sometimes get from
drinking too much water and lowering the sodium concentration in
their blood. I tried to counter this by adding electrolytes to my
water bladder and by scoffing salty peanuts (MORE snacks!) and as
hyponatraemia is more dangerous than dehydration I tried to keep an
eye on it.
 |
| If only she was dispensing vodka tonics instead ... |
The water
station lady at the 5km mark was hosing people down with chilly water
but even better, there were sponges in a bucket of cool water here.
It was amazing wiping a cool sponge over the back of my neck, the
cold water making me shiver. However, as the time went on the sponges
disappeared. Apparently some people were sticking them down their
tops to stay cool. It was gutting to get to the water stop looking
forward to a cool down to find there were no sponges. Next year the
Thunder Run organisers should implement a rule that sponge thieves
should have their snacks confiscated. I will of course selflessly
volunteer to be the Chief Confiscation Marshal.
Strategy &
Bickering
Paul and I
had started with the strategy
run-the-flats-and-downhills-and-walk-the-uphills from the start. It
had been difficult with the enthusiasm of running and with the team
runners flying past not to push the pace too hard, especially in the
heat but we’d stayed at a fairly conservative pace. So why did we
felt like hell?
Should the
first 18 miles feel this hard?
It didn’t
bode well for the rest of the race, but we cheered ourselves up by
telling ourselves “If we’re finding it this hard, then so will
everyone else. And we’re more bloodyminded than them. AND bet they
don’t have an awesome Run Servant.”
We also boosted our spirits by saying “At least we’re not waist
deep in water today.” The last time Paul and I had run together had
been during the Thames Trot 50 and most of the course had been
flooded. There had been thigh deep water. It had been a very damp 50
miles.
We even tried
schadenfreude: “Bet some people will have dropped out already. It’s
a bit hot.” And “We can still hit x amount of miles even if we
walk now.” We distracted ourselves with maths for a while and how
far we’d get if we used the rest of the time for walking at a 20
min/mile pace. The bickering over how appalling my maths was also
used up some of the time.
 |
| Death marching up the hills |
What do you
talk about when you’re running multiple laps and big miles? Every
lap we discussed our newest ache, our most irritating chafe. Bad
jokes routinely made an appearance with Paul confiding in a solemn
tone that he had a drinking problem. And demonstrating this by
throwing his drink in his eyes.
We decided
that there should be a 50 Shades of Running. “Oooh!” She moaned
as the deep heat got into her latest chafing.” “She shuddered as
he poured cold Lucozade down her back.” We entertained ourselves by
thinking up alternative versions of these for a while until we got
back onto our favourite topic of how the hills are getting steeper
every lap.
It had all
started out so politely too. We’d chatted about kids, races, jobs.
Had apologised after every accidental burp. Now we were talking about
achy buttocks and intimate chafing. And after each food stop farts
were rolling like machine gun fire. No wonder the team runners were
so keen to get past us.
Run
Servant Tactics
As the day
got hotter, the hills got steeper and the final section through the
campsite got longer. However, my ‘Run Servant’ or ‘Solo Slave’
was brilliant and well up to the task of cheering up grumpy,
demanding solo runners. Lozza would get a 5 minute warning via text
to get soup on, to get the next set of trainers out or some other
random thing that seemed SO crucial while I was plodding around the
course. She was amazing. Thank you, Loz.
 |
| See - she even has a CAPE. Told you she was Super ... |
However,
while Lozza was a brilliant and extremely enthusiastic crew, I did
have to point out she was doing supporting wrong. She was cheering
ALL the solos. Especially Pigtails who was flying around the course
putting the rest of us to shame. AND making it look easy.
Told Lozza
that her tactics all wrong and instead of encouraging the other solos
she needs to DIScourage them. And maybe even throw things to slow
them down a bit. Unwanted canned food, discarded trainers, the tent
peg mallet, for example. And if she had time in between preparing my
food, kit, cleaning the tent and campsite and charging my Garmins,
she could feel free to dig pits to trap them in. Or tell them the
race had finished early. That kind of thing.
Running
Buddies
One of the
things that made Thunder Run so much fun was the number of people
that we knew. Liz and Damian from Northbrook running club had managed
to win some free places with the Adidas team and were zooming around
the course as a team of 6, Liz rocking the
electrical-tape-around-knee look.
I’d
randomly met Louise of Abradypus and parkrun fame in the registration
tent. She wasn’t running but had popped in on her way Oop North.
After chatting so long on Twitter it was great to meet her in real
life at last. She also adopted me as New Best Friend immediately when
I described her as petite rather than short. Speaking as someone who
will also never hit the heady heights of 5’4 I can appreciate this.
Lozza and I
found the Dirty Daps, Muddy Tracks camp the evening before adorned
with Purple and Gold banners. Everyone was chatty and lovely. And
strangely enough, less Welsh than I’d expected. I saw Sarah and
Sandy on course at several points, both looking determined and
smiley.
The
Bootcampers I knew from Runners World were out in force. I’d popped
over to say hello the night before and had beer envy. Everyone in
their large teams had brought a bottle or crate of choice and were
getting happily sloshed. Except for Tigger who was getting happily
legless but still managed to persuade us to pose for a selfie like
this:
 |
| Me, Tigger, Lozza |
It was lovely
to know that I had so many friends to look out for even if some of
them were zipping past at top speed. I knew that at any time there
would be 2 or 3 people from the Bootcamper’s teams on the course.
(Waves at Simon, Tigger, Sarah A, Chris A, Angela I, David I, Clive,
Alex, Malcs, Jen, Neil, Paul, Monika, Minni)
We spotted
Chris of Sandhurst Joggers from Endure24 who gave us a big cheer from
the camp every time we crossed the line. He didn’t offer me a
sandwich though, did he? Take note Chris, next time we’re expecting
snacks. Just kidding, the cheering was awesome. I like nutella
sandwiches.
Randomly a
few people cheered me by shouting “Come on Hannah!” Hannah? Who’s
Hannah? I had changed into my red and white vest with ‘Sarah’
emblazoned on the front in big letters. Maybe people’s reading
abilities were getting confused by the heat. Then a few hours later I
passed a girl with dark hair wearing a red and white top and ultra
vest. This HAD to be Hannah. She looked a bit grumpy though. Maybe
she was sick of people shouting “Go on Sarah!” at her ...
The general
support for the solo runners was amazing. Team runners called “Go
on Solo” as they passed, camps had buckets with sponges in for us
to use to stay cool. And coming back to the final hill in the
campsite there was an entire cheering section shouting on the
runners. The support was brilliant. Next year if we can persuade them
to cheer AND throw snacks, it would be perfect.
Aches
My glutes
start aching first. See ultra running really IS a pain in the arse.
My knees feel delicate but not sore. They click strangely when I stop
running. The Plantar Fasciitis made a brief reappearance as a
stretching feeling under the arch of my right foot but everything is
feeling a bit stretched and over-used so it’s muted. My shoulders
are aching. When I consciously move them down and relax them, it’s
like a muscle release. My toes are sore but it’s blisters not joint
problems or toenails trying to escape.
The bottom of
my feet are so hot from the heat and the constant pounding that I can
feel them swelling. I put my trail shoes on again for an evening lap
but I have to take them off by 2km where the trail passes our camp
and bellow across the hedge for my road shoes. We fling the shoes
across the hedge and they cross in mid air. My feet were too swollen
now to fit into the 2 pairs of trails shoes I had expected to wear
for the majority of the time so I was down to the Asics GT2000 and
the Hoka One One Mafete shoes.
Evening to
Night
The heat
finally abated at about 8pm. I was walking up the hill with the
cornfield on the left and despite the sun having disappeared behind
the horizon, still couldn’t believe how warm it was. I’d carried
my sunglasses all day in the pocket of my vest but had been subject
to runner superstition. The last run wearing these sunglasses had
involved crazy hills, stupid heat and ant attacks on the arse. So I’d
carried them in case I needed sunglasses, but had been too frightened
to wear them in case it prompted another plague of insects. Or hills.
I’d worn my
DDMT cap on for the entire day and finally removed it at about lap 7.
It was time to pop the headtorch into the ultra vest now ready for
darkness. I couldn’t wait. I’d had plenty of practise running at
night and it would make a welcome change from the sun. As a
precaution, I also sprayed myself with bug spray. I’d be exchanging
one for another - burning sun for biting midges. I was a bit too
enthusiastic with the spray but I hate mosquitoes. However ALL I
could taste was bug spray. I had a drink from the ultra vest pipe.
Great. Now my water tastes of bug spray too. Nice one Sarah. In fact
the taste was so strong I wondered if I’d brought Raid by mistake
and sprayed myself with fly killer. I spent the next lap convinced
that I was about to keel over from Fly Spray poisoning. I wasn’t
getting bitten by bugs but I wasn’t sure a horrible death from Fly
Spray was a better alternative.
However,
running at dusk was such a relief. I’d escaped the sunshine
finally. Now just to concentrate on not dying from spray poisoning
and keeping running.
Keeping
running was the problem. My pace was slowing dramatically from the 11
– 12 min/miles per lap including walking the hills to about 13 –
14 min/miles. Paul and I had been running together the whole time but
Paul was now watching the time we’d banked slipping away and his
mileage targets becoming unachievable. I’d managed to wing it so
far, but the lack of long runs due to the PF was now showing.
About 11pm I
told Paul to go on without me. I’d carry on running, but I wouldn’t
feel like I was slowing him down. To his absolute credit, he was
reluctant to do so. Despite seeing his times drop and his goals
disappearing, it almost took the threat of violence (or snack theft)
to get him to go on without me.
Seeing him
run off was almost a relief. We had to run our own races and I didn’t
want to feel responsible for Paul not getting his goal. Also I was
relieved to be able to go at a pace comfortable for me rather than
feeling like I was being death marched up the hills and sprinting
down them. Besides I had a packet of Haribo stashed in my pack. I
could eat the whole damn lot on my own now.
Night Lap
In the
daytime, it’s easy to see who the team and the solo runners are but
this distinction disappears at night as paces slow and the colours of
the running numbers are indistinguishable. The supporters are mainly
gone, only an occasional lone runner sitting up waiting for their
next lap under a gazebo at midnight. The roots and holes in the trail
are hidden by the darkness and the other runners are just a bright
light in the blackness, no distinguishing features except for the
different footfalls or breathing as they pass.
 |
| See how dark it is! |
The night
stretched on. The trees highlighted by the spotlight of my torch and
the roots on the trail in stark black and white. I run on in my own
little patch of light, around me only darkness. It’s like I’m
running in a bubble, walk the dark uphills, run the dark downhills.
It feels as
though I have always been running in darkness.
Repeating
conversation
I get back to
camp after the lap and Lozza asks me what I need. I don’t know. She
asks me if I’m hungry. I don’t know. Thirsty? Don’t know. She
gives me some food and drink and gets her headtorch out. She
announces she’s coming with me for the next lap.
We get to the
short sharp hill at the 1km mark. I am sure someone has replaced the
nice hill earlier with a much steeper one. My legs are disliking
having to go up hills – even walking. We run down the next hill and
I realise I have dragged poor Loz out of bed in the middle of the
night and as if that isn’t bad enough, I am now making her run. We
decide to walk the next section. It is not as if my legs are going to
complain about walking.
Lozza and I
have the best conversations and we get onto the subject of height.
And somehow come to the conclusion that all ultra runners are short.
We have a think about our running friends and because it’s gone
midnight and we have been in the hot sun all day, we decide that ALL
ultra runners are short. We decide it’s because their legs are
closer to the ground. At midnight in the middle of a wood it made
perfect sense. We even start thinking about our running friends and
we cannot think of one over about 5 foot 8. And when we do we
discount them because it doesn’t fit in with our theory. We carry
on plodding along, pleased with our contribution to running science.
 |
| A nice bright light just before the Conti Climb. |
We get
quieter and quieter and I am going slower and slower. As we come up
to the hills, I start bending over.
Lozza
admitted to being concerned at this point and thought I was falling
asleep on my feet. I wasn’t ... although I’d liked to have been.
It was just that my legs had stopped going up hills. There wasn’t
room for negotiation, they were just refusing. Stupid legs. If we
don’t get back to the tent, then we can’t have more snacks. I
start moving again.
We come up to
the ridge at the 8km point. I am moving very slowly and am answering
Lozza in grunts. I am moving, but very, very slowly. I have perfected
the solo zombie look. All of a sudden I hear “Sarah! Hi!” I see
Malcs and Jen of the Bootcampers have stopped to see me. Malcs took a
glance at me “Sarah ... you look – “Jen caught his eye and
shook her head. “Great!” Malcs finished unconvincingly.
We shuffle
around the final 2km in what could have been a convincing scene from
The Walking Dead if the zombies had been wearing running gear and
forced to walk on trails. I had certainly perfected the shuffle and
grunt and Lozza was matching my speed as she didn’t want to leave
me to wander off into traffic.
We finally
made it back towards the race village and from one of the few lit
tents, a lady shouted something in our direction. Huh? I looked at
Lozza who translated. She wants to know if you want a cup of tea. I
didn’t but appreciated the simple act of kindness.
We finally
made it back to the tent and Lozza told me firmly to get some rest.
It had taken 2 hours to get around that 6 mile lap and I couldn’t
face walking for another 2 hours. She had her strict face on. I got
into the car and ran the engine to get the heaters going. I’d spent
all day roasting hot and now I was freezing cold. I also couldn’t
get comfortable. I finally compromised with 2 ibuprofen and my feet
up on the dash. Lozza also used her own sleeping bag to cover me up
with ignoring the fact that my revolting feet were up on the dash of
her lovely car and I hadn’t had a shower since the day before the
day before as the campsite showers hadn’t opened until the race had
begun.
I set my
alarm for 4am. And got my head down.
Morning
I woke up a
few minutes before the alarm – this appears to be an unbreakable
law even if you’ve run stupid distances – and moved myself. Huh.
Nothing has seized up. In fact, I feel GREAT!
It IS a bit
cold though.
I decide to
leave my hoodie on and SPRINT off onto the course bellowing “Morning
Lozza!” as I pass the tent. It may be 4am but things are GREAT! My
legs are working, the sun is coming up and the night has sodded off!!
Hooray!!
I am
super-pleased with myself for discovering how amazing and toastie
running in a hoodie is ... until the 1km point where I start
overheating. I take it off, nearly garrotting myself with the hood
strings and whang it over the hedge onto Tess’s tent at the 2km
point bellowing “Hoodie! Wheeeeeee!” for good measure.
Hooray! Life
is good! Running is great! I have to stop myself sprinting up the
hills! In fact I feel SO good, I wonder whether my morning flapjack
was drugged. Maybe it’s the after effects of bug spray poisoning.
Mad euphoria before a painful death.
 |
| See ... I'm still running! Source: Paul's Dad |
I was wearing
my Hoka One One Mafete. My feet just wouldn’t fit in any of the
other shoes I’d brought. I hadn’t really taken to these shoes
previously but for this run on solid trail they were brilliant. They
were like bouncy canoes. No more fear of tree roots and stones, I
could be walking on the bodies of fallen runners and I wouldn’t
have realised. Although I might have looted them for snacks.
Falling
over
I may have
been in great spirits but my balance was shot. I’d fallen over a
few times the previous day, but for no other reason apart from
general clumsiness. I’d fallen into the nettles and fallen over the
grass. I’d also tripped over a tree root for good measure. And this
is where wearing an ultra vest really comes into its own. I’d fall
down, get a nice soft landing on the bouncy water bladder in the vest
and land unhurt. It was like falling onto a very small personal
bouncy castle.
Luckily it
hadn’t burst although on the last time I’d fallen over and
dislodged the hose. I couldn’t work out why no water was coming out
and tried to sort it out while on the move. I managed to entangle the
straps of the pack, with the hose for the bladder and tie myself to
my headphones all while running along. It must have looked as though
I was attempting a record for the most complicated Cats’ Cradle
while on the move. Finally got it sorted out through a mixture of
thumping it, pulling the leads and swearing. The swearing genuinely
helps.
I noticed
that I actually got better at falling as I got further into the race.
Maybe it was practise, but probably it was that I was getting more
knackered so everything was more relaxed. Or maybe I was just looking
forward to the opportunity for a lie down on the ground. Even an
unexpected one.
Hallucinations
I’d heard
that when you get past 70 miles running, people occasionally get
hallucinations. I was kind of looking forward to this in a strange
way. It would be something new and it would be quite fun to have a
run accompanied by pink bunny rabbits or Jessica Ennis. I didn’t
get hallucinations, but I did get Chronic Misidentification (Don’t
think this is an actual Thing) where I see one of my running buddies
and shout out their name only to realise that I was bellowing a
random name to a complete stranger. On the plus side I was probably
speeding up people’s laps “Uh oh, it’s that Shouty Solo again –
quick speed up” but it was a bit annoying. I’d think I’d see a
friend only to have them completely ignore me. Or turn into a
stranger. I must have done this 25 times.
 |
| Uh oh ... it's that mad Solo who keeps calling me Dave ... |
However,
despite this I did cheer up when I realised my current Thunder Run
mileage would finally push me over 100 miles run for the month. I’d
had a shocking running mileage this month. I’d just have to think
of it as a REALLY long taper.
The sky was
getting light now and the warmth was coming back into the air. It was
wonderful. After all the hours of darkness, it was like an epiphany.
An awakening. You made it! You survived the darkness! Although I
still had 8 hours left, it felt as though the race was nearly
finished.
Coming up the
ridge at about 4km, I saw Rhianon just as sunset was breaking. It was so nice to see her and we had a
chatter briefly and then she flew on to complete the rest of her lap.
A sunrise, a friendly face and a pocket full of snacks. Maybe I’d
survive this Thunder Run after all.
Oversharing
One thing I
did find, was that the longer the race went on, the further my
oversharing filters fell away. It was terrible. If someone had asked,
I probably would have told them anything.
 |
| Keep away if you see me like this. I have my 'oversharing' face on ... |
I was looking
out for a portaloo and finally I spotted one at about 9km where the
course doubles back. Just as I passed a group of spectators one of
them kindly (but not truthfully) shouted out: “Looking good!” I
smiled and gave a thumbs up and shouted back: “Won’t be looking
good in a minute as I’m going to the loo!” Then shrivelled up
and died a little inside. Not entirely sure I made it any better by
going back and apologising after the portaloo visit. Well. They
wouldn’t shake my hand anyway.
Getting By
with a Little Help From My Friends
The next few
laps flew past, I saw Laura out on course and she was running really strongly. I’ve been
reading her blog for ages but still didn’t expect the lovely
accent. When I chat to people online, I always expect them to sound
like me. Dorset-y.
I chatted and
plodded and enjoyed the morning laps. I was going slowly ... I think.
By this point, both of Garmin batteries had given up so I was just
keeping going. Running the downhills and flats and walking everything
even remotely inclined. By now I was into numbers completely unknown
to me. I’d been impressed when I’d gone past 47 miles which was
my previous longest run. Now I was in the 70s. It just seemed an
uncomprehendable number to have run.
 |
| My new running technique. After 50 miles I jump instead ... |
About the 2k
mark I bumped into The Mister who ran a lap with me despite having to
go slow. I know how much he HATES having to walk up hills and share
my snacks. Cough. I said goodbye under the start/finish gantry and
carried on, to be joined by Clive who The Mister had handed over to.
I ran a bit with Clive and having forgotten how speedy I was, I
attempted to keep up to carry on the conversation and knocked in my
fastest half mile of the entire day before telling him to go on for
the sake of my legs. I ran a bit with Angela who was looking fresh
and happy despite running in a large number of laps herself then had
company for a bit with Neil. It was lovely. I’d thought being a
solo would be lonely but I was being supported by my friends and they
were carrying me along on the tide of conversation, making me forget
my blistered feet.
The team
runners were still dashing past at top speed. Despite the insane
soreness of the blistered soles of my feet I’d STILL rather be
running long.
Footsore
My feet were
now very sore. My legs weren’t feeling brand new, but it was the
soles of my feet that were shouting the loudest. They had swollen in
the heat yesterday and as a result I’d been constantly wearing the
one pair of shoes that I’d brought with me that fit. It was lucky
I’d brought them as I’d been planning on running the whole event
in my Asics GT200s and Salomon Speedcross 3 which had been so
brilliant last year. Despite both of these shoes being half a size
bigger than my usual shoe size, I was completely unable to fit my
feet into them. I’d never had this before on any of the marathons
or training runs but it seemed that the combination of the heat and
mileage had given me yeti feet. Hopefully minus the hair. I’d also
managed a blister between every toe and along my toe line on both
feet. My feet were now mummified in tape and I was bouncing along on
massive blisters on the ball of each foot. Mmmmm. Bouncy.
 |
| Mmmm ... I have SEXY feet. |
I’d been SO
proud of my nice feet and 10 pink toenails too.
Damn you
ultra running.
Unexpected
news
I was
plodding along chatting to another solo lady whose legs appeared to
be entirely swathed in rainbow coloured rock tape when Paul caught me
up. We’d run separately since midnight last night and this was the
first time I’d seen him since then. He was running well, if in a
slightly hobbley way and appeared to be in good spirits. Apparently I
was 6th
place lady.
Wow. I hadn’t
expected that.
I’d been
plodding along, adding miles up for me without even considering the
placings. In fact I hadn’t even looked at the results board the
whole time. I was so enthusiastic about hearing I was 6th
that I ran down a bit of the hill. It promptly turned into an uphill
at which I started walking again. That’s enough enthusiasm for one
day.
Paul was on
one more lap than me but we decided to run / walk until the end. We
were so close to the end of the race now. The supporters were out in
force, cheering along the runners, the team races still running fast,
the solos stumping along determinedly. Everyone counting down the
minutes until midday.
We crossed
the start/finish line and carried onto the next lap. My feet were
feeling very sore now but it was time to ignore that and just get on
with it. Coming along to the 2k point, I was grabbed around the
middle in a bear hug. It was Sarah or as I know her, Goldilocks!
After chatting on Twitter for years and years we were finally meeting
in person. She was lovely, just as nice in real life as online. But
tall. And she couldn’t believe how short I was. I introduced her to
mine and Lozza’s ‘All Ultra Runners Are Short’ theory. She
wasn’t convinced. We had a lovely chat and then she dashed off to
complete her final lap. I love it when online friends are lovely in
real life too.
Paul and I
carried on. Up the familiar hills, down the familiar hills. On the
same paths we’d been running for the last 24hrs.Coming up the final
hill, we got a cheer from some twitter buddies, casually leaning on
the haybales halfway up the Conti Climb. I waved at @mazymixer and
@m8dn and exchanged a few words and carried on the plod. It seemed
like it was reunion time as we met Mike Wells and Natalie. I hadn’t
seen Mike since he’d paced me to a PB at Colwick Parkrun a few
months back and he’d been bouncing and twirling away as he made
running a 20 min 5k look so easy. Natalie was on her final lap and
had just covered a further-than-marathon-distance amount of mileage!
Inspiring!
We came past
the 9k point and were cheered up the hill and back down into the
campsite. I was on 14 laps (86.8 miles), Paul on 15 laps (93 miles).
It was 11:30am and we had half an hour until midday.
What to do? I
wanted to do 15 laps but my feet were no longer touching the ground.
They were floating on a bouncy, pillow of blister pus. I’d taken my
nail varnish off before I came to TR24 and thanks to almost a month
off running my toenails were all the same colour. And there were 10
of them. This almost never happened. And here I was destroying them
all again.
Meh. Toenails
were transitory. Sometimes they were there, sometimes they went away.
I headed back
to camp. The Mister, Lozza and Chris were there. This is how you know
who your friends are. The Mister went off for an ice cream and Lozza
made me a sleeping bag nest and handed me a crème egg. The one I had
been looking forward to ALL weekend.
I had REALLY
been looking forward to this crème egg.
Apparently,
they had all been impressed with my 14 laps. But what they will
remember MOST from that weekend was how I made a crème egg disappear in 1
second.
It was the best creme egg ever.
Results
6th
lady
14 laps
86.8 miles
23:29:16
