Coventry Way 40 Mile Run: Goopy Mud, The Predator & Gigantic Gnomes

This event is an excuse for me to run all day fuelled by pick n mix, chat to everybody I see, enjoy the Warwickshire countryside and get treated to a hot meal at the end. And all for the bargain price of about thirty quid. 

It's always at the start of April so it's off the cards if I'm racing a Spring marathon (although I may have used it as my final long run once or twice!) but it's generally a lovely pootle on some decent tracks and a paddle through the bogs. 

Despite entering the event 6 months previously, April had crept up on me. I had a moment of panic the week before thinking that my longest run leading up to it had been 12 miles. Then I remembered the 20 miles I'd run at a Big Bear event 2 months ago. 

Yep. Totally counts.

In line with my MASSIVE ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS I'd also ordered a brand new ASICS FujiTrail run pack for the event. My ancient pack had pretty much fallen apart and it didn’t fit right any more after multiple washes which were needed after having been dropped on the floors of portaloos, covered in mud and worse and generally abused. It had had a good innings but I was concerned that using it was practically germ warfare and that it was going to reach sentience faster than ChatGPT.

So I’d gone online and treated myself to an ASICS one. It had come with 2 soft flasks (I normally use a run bladder) and I liked the idea of being able to see how much fluid I was drinking and had left. Maybe I'd be a convert. Plus if the race went to hell, I could fill them with cider from one of the multiple pubs I'd be passing.

Just to cement home the idea that I was super-organised, I’d also ordered some new trail shoes. I loved my ASICS FuijiTrabuco SKY but I’d lost the insoles while using them for a swimrun event and I wasn’t sure how comfy they’d be for 40 miles without insoles. For 12 miles they were fine but 40 miles? Also they had holes in the sides. But that's just ventilation, right?

As it turned out, the new shoes didn’t turn up in time so I so dug out the old shoes. They were a bit muddy. Banged them together. Sorted. Mostly. Some of the mud fell off anyway. 

It had been raining pretty much non-stop for the last 2 weeks. It didn't bode well for a course which is 90% trails and about 10% underwater even in dry weather (Corley Moor, I'm looking at you.) As I drove towards the start, I passed a river which had flooded its banks. It looks like today was not going to be a day for dry feet. Luckily, my foot modelling days are behind me, Even the most niche market wouldn't want to see mine.

Despite all my good intentions and because the rule of the universe dictates that the closer you live to a race start, the later you'll arrive, I rocked up after all of the car park spaces had been taken and not long before the race start was due to close. Luckily, they're pretty chilled about start times and there was even time for a loo visit and a snack check. Yep, the snacks are all edible.

I've run this event probably 4 or 5 times and had managed to get lost every time. Once you get lost, you kind of glue that turning into your head. And then the next time you run the route, you're like “Yep. I definitely turn here.” So my 40 mile route turns into a 42 mile route complete with u-turns and strange little wiggles where I've corrected my route.

There was a new starting point this year. Rather than starting from the Queens Head, the race started from The Heart of England Social Club. I'd downloaded the new route to my watch last night and was confident I could navigate my way around the changes to the course.

I turned right out of the social club and down the road. Where I was promptly shouted at by the the marshal for going the wrong way. Oh. Whoops.

Testing how awake the marshals are. Cough. Yeah. They passed the test.

I did a complete u-turn and ran back up the hill.

Spring had definitely arrived in Warwickshire. There were primroses along the verges and violets on the banks and the daffodils were waving their yellow heads in the breeze. In a month or so there will be bluebells in all of the copses and then winter would definitely be gone.

But clearly the flowers thrived in an aquatic climate. It had been the wettest March in 40 years and you could tell. The trails were an absolute mudfest and the muddiest I've ever known the route to be. It was Glastonbury without the portaloos and hippies. Mississippi mud pie without the edibility. Peppa Pig would have been in heaven. 

The mud was also a constant reminder that the Poo Fairy hadn't visited today. This is never a good sign before a race. Or during a race. A 40 mile run without a change of clothes was not the place for a toilet disaster. I didn't even have a spare sock.

However, despite my concerns, I felt really good. I was in a good mood, a day of running lay ahead of me, my pockets were full of pick'n'mix. Life was good. I even ran most of the hills. Unheard of in an ultra. Some sections were just not runnable as the mud was so deep and slippery, but the rest … it was good! 

I was having a grand old day. The benefits of this race being so local was that I was seeing lots of friends from various clubs and events. Everyone I passed had a smile or a friendly greeting. It was lovely. The sun even threatened to come out from behind a cloud at one point. I wasn't sure this was a good idea. We were all so covered in mud, we'd be baked in place like the terracotta warriors. 

There was a lot of wildlife about and I heard a woodpecker in the woods. These always sound – to me -  a bit like the noise that Predator from the Predator films makes. I mean, I might be overthinking this but that's not something I really want to meet in the woods. Particularly not if there's no chopper coming to save me. Although I was wearing so much mud, I appeared to be absolutely nailing the mud scene in the film. 

And I swear - hand on heart - that I heard a bird whistling a happy hardcore tune. I'm partial to a bit of happy hardcore, particularly for speed sessions and for throwing me back down memory lane, driving my trusty gold Metro around the lanes of Dorset. Anyhow. Definitely a happy hardcore tune. I'm fairly sure I wasn't having auditory hallucinations and assumed that maybe this remote field had been the site of a rave at some point. Maybe it was a delusion brought on by too much pick'n'mix.

The aid stations were lovely and I cheerfully availed myself of the snacks. The tuna rolls were perfect for ultra running and I had 3 of these, a beef and mustard roll, a cookie, a custard crème, some wine gums and an orange slice. Perfect fare for a snackish runner. I had all of this over the 40 miles … not all at once despite the temptation to fill my pockets with goodies for the drive home. I'd filled my soft bottle with MX concentrate and was taking a salt tablet every so often. Life was good. And full of good things to eat.

I started an audiobook that I had seen recommended on TikTok which meant it could be any type of weird and wonderful. I turned on Gone to See the River Man and was swept up in a tale of sacrifice, child murder and gore. Not something I'd usually listen to but the tale was compelling and disgusting and beautifully written. The miles ticked by. 

Every now and then I'd see a friend. I saw Garry, ran with him for a bit and had a chat which was good. Saw the lovely and very accomplished Liz and ran with her for a bit. It was SO nice to have a catch up. Saw Spencer, Mark and Steve Turvey and Damian from my lovely running club, Northbrook AC. Had a chat with Sophie and Paul Albon of Big Bear Events and joined them for a section and at Brinklow I saw lots of the super people from Rugby Tri on their incredible cheer station! I had been looking forward to seeing them and this cheer station for MILES! It was a real motivator and so nice to see everyone! Had a quick chat to Martin, the incredibly funny author of 'Accidental Ironman: How Triathlon Ruined My Life'. Totally didn't recognise him with his hat on – sorry Martin! You'd clearly be an EXCELLENT spy. 

Stood up at the edge of someone's garden in one of the more remote sections of the course were two ENORMOUS garish garden gnomes. They were about the size of a 6 year old child and enough to give even the stoutest heart nightmares. Sod burglar alarms and guard dogs. Just get yourself down to the local garden centre and ask for two nightmare gnomes. 

 

There were lots of dogs on the trail today, taking advantage of the brief flashes of sunshine between the stormy clouds. I took advantage of as many strokes and pats as I could and was rewarded with a few muddy pawprints and doggy kisses. Perfect. 

I turned a corner and saw a white pile on the floor which looked rather like the piles of ash in Red Dwarf that Lister tastes before realising it's his former crewmates. I recognise this! It's flour left by the Hash House Harriers after one of their hare and hounds runs … and it reminded me. I really did need to get along to one of their beer runs soon! Love a good hash run! 

My husband also runs this event. He gets a 2 or 3 hour head start on me and I usually tend to overtake him in one of the fields just before the big aid station whereupon he smiles and tries desperately not to tell me to f**k off as I sail past him waving like a lunatic.This year I saw him at about 15 miles in, just past the aid station. He was clearly having a good run this year!

This run should have been tough and tiring and grotty and grumpy. The conditions underfoot were so clotted and muddy and flooded which slowed everything down, but today everything just worked. I had no niggle or blisters. The kit was great, the legs felt fantastic and everything was good. My prep had been poor but everything had come together to give me a lovely run. I didn't even need the marble rule today.

The parts that I usually find tough on this course; the never-ending canal section and the housing estates flew past. Everything just ticked past and the running felt easy and comfortable. Like it almost never does on ultras. Even with the ankle-deep mud and slipping around, I was having a lovely time. What horrors did the universe have hidden? Karma has to balance, right? Am I going to be involved in some dreadful weasel attack? I could see the headlines now “Plucky Ultra Runner Completes Race with Leg missing After Rabid Ferret Attack”. Or maybe I'd fall into the canal and be found 3 days later, bloated and floating along with my mouth full of pick'n'mix and my trainers looted by dog walkers.

But things carried on, mostly uneventfully. I got lost about 6 times, mostly on the old bits which I really should know by now but I turned around and got back on course. It was practically tradition by now that I get lost at least twice. Bonus miles. Didn't have to pay for these.

I saw someone I’d run the course with previously, just past the canal. Not only was he doing it again, he was doing it on crutches!! Wow! That's pretty impressive!!

I saw Spencer, Damien and Mark from Northbrook about 5 miles from the end of the course absolutely storming along with a great pace. It was great to see them and see how fresh they all looked. 

I had a run with Liz and the miles flew past. It's always lovely having a catch up when you haven't seen someone for a while and Liz had had some wonderful adventures and it was so nice hearing about them. The fields and trails flew away under our feet as we talked about pst adventures and adventures planned. We slowed a little coming up to the hill and you know that feeling when you're feeling good and just want to fly? Liz recognised it. You can go if you want, she said. So I did. I love the days when running just feels effortless and they're not to be wasted when they come along.

After Corley Moor, I always love the look of the Red Lion pub. There are usually people outside drinking nice cold pints and I'm at that point of the event where it would be nice to just sit down for a moment and enjoy a drink. But as it's 3 miles to go, I never stop. I just wish I could.

I ran on up the hill, down the familiar winding trails … and then I get the point where I can't quite remember which path to take. Luckily today there was someone to point out the hedge gap. It's a stile too … never a huge amount of fun with 39 miles in the legs (the course is a little bit long plus the bonus getting-lost miles). As soon as I see the signs for the caravan park, I know I'm practically back...

...although today I had The Fear. The Fear that as the course had been changed a bit this year and the end was different, it would be a bit longer. Not something you really want to worry about at mile 39 and change. 

I ran down the hill, passing a road closure for an accident – luckily everyone was fine! - and heading towards what I HOPED was the finish. There was a diversion off the usual course as I'd feared and I hopped into a field and around the field edge and popped out the other side onto a main road. 

Hang on. I recognise this road. Finally, the final half mile! I put on a bit of speed, passing the duck pond and turning left up a hill – which I had tried incorrectly to run DOWN first thing this morning – and in sight of the social club and the end. 

I presented myself to the table whereupon someone – after a bit of a chat – peered at the time on a digital alarm-style clock on the time and wrote my time and number down and presented me with a ticket for a drink and for a dinner which I promptly swapped for a cup of coffee and jacket potato with cheesy beans. And 2 slices of chocolate cake. Seemed a fair swap to me.

Scoffed the food in record time and went to chill out with my Northbrook buddies whereupon Spencer promptly talked me into running the Hilly Hundred which I had avoided for 7 years due to passing out and having my arse eaten by ants last time. (Hilly Hundred Race Report: Ant Arse )

After an ultra marathon, delirium had clearly set in as doing the Hilly Hundred sounded a lovely idea and I agreed and set off back to find my car which I had parked half a mile away to find I'd left the headlights on all day. 

Happy with 7hrs 41 and 1st lady. And the car started first time. 

A Coventry Way: 40 Miles of Thoughts & Trails

LATE REPORT:

Some days are run days. Sunday was one of these. Bright, sharp and cold, it started with birdsong and frost. I’d parked a mile from the start, in the centre of Meridian which gave me a mile of gently sparkling pavements, Spring flowers and cold nose and ears.

The start is from the Queens Head pub and you can start from any time between 0500hrs and 0900hrs, you just notify the marshals, handed your green direction book with a number on and you’re off. No race number on you to identify you from any other runner or walker and no starting gun. Also no pressure. Perfect.

I ran alone for almost the entire 40 miles apart from when I shared a word or two with other runners or a walker on a hill section. It was nice. There was nothing else to do except run. It was freeing. No chores to do, no commitments, no work. Just right foot, left foot.

40 miles of thoughts and trails.

There are frequent aid stations and I had a tuna roll - salty and surprisingly good for a long run. And some fruit cake - divine. And plenty of pick n mix - sour of course, my favourite!

Training hadn’t been ideal - I was relying on my cardio fitness to get me through as my longest runs had been 10 miles … in January. So the goal was just relentless forward progress. Just keep going. Run, jog, walk. Just keep going.

And it was lovely. I didn’t expect it to be but it was. There was even March sunshine so I ran in a vest for 20 miles. Quite different to the ice and frost of the morning. I spoke to everyone I passed and there were lots of familiar and friendly faces I was delighted to see. I didn’t want to run with anyone else today though. This was my day to have some solitude and find some peace in just running.

There were frogs early on. Burping in a pond. And woodpeckers in the distance. Things I had the chance to hear when I wasn’t concerned about time or pace or getting home for the school run or trying to fit in a bike session.

I have run this route 5 or 6 times but today I remembered it out of order. I was surprised what was around each corner. Like a book with the chapters mismatched. Each turn was into a section I didn’t quite remember being HERE. It was quite curious.

Each section held memories too. New friends made here while running. Racing this section with speedy people. Dropping snacks into mud in this section. Passing my husband at this point last time.

There were wet feet at Corley Moor as it really is quite impossible to avoid the swampy patches and my purple trainers were black until the mud dried and fell off again. The pub at the top of the hill always looks incredibly inviting but with 3 miles until the end, it’s never quite tempting enough to throw the race off.

The final few fields are uphill but knowing that the final mile is almost all downhill keeps my momentum going. Just over the next stile … well maybe the NEXT stile? Well ... certainly the very next one.

And then I was into the final mile and turning the corner to the Queens Head, the start and finish point in Meriden. And it was over.

BOOK REVIEW: Broken by Ally Beaven: Why Were Run Records Tumbling in 2020?

In 2020, a topic of conversation that repeatedly came up between me and my training friends was the widening training gap. 

Those who have worked throughout and those that have been furloughed. Those who have treadmills and indoor turbo trainer and those that don’t. Those that are shielding and those that aren’t. Gaps have widened, events have been cancelled and our bubbles have grown smaller. 

When Lorna from Vertebrate Publishing asked if she could send me a copy of Broken by Ally Beaven in return for a review, I gratefully accepted. Hopefully it would answer the questions, I had been asking all year. As usual, I didn't get paid or pay for the book and reviewed it honestly.

In Broken, Ally Beaven takes a look at why 2020 was so unusual for running. Beaven immerses himself in the UK 2020 long distance running scene and the book details his hours in the hills and on the trails speaking to, feeding and following the attempts and adventures of a multitude of long distance runners on the roads and trails of the UK … and how 2020 has changed ultrarunning.

With normal events cancelled, Beaven looked at how Pan Shancu, a Chinese marathon runner made the news by running 50km in his living room and 30km on the spot in his bathroom.  This then started balcony marathons, garden marathons, Everests on staircases and 100 year olds doing 100s of laps of their garden and raising millions of pounds for the NHS.

Virtual races became more common. These are events without a specific course which runners can do the race distance on the roads and trails – or treadmills - close to their home.  Most ultrarunners are familiar with the Centurion events such as Autumn 100, North Downs Way 100 and their 50 miles series. After having to cancel the usual Centurion races in the first half of 2020, the race director, James Elson opened up a Centurion Running One Community virtual event on the 25th May 2020 which allowed entrants to run any distance from 5k to 100 miles. The Centurion events have a strong following and a good reputation in the running community, but even so, James Elson didn’t expect that 3 weeks after launching the event, they would have 3980 people signed up including 550 kids under 18.  Elson said of the event “It brought the community together, it strengthened our brand because people realised the community was more important than the commercial side of things, it helped us with the online shop when that was tanking and we raised over £10,000 for charity.”

Different people reacted in different ways to empty calendars and different circumstances. Some had to shield, had to protect vulnerable relatives or home-school children. Others finally had the opportunity to work from home and lose the commute time and that opened up some time for training that they’d never had before. 

This book is very read-able and the author is interesting and likeable as you follow his exploits. He speaks to a range of runners doing trails and routes the length and breadth of the UK and Beaven has his own attempt at a FKT (Fastest Known Time) on a well known trail. If you have an interest in ultrarunning or trail running, then this book will be very enjoyable. If you have an interest in your own FKT … then it's essential.

Take a look here: Vertebrate Publishing 

Autumn 100: Poo Tourism and REALLY Appalling Knock Knock Jokes

Every time I run 100 miles, I swear it’s the last time. And then I remember the feeling of finishing – of how amazing it feels to be able to stop bloody running – and enter it again. Forgetting, of course, that the reason that stopping running feels so great is because I’ve been running for 24 hours.

Sigh. I never learn. 

The cat bitching about not being allowed my food

So … as a massive surprise to no-one at all, I entered Autumn 100 for the third time. I remembered how gorgeous the trails are on leg 2 – how beautiful it is to run on winding trails and on autumn leaves and fly down the hills … and totally forgot how utterly soul destroying the route is to Reading. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

One tradition was eschewed. No M40 Travelodge this year as extremely conveniently my sister and her family had moved recently to Wallingford which is 6 miles from the race start. As a result I got to have lots of cuddles with my 2 year old nephew, read him lots of stories about staying up late and waking up early and then promised him a drum kit for his birthday. My sister LOVES me staying over. 

I didn’t feel nervous for this race. I knew the route, the race start and even where I was going to drink my pre-race coffee and have my pre-race poo … but apparently my brain had decided that I was still going to get pre-race nerves. And my brain’s way of doing this was to stop me being able to read parking ticket signs. Yes really.

I’m a fairly smart girl. I went to uni, I hold down a job, I get through life. And I can read. Well apparently not at the start of Autumn 100 I can’t. 

I mean there was a ticket machine. And I had money. But my brain wouldn’t let me process how much of one to insert into the other. Great. I hope the legs could hold it together today because apparently the brain wasn’t on board.

Luckily there was another runner parking at the same time who advised me that his strategy had been to keep feeding the machine until it spat the ticket out at him. This sounded a reasonable strategy to me so I went with it. Thanks Richard. Stuck the ticket on the dash of the car, picked up my bag and started the walk to the registration at Goring. 

I would later find out that I left the ticket blank side up on the dash. Yep. Can’t brain today, 

Got to registration and saw my lovely Northbrook run buddy, Liz and got a hug. Kit checked, bag dropped off and number picked up. All I needed now was about 3 cups of coffee, 4 poos and a snack. 

The lovely Liz

We’ve all got race strategies. Mine is drink coffee until I’m practically incontinent, use the loo until previous point is no longer an issue, then rely on the legs to keep running. And keep eating. That’s the strategy. All these other people have really complicated race plans: stick to x pace, eat at x miles, drink x gallons of water by x point … I’m all about the ‘don’t poo yourself, don’t get hungry and keep moving’. 

With Richard in the cafe drinking ALL the coffee~!

Holed up in the cafe with Richard and started phase 1 and 2 of the race strategy. I was most impressed that Richard and I had matching, laminated checkpoint cards which obviously made us race buddies so we decided to run Leg 1 together. Saw Alex (Duesbury) and Alan (Li) at the race start which was good. They were a complete contrast. Alan was, as usual, massively chilled out and Alex was flapping. She was so determined to finish this race after having a horrible run at TP100 so she wanted everything to go to plan. I could understand that. I plaited her hair for her and we walked to the race briefing together. I promised Mike  the lend of some running gloves but he’d done a disappearing act so I had a bonus pair of gloves.

Me, Alan and Alex

Leg one - The Thames Path

The start of the race had changed since I last ran it in 2016. Previously we had started on the 10 o’clock chimes from the church tower which seemed quaint and very English. Now the runners walked past this point, further down the Thames Path - parting every now and then for a dog and his walker – and starting on a narrow muddy track listening for the “-8,7,6...” and the countdown to 1. At “1” the race started with a walk, then a shuffle and eventually a half-arsed trot which is a standard ultramarathon race start pace. 

I started the run with Richard as we’d decided in the cafe. It’s nice to have a run buddy on a long run, but the narrow-ness of the Thames Path makes chat difficult and there had been torrential rain an hour before we started which meant the path was very muddy and slippery in places. The road shoes which I’d decided on before the rain fall meant that I was sliding around like I was on rollerskates – and I am a BAD skater – so it wasn’t easy to chat and run as I had to concentrate on which direction I was sliding. 

This section also has a lot of gates with varying degrees of ease to open. It’s like the Krypten Factor for endurance runners. The quicker you are at opening gates, the better chance you have of getting to the checkpoints and getting the good snacks before the other buggers get at it. It’s the human equivalent of rats in mazes. But with trainers. And jam wraps.

Got a shout of “Hello Sarah!” at Wallingford from Pip and his son who were directing runners to the tunnel which goes between houses in Wallingford. It’s an easy section to overshoot and get lost so this was a really nice idea. Grabbed a handful of snacks at the checkpoint and was back out onto the course. 

It was still fairly early in the day, so we weren’t seeing many people except for the occasional dog walker and fisherman. Running over the white bridge which is usually where the turnaround point is, I passed two fishermen with roads and empty tackle boxes. Obviously not used to a horde of runners disturbing their Saturday fishing, one muttered to the other “Huh. Why are they running? Why don’t they just give up?” Cheeky sods. I flashed them a massive smile and said cheerily “If you’re not going to catch any fish, why don’t YOU give up?” I got a wry chuckle out of them.

The turnaround on leg one wasslightly different to the last time I’d run thisandinstead of just after the bridge, it was by thechurch at Little Wittenham and in the back of a horsebox. Luckily no horses in attendance.I had a quick pitstop and filled up my water bottles and headed back out again. 

One of the lovely parts of this event is that I get to see all the race leaders and run buddies at the turnaround points. I spotted a few friendly faces including Jon, Thorners, Sara, Alex and Alan. I look forward to seeing people at this section as there are SO MANY fields before and after you get to the bridge. I have a selective memory as I always forget how many bloody fields there are. At least if I’m busy looking for people, I’m not bitching about the fields. And how many there are. 

When you FINALLY leave the fields, you cross a busy road heading back into Shillingford. 

It’s like Frogger. But if you get squashed by a car, the other ultrarunners loot your kit and snacks.

I was so intent on watching for a space in between the cars, that as I crossed the road, I put my foot into a deep pothole and turned my ankle over. It made a horrible crunching noise and at that point I wondered if that was the end of my race. I was only 14 miles in, I’d crossed all of those bloody fields and now I’d put my foot into a hole. If this was the end of my race why couldn’t I have done it BEFORE all of those fields?? 

As usual, it turned out I was being a little bit dramatic and ankle was actually fine. I mean they’re meant to make crunching noises occasionally aren’t they? It’s good for them. I’m sure it is. Step, crunch, step, crunch...

After the torrential rain earlier in the day, the sun had really come out strong now. It was drying the mud out on the trails, but this was making the mud stick to my trainers so each foot looking like I wearing grey boots. I don’t know whether it was having to concentrate on every step or whether it was the heat hitting 24*c, but it felt like a hard run. This is not good when you’re only 20 miles into 100. I checked my watch and I was hitting my threshold heart rate 171BPM and I was only running 10:30 min/miles. This wasn’t good. Chatted to Richard about it and he was getting a similar reading off his watch. Ok. At least I knew it wasn’t just me, that I wasn’t coming down with something or that I was doing something wrong. But it was going to be a tough day out at this rate. Better eat some more snacks.

Coming back over the dam, I saw 2 red kites in the sky. I love seeing them and it’s amazing to think that a few years ago there were hardly any. A dragon fly zipped by too. It seemed that a lot of creatures were enjoying the last hurrah of summer. I wasn’t. It was too bloody hot. 

Got back under the trees for the last section back in and it was a relief. There isn’t much shade on Leg 1 and it was nice to feel a bit cooler. A quick dash back into the village hall and shoe and sock change as the wet grass and trails had meant wet feet for almost the entirety of this section. Got my socks off and wished I hadn’t. The skin on the bottom of my feet was hanging off. Brilliant. Not had this before but assumed it was due to wet feet from the trails and then the sudden rise in temperature making feet swell. Well. It was what it was. Can’t do anything about it now. The next 80 miles might be a bit uncomfortable but it’s not as if I’m missing a toe or anything. 

Saw Cat and Louise in the checkpoint and was then unceremoniously kicked out by Louise (thank you!) as I was fannying about. Richard had already grabbed his supplies and left and it was time for me to get my arse back on the trails. 

Leg 2 - The Ridgeway

Section 2 on the Ridgeway is my favourite part of this race. It’s hilly, unlike leg 1 which is almost entirely flat, and hills mean there’s a break for your legs and snack and drink breaks as you take the slopes more slowly. It’s also beautiful with shady tree-lined sections and views across the valleys. However, I had forgotten how insanely steep some of those hills are. It’s not helped by the fact you‘ve got a few miles in your legs by this point and you’ve already eaten most of your good snacks. I decided to have an avocado wrap. After carrying it for about 35 miles, it looked like roadkill. Have you seen the film Tremors? Well that bit where the creature throws itself off a cliff? That. My food looked like THAT. 

Yum.

Yum, bloody yum.

Ate the roadkill food, got really grumpy and did an instagram story about “How I fucking hate fucking running” at mile 35. 

Got to the checkpoint, got a hug from Liz, got some NICE snacks and did an instagram story about “How I like running” at mile 40. 

Seems like there MAY be a little link between food and happiness for me. Possibly a link. A tiny link. Mmmm food.

Hooray I like running again!

Picked up a run buddy and had a good chat with Nigel for a few miles but ran out of the checkpoint on my own. I was a bit worried about my heart rate as it hadn’t really come down from being too high on leg 1 and it was running about 20BPM too high which is a massive amount. However decided I couldn’t do much about it and it was probably the unexpected heat so may as well crack on. Had a chat to Holly and Phil about it who were both amazing and told me just to chill out going up the hills and to slow it down. Love you guys. Good advice. 

I decided to put some music on and stuck in my headphones. I’d made a playlist for A100 in case I was running on my own and it was awesome. However I did get a bit emotional at around 45 miles when the “Lava” song came on and I was all “Awwww he won’t find his volcano wife”. I’m clearly just an emotional mess when I get too hot and hungry.

I ended up with a massive negative split on this leg as it’s mostly downhill on the way back. **I** had a lovely run back singing along to my play list but it was probably horrible for the runners I passed. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t in pain, I was singing. It’s just how I sound. 

I ran the next bit with a lady who was great company and we had a nice chat. There was an amazing sunset painting the sky and I reached the final checkpoint just in time to pop my head-torch on before heading back to Goring again.

Leg 3 - The Ridgeway

I’d been looking forward to this section as I was being paced by the legend that’s Phil Bradburn. I’d promised him knock knock jokes and good snacks in return for the pacing.

I didn’t make a good start though when I shoved the Garmin on charge while getting changed and the bloody thing promptly lost 50 miles of run data. Sweary? Me? Yep. I also lost some snack points when I realised that quite a few of my snacks were slightly past their best before dates. Only a couple of years. That’s fine, right? However the dark chocolate ginger was well within date and I’m sure my tummy would be fine with the rest of it. I mean, it’s not as if I ever have tummy issues on runs, right?

Things started out well and Phil was brilliant company. We did ‘Poo Tourism’ - Phil pointing out all the places he’d taken a shit while doing this race a couple of years ago, ‘Canal Adventures’ (he did the Canal-Slam in 2018!!) and I particularly enjoyed “Shitty Buff” story. And it reminded me never to borrow kit from Phil on a run. 

I’d like to tell you my Knock knock jokes were on point. But I’m not sure Phil would agree with you:

“Knock knock...”

“Who’s there?`’

“Europe”

“Europe who?”

“No YOU’RE a poo!”

It started raining cats and dogs coming, but I was fairly warm and in good spirits thanks to Phil, the jokes and the poo tourism. This section is mainly on grassy chalk trails and follows a ridge and you run it almost entirely in the dark with your head torches lighting the way. As we passed through one of the lonelier sections, with the woods on our right, a massive scream rang out. It didn’t sound like a fox (they sometimes sound like a woman screaming) and it didn’t sound like a person. If I had to try and give you an analogy for that scream, it sounded as if Pennywise had stepped on a lego. Phil and I looked at each other and started running UP the hill. 

I was keeping an eye out for the monument that is one of the landmarks along this section. It’s a very tall, marble column with a cross on top, built on top of a barrow and commemorates the service of a local man in the Crimean War. It’s the sort of thing you can’t really miss. But we missed it. Somehow. Probably snacking. Or pooing. 

At the Checkpoint

Along this section, the trail was mostly dry but there were slippery sections and the flinty stones sticking out of the trail meant it was easy to catch your toes and trip if you were distracted by snacks or potential poo spots. I tripped a couple of times but was thoroughly outdone by Phil who managed to not only trip over but fall straight into a bush. Pretty much the only bush on the entire ridgeway which is fairly barren. It probably wasn’t as funny as I found it. But I found it hilarious. Sorry Phil. 

I usually start struggling to eat on leg 3 of this race. My stomach goes on strike and I just can’t get food down, but I was counting it as a win that I was still eating when we got to the Chain Hill turnaround point. I was trying to eat a peanut butter and jam wrap which my stomach really didn’t want, but this was probably because my eyes were telling my stomach that it had been carried for about 12 miles and looked like roadkill. Shitty roadkill. 

My tummy was ok but I wasn’t trusting farts. Fairly standard at about mile 65 in a run I reckon. I like to think I’m just getting my mind ready for when my body hits 80. It did mean however, that I did spend rather a large amount of time on the return leg in and behind bushes. See Phil – all those poo spots you pointed out on the way up came in handy!

I do think that Phil thought I might just have been disappearing for a nice sit down and a rest and was getting a bit impatient. I was tucked in behind a bush – with my head-torch off in case another runner appeared over the top of the hill and my bush wasn’t as bushy as I’d thought it was - when I heard massive rustling from inside the bush. I leapt about 2 feet in the air from a crouching start convinced a weasel was about to leap out of the foliage and attack my nether regions, when from my airbourne vantage point I realised it was Phil about 15 metres away standing on the trail sorting out his snacks in his running vest. 

Apparently rodent-paranoia gives me super-sensitive hearing. And the ability to win high-jump while pooping. 

Thankfully, apart from a few more toilet stops, Leg 3 was uneventful. It was all looking good for final leg and I was on for a sub 24 hour finish with a solid margin. 

Thanks Phil. Looking forward to more poo-tourism and knock-knock jokes another day. 

Leg 4 - The Bloody Thames Path AGAIN

This was the tough section. It’s flat apart from the INSANE section through the woodlands and incredibly boring. I’d asked Simon, my long-suffering husband to run this section with me as if history was anything to go by, I’d probably be moaning and pooping for most of it. I bet he’s glad he married me. 

A quick change at Goring and we ran out of the town and down onto the canal path. I was running well and it was flat in this section. I was slightly concerned about 2 miles in when Simon asked “Are we going to be running this pace the whole way as I’d thought you be tired?” Ah. Better not break the pacer this early in the leg.

We ran the flat section out to the woodland and then walked as the path wove up through the woods. It was raining heavily now without let up and the path was full of deep puddles. I tried to avoid them initially, then there was no point. I already had wet feet and it appeared they were going to stay wet. I tried to avoid thinking about what state the soles of my feet would be in now, 75 miles after the skin had first starting coming off the bottom of my feet.

And then things went wrong. I went from coming off of Leg 3 with a nice margin and in a positive state of mind to rock bottom within the space of 10 minutes. It didn’t help that my jacket despite being the recommended 10,000m and with taped seams leaked. Badly. The rain was just so heavy, it couldn’t cope. Every other runner I saw appeared to be in a similar situation, their hair and wet clothes plastered against their bodies. I was soaking wet, cold and miserable and I still had to get to Reading and back.

And it was going to take FOREVER. My legs wouldn’t run. Just wouldn’t. I can usually force myself to run no matter what. But they wouldn’t. I’ve never had this before. EVERY race ends with a sprint finish, right? No. Today I couldn’t even muster a jog for any distance.

The path was flooded. The fields going towards Reading appeared to be on a dull treadmill – they just never seemed to finish and that bloody towpath lasted FOREVER. Imagine the dullest treadmill session you’ve ever done. Right, got that pictured? Now imagine you are wet to the skin, freezing cold and have 80 miles already in your legs. I couldn’t even muster up the strength to tell an appalling knock knock joke. It was that bad.

On the plus side, my stomach was ok. Had only one wild poo on this leg. No doubt because I had been so organised that I’d actually carried a 20p piece for the public toilets at Reading. Therefore, it wasn’t required. Had I forgotten this no doubt it would have been Shit City.

Finally after the dark and rain and dark and rain we hit the turnaround checkpoint at the Reading Yacht Club. Climbed those steps. And didn’t want to leave. I knew I would have to go back into that cold, into that rain, wading those flooded river banks but I didn’t want to.

And then I did. Because I had to. 

There was no sunrise that morning. Because of the rain, the night just went from black to grey. And then a slightly lighter grey. It was like an accountants wardrobe.

I kept trying to run but there were no springs left in my legs. There was nothing left in any of me. Just a well of misery and drenched skin.

I kept looking for the bridge. The bridge that as you come into Goring from the Thames Path and when you see it, you know you’re done, that it’s nearly over. I couldn’t see the bridge. I kept looking and couldn’t see the bridge.

And then I saw it. I was so relieved I cried. I actually cried. 

Some days you celebrate when you finish. Some days you are just relieved that you did.

The Coventry Way: Exploding Bladders & Appalling Navigation

I love the Coventry Way 40 mile run. It’s a circular loop which rings – Surprise! Surprise! -  Coventry and it’s mostly on grassy trails, lumpy fields and tiny hidden paths. I’ve run it three times but I’ve still got only the vaguest idea of the route. My pub-and cake-radar is exemplary. But my trail-memory is truly appalling. 

How smug I was laying this out for the photo while on the kitchen counter, my water bladder was pouring orange water everywhere ...

I didn’t have the finest preparation; finishing work unexpectedly after midnight without having packed or prepared a single item. Meh ... I’ve run ultras before, right? What could go wrong?

Not checking the water bladder I was using and finding I'd used the leaky one I keep meaning to throw out and forgetting about doing it was one of the things I did wrong. Luckily I discovered this BEFORE I left the house but AFTER I’d filled it and packed my ultra vest with snacks leaving me contemplating my cake and bars floating around in a vaguely orangey smelling pool of water on the side in the kitchen. I wasn’t entirely ecstatic upon discovering this and woke up the husband with such foul language that he probably assumed that I was in a kind of swear battle with a sarcasm and profanity fluent sailor with Tourette’s specific to water bladders and ultra running. 

I rushed to try and sort the mess, not realising the sudocrem I had applied to my toes so carefully was leaking through my socks and leaving white (and very difficult to remove) footprints on the carpets around the house. 

After adding some more even more imaginative profanities to the ones current floating in the air around the house, I was discovered by my husband on my hands and knees with white feet furiously scrubbing the carpet with baby wipes while my water bladder was washing bars and snacks along the side in the kitchen in an citrus-scented tidal wave. 

Yeah. Sexy feet. *boke*

Leaving a trail of destruction in my wake and the kitchen in an appalling state, I finally got to the village of Meriden two hours later than I’d wanted and a bit concerned about whether race registration would close before I got there. As mentioned I’d run this event three times previously and the registration was in the same place as it had always been - in the Queens Head pub in Meriden. A village of approximately 100 houses. Could I find this distinctive and very familiar pub? Could I hell. After raging at myself I plugged in the sat nav which promptly directed me onto the 15 second drive to the pub. As I was so late absolutely everyone else had disappeared over the horizon having already started their races.

I set off on my own which was a novelty and actually quite nice as there was no need to justify my run speed – or lack of it. Well … it was nice for about 10 minutes, after which I promptly got bored. 

After a bit of a trot on my own, I finally saw a runner in front of me which was a relief as had thought I might not see another person all day. Often runners often set off two hours before the time I'd started and I'd resigned myself to a bit of a lonely day thanks to my dreadful organisation, leaky water bladder and terrible navigation skills. Caught the other runner up and found out his name was Andy which I promptly forgot and had to be reminded about when I called him Steve (sorry Ste- … Andy) and we appeared to be running around the same speed so we decided to run together for a bit.

I proudly announced that I had run this route three times and DEFINITELY knew the way … and then proceeded to get lost at EVERY junction until it was tactfully decided that I should run BEHIND Andy who would be in control of the race directions. 

In my defence I knew MOST of the way, just not the part 10 miles from the start as I was normally catching up with friends for this bit and listening to all their news so chatting rather than navigating … Yep. I may be rubbish at navigating but I'm brilliant at making up excuses justifying my terrible navigation.

We started coming up to walkers doing the trail at around 12 miles in. It was obvious from the gaiters up to their knees and the massive backpacks that these guys were out for a LONG day. I have a lot of respect to these girls and guys and it’s a long time on your feet walking 40 miles. 

It was a nice sociable run, we leapfrogged a lot with 'Mr Lakeland Red T-shirt ' (who later identified himself as Darren) who was running a cracking pace but having a 'dodgy tummy day' and  having to duck into various bushy bushes along the way. He'd usually zoom past us and then he'd zoom past us AGAIN … having been hidden by a bush at some point as we'd passed. 

We got a bit excited at around 11 o clock as the drizzle stopped briefly and the sun seemed like it was coming out but it was a false alarm, probably the glow from an open pub door … so we settled down to more drizzle. 

Some of the trail went over wooden bridges which were a bit slippery, the wooden planks sodden due to the previous rain and mud trodden into them from other people passing across them. The trail can be tough sometimes as it goes across rough – for Warwickshire! - terrain. However, a plus side of starting later was that the trails across the lumpy ploughed fields had been mashed down by the previous 200 walkers and runners so this  made progress much easier than hopping from clod to clod. 

It was nice to see Claire and her friend Hilary from Lancashire at around mile 20 heading along a stony track coming towards Brandon. We stopped for a brief catch up and the promise of a pint at the end. Always good to have an incentive to finish a race strongly … and with the promise of cider.

Jo Steele, one of the most trail-loving people I know was at the checkpoint in Bulkington and we had a chat and she didn't even pinch the last glass of cola this time. Things were looking up!! (I'd seen Jo last year and she'd been quicker than me in one of the aid stations and had nabbed the last sip of cola …!) I'd been a bit worried this year as I'd started so late and was concerned that the aid stations would be closing up or not replenishing their food as a lot of people would have already come through but my fears were unfounded … every one was still as well stocked as if there were 150 more people behind me in the last stages of starvation. 

I had packed myself some food this time and had gone with peanut butter and avocado wraps. Separately though. Together sounds like a taste sensation but not a good sensation. A retching sensation. They were good and still tasted ok squashed flat in my run vest. Andy was probably grateful too as the peanut butter stuck my teeth together for a while so he had a couple of minutes of quiet. 

The weather last year had been very hot, but coming up to the Coventry Way this year there had been some substantial rain. Up until the start time, there had been several diversions in place due to course flooding and I had been a bit concerned as wouldn't know the way with the diversions … however it appeared I didn't know the way without the diversions so that was ok. And just to get really confusing, the diversions had been cancelled as the water had gone down so now I really, really still didn't know the way. So that was all right then.

However, it was still a bit mushy in sections and I managed to step in pretty every sheep poo in Warwickshire so I wasn't leaving the course with dry feet. Or any sheep dung untrodden. 

I'd asked Simon if he wanted to meet me where the Coventry Way passed onto the canal at about mile 26 by Nettle Farm. Last year this us where I'd started to find the run tough and I'd done the adult equivalent of throwing my toys out of the pram (throwing my handbag out of the car window on the M6?) so I thought it would be nice to have some company at this section. As it was, I was running with Andy and Darren for this part which was nice so we all had a good chat for this section which is usually a bit of a boring drag  after the pretty fields and lanes.

After dreading the canal for so long and actually finding it fine, the next 10 miles flew past. As an additional bonus, I had forgotten about the caravan checkpoint which came as a lovely surprise and I scoffed as much food as I could in delight for having an additional opportunity to. Sweetie-ed up, we set out on the last leg and the final checkpoint which was 3 miles from the end. 

We found Richie at mile 38, who I've previously run 1.5 Coventry Ways with before so that was nice and we spent a happy few minutes having a catch up and before we knew it we were all flying down the final mile to the pub at the end. It sounds lovely having a final downhill mile at the end of an ultra, but actually it's never as nice as it sounds as by that point my legs are all “get me into the pub at the end, dimwit” and I have a hard job persuading them that the best way to get there is by running as they've gone all jellied with excitement as being able to stop shortly. 

One of the great things about the Coventry Way (have I mentioned the pub?) is that it starts and finishes at the Queens Head pub. There's usually a crowd of supporters who cheer you in loudly and with enthusiasm and with their pints in their hands. It's another reason to get there as quick as you can before the support crews drink the pub dry.

Another bonus is getting fed at the end. I get a hot meal and the chance to catch up with the other runners under a nice dry marquee as I scoff a hot potato and cake with my shoes and socks off. Plus it's a local race so there are lots of familiar faces so I get to have a nice catch up and hear about everyone else's exciting races. 

Me, Darren and Andy at the finish. 

I'm lucky to have such a nice race local to me and it's one I look forward to every year. Used it as my last long run for marathon training last year. Might do the same next year. Coventry Way, you're a cracker.