Disbelief, relief, pain, gratitude, liberation, pride and pure, unbounded elation. I’m not a “crier” but I wasn’t too far off on Saturday as I stumbled across the finish line, too exhausted to resist this flood of emotion . Fortunately I was too tired and/or shocked to do anything but collapse into a chair and babble on about nothing.

Before the ultramarathon I’d never run more than 15.54 miles or climbed more than 259m elevation in one run. It’s not that I’m lazy – having signed up drunk in April I developed shin splints within a week, having run too much too soon (remarkably they didn’t resurface at all during the race, perhaps thanks to compression socks, or the fact that everything hurt anyway). I was also on antibiotics for a mysterious infection and spent most of the previous night being snotty (<4hrs sleep is not ideal). Needless to say I didn’t fancy my chances of completing 25 miles, let alone the full 50, along with 2,600m of the Peak District’s finest elevation – roughly equivalent to two Ben Nevises. I’d never even completed a proper trail run – I was used to pavement-pounding and had never worn off-road running shoes in my life.

So everything seemed to be against me. But a miracle happened and I completed  the 50-mile ultramarathon in a relatively respectable (for a clueless and ridiculously unprepared first timer) time of 11 hours 20 minutes. I came 10th in the race and 4th in my age category. The winner completed it in 10hrs 2mins and the last person finished in 16 hrs 16mins, so if you look at it that way I was towards the front; some runners didn’t finish at all. Considering that I was ecstatic to have even completed the race, the fact that I wasn’t even close to being the last person in absolutely blew my mind.

0-10miles

The run started at 6am. Everything went smoothly for a while; the pace was slow, there were lots of runners so no chance of getting lost, and the golden-blue sky was clear as the sun rose over Sheffield, nestled behind the heather-covered moors of Houndkirk and Burbage. I “made friends” just before checkpoint 1, then took on Stanage Edge – a long, picturesque stretch that would have been harder if I hadn’t been concentrating on hopping from rock to rock without breaking an ankle.

10-20miles

I overtook my new friends briefly on a downhill forest section and rejoined them at checkpoint 5, the first bag dropoff and cutoff time checkpoint. I was amazed to have got there in a couple of hours, despite the cutoff allowing 4hrs 30mins. Next up was more rockhopping at High Neb, then I was lulled into a false sense of security on the descent past Bamford to checkpoint 7. I called Bertie, my support crew, to tell him I was (amazingly) still going and could meet him for a top-up of frogspawn drink (Iskiate) at checkpoint 11.

20-21miles

Then I hit Win Hill. It sounds innocuous enough and means nothing if you’ve never climbed it. We’d recently been joined by the tens of runners doing the 30-mile ultra, and I’d picked up an “Aussie Bite” snack from checkpoint 7 – big mistake. As I entered the woods I found myself in a long, gasping line of people (literally) dragging themselves up a  super-steep, super rocky and often slippery “path” that seemed to go on and on and on. I can’t imagine anyone in the world actually running up a section like that – every step I took felt like I had a lead weight tied to each foot, and I passed several people who had stopped to rest. Then I found out that an Aussie Bite is, while delicious, probably the crumbliest snack that ever existed and totally unsuitable for eating while breathing heavily on an ascent. You can’t chew, swallow and/or breathe through your mouth simultaneously. Nevertheless, a miracle happened and I made it to the trig point without stopping, choking or collapsing in a whimpering heap.

21-28miles

Running again. Fast forward about two minutes and my calves started cramping. I thought my time had come. I gave them a quick rub and downed an isotonic carb gel that I’d grabbed as a last-minute “experiment” from Go Outdoors. The pain subsided and came back intermittently, but I’d rejoined my previous group and talking to them helped a lot as we ran across the stunning, open moorland of Hope Brink and Crookstone Hill. On any other day I’d marvel at the way the sun warmed the deep  purple, bright green and pale gold hillsides blanketed by heather, ferns and rough grass, but I realised that was not this day as I pounded along narrow, rocky, ankle-breaker paths. My legs felt weak and I really thought I’d have to stop soon. A steep, uneven and knee-jarringly tough descent preceded checkpoint 11 at Edale, which was also bag dropoff 2 with a cutoff time of 9hrs 20mins. Amazingly I’d made it in  around six hours. Bertie was too late to meet me – he arrived a couple of hours later!

28-38miles

Handfuls of pasta, lucozade, crisps, haribo and energy bar later, I paired up with a lovely 50-mile runner  who spurred me on throughout the rest of the race. He waited for me as I dragged my lead-legs up more nasty ascents, ran with me along the flat and downhill sections, stopped me going the wrong way a handful of times and was lovely to talk to. We headed through Castleton (a pretty town which I was too tired to appreciate fully), out to Old Moor and down to Bradwell, where we stopped at checkpoint 15 – which was also bag dropoff 3 with a cutoff time of 14hrs 30mins. Incredibly we’d made it in less than 8 hours; I was amazed – I’d put my headtorch in my dropbag just in case I’d have to carry on in the dark, but it wasn’t yet 2pm! After a 20min rest, a drink of pepsi and handfuls of snacks we felt rejuvenated and carried on.

38-48miles

My knee hurt. Bradwell Hill was horrible. The descent to Brough was horrible. The path to Hathersage was pretty, but long and horrible. Hathersage Moor was stunning but horrible and I would almost certainly have got lost alone. Somehow we mustered the strength to run up, across and down the long, gravelly tracks of Houndkirk Moor, even overtaking another runner (it was horrible). I stuck behind my friend, focusing on his shoes and not looking ahead at where the track met the horizon. Horrible.

48-50miles

At the last checkpoint – number 19 – I noticed that my shoelace was undone, but didn’t care enough to do it up. Endurance running does funny things to you – I thought I saw a jellyfish by the side of the path. I thought I had a leech on my leg, only to realise it was a bit of flappy skin from a cut. Despite mutual exhaustion, my friend and I both felt the lure of the finishline less than two miles away and managed what felt like a sprint along a track, through the woods and towards the farm at Whirlow. I barely heard the cheers as I stumbled across the finish line, didn’t see the cameras, and don’t remember who shook my hand or gave me a medal.

As delighted as I am that I had the fitness, strength and willpower to finish, I cannot stress how incredibly lucky I was. Everything that could have gone wrong went in my favour:

1. Weather: Perfect – dry, clear and not too warm – mid to late teens, I think. This meant that I didn’t get too hot or cold, wasn’t beaten up by wind or rain and didn’t have slippery, muddy ground to contend with.

2. Equipment: The shoes and hydration pack that arrived on the doorstep two days before (yes, a huge gamble) fit perfectly and performed even better than I could have hoped. My brand new (purchased on the journey) camelback bladder didn’t leak and kept me hydrated.

3. Food and water: I had no idea what to eat or drink, how much or when, but I made it and I wasn’t sick so I must have got something right.

4. People: I’d expected to run alone, listening to music or an audiobook. I thought my luck had failed me early on when I couldn’t get my phone to pair with my Bluetooth headphones, but this meant that instead of being antisocial I ended up talking to – and sticking to the pace of – other runners. This helped hugely, as conversation really took my mind off the exertion of running and the worry of slowing others down motivated me to keep my pace up. Also, the runners I befriended had previously done recce trips so they knew the way – I would almost have certainly got lost if I’d navigated alone. Everyone we saw out on the trails gave way to us, and there were so many kind words of encouragement from walkers and spectators that if I wasn’t so tired I would have been overwhelmed.

I mean it when I say it was horrible, but there’s more to it than that. It’s a “nice” kind of horrible. I can only compare it to “nice” pain – like the ache in your muscles after a good workout, or the pressure of a firm massage. I was drugged by a dizzying mix of exercise-induced endorphins, event-induced adrenaline and trauma-induced pain signals. My left knee had been getting more and more painful for about twenty miles (and I still can’t straighten it or walk properly, five days later) and my legs felt like lead-filled jelly, but I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. Looking back at the photos, it’s there in all of them.

Before the race I didn’t expect to make half way, but the people I was with were so positive and encouraging. They were surprised at how young I was to be doing an ultra and they seemed to have such (unwarranted) faith in me – even before the 25-mile mark – that even I started to believe that I could finish, despite my legs telling me otherwise. These people had put up with my annoying little voice and inexplicable perma-grin for more miles than I could count and I didn’t want to let them down by pulling out. They’ll probably never read this, but thank you to everyone I ran with – especially Helen, Paul, Danny and Dave. And to everyone who supported me, sent me encouraging texts and told me (affectionately) that I’m an idiot – I appreciated every message. Also well done and thank you to every single runner out there at the weekend, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such positivity, resilience and kindness among a group of so-called “competitors”.

To conclude, of all the things I’ve achieved, this is what I’m most proud of. Twenty years in education, half-decent grades and the occasional academic award seem insignificant compared to jumping from 15 to 50 miles in a day. I’ve never pushed through such acute pain or such a burning desire to stop, and the best thing of all is that I believe I had more in me. In fact I know I had more in me, because I was still running at the end. I entered the race hoping to find out my own limits and see how far I could push myself, but this experience has taught me that they’re much further away than I realised. So I’ll just have to try harder… I’m hooked and I can’t wait till next time, whatever “next time” is.

 

Endnote – I got a new phone last week, discovered an automatic app called Clips and made some videos following my (lack of) preparation, journey to the Peak District, and the ultra itself. These were loads of fun to make so I think I’ll do more in the future – I’ve put them on my brand spanking new Youtube channel CuriousGnome, feel free to laugh at my face… I’m going to write a separate post on tips for a first ultra and some kit reviews, so bear with! Well done for getting through this, I know it’s a long post – you’re pretty much an “endurance reader” now. Love you.