T-minus four days. This time on Saturday I might be a) a few hours into my first ever ultramarathon (least likely), b) dead already (more likely), or c) lost, broken and crying in a ditch (most likely).

If I could run a mile for every time I’ve been told “you’re a f****** idiot”, Saturday would be a walk in the park. I genuinely appreciate these comments because they ease the pressure of expectation: if anyone actually thinks I’m fit enough to run even half an ultra, I’d probably spiral into despair at the hopelessness of attempting to avoid disappointment. The very last thing I want to hear is “you can do it”.

 

Injury

The bottom line is that I’ve never run more than about 15 miles. After drunkenly signing up in April (after reading one book about running and realising I can run a half-marathon) I overtrained and developed shin splints within a week, crushing all hope of building up to 50 miles (80km). The shin splints are much better but not totally healed – I still get the odd twinge, so come Saturday my legs will be held together with KT tape and compression socks.

 

Illness

As if I wasn’t doomed enough, two lymph nodes have decided to swell up under my left arm, making it painful to sleep, get dressed and move my arm away from my body. The same thing happened last December and I recovered, but not without a lot of pain and discomfort. I’ve actually been organised enough to contact my doctor via an online form, so I should know my likely prognosis by the end of today – but unless I die before Saturday I have every intention of at least crossing the starting line, high on painkillers if necessary.

 

Preparation and Equipment (*lack of)

Despite half-decent academic grades and marginally-above-average fitness levels, I’m an extremely useless adult. I make ridiculous decisions, refuse to go back on them, then take a way-too-laid-back approach to resolving the issues I create for myself. For example, last week I ordered my hydration pack for the event. Yesterday I ordered my first ever pair of trail running shoes. I hope they fit. Today I googled “how to prepare for an ultramarathon”. The results of that search suggest that I should have done so about six months ago (before I even signed up… hmm). At some point this week I’ll go shopping for some food, blister plasters and so on. I’ll probably even write a list.

 

Event Requirements

As if 50 miles wasn’t unachievable enough in itself, this 50 miles is in the self-descriptive Peak District. It encompasses 2,600 metres of ascent – that’s the same as two Ben Nevises – along rough terrain. AND it’s not exactly signposted – on top of putting one foot in front of the other and staying fed and watered, I’ll have to navigate. I don’t have a GPS watch so it’ll be a map and compass job, and while I’ve done plenty of navigating in the past I’ve also got lost (a lot). There’s also a list of mandatory kit, which includes full body cover, a headtorch, a whistle, food, water, etc, and electronic checkpoints to eliminate cheating. AND some checkpoints have strict cut-off times, so it’s not like I can plod along and finish the course in October. In all honestly I’ll be thrilled to make the first one – which is four and a half hours in.

 
Attitude

Despite everything, I’m absolutely buzzing. I’m going in with the expectation that I’ll manage a few miles before having to be collected in a whimpering heap, hating the world and renouncing exercise as an unnecessary evil. I expect to be the least fit, least prepared and least experienced entrant, which suits me as I feel no pressure to achieve a certain time or distance. Despite usually being super-competitive, this time I’m happy to be totally self-centred: all I care about is what I can do, regardless of the super-athletes I’ll be surrounded by (at the start, at least), and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m simultaneously playing mad scientist and hapless guinea pig in a cruel experiment – I’ve never really pushed myself mentally or physically, so I’m interested to find out where my breaking point is and if I can reach it on my own.

Apart from the running bit, it sounds like a great weekend. As a “festival [of running]” there’ll be outdoorsey people, stunning scenery, camping, food and shenanigans, and I’ve never done anything like it. I can’t wait; I’ll be the one stumbling in to the party, clueless, uninvited and incapable of keeping up with the others, but keen as muck – probably having forgotten half my mandatory kit, semi-dressed with shoelaces untied and shorts on inside out, grinning like a Cheshire cat. So please keep the “f****** idiot” comments coming, pray for me on Saturday, and definitely don’t expect great things!