Wendover Woods 50

Wendover Woods 50

You know those annoying race reports where people start by saying they did "NO TRAINING" and had constant illnesses and broken legs, but still bravely fought through a race not only to finish but to break the course record, get a PB, take all the Strava segments, cure long Covid and then get dragged into bed by a prime 39 year old Monica Bellucci.

Well this is going to be a blog just like that.

Apart from of course, the finishing, the course record, the segments and the Covid curing.

I'd entered the 50 slam this year. My results were somewhat mixed. A DNS, A finish, A DNF (and last place to boot) and now this. My "training" had been patchy. Or rather, my general level of running has been patchy over the last two years. Previously, it was enough to

complete these kinds of things by constantly running 50 miles a week with the occasional long run thrown in. But now, getting to 50 seems like an uphill battle.

For nearly a decade, I've seen the familiar look of spewed intestines on Strava, the Wendover Loop. It is a crisscross of trails within a glorious forest. Like all national forests, it's laden with signs telling you to enjoy it. There has been a realisation that being outdoors is good for you.

The setup is really nice. A massive tent in a field with lots of parking and toilets.

There are times in life you need to decide what kind of man you are

There are posh toilets half a mile into the loop, which is good to know. Other than that, the only things to know about the loop are that there are lots of nasty little sharp hills but plenty of gradual downhill sections you can run on. James E mentioned before

if the route were the other way round, it would be unrunnable.

If I can get one loop of this done, I will have done better than at the last event. My vague plan was to run the loops in 2.15/2.30/2.45/3.00/3.15, at least having plenty near the end to slow down. But of course, as Mike Tyson famously said, "Everyone has a plan until they stub their toe on a bastard tree root."

The woods have been taken over by "wellness trails" and signs telling you to enjoy the moment and take it all in. Someone has clocked

that being outdoors is good for you. Makes a nice change from the Keep of the Grass signs. Let's see if I can find joy on lap 5.

I ran with my friend James, who was on for the slam, finishing the three previous 50 milers. We planned to run together until I flaked out or risked him getting under the cut-off.

The first lap went without too much incident, coming in at 10.3 miles in 2.15. 10.3 miles! Haha ha ha. Old (younger) James would have laughed that off as a rounding error, but now new (old) James is worried that's an extra half an hour when we get near the end.

Lap 2 was the same as lap 1, except they seemed to have added a few hills onto the end. I was assured they didn't; it was just my forgetting them. Lap 2 was about 2.30, so I was exactly 40% into my plan, apart from this shoe.

I had a constant stone in the show feel that I deserved for allowing Hoka's to touch my feet again.

I was starting to feel a bit ropey into the third lap. We were still on for a decent time, but I was definitely slowing and had hoped to get this one done in the daylight, but it was looking unlikely. I had run up to 10 miles for some time, and I had run in the dark on a trail this year. I used to do both of those several times a

week.

Looped races have their quirks. It seems you have to have an opinion on which one is better. I like point-to-point races and some looped races. As the third loop was unfolding, I was passing things like an awkward tree stump and the find joy sign and thinking, "It doesn't feel like five

minutes since I last saw that", and you can interpolate that maybe you don't have long left to see those things twice again. But then, as soon as you fixate on something that's to come, it takes fucking ages! Like some weird running Doppler effect.

The third lap took about 3 hours, so we were down 15 minutes on the plan. Although I had a mild timing "we are no way going to finish this" moment at the CP, I was actually feeling pretty good, having run 30 (AKKKTUALLY 31.3 miles). The longest by far since the North Downs 50. James and Drew commented that I looked better at the end of the third loop than I did after the first two, which was nice. And there were still 7 hours to run two laps. That should be possible. Necking a few cups of coke and purple stuff, we wandered out for the 4th loop. It was now completely dark; the woods would have covered any twilight anyway, but the UK were near the end of a two-week period where the sun had forsaken this ground. There was constant cloud cover for a whole fortnight.

My lack of running at night recently was really exposed now. I could not comfortably trot down the easy bits, and James was getting further and further away with each section and waiting for me at the end. I urged him to go off and leave me to it, but he seemed reluctant. It's like in Lord of the Rings, where Frodo could not bring himself to kill the little goblin

Just kill the little bastard

thing. That 9-hour epic could have been condensed into two hours if he had just slit his throat in the swamp near the beginning. But for some reason, James could not bring himself to slay this little grunting goblin thing that seemed to have some historical connection to these woods and the sport at a significant risk for his own wellbeing.

Don't get me started on LOTR and Gandalf's Alzheimers. "Ohhh, the eagles! I could have just flown the ring into Mount Doom on the Eagles! Rivers of blood and burned forest and a dead Sean Bean later, I have suddenly realised!"

Anyway

The loop has a checkpoint about halfway in, but you can see it two miles before you are in some twisting of the trail. The first time I saw it about 4 miles in, James was ascending the hill to start the 2-mile trip to the CP. That 2 miles took me ages, and I thought if he was still

waiting for me at the CP, he's an idiot.

Fortunately, he decided not to be an idiot, and he was long gone by the time I staggered in. Phew. At this stage, I was only doing 4 laps; this was going to be longer than 3.30 hours, and there was no way I was doing the last one faster than this. I was no longer running

anything.

I did consider the possibility of cutting the two miles out where the checkpoint was and getting a DQ. Then I could have a DNS/Finish/DNF and DQ for the year, a weird ultra flush. Ultra Flush sounds like a nasty chaffing problem; maybe I don't want to get that.

I'm going to rant about lumenwankers again. Fucking hell. There were a lot of people overtaking me while finishing their last loop. I don't like having people running behind me, so I get out of the way as soon as someone approaches, except sometimes I'd get out of the way. They are still about 100 meters behind with the sun strapped to their face. I

imagine these are the BMW drivers who blind me on country roads at night with their full beams in my face.

I think there is a kid's story somewhere; the quiet little hill goblins just want to potter about in the dark, but then the evil lumenwankers try to burn them out of the forest with their rechargeable beams of death. Whoah this got off track a bit, which is ironical as I didn't really go off track at all in the race. It's all really well signed. James messaged me to

say he was on the last loop, as I still had at least half an hour of this loop left, so it was very wise to ditch me.

I staggered in just under 12 hours. There were a lot of people gunning for the 5 loops in under 12. Near the end, I heard someone stumble and shout BASTARD, FUCK, FUCK, BASTARD or words from a similar corpus. I asked if he was ok, and he said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I just nearly ended it there... I liked your book!" Dunno how he recognised me; perhaps it was my tiny lumens.

I arrived with Drew, waiting to see if I was up for a lap of sweeping the course markings with him since I'd be the last on the course at this stage. I declined; that loop took 4 hours, and we would not return till sunrise if I went out there. I hung around in the tent for James to finish, which he did amazingly.

Ultimately, this isn't the sort of thing you can just plod round with NO TRAINING. But I'm pleased with my effort; it's been a funny year again. I know I can get back to being able to being able to do this sort of stuff regularly. And maybe then I won't get so fucking grumpy about the fucking Lumenwankers.

The Clay Way #FKT

Having recently reactivated my ultra-marathon running account after a multiple-year lapse, I thought I'd thrust myself back onto the stage of international running awesomeness by running an epic #fkt.

SMH to those who do not know what an FKT is. LOL. But for those among us, it stands for "Fastest Known Time". The two key words being "fastest" and "known".

You usually have to pick a route that is a legit path (so me being the fastest to run from my house to the farm shop in Lower Shelton does not count, though I have filled in the forms to get funding to make it a national trail). You have to run it the fastEST, so not necessarily fast. And it has to be known, ie on Strava.

But what to choose? There are so many. The Pennine Way? The Bob Graham Round? The South West Coastal Path?

It would be more impressive if I set myself an FKT that no one had ever dared to do.

I have seen a few signs for the "Clay Way" on some trails near me. I usually steer clear, as they seem covered in this weird type of mud that gets really slippy in the wet and then dries into rock-hard lumps in the summer. It is great for making pots and pans but lousy for running.

But more people have played golf on the Moon than have completed the entirety of the Clay Way (According to Strava). So the Clay Way it was.

After some googling, I found a map trace on some "Bilbo's Tramping Bonanza" website or something similar. It's around 12 miles. Epic.

The first thing to do was to run to the start, an FKT warm-up. It was a bit warm. My Garmin told me I needed 14 hours to recover from the 2.8-mile run to the start, but there is nothing in the FKT game for people who aren't willing to push the jiffy bag of human potential, so I set out running again a mere THREE MINUTES after finishing that run.

I had James and Skye for company. We set off from Bromham Mill and immediately caught up in #brutal traffic through the small Bedfordshire village. After the Range Rover procession, we managed to get to the other side of the path, where we wondered down "Thistley Lane," which was often overrun with annoying spikey plants.

If ever you are going to try and set an FKT, don't take a dog. They seem to go into annoyingly slow mode when trying to break records. Unlike normal when they run like a bat out of hell all the time.

The first few miles were on my favourite bit of local trail, Strava says I have run this 194 times before and probably the same amount in the opposite direction. So very little chance of getting lost.

About 3 miles in there seemed to be a small detour, the path we were on used to go underneath this pylon but now goes around it. I was once running along here when there was a thunderstorm and wondered how safe I was. Apparently very safe under a pylon if lightening hits. Not near all the electric fences though.

The next bit was the part I recalled being a bit shit. I ran it a lot in the past when I used to run to Milton Keynes for work (sometimes). It was overgrown and nasty to run on, our pace slowed as we looked around for the one part of this route I had never run before and I could see why. It was shit. We turned into a field where a farmer had put up a sign saying "fuck off form here, this isn't the path" but gave no indication as to where the actual path was. Then in an overgrown bush I saw a gap and a small arrow. It was had to see and even harder to crawl into but yes there was a path on the other side of a hidden fence. And lots of brambles too.

We scraped through there and into Cranfield where the signs on the footpaths show a different route to the website I looked at. I'm not sure what the international court of FKT arbitration would have to say about us heading directly through Rectory Wood rather than past the co-op down Wood End Lane, I'll leave it for the lawyers, but we followed the path that looked nicer.

I think we picked the worst time of the year, it was a bit on the warm side but everything was overgrown. If there were not nettles and brambles there was annoying long grass and wheat. Damn nature, getting in the way. But, of course, FKTs are all about the instinctive human drive to crush nature under its rubber-coated feet. IN YOUR FACE NATURE!

Out of Cranfield and meandering alongside some of Bedfordshire's nicest woods towards the weirdly steep bridge over the A421.

The last few miles are on the John Bunyan Trail, the scene of my other FKT from a few years back.

We ambled to the end of the Clay Way, at Ridgemont train station where there are the famous "tea rooms", which I'd never been to before and was looking forward to.

Perhaps, in the planning of the FKT I should have been more prepared by checking that the tea rooms were actually open on a Sunday. They weren't. That's because the trains don't run on a Sunday either. Bugger. How are we getting home?

Later that night there was the anxiety of having uploaded the route and creating the segment that there may have been someone else running the route faster. Also no, a lady called Katherine ran it about 7 years ago, but a bit slow. IN YOUR FACE KATHERINE!!!!!

And there you go, a story of true awesomeness. I hope you will be suitably inspired to go out there and choose your own FKT (NOT THIS ONE!) and try and smash it almost as much as me (and other James, of course, barely mentioned him here!)

People often ask me* "what's next"? Well this weekend I'm taking part in a relay to raise funds for the Thames Valley Air Ambulance, who did an incredible job saving my friends life last year. If you liked reading this and are feeling generous then please leave a donation here!

*No one asked me. When people start a sentence like this, it means no one has even come remotely close to asking them anything.

Eating (sorry I mean “Fueling”) - I had fried eggs on potato waffles for breakfast

Drinking (sorry I mean “Hydration Strategy”) - I drank some water when I was thirsty.

The North Downs Way 51.3 (Plus 0.5 to the Garden Centre) ULTRAMARATHON RACE!

Ultra-running is so PC these days. Apparently, you are supposed to warn someone if you are about to fart in their face on a hill.

I seem to have forgotten everything. I made the mistake of lubing before surrendering my lube to the bag drop and then going for a crap and wiping it all off. I had a Kathmandu running pack with Salomon soft flasks, I know they design those things to crumble if you use them in a the wrong pack. I could not for the life of me remember how to do the #OBLIGATORY #FATLAY

I assume you are meant to be naked when you take these. This is the one out of 5 attempts that Instagram allowed for some reason.

Running has been a bit shit the last few years. It is hard to pinpoint exactly why; life has got in the way, I have been more ill than usual, some personal circumstances have changed and, of course, the usual chaos of having children—oh, and old age.

But I could have fit it in just as before. I have plenty of time. Something that's been nagging me is the doubt of whether I even want to do running anymore.

I head out for a 5-mile run, and after 2 miles, I'm counting down the minutes until I can be done. The mental effort to get up to double figures nowadays seems mind-boggling. I used to do that in the mornings before waking up properly. Five miles used to be a navigation error that we'd laugh about in races. A 50-mile week now involves such effort that it rarely happens. Fifty miles used to be something I did on a Saturday.

Now I'm about to sound like one of those fucking intolerable fucking dicks who go on and on about the NO TRAINING they did before the event. I was definitely undertrained. But I didn't doubt my legs could take me over a 50-mile jaunt. I was sure my head would tell me to stop because it was hard or I would be better off tomorrow if I quit now.

I used to be good at this, but not the running part so much; I was never winning things. But I could stay in the game well enough to get stuff finished and enjoy that lovely glow of completion.

I started a 50k race earlier this year but dropped halfway as I was coughing a bit. File this under ABSOLUTELY THE RIGHT DECISION. Or chickening out. I was supposed to do the SDW50, but my Mum got ill beforehand. Now, that was the right call; I didn't want to be out running if something terrible happened. But part of me felt relieved, thankful for the opportunity to quit that sensibly.

And here we are, May 18th 2024, about 18 years after I first ran this kind of distance with no fear at all, a bit worried that fifty miles was a long way and it would take ages.

OK, enough of the guff for now. Onto the race

It started well. I entered with my friend James and had no idea there were two starting waves, and we were put in different ones. I put down a slower time, so I started after him.

It was nice to be back in a room full of well-lubricated strangers. I love the warm toilet seats and getting judgemental about people who spend more than 60 seconds on a shit.

The start was very pedestrian. We were wave 2, which meant we could not win. That may be why the people at the start looked a little rounder than the usual race start line.

We set off at 7.45. I need to be finished by 8.45 in the evening to avoid a DQ for being slow. Wave 2 felt like ultras of old, where everyone was just out for a hike. There were no race previews about people who would spend most of the time with both feet off the ground. Perhaps James Elson can rebrand the two waves as "race" and "retro."

It was nice to see Alex from the olden days when we used to run on these trails and young, free single people. I've been on the North Downs quite a bit, The Pilgrims Challenge, The Tanners, and I did the first 60 of the North Downs Way 100, so I've run all these hills before. I just don't remember what order they all come in.

I was happy to chug along by myself. I was at the front of the wave (winning, in fact), but as the minutes passed, plenty of people overtook me.

I started to ache a bit from fairly early on, within the first 10 miles. 10miles is about all I would do in one go these days, and it's when the demons of projection take over. If you are feeling crap after just this much, then you are certainly going to die in a few hours.

I used to be really good at dealing with this, but now I suck. Getting to double figures takes so much mental resolve these days that it exhausts me.

But I had a revelation early on. This could be the great unlocking for me. If I could just "DO" something like this and get something finished, that might spur me on to get back into this with the confidence that I can.

It's like when I lose 6 in a row at chess, I am terrible at chess (I'm not that good, tbh). Sometimes, it's because I play better players; sometimes, blunders lead to more blunders. But then, you play someone who blunders a Queen, spends ages and times out, or even gets disconnected. You don't care, a win is a win, and for a bit, you can feel not shit at chess again.

With all the false starts, bail outs, shortened runs and other excuses of the last few years, all I needed to do was to gut something out.

From then on, genuinely, for the whole race, there was never a point where I was debating whether to drop out.

For the first three checkpoints, up to Box Hill, I checked in with James Y, who always seemed to be 45 minutes ahead of me, so we could have run together. Halfway, my Salomon water flask went full Bonnetti and exploded. It was a bit annoying, as only carrying 500ml of water was probably not enough today, But I bravely soldiered on.

I have missed the little checkpoint ritual. Like completing a level, you can chug a few cups of coke, eat some cookies and sandwiches and head on to the next bit. Just 7x7 mile picnic walks to see the day out.

During the next section, I overtook way more times than I was overtaken. I was overtaken by about 20 runners while I overtook about 25 Girl Scouts. It all counts, probably.

I did slow down a lot after this, but I became at ease with just finishing within the cut-off. People passed, and I didn't really worry; I was just enjoying this prolonged state of not feeling like giving up on anything.

The North Downs is really impressive, and it is perfect for this kind of racing. Though of the 100+ dogs I must have seen, there was not a single Collie, which was rubbish. My check-ins with James showed he was getting further ahead,

I had so many flashbacks of little bits of the trail, little gullies that were rivers when I last ran them, and the sides of hills that became sledging slopes once when it snowed here. It took me back to when this kind of stuff was normal. I still have some way to go until this is normal again, but I knew as soon as I finished this I was one big step on the way to getting back there where I want to be.

I had in my head that this was exactly 50 miles long. I know, I know, the artistic license of a trail run organiser; I don't want to sound like this dick. Still, I was a little bit peeved to get to the top of some bastard hill with 43.3 on my Garmin to hear that it was "8 miles" to the end. Now, 1.5 miles is no big thing, but that 20-30 minutes extra could be the difference in me making it back to the Wetherspoons by our hotel before they stop serving food.

Thinking of Wetherspoons

But honestly, I didn't care that much. I was mainly walking now. I felt knackered and had blisters, but I was thrilled to complete an ULTRAMARATHON and have something to blog about.

Just as the race felt slow and clunky, so did writing this! I used to just sit on the PC some time afterwards and quickly whack one out. This took ages. I'm not even sure people read words on the internet anymore; I should be videoing myself doing some gymnastics to a Taylor Swift song while some fat garbage letters of Comic Sans spew all over the screen.

Maybe next time.

I sure have missed blogging, though. Or Creating Content, whatever it's called nowadays.

Here is the picture of me finishing, with that same excited, pregnant look as when I started.

All in all a good day out (Do people still say “Good day at the office”? Am guessing not with home-working these days). A good day sat in the dining room in my pants answering Teams chats, lets say.

Thank you to all involved! James E and team, these are really really good events. Thanks to James Y too for badgering me back into this (and all the driving!). Also thank-you (You’ll know who you are) to those who I’ve been unloading my mid-life crisis stuff on recently. That has really helped and this has really helped.

Daddy - why didn't you show courage?

"Daddy, why didn't you show courage in your run?"

The race was only just done as my 5-year-old boy sat next to me and started discussing his "values" at school. One of them is courage, which means you keep trying hard.

He was proudly wearing a medal around his neck from the 1-mile run he completed, where he demonstrated courage to run the whole thing. I was really proud of him (and his twin sister) for doing the race and was yet to come to terms with whether I'd made the right call.

2/3 about to show courage

So let's start the sympathy priming and rewind 24 hours before the start.

We were on our way to Ambleside from Bedford, along the busy M6 on which we had to stop a few times in traffic. Then one time the car would not restart. Computer said no. An hour we sat in lane 3 of a busy motorway while cars whizzed past as we awaited rescue. 4 hours then at a roadside works depot, an hour in a taxi back to car hire, an hour trying to fit the contents of our fully laden car into a slightly smaller car and then checking in to a hotel at Birmingham airport as it was 10 pm and we'd given up on driving.

I remember laughing at someone who said their headtorch didn't switch on because of some software bug. I wondered why on earth you'd let software be a point of failure for a light switching on and off. LOL. But here we are in a crappy hotel because we don't have the correct version of JavaScript to allow the ignition of petrol to fire an engine and make some wheels spin around.

But let's rewind again to a year ago. We were in the middle of a lockdown where we weren't allowed to run with people and weren't allowed to go on holiday. I saw the lottery for the Lakeland 100 pop up on Facebook and thought I might as well stick my name in the hat, it's unlikely I'll get in. But lo and behold I did and I had to then tell my wife I've got into a race that will require me to be away from home for the best part of a week. Her response was more receptive than I predicted "well you better book a holiday for us all up there then!"

And so we did (or rather let some much better organised friends do so on our behalf 🙂 ) and this was to be our first family holiday for 2 years, likely to be the first holiday the kids ever remember. It was going to be lovely.

I just had to run 100 miles at the start of it.

For a race so big the organisation is pretty slick. I was dropped off at Coniston to get through kit check and stick up a tent that I optimistically hoped to be crawling into around midnight the following day. We sat down for the briefing and were asked to look to a person next to us who we didn't know and introduce ourselves. I met a Sarah. She seemed nice and not at all nervous. We were then told that there is a 50% finish rate in the race and to look at each other again and decide who was not going to finish.

sunset

I looked at her and thought she had the better chance of winning, and that was before she revealed "but I'm only doing the 1 mile fun run".

The start was stunning. Coniston was packed with crowds, even Olympians don't get this right now. I started near the back and was happy to be held back for the first few miles and not get carried away with trying to win on the first hill.

There were a few welcome bottlenecks as we climbed out of Coniston. It was warm and nice to chat to Stu and Dave who I hadn't seen in a while. The first few miles were climbing, about 3 miles in I felt the pang of quantum entanglement of my DNF buddy finishing her mile race. Who am I to defy physics?

I can't remember a race where I mentally checked out so early. I felt tired, or rather I felt like I was going to be tired. I'd done plenty of miles and some hills going into the race, nothing that replicated the constant stumbling on Lakeland rock though.

The only thing keeping me in the race was the thought that I would disappoint the children by not finishing. Though at the time I didn't know of the value of courage I was weighing up the benefits of dropping out early and being fresh for our holiday over wrecking myself for days but setting the kids an example to finish stuff you start. That pull was pretty good, and helped get my head back in the race.

I am slow on uphill, slower on the downhill but this race has plenty that is runnable. Running on all the flat bits and not faffing at checkpoints was where I was going to make up for the fact that I live in Bedford and don't often get to run in the third dimension. It was going well as the sun went down. There was the promise of a clear sky and full moon. It didn't disappoint when it arrived. Looking around at the line of headlamps made me think back to times like the UTMB/Northburn/Spartathlon and other races I used to do when I could do this kind of distance.

I was stumbling a lot. I only fell over once which is quite good going for me but it was frustrating feeling like I was making such slow progress. The optimistic time I came here with was 30 hours. Crawling into my tent at just over midnight on Sunday morning, sleeping through for a bit, then having a relatively normal 5 days of holiday. With each stumble came a blow to my predicted time. If I can't keep up a walking pace on this path then there is no way I am going to make that.

But after about 15 miles there seemed to be a decent section that was entirely runnable. I made a fairly good time here and all of a sudden I was 20 miles in and well under 6 hours. Almost a fifth of the way there and I'm doing ok! I'm going to finish this!

But of course, there is a long way between "almost" a fifth of the way there and being a fifth of the way there.

The Lakeland 100 is actually 105 miles in length. You can see this from people posting about the 105-mile race they've done. Now the miles don't really mean much when the terrain is like this but it can give an indicator of how much you've done and need to do. I was feeling fine. Not too tired despite the previous days, legs fine, all good. But that mile from "almost" a fifth to a fifth, mile 21 took forfucking forever. Between miles 20 and 21 I went from being happy and confident of finishing to imagining myself having to run into a second sunrise (no bad thing at all) and finishing much later than I'd like on Sunday.

I thought about what that would mean for the rest of my week. That holiday with the family will likely be the first the kids remember. Sunday I'll not be there. Monday I'll be a wreck. Tuesday I'll probably be a wreck too. I might be more human on Wednesday but then there is not much time to have fun with the kids anymore.

Moon and the trail of lights

There is a cheesy motivational video that includes the quote "What is each day for a series of choices between the easy way and the right way". Well this might just be the perfect synergy right here, the right was IS the easy way! How convenient! It's good for my family to drop out of this race so I can enjoy the week with them.

I quit.

There were still about 5 miles to get to the checkpoint, but at least I can say I have done a marathon. Then I can think about how to cobble something together for facebook to make it sound like it was ABSOLUTELY THE RIGHT DECISION.

The three letters "DNF" hides the true nature of what it is to not finish a race. "Did Not Finish" removes agency from the failure. Most DNFs and all of my previous should actually be classed as RTCs (Refused To Continue). That is what I did.

I had plenty of time to reflect as I got the coach back to Coniston and snoozed a few hours in the tent before getting picked up. At no point did I think I made the wrong call. Nor did tracking the race, watching runners stagger through Ambleside later on Saturday night, and seeing that friends had finished their races make me question my decision. Nothing, until Isaac reminded me of his school values.

Even now I don't feel too bad about it, but I need to do better. Maybe it was worth wrecking me out of a holiday to show my kids the importance of finishing what you set out to do. Running has taught me about the risks of lowering the bar, just once. It makes it easy to lower it again and again. Soon the bar gets so low even the most mundane of things seems hard. I’d lost momentum recently and to get that back you need more momentum.

Isaac and Amber showing courage in their parkrun (not without some whinging mind…)

I could have done better. I could have trained better and bought into the race more from the start. I could have given myself a better chance. It feels like I'm not just doing it for myself anymore.

Maybe the fun we had in the following week will make him forget. No that's not likely. Two years I made some hummus with too much garlic in it, he still reminds me every time we have it now.

Pilgrims Progress - The John Bunyan Trail

In 2014 I moved to Bedford for no reason. It was kind of in-between somewhere and somewhere else that seemed convenient, and house prices were low. I could get down into the big smoke by spending only 35 minutes in a sweaty sardine can. Over the years I have become familiar with the trails here. From running on London's river paths, canals and touristy parks, I transitioned to country roads, wiggly trails and cow caressed grassy fields.

I really enjoyed it, discovering new trails, following red lines on maps, never quite knowing whether you are going to see some awesome golden footpath or a wall of bramble. On some of these trails, I see a little sillhoutto of a man. His name is John Bunyan. He's kind of a big deal here. The kids learn about him in the schools here, like up in Leicester, where we learned about the Elephant Man and Mark Morrison.

He wrote a book called the Pilgrims Progress. The trail that his name adorns is 78 miles long and is a loop that covers most of Bedfordshire.

I haven't read the Pilgrims Progress but to feign knowledge I looked it up on Wikipedia. The Pilgrims Progress is a Christian allegory. I looked up what allegory meant, and it is a literary device. I looked up what that meant, and it's a selection of written works, examples being an allegory, allusion, alliteration …

Yeah that looks like Bedford…



Then I just scrolled down to this picture and figured out it's essentially about a city which blew up, and some dude had to wander through loads of fields and meadows to make it to some space ship that would fly him off to the land of eternal kudos.

Unless I'm reading it backwards, in which case it's a story about some space aliens who land on earth and end up destroying a city with a colossal cow-pat.

But either way, that seems like the perfect vehicle on which to base our story of how jogging through some tracks takes on a higher meaning about the trials and tribulations of a runner in a wider context of a generally comfortable world where everything we have is close at hand.

If only there were fancy word for that.

The first step in doing anything in ultrarunning is to start a WhatsApp group. I did this about 4 years ago. There was a lot of procrastinating. Back in those days, I think the idea of doing a long run self-supported was called something like a "self-supported long run". Then sometime soon after when the world got a bit messed up this type of run was renamed "FKT", an acronym for "Fastest Known Time".

Of course, many people spotted the loophole, as did we. If you pick a trail that no one has ever done before, then you can get a "Fastest Known Time" by virtue of it being the "Only Known Time". Perfect! We can do our run, have fun, not really rush things and then claim to be Olympians because more people have walked on Mars than ever attempted what we are doing. Frontpage stardom on the Stevington Gazette loomed.

And then, disaster! Two weeks before we were due to go and plant our flag in the squelchy clay of Bedfords great Bunyan, someone else went and ran the whole thing in one shot. In very good time too. 16 hours and 20 minutes.

NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

The city is now burning down, we need to leave quickly.

16 hours 20 minutes was a punchy time. It could be done, but it would take some effort.

Chris Camino and I started at the statue of John Bunyan in Bedford town centre at 5am. Bedford is lovely at this time, there are no people there. We set off north, doing the loop anti-clockwise for a very good reason that I can't quite remember. Up Bedford's 1 hill into Clapham and then out through Oakley and into the first of about 1000 farmers fields we were going to run through.

The first 20 miles or so were reasonably familiar to me, I've run on these trails a lot. After about 5 miles in some field in Pavenham, there is a section of knee-deep cow shit that you have no choice but to go through. I don't know how deliberate some of these traps are. When entering the field, we thought we got lucky as the cows were no longer there, alas no, as we gingerly walked through the narrow pass between the bushes and the river we both went in knee-deep into the despondent slurry. I almost lost a shoe.

We passed through Stevington (population about 27, pubs 2. My town has a population of about 4000, pubs 0) and then ascended Mount Bromham. We decided to walk any hills from the start. No point wasting energy so early on. It's not like we were trying to break any records. Well actually...

I created a rough schedule of when we were going to be in various villages. I thought optimistically we could be getting this done in about 16 hours which meant arriving in Bromham village for about 7am. We were a bit ahead of that as I'd deliberately overestimated the distances. Drew was waiting with supplies. We were very very lucky to have support as it was due to be a warm day and there are no shops between miles 32 and 65.

Drew offered to get us something from Greggs. I'm so out of practice at proper ultra running that I didn't know what to ask for. We left and ran through to bump into Paul who joined us for a few miles.

We almost made a wrong turning at the point closest to my house. Weirdly I was about to run down a trail that I'd never been down before. That would have been annoying. And then when I put my jacket into my bag, I discovered I was still carrying a huge bucket of Sudocrem that I'd meant to leave in the car at the start.

If this came down to the seconds, I was blaming that Sudocrem.

Wandered through Wootton and towards Cranfield on some gnarly trails that used to be part of my weekly run to the butchers to buy steak. I think this is why the local cows hate me. Drew popped up at a gate like a keeper of goodwill and helped us navigate away from the dangers of the Spar in Cranfield. Our original plan was to use the small shop in Cranfield to buy more water/coke, but this saved us lots of time. Usually, I'd be conscious of making other people smell me when I stop in shops. Still, as everyone has to wear masks now, it really wouldn't matter that I smelled like sulphur and cow shit.

A farmhouse at the edge of Cranfield also marked the edge of my JBT knowledge, and we'd have to interpret the maps more from here. We had recced most of the second half of the run, but these miles between about 24-30 could be a bit shaky. I at least got to see my workplace though, 10 miles away in Milton Keynes. I sometimes miss driving towards that enormous dome each day.

The trail goes through the lovely Holcote woods but that absolutely dog shits over the M1 into Ridgemont. This bit seems like such a pointless detour, why did John Bunyan want to go over the M1? All that there is to see here is an Amazon warehouse. This burden weighed heavy such that we missed a turn (a hole in a hedge) and took the road into Ridgemont. Another crossing of the M1 felt like deliverance as we were back onto the trails that don't look like garbage.

We passed the marathon point (Yay! Ultra Running!) just as we crossed the M1 again and headed towards the Greensands Ridge. A lovely 40-mile point to point which I recommend doing as a birthday run if you ever become an old codger.

Once on the ridge, we knew our way for at least another 5 miles, along some lovely footpaths into Millbrookup a difficult hill into Ampthill park. We took care not to make any dangerous or destructive turnings into Centreparcs or the Proving Ground.

Carrying on to Houghton House the route then drops down into Ampthill and winds through the houses into Flitwick. As far as I know, there is a war raging between the people of Flitwick and Ampthill in the same way there is a war waging between Kempston and Bedford. People of Kempston think the people of Bedford are stupid and the people of Bedford think the people of Kempston are stupid. I always try to be diplomatic in these circumstances and say they might be both right.

The tarmac of the streets was welcome on the legs a little, but I didn't really like having to avoid people on the streets. I was thankful to get back onto the trails near Steppingly, even though this was the scene of my humiliation last week when I stopped for a wee in what I thought was a quiet trail but was actually in full view of a chap from his bedroom window. Further humiliation was to follow when I tripped over nothing on a flat path in front of some dog walkers. I get pretty grumpy when I fall over, mostly pissed at myself but happy to take it out of others.

The weather gods were on our side. If we'd done this a few days earlier, we'd be toast by now. A few days later, also toast. It threatened to get hot today, but the cloud covered the sun, and we were spared of its power. Of the sections we'd recced, this was the worst I think, between Steppingly and Harlington, a dead valley of abandoned gates and stiles.

Harlington was half-way, or so we estimated. We'd braced ourselves for something like 82 miles of running without nav errors. At 41 it was nice to come in and make a pointless loop of the village before heading back out in the same direction. A lady walking her dog asked me how I got knee-deep in shit (well, asked which of the footpaths she needed to avoid). I think I vaguely said "Pavenham" but was pretty sure she was not going to end up there. Here sat on a bench we saw Mello who was going to join us for the second half of the run.

Water Tower at Pulloxhiil

The next few miles take some excellent trails and farm roads up to Pulloxhill and a very distinctive water tower. It seems like another pointless detour of the route, but here you get to see the Sharpenhoe Clappers in all their glory. It's like a big shelf of trees that just pop up out of nowhere. Heading back out of Pulloxhill, there is a choice of trails. A gnarly, nettley, brambly crawl on the official but overgrown path or a beautiful field edge with a sign at the start that pretty much says "Private Land, Fuck Off!"

So we took the shite trail. There are more and more of those signs from farmers telling you where the trails are and where they are not, which has been great to stop us running off in the wrong direction into dead ends, but this was just teasing us. Fortunately, my cow-shit calf-sleeves (patent pending) seemed to do a decent job of protecting me against the herbage.

We saw Drew again at the main road before heading straight up into the Clappers. Having lived in Bedford for 6 years, I am rarely troubled by the third dimension when running, this was lovely though, straight up and then onto the high ground of the Sundon Hills. There are quite a few miles up here, and I'd say these are the best trails in Bedfordshire. We coveted this part of the county, wishing we'd lived this side of the Bunyan.

There is a little out and back section to a car park which is the official start/finish of the JBT. We did initially plan to start here to make it "proper", but there is nothing here, just a car park—no mention of the trail or anything. Even the Greensands Ridge has a sticker on a poo-bin in Leighton Buzzard telling you a path is about to start.

Back along the hills with a glorious view of North Bedfordshire, including lots of the trails we had recently been on I saw Mike Abel. He was running the Chiltern Way over a few days. I used to bump into this chap in Regents Park when we working in London, now I see him on random hills in Bedfordshire.

Quite a few paths overlap here. The Chiltern Way and the Icknield Way all pass through. If you looked on a map and asked which trail had had a few too many drinks it would definitely be the John Bunyan, it's all over the place. Through a pub in Streatley and down more fields we declined the invitation on the sign saying "Welcome To Luton" and headed through a very scenic golf course towards a small village called Lilley.

This was another bit he had to run before. Still, it was quite straightforward, the route then climbs up higher into the Barton hills and drops down into Barton-Le-Clay, and in my mind, it's all "downhill from here".

I was having a rough time mentally now. I was trying to calculate how likely it was we were going to finish at 16 hours. A few weeks ago we ran from Barton to home, it's 20 miles. We were at 60 in Barton, 20 miles in 5 hours sounds entirely plausible. But something was nagging me about extra distance. We had in our minds 82 miles and all of a sudden 22 miles in 5 hours sounded like a stretch.

I felt physically good. Nothing hurt too much, my energy was good and having Drew, and later Dan popping up to feed us every 8 miles or so was crucial. I managed eating well. I just had no lift in my legs, though. I could run and would say I pretty much ran everything flat or down and even some that was up, but my ultra shuffle was something like 13-minute miles. Since lockdown, I've been running miles and miles with no speed and suspect a few interval sessions would have given my stride a few inches. Chris still looked really strong, running off into the distance with Mello and waiting for me at any gates. Chris could have done this hours faster.

View from Barton

I was happier with the isolation though, deep in the fortress of my own doubting as I poorly did the calculations of the finish. We'd recced this part a few weeks ago, and it felt like the final stretch, but I swear new villages were put on the map since we were here last. In my mind, it was Hexton, Shillington and then Shefford. What the fuck was this "Apsley End" and "Meppershall"? This country of conceit was conspiring to lengthen the run. I remembered how far it was to the end but would these new places add distance?

The sun had broken through the cloud again. It was about 6 in the evening, time to be in the pub. We were headed to Shefford, which is a lovely town like Ampthill with a tremendous smelling Fish and Chip shop (I'm not sure whether they sell Huumus and Chips like in Ampthill though). On leaving Shefford, we saw Dan and Drew at the side of the main road to fill us up. Greg had run out from Bedford to run back in with us. This felt like the home stretch now. It's about 10 miles. We had about 2.30 hours to do it in 16 hours. That felt doable. I felt much better.

I'd like to think that the time thing wasn't weighing on me too much, but then all I could think of was "we can't get seated by a guy who ran all on his own and had to stop in shops for ages while we get crewed like Ferraris". Plus I had this idea first! (Actually, I didn't, but I thought I did)

It was stressing me out more than it needed to. But I now felt like this was the easy bit. A 10 mile downhill roll into Bedford. I'd even forgotten the first 4 miles of this were uphill.

This is possibly the easiest 10 miles of navigation ever, it's just a straight line. Looks like Jonny sobered up by this point and stopped twatting about all over the place. As we rose up on the farm roads into Haynes, we could actually see Bedford. I'd never known it to look so beautiful. Drew saw us again in a car park that had a Fish and Chip van which was very popular. Didn't spend long there, it would have been nice to stop. Now we were at the top of the hill, where the trail crosses the Greensands Ridge again and ready to head down Hammer Hill towards Elstow, the place where JB was born.

I've run this section many times, and I always get here and think "nearly home" and then three miles later think "this is a never-ending fucking long straight bit innit?" It seems to go on forever. Jonathon Langford popped up to give us support, it was nice to chat to him for a bit, I think the last time I spoke to him was at the end of the Autumn 100 race a couple of years back.

Thought the enchanted land of Medbury Farm we finally got to the exit and into Elstow. We weren't exactly sure how far was left, we were on 78 miles. Figured another 2. Now we had to navigate things like traffic lights and teenagers to get to our Celestial Finish, over the River of Death near the Nandos and up the high street. This was it, 16 hours just ticked over on my watch, but we were well under 16.20. All that remained were two traffic lights between us and the statue.

GREEN MAN! GO!!!!

An awkward shuffle of pace across the road as we were met by a roaring crowd (4 people) and then that was it.

DONE.

16 hours 3 minutes.

82.2 miles.

112 Kudos (so far) Please donate….

After 4 years of that WhatsApp group, we finally got off our arses and did it.

Oliver Jones came along to see us at the end. In fairness, his run was vastly superior to ours. Completely unsupported and only 20 mins slower (with at least a few more miles of detours). I was really pleased that we pretty much nailed our 16 hour "optimistic" time. Made no significant nav errors, ran till the end (if you could call it running).

In preparing for this, we all explored some brilliant countryside, trails that we'd definitely go back to.

Thanks very much to Drew and Dan for some excellent crewing! To Mello, Greg, Paul and Jonathan for coming along for part of the adventure. Thanks to Oliver too for focussing our resolve to get it done!

Next up, Another famous Bedfordian has a bit of road named after her….

Cheviot Goat

Once upon a time, there was this relay race around Rotherham. It was called the "Round Rotherham Relay". You could run it as part of a team or do all 50 miles on your own. It took place in the middle of December, where the weather was likely to be foul and the terrain awful. Many a British ultra runner would have a story about how they waded for 10 hours waist-deep in mud to earn a little badge to sew onto your backpack. It was so awful, and it was beautiful. It felt like something runners had to do at least once a year as "enjoyment cleansing" ritual.

It was shit, but necessary.

Unfortunately, after the year of the great snowflake 2009, when it sharted down good and propper, and most of the field bailed at halfway the organisers bumped the event into October, so now runners can enjoy a crisp autumnal day to run.

So there's nothing shit to do anymore.

Now I've been out of the scene for a while and there are so many new races all over the place. However when I first looked up the Cheviot Goat ultra I though this looks perfect! Hills, bogs, darkness, bogs, middle of nowhere.

Shit but necessary.

This was the 4th ultra I had signed up for this year. The first I missed because I was ill, the second because of a diary malfunction with the wife, the third I missed by falling off my bike two weeks before and twonking a shoulder. I didn't want to temp hell to freeze over by saying how much I needed to make the start line of this one. But I really did.

I liked the meal in the cafe the night before. It felt proper northern. A really dense beef stew and sour bread to the background music of Dire Straits.

9pm, as we were going to bed, we got a text message from the organisers that the route was going to be reversed. Yes! #brutal points! Now in any subsequent blog I can wang on about how much more #brutal it was due to something or other. The rationale for the change was to get people up and down the big climb (The Cheviot, pronounced Cheeeeeeeviot apparently) early on before the winds kicked in.

Sounds more comfortable.

We were up at 4 am to put our clothes on and drive to the start. I was delighted to have managed three craps before leaving the caravan, hopefully meaning I was well contained for the whole race.

Just after six, a stream of headlamps spun away into the darkness. This was a big race, bigger than I expected.

For the first time ever I bought a fancy watch. Since I hardly spend any money on races any more it felt justified. If you get more than £2 per race mile out of a watch you are not buying them frequently enough.

I had the route loaded into my watch, but I didn't turn it on as I didn't think the battery would last and I am too much of a #stravawanker not to want to upload the race.  Therefore I was planning to be a dick and follow other people. And of course, moan at them if they hesitated or went the wrong way.

I also put my Garmin in something called "ultratrak" mode, which from vague recollections of about 34,643 social media posts about it I thought would extend the battery life at the expense of a bit of accuracy. I later discovered that the "bit of accuracy" was actually a fuckload of accuracy. Imagine swapping Jamie Vardy for Ade Akinbyi.

The first few miles were relatively easy going. Uphill and a bit sloppy, nothing that a hardened runner from the gnarly trails of Bedfordshire could not handle. I tried to keep up with Chris and Greg, but they were clearly more hardened than me. I told them not to wait for me, and they didn't (how rude!) and I lost them on the second time of losing a shoe.

It felt like harder work in the dark as we couldn't easily avoid the wet bits; but was optimistic that as soon as the sun came up we would see everything basking in glorious daylight where I could quietly get on with the business of banging out some gentle 9 minute miles. The stretch goal was getting this thing finished lot long after the sun sets about 10 hours later.

But fucking hell! Ditches! Do you ever stand at a train platform, realise you are on the wrong side and think "it might be quicker just to climb across rather than go over the bridge"? Each ditch was about that big but with no bridge option. The original route has people doing this in the dark! Christ.

I lost my sense of humour pretty quickly with this (and a shoe a couple more times). When I saw a course map with a red dotted line on I thought there would be a delicious path to jog along. I should have learned from exploring the red lines of Bedfordshire that the redness of the line in no way corresponds to the shitness of the trail. The months and months of rain had taken their toll.

Three hours in we were at the top of the Cheviot, the biggest climb and there were slabs to run on! Excellent. All downhill from here! It was a bit breezy on top, and there was a bit where the runners were going in both directions on a path that only really fits one.

I am quite submissive in these situations. I'll stand aside to let people past. But here you risk a 50/50 chance of doing that Vicar of Dibley puddle jump.

After the Cheviot, there was a gentle downhill on the slabs where I made up some time and places. My watch was being a bit generous. 8 min miles? Hmmmm I'm not so sure but I'll be happy for the route to stay like this all the way to the finish. At least that's the bogs bit done.

I overtook quite a few people here, ha ha pussies! Don't handle a bit of solid running surface! Go back to your swamps, you hedgehog eating chumpazoids!

The sun did finally come up and painted the hills a lovely yellow and green, like being at Carrow Road. Unfortunately, it was short-lived as we went higher and higher into the cloud and everything turned Rotherham again.

I knew my watch was taking the piss. I should have asked more questions in forums about it. When we got to the first water stop at 15 miles my Garmin said 18.5 miles. I tried to negotiate. Not going full-on Apprentictard and yelling "THIS IS 18.5 MILES INNIT MATE?" whilst jabbing him in the chest. I asked a little hesitantly, "This is a bit more than 15 isn't it?"

Two people looked at their watches as said "I've got 15 pretty much bang on".

Shit.

I was brave. Very brave. Like I tell my kids to be when they need to have their jabs. I didn't have any stickers to give myself but I managed not to cry about the 3.5 miles that were so cruelly taken away from me.

The next section was fairly nice. Mostly downhill in fields. I did a bit of poo-spotting, inspired by this highly educational book about a dog pooing on a moles head. (Sorry, gave the story away there). We descended into a small town and had a fair bit of road to run on before getting to the halfway stage.

I didn't want to hang around too much. It took 7 hours to do just over half the race and I figured (as the hard bit was out of the way) I should be able to do the remaining in 7 hours. So that's 14 hours, 8pm finish. Back in town before the chip shop closes. I grabbed some soup and took it up the next hill with me.

A chap did approach me and said I looked familiar. I think I said I used to write blogs about ultra running and then he mentioned the Barkley film. Yeah I was in that. "I don't want to be an epic failure, I just want to be a regular failure like everyone else". He asked how it was and I said I felt like I was in the documentary all over again.

I enjoyed the next miles much more, nice hills, open trails, forests and cows. This section seemed to go quicker, even accounting for my watch spazzing out miles every kilometer. My watch presumably got into that hippy "everyone should be so supportive and tell everyone they are awesome Man" mode that you see on some facebook pages. Even though I was twaddling along like a Londoner who has confused Crib Goch with the Northern Line my watch took it upon itself to tell me "yeah! Man, you are totally Jim Fucking Walmeslying this bastard!"

We were all pretty spread out now and given I was cheating at the nav I wanted to stay within sight of others. The previous night there was an almost full moon basking the hills in a light blue glow and I said to the guys this is going to be lovely. Running out in the wilderness to moonlight sounds like a wonderful way to spend a Saturday night.

In reality, as soon as the sun went down, the ground got squelchy again and the moon disappeared behind thick clouds. It was almost perfect timing, lights out - ground disappears.

Back in the days when I had more mental resolve than Sam Smith during lockdown I had a few mental tricks to get me through the tough times. One was to always assume that external things will get worse but internal things will get better. Hills, rain, wind, terrain, conversation with other runners are external. Always assume that these things will get worse. Every ditch I assumed you be followed by another bigger ditch. That the #brutal wind will blow harder and the Biblical rain will turn into Quoranical rain. That a guy who talks constantly about his Keto diet will be replaced by a guy talking about getting UTMB points.

I was doing quite well at this, but having been treated to some nice running for hours, I got complacent and forgot to assume it was going to get shitter, and shitter it got. As soon as the sun fell off the earth the path seemed to disappear. No longer were we running on flattened grass, we were back in the bogs and wading through the bracken. Surely there was a path somewhere? It might be right next to it, but we just could not see it. I was just following a line of people who were, in turn, following their fancy pants watches and I was in no position to say (out loud) "can you please stick to a fucking path please?"

I could not keep up with the train in front of me. I looked around to see how long I'd have to wait to tag onto someone else and saw complete darkness. Shit.

It wasn't forecast to rain, that's why I packed a Saloman Bonetti as my "waterproof". It's good for straining loose leaf tea but fuck all else. I put it on anyway as the hood does a good job of telling me how windy it is.

I wondered whether Chris and Greg had finished yet. I reminisced about the time when everyone thought I was the greatest ultra runner to ever live. Now I struggle to make it into the top ten ultra runners in the county parish of Kempston Rural. Such a fall from grace, coinciding nicely with another fall into a bog.

Shit and unnecessary.

I never really had any desire to do the Spine Race and I think today has vaccinated me against any future threat of desire to walk through bogs for a week.

The race is well organised. I'm only writing like a many pretentious prick in the hope of a job at The Guardian. As far as bleak wilderness and challenging terrain go this is a fantastic event, everyone is tracked and as many marshalls and safety people as can be realistically put out there. But I was having none of it. I really wasn't liking this.

Possibly the most exciting thing that happened was that I saw a Twix on the floor. I didn't pick it up. Then a mile later a man came bounding past saying " my word, I just found a twix on the floor, are it and now I'm buzzing!" As he flew into the distance. Bastard.

But when a chap said, just as we turned off the last ridge and went downhill that it was all pretty rocky ground from here on in I could have kissed him.

It still took soooooo long though. I thought 10 miles in two hours should be a doddle, but somehow the easy bit felt just as hard. I should have put the route into my watch like everyone else, then I would not have to constantly guess how far I had left. A 55 mile race my watch was well into the 60s. At least my pace would look a bit more generous on Strava.

Eventually, there were enough lights in the distance to suggest that there was some sort of building there and that I might be able to finish. Having been overtaken about 100 times in the last few hours I managed at least to pick up to a run through the farmland and look like I was finishing properly.

Note the water bottle. I has Salomon ones but they leak like a fucking Bonetti

I think in modern parlance this race should be described as "Rotherham on Crack". I'm glad that there is a proper winter ultra back on the calendar that you can do in a day. If I were more prepared and less shit I might have enjoyed this a lot more, but then at least one ultra a year should not be enjoyable from beginning to end but instead build character. I built a lot here and I intend to use it for the many many ultras I intend on running in 2020.

How hard should you try to beat a child at parkrun?

parkrun wouldn’t be parkrun without 37 little kids underneath your feet at the start line ready to bounce off like coiled springs. Off into the distance they fly as all the grown ups settle into a pace they know they can sustain for 5k. Soon enough all of these uncoiled springs moving at high velocity will wither into dead slinkies, wheezing and heaving and trying to take a mental note that this time next week they should sit indoors and watch Paw-Patrol instead.

Here I was on that start line of a parkrun, I actually felt quite good. Not in PB shape but ready to give some beans. As close to 19 as possible was the target. I even did a warm up jog, it was that serious, though not quite as serious as doing the flappy leg arse kicking that I see people doing before the race. Run.

Off we went, along a nice straight that usually clears for me after about a minute as I settle into my place. There are a lot of fast people here today, more than usual. The first k is busy but I work my way though the dead slinkies. I can still see a few ahead of me. No bother. Slowly slowly catchy monkey.

I pass a young boy who is practically walking after 1.2k. Then onto the gravelly bit where I hope the relative size of the pebbles will hold up the smaller-footed runners. 2k in and I have a slight battle with group of three boys from a running club. Running club ones are harder. Their coaches have probably shared with them the parkrun secret.

“Don’t set out like a fucknugget”.

They seem to arrange themselves into formation, blocking my path. They appear to me as skittles and my momentum could easily plough through and make a spare of this but parkrun is not about wasting other competitors. I think. Maybe I’ll check the rules.

So I bide my time, waiting for the moment one falls out of position and then vrooooom! Right through the gap. Schoolboy error schoolboys!

And that was it, job done. Only grownups in front of me now. I pick out the next target, a woman about 100m ahead. I’d do well to catch her now, it’s quite a gap but I’ll give it a go. I press on and then OMFG! I am not chasing a woman 100m in front of me but in fact a little girl about 20m in front of me. I’m trying so hard my perspective has blown. She’s about half my height, a third of my weight and does not look out of breath at all.

Don’t panic. More than half way to go. She’s bound to blow. She’s so small. It’s a 2 lap course which means I pass all the volunteers and spectators as I’m trying to overtake a small child. I have to do that thing where I try really hard to make it look like I’m not trying. Quick wipe the sweat off my face before they can see me, lower my cadence, unclench my fists and chat to everyone I can “Lovely day for a little jog! Such nice weather, taking it nice and easy. Can’t wait for the cake! Joggity joggity”.

I am dying inside. And she increased the gap! Shit! This isn’t going to be easy. Back onto the tarmac, no one can see me now. Doesn’t matter if I cry/bleed/shit myself I can still do this.

But the gap stays just as wide. I’m starting to doubt myself here. I’m starting to think about what I’m going to call this run on Strava. Will have to mention cobwebs and some sort of virus and maybe a hangover and some #brutal wind. No one needs to know.

But 4k in and it’s back on! She’s slowed a bit. On the gravelly section. Maybe she’s tiring or maybe she’s not got the best shoes on but I don’t care, I can take her now!

And I do! I don’t care how loudly I’m grunting anymore, right now beating this child is all my life has ever been about. I pass her and keep my foot down to create a gap. I’m not having her drafting me. I feel pretty pleased now, about half a k to go and I think I’ve got this and then shit! she passes me back! How utterly disrespectful.

No passbacks. That’s a parkrun rule isn’t it? (Will check the rules)

So I push even harder, now starting to lap some of the runners on their first lap and paranoid about losing her in the crowd. I get past again and I think this is it. I could never hear her footsteps anyway but I’m sensing it’s done now. There is a slight incline towards the end (0.0001%) where I reckon I have the advantage. I was going for “as close to 19” as possible and it’s looking like I’m going to hit 19 on the nose. Looking over my should a lot to “make sure I don’t clatter into the other runners on their first lap” I run through the finish in 19.03. I delighted with that time, but not as delighted as beating a little girl. That was special. She crossed the line in 19.10. Behind me, 7 seconds after me, a place below me, cos I was in front of her.

I’d love to tell you that my celebration for beating her was more graceful than Martin Keown here.

I’d love to be able to tell you that.

The Autumn 100 - My ultra comeback

So, let me tell you what was supposed to happen....

Do you remember this guy?

Of course you do. This chap played "Nicky Platt" in Coronation Street in the 90s. He was a 15-year-old gawky teenage boy playing a 15-year-old gawky teenage boy. Seems sensible. However, the makers of Coronation Street were keen to get ahead in the ratings. East-Enders were killing people off fortnightly, Emmerdale Farm dropped the sheep-shearing for some post office robberies and in Brookside; well, Anna Friel started kissing other girls.

They had their work cut out, so they decided to "Send Nicky to France"; on a school trip or exchange programme or something. Well, all that riding a bike with a baguette in the basket and eating cheese in a beret must have done some good as he came back three months later looking like this.

This was my plan. This last three years was essentially me "going to France" and when I returned I was going to be ripped like buggery, Salomon flasks bursting under the pressure of my substantial pecs, quads that would fell any trees that had the temerity to intervene on my path and a six-pack so rippled it would grate my emergency poncho into ribbons.

Well, I'm not writing this from high up a podium, am I? Instead, I am having to paper over the cracks of a run that didn't go like a dream with a garbled stream of shit jokes.

So yeah, essentially I'm just picking up where I left off.

OK, so divert your mind from Adam's bullet nipples let's get this thing started proper.

My name is (The) James Adams. You may remember me from such tales as " 50 states of brown" and "The Spartathlon - before it was cool". I used to be seen jogging about in the nights and often instead helping to clear surplus checkpoint food at races. One day before I was about to set out on a 500k run across Tennessee in the US my wife called me to tell me she was pregnant, with twins. I can't help but feel I was partially responsible for this.

I finished that race, almost losing my nuts in the process but since I didn't need them again, that wasn't a problem. That was in July 2015. I took a 3-year break from running ultra marathons to observe these little people increase in mass and learn the words that I pretend I don't ever say.

I managed to get some running done at that time though. I went back to basics. I trained for a half-marathon and then trained for a couple of marathons. I think my compressed time worked a treat here. No longer did I have 6 hours a day to go chump about in some fields, but every now and then I got an hour where I'd shoot out the door and run as many miles as I could.

I got PB's at everything. 5k, 18.43, 10k, 38.40, Half - 1.25.50 and marathon 3.06.58. For my second marathon earlier this year I genuinely believe I got myself into "3-hour marathon" shape. I loved the training, the tempo runs, intervals, Tuesday night twenties, recovery runs and all that jazz. All I needed to do was to get the three hours and then I could relax and go back to chumping about in the fields. Marathon day came, it was 30c. #brutal in ultra speak. Despite the sweltering conditions I only just missed my three-hour target. By 49 minutes.

But enough was enough. I had an itch that needed to be scratched. I was so inspired by those Instagram "trail porn" shots that I longed to do a run once more where I could run a bit, set up a camera, run back, run past it, run back, run past it, run back, run past it, run back, run almost up to it but then accidentally squint so have to run back, run past it again and then run back and take the camera. That's the running I love.

I signed up for the Autumn 100, part of Vivaldi's "four ultras" series. A route of 4 out and backs along the river Thames and ridgeway footpaths from Goring. Simple but ingenious. As Vivaldi, himself would say "If it ain't Baroque don't fix it."

Do we still say “smashing it”? - Stuart Marsh photo

It's been a while since I've done something called "kit check". I've been doing the "bag of essential things" drill quite regularly in the last 2 years though. Nappies, muslins, bottles, wipes, muslins, snacks, waterproof pants, muslins and then anything I've forgotten can be made up of muslins. I figured the same could be done here. I stuff things like lights, bottles, food and clothes into a bag and about 37 buffs. If I forget something like batteries or gloves, I can just make it up out of a combination of buffs.

I had my three items checked, light, fleece top and waterproof. Lucky my phone wasn't checked, requirements are for "fully charged" and it was only 97%. I had to Instagram myself catching a train.

I think the last time I did a Centurion race I missed the briefing because I was doing a parkrun. He updated on the weather which was that it was going to feel like summer when it was light and winter when it was dark.

We went for a long walk into some bushes and then off we went, a bit narrow at the start, so we all had a chance to chat.

I set out nice and easy like you do in these things, you don't set out like you are trying to twonk a parkrun. The first leg had actually felt hot and bothersome. It was only about 23C [not sure what the blog weather inflation rate is nowadays] - It was a #BRUTAL 37C, and my secondary light source evaporated.

I haven't missed checkpoint food. I don't mean that in a bad way, I literally have not missed it because the spread on a checkpoint is exactly the same as at a kids 1st or 2nd birthday party. The only difference is that they have GU gels instead of Pombear. The first one was 10k in, and I snaffled a few ham sandwiches and crisps before peeling away to look for my children.

Onwards and alongwards to the turnaround point, but before that, I got to see the leaders heading back the other way. It's a really great race for that. Saying "Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, How the F**K are you ahead of me? Hello" for a good few minutes.

I had a nice chat with Wendy Shaw/Whearity on the way. That's another thing, people changing their names doesn't help with me trying to remember everything. I went on ahead but knowing Wendy is an infinitely better pacer than me I guessed I'd see her again.

Leg 1 finish - 3.49 - 35th

Leg 2 -

I was a little concerned about the vert in this bit (are we still calling it "vert"?) I went up norf a while back and ran up a hill with some others. They were saying things like "my local fell is Shephards Atoll" and "My local fell is Ninky Nook". I live in Bedford, my local fell is an access ramp into Lidl.

Thanks Graham Carter for the photo!

I walked with some sandwiches down an alleyway and then onto the Ridgeway path. I have run all of these paths at some point but do not remember anything except for eery flashbacks, such as now when I recall getting a van stuck against a wall. This part of the trail was wonderful, and it was probably good that this was done in the daylight as it was a bit bobbly (or are we still calling it "technical"?)

I passed Jon F at this point, he was on the phone as we exchanged "well done"'s, but I saw the look in his face. It was that "I've just run a marathon and now I really can't be arsed" face. Maybe he just wasn't ready for this kind of vert after living in Chamonix for a year.

The first checkpoint was only 4 miles in and I met Graham Carter for the first time (thanks for this excellent photo!) I also remembered my cup which I forgot on the first leg (Hope the RD isn't reading this and DQs me). A quick chat to him and the team, a few ham sandwiches and then off to the turnaround.

Each leg is about 25 miles, two legs are broken down into 4 quarters, so about 6/6/6/6 or so. Two of the legs are broken down into 4/8/8/4. You'd think that mentally tough ultra runners would not break stride at this. You'd think.

I didn't see anyone else really until the leaders came back. Soon after they passed me I was on going up and up, up through the fields that Stuart March uses to take amazing photos.

Stuart Marsh Photo

I thought I made pretty good time getting to the turnaround point. Now I was pleased it was downhill all the way to Goring, except there still seemed to be loads of uphill.

I had a punchy target here. I wanted to qualify for the Spartathlon (16.40) which about 9 months ago I thought I'd be able to do here. But inevitably training didn't go perfectly but was still thinking something like 18 hours was possible.

I wanted to get to half-way in not much over 8 hours. My one and only long run in training was running 50 miles in 8 hours. I got to halfway in about 8.20.

I changed my shoes, I'd been wearing Sportiva Helios which are delightful for knocking out 7-minute miles on the trails around home but not so comfortable for shuffling along at lower speeds. I put on some Hokas. I may have said nasty things about these shoes in a previous life, but nowadays I'm all for throwing money at stuff to make it easier. I am actually writing this blog in Grammarly which lights up red every time I write something shit.

Leg 2 finish - 8.28 - 24th

Now it was getting dark. When I first decided to do this, I thought I'd get most of it done in the daylight. But I didn't realise that the start was 10am, and I forgot that October is closer to December than it is to June. As soon as I left Goring for the third time it was dark, I headed up the main road then off onto the Ridgeway again for another bit of up and down.

Here I got chatting to a chap called Alex, he was doing both the 100 and 50-mile grand slams this year.

There comes a particular sweet spot in a race where someone is going to have to suffer your whole life story. This was that time (sorry Alex!). I felt miles 50-60 really quite comfortable and made a few places. The past was really easy to follow, like a trail dual carriageway. The first CP was great to see and seem to come quite quickly.

That said it is always tricky to know whether the van up ahead was a checkpoint or people dogging. Would I get an eyeful or a ham sandwich? Or both?

The checkpoint on the top of chain hill was wonderfully lit up. I was now drinking coffee instead of coke at the cps. Now at each CP I was walking out and drinking coffee.

In my head, I thought the down would be much more comfortable than the up, and I should be back at the CP in great time. It didn't work out that way though. I started to feel a bit crap and then get annoyed that things weren't like they were "in my day", such as the non-existence of retina-burning 9 million lumin head torches. I found that uncomfortable. I thought everyone had those fancy ones you program into a computer that calm the fuck down when near some other light source? Anyhoo, I was probably just annoyed that I was slowing down now and it looked like I wasn't going to win.

Eventually, I got back down into Goring. It was just gone midnight. I faffed in the CP a bit, having some food and

Leg 3 - 14.41 - 28th (Didn't get legged)

So I headed out on the 4th bit, to Reading and back. This was the business end of the race, literally as you run to a business park and back. I was pleased that DNFing didn't cross my mind. Gemma had the kids on her own all weekend, so I felt like I got the easier part of the deal here. Despite pretty poor sleep in the run-up to this race I didn't feel additionally tired. So no sleep monsters or DNF demons rattling around. Perfect. Time to get out there and bash this out.

Ahhhh f**k my legs had stopped working.

It's OK, legs are a minor detail. Just walk a bit, visualise that scene from Forrest Gump where he runs off his braces and just get into it.

That wasn't before I had to cower under a bridge to put my rain jacket on. It was raining quite a bit (are we still calling that "biblical", or maybe "Quoranical"?) It was looking like a grim trip to Reading. And then Reading.

It isn't long before you get to a sign that says "Welcome to Reading". This is an in-joke, like London Stanstead airport. It's fucking miles away. The meadows part was quite fun, the paths were a bit slippy, but the sky looked like it was opening up and the rain abating.

After the sign to Reading, I was on the river path which was mostly familiar to me. Reading just goes on and on. This was a test of my mental resolve which has improved considerably since earlier in the year when I tripped over a pinecone and then told it to fuck off. I just wanted the turnaround to come and thinking it must be around the next corner. I got passed by someone who said it's at least 2 miles away. 2 miles! Shit. It's not the distance but more the realisation that your internal GPS has just gone all numberwang.

I didn't wear a GPS for the race, I asked for advice on a facebook group about what watch was best, and people kept saying Casio or tailwind. I had a tracker on me courtesy of racedirector so I could put it on my strava later. I did have my cheap Garmin FR35 (I think) which only lasts about 10 hours when you switch it on, but it does just guess your miles anyway. It told me at 75 miles I had done 95. Totally counts! Then I thought about all those 0.4 mile walks to the chip shop and wondered "is it really only 0.3 miles?" All those trips I've eaten a battered sausage too many because I thought I was walking longer. Perhaps that's why I look like Nicky 1 and not Nicky 2.

Anyway, yes I made it to the CP, which was upstairs and had a balcony. Would have been pretty romantic if it didn't point at Reading. By this point, in all honesty, I just lost arsed. Couldn't be arsed doing it anymore. I couldn't DNF because it was 4 in the morning and I was in Reading. I just lost the heart to try hard anymore.

So I started to walk and thought I should be able to keep a good walking pace going, and if people start streaming past me I'll start running again, unfortunately, no one overtook me for a few miles, and by then my maximal leg spread was on par with an arthritic nun and I just could not get going anymore.

It was a long old plod, and I did not enjoy those meadows again. Meadow after meadow (not like that beautiful one in the field, but muddy ones in the dark. In Reading). I thought I had done them, I thought they were over, but then over a little bridge and this.

Twat.

I was really hoping to get this race finished before the sun came up. Back into the Whitchurch CP 4 miles from the end, my back seized. This is actually a lovely bit of the course (if I could see it). Sharp hills and nice trail, like in leg 2. I wasn't having much fun on it, and now I was getting overtaken a lot. I lost all idea of a time now and was just hoping to get to the finish in time to faff a bit and get on a train out there.

The sun did catch me, but it wasn't making much of an effort. More people zoomed past with that "I can smell the finish" spur.

I finished, 21.50 or so, 41th place.

OK, I made that sound a bit more grumbly at the end. Despite a couple of sense of humour failures around Reading, I was in good spirits for the entire race. I lost my target but was really happy to be back. I didn't really know how much I missed this and was so glad I didn't postpone again.

I remember a few years back James Elson mooting the idea of putting on some 100-mile races. He spoke of his desire to bring a bit of the "big time trail racing" atmosphere from the US to the UK. I said, "Nah mate, go to New Mexico and shit yourself then write a book about it, that's what the people want".

Well anyway, he did his thing, and I did mine. Now I'm not going to humblebrag about how many books I've sold, even by rounding it down to the nearest million, but I think we can agree that James has done pretty well here.

These events are stunningly good. If you enter a 100-mile race, you will get a brilliantly organised and well catered 100-mile race. Hang around a bit more, and you get sucked into the most amazing of communities. It's infectious. There was a buzz like a school reunion, only this was with people you actually like.

So that's 3000 words for my first ultra blog in 3 years. I'll try harder next time!

There is a gender "gap" in ultra running, but that might be OK.

If you look around the startline at a 100 mile ultra marathon you'll probably notice more men than women. That is of course if you can tell the difference, they all look pretty much the same when wrapped up in compression gear and have bottles strapped to their chests. Beards seem to have gone out of fashion. 

It's probably best to look at the Ms and Fs on the start list if you want to gauge how many of each group there are in the race. If you do then in pretty much any ultra in the world there will be many more Ms than Fs. The split of Ms and Fs in the population at large is 50/50, why is it not the same at the start line of a 100 mile mountain race?

What is the explanation?

1 - This discrepancy part of a fiendish and deliberate plan to exclude women from competitive ultra events?

2 - Could it be explained by a more subtle process of social conditioning where women are gradually told over a lifetime that they do not belong on start lines like this?

3 - Or could it be explained by choice? Could Men and Women be inherently different in ways that ultimately less of them chose to be here?

Perhaps bits of all three?

What happens when you suggest one of these on facebook or twitter?

Say 1 - Race directors will take exception and defend themselves. This was a valid explanation a number of years ago.

Say 2 - Hearts and thumbs. So many hearts and thumbs.

Say 3 - Well...

I am a woman. I guess I should just give up then

------------------------

I am going to try and put it on the table, with a blog, since it gets swiped off the table every time someone says it on a facebook discussion. I believe that the gender gap we see in ultras is partially driven by biology, I don't believe it will ever be a 50/50 participation rate and I don't think this is necessarily a "problem"

You may disagree. That's fine. I am open to the possibility that biology plays no part, but I don't think the evidence is there to say this with certainty, and so I don't believe people who suggest it should be lumped in with the flat-earthers in a torrent of virtue signalling online. The evidence to rule out biology completely is impossible to get, but absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. I don't think it should be discarded as a possible explanation."

First things first. Let me start with a bit of n=1 virtue signalling of my own.

--start of virtue signal--

Between 2007 and 2015 I ran a bunch of ultras. Dunno how many. Probably more than 50. I've done some of the "classics" - Spartathlon 3 times, Badwater, UTMB, Grand Union Canal Race. Some of the lesser known like the Vol State Race and the Northburn 100. In 2011 I ran the Los Angeles to New York footrace.

It was the day before the start of the Vol State race that my wife called to tell me she was pregnant, with twins. I was in Tennessee preparing to run 500k unsupported across a state. She was in New Zealand. I wasn't going to see her for a week and in that week I'd be trying to shlep across a state in really uncomfortable humidity.

I changed that day. Ultra running no longer felt so important. All I could think about were those babies. Since their birth nearly two and a half years ago I have not run an ultra marathon. If you told me before that day in Tennessee that I would not run an ultra for 2.5 years after their birth I would have laughed, or perhaps been quite sad about the prospect. I'd have been shocked to have been told I'd not run another ultra in 2.5 years after but I am more shocked by the fact that I haven't wanted to run one either.

The kids have taken over my life. I have moved jobs to spend more time with them. All my weekends are with them. I get them up every morning and put them to bed every evening. The time I used to spend running I am now spending changing nappies, making food, reading stories, pretending to be a jellyfish, holding a crying child in the night and letting them jump on the bed when Mum's not looking. What was the time I'd be running 60+ mile weeks and running some event most weekends is now totally on them. And I love it. They have been alive for about 800 days now. Wracking my brain to think of how days have gone that I've not seen them. I think it's 3. 

I have in the past year managed to train for two marathons, getting up to about 50 mile weeks. These 50 miles are rarely done on the kids time. I leave the house at 4.30am to get 10 miles done before they are awake at 6. I did my long runs on Tuesday evenings, 20 miles from about 7.30-10pm, feeling pretty tired at the end as my bed time is 9 nowadays. I might occasionally get out for a weekend run while they nap but I put the kids and family first. I will cancel a run if there is any issue and have had to pull out of a few half marathons when the kids are sick. Sometimes I'm just too tired to run after being up all night. Sometimes I don't run if I think I need to be at 100% for the kids.

But I managed to get the training in. Every hour spent on facebook is a missed opportunity to go and jog. And now later in the year I plan on running a 100 miler. Preparation for this is different. I reckon I will be fit if I carry on with the 50 mile weeks. I often think ahead to the next race, mentally rehearsing what I am going to do, but this time it's different. The "what to do when I feel sleepy or have a sore leg or am thirsty" doesn't cross my mind anymore. Now it's "how am I going to feel 12 hours in when I'm sore and sleepy and all I can think about is putting the kids to bed?"

Like I said, my brain changed that day in Tennessee. As far as ultras are concerned I want them less, and now I am going to do one the mental barriers are different.

--end of virtue signal--

OK, a bit more

--start of more virtue signalling--

My twins are boy and girl (I said Boy first obviously because he came out first). I am well aware of the stereotyping that goes on. We want them both to wear nice bright clothes, they like bright colours, but most shops sell grimy looking greys and blues with diggers and dinosaurs for boys and the sparkly princess purple bubbles filly bright stuff for girls. We often put him in a dress, because he likes it, lets face it, wearing just a dress and a nappy in the summer sounds pretty comfortable to me. Haven't tried at work yet because of "society".

I'd love for my kids to share my interests. I'd love it if they got into running and statistics/data science (my job). These are two  male skewed activities, I have no desire to push the boy into one of them any more than the girl. I'd hate for either of them to get excited about cars. They already know "Mummy's car is blue and Daddy's car is red". That's the extent of my knowledge of cars. I have nothing else to teach them on that. 

--virtue signal ends--

Let's leave biology on the table

Studies are ten a penny demonstrating that "social conditioning" is associated with the social conditions we see.  Stories of women being marginalised when getting into sports (and other things) are rife too. I am sure every woman has a story of how she's been told she shouldn't be doing [insert manly activity].

We can observe the outcomes easily enough. Men get paid more, go to prison more, race motorbikes more and women are more concerned with their appearance, take caring and teaching jobs more and spend more time with their own kids.

How much of this is the conditioning? How much is the biology? Is this a case of identical brains been given two different treatments over a lifetime and ending up with the behaviours we see? Is at least some of it a case of those brains being slightly different to start off with, reflecting somehow the different physical biological roles men and women will later play in life to propagate the species?

Is that last sentence such an outrageous thing to believe?

Conditioning (and/or/not/via) biology is one of those things that is really hard to know. You could take thousands of new born babies (or better still newly pregnant couples) and stick them in a lab for 30 years, make sure that regardless of the gender of the child is treated to the same upbringing. They get the same amount of diggers and tiaras. The girls get pushed into racing bikes and wrestling just as much as the boys. The boys get told they look pretty (my boy loves to wear a dress and prance around saying "I'm beautiful") and obsess about their appearance just as much as the girls do.

Then at the end of the 30 years we'll see. In terms of hobbies is there an equal gender split on boxing, football, crafts, cooking, writing and other pursuits. If there are then we can safely say that 100% of the differences we see in these gaps today is caused by that conditioning and 0% caused by biology.

But we can't do this type of study. It's impossible to separate. It may well be the case that all of the gap is caused by conditioning but at this point we don't have the evidence (nor are we able to get the evidence) to confirm it. Or rather we can not reject the hypothesis that the biological component of this difference is 0. I think it's reasonable to believe it's greater than zero. 

So my prediction is - "Some of the gender gap in ultra marathon participation is due to biology"

OK, you may not agree. But if you are open to the potential nonzeroness of biology's impact on a persons desire to run 100 miles in the mountains then please go ahead and suffer my ability to explain some stats stuff.

Mind the gap

When people talk about a "gap" they imagine a distribution like this. That when we say "men are more thingy than women" we are talking about two completely separate groups of people who to not overlap at all. This is the "gap instinct" I recommend reading Factfullness to get a really good view of how stats are abused.

In actual fact when we say that men are more "thingy" than women we are really saying "the distribution between the thingyness of men is skewed slighly higher than for women". Doesn't roll off the tongue. Isn't so easy to express as a single digit and isn't as convenient for blaming someone or something. 

So here is what a couple of normal distributions of thingyness, where men have an average of 51 and women have an average of 50. (variance 10).

You can only just tell them apart! You could go through your life not knowing that men and women differ at all in thingyness. Most of the people you meet will have thingyness in the range of 25-75, you'll know some women who score 70 and say they are very very thingy, you may meet some men who score 30 and say "I don't like him cos he's not very thingy". There is practically no difference between these two groups, none that you'll really notice in your every day life.

Except....

When you zoom into the extreme, to the numbers of people who score 90 or higher for thingyness, what do you see here? Way more men than women. About 0.04% of the female population score above 90 whereas about 0.06% of the men get there. So (assuming there are the same number of men and women to start with) the ratio of men to women in the 90+ score the split is 60% and 40%. That's a massive "gender gap" on what is only a slight and almost unnoticeable skew in normal life.

If we allowed for men to have an average thingyness of 52, so still only 4% higher on average and still pretty much unnoticeable in normal life this gap at the 90+ fringe extends to 69/31. 

See where I'm going with this?

If "Thingyness" was some sort of amalgamation of attributes that are required for running 100 miles in the mountains. Risk taking, narcisim, desire for kudos, confidence, over-confidence, lack of empathy or connection to others, response to dopamine and adrenaline etc and that only those who score 90+ will have any desire to run 100 miles in the mountains then you get this gender gap without much of of a difference between normal people. An almost unnoticeable difference between men and women manifests itself as a much bigger difference at the extremes.

So my overall point, you could still observe massive gender gaps in the extreme ends of sports without their being much underlying differences between the two sexes. Averages are easy to calculate and put in articles but they mask so much information. Think about what you are doing when you calculate an "average" of 10000 people. You are creating one figure and then discarding 10000 bits of information. An average is not a great descriptor of how different some things are.

OK. Second thing, let's take a diversion via some bullet ridden planes

Abraham Wald was a statistician employed in the second world war to help with the design of planes. They needed armour, but armour is heavy so not too much. He looked at a sample of planes that had been in action and looked at the distribution of bullet holes. Most were in the wings and fusilage, very few bullet holes were around the engine. Where should we put more armour? Where the bullet holes are of course.

No.

Wald had a great insight, he asked "what about the planes that don't come back?" Any decision using this sample was going to be prone to survival bias, the tendancy to only look at the things that have already passed some "test", in this case, not getting shot down in battle. Wald decided to put the armour around the engine, since there would have been plenty of planes with holes in the engine, it's just that we can not see them because they are on the floor behind enemy lines.

And so, back to ultras. Here we are asking "why are less women not running ultras" and who are we asking? People who run ultras! We are not asking the most important group of people, those who don't run ultras. I think there is little to be gained in asking only those who have "survived" in this way what the barriers are to survival. 

We should be asking the 99.8% of men and 99.9% of women out there who are not at the start-line of a 100 mile mountain race why they are not. There is little to be gained in sharing articles to the blue people.

Ultimately what I find most difficult about talks of "gaps" is that it's often an individual saying "this percentage is wrong, I want it to be this other percentage" and then offers "society" as the explanation to the difference, a faceless villain against whom we can thrash our virtue signalling clubs against on social media. It might be the result of free will, and it might be the case that the free will of those 99.9% of people who don't do a thing might just be a bit different from the 0.1% of people who do. "I want people to be more like me, the fact they aren't is because of "society," I am going to fix it via top-down compulsion".

So here I am arguing that there may not be a problem at all, and so am nervous about top-down "fixes" to this problem. I am going to do my bit in my own interactions though. I will keep on putting my kids first and my running way down. I will spend as much time with both of them, try to inspire them into sport and activities but ultimately taking a lead from them as to what they want to do. I will do the occasional ultra, I will talk all day to anyone about ultras if they want to. I'm not going to stress about who hasn't made the same choices as me. 

Further Reading.

I haven't scattered links to "peer reviewed" papers supporting my points. It's more an attempt at a logical flow of possibility. It is shaped by a lot of books I have read and a few are here.

Yes! He is the cousin of Ali G, but also has written a lot about empathy and how brains relate to others. Including a view then Men are (slightly hgiher skewed) towards "systemising"

The brilliant late Hans Rosling talks about why wleap to the wrong conclusions about statistics, particularly when we talk about "gaps"

Great chapter on the Wald story

Story about a big girl who just shits himself and cries

BARIM!!!!!!! - Milton Keynes Marathon 2018

At my school there was this kid, he must have been about 2 foot nine. He just seemed to want to get into fights. With minimal of provocation, he would just leap onto someone twice the size of him (most people) and start trying to scrape and gouge, like a demented honey badger. We called him "Barim" as that was what he would yell as he leapt to his ascent of the victim.  (I think he meant to say "batter him!") 

But it was only ever a matter of time. Weighing all of about 40 pounds his flailing and scratching was never going to succeed. The inevitable victory of physics will see a well-struck punch or kick send the little bastard sprawling across the playground, maybe inviting an extra kick in the head if he rolled into the girls playing hopscotch. 

He didn't seem too dejected though. He'd just stand up, dust himself off and run off onto another misadventure, presumably with zero chance of success.

I think Barim was the inspiration behind my race this weekend. In short, I had trained to run a 3-hour marathon. I think I was there, at least in cool conditions. Unfortunately, it was hot, 27 degrees. I'd need to be capable of running a 2.45 cool marathon to get sub three today. The typical advice is to "adjust your goals" and go for a more conservative time, maybe 3.20 or something. A target my own size.

But I didn't want to do that, I wanted to be like Barim. I thought "fuck it, I'm going to jump on this beast and try to scratch its face off until it boots me across the tarmac". No chance of success and every chance of a good beating. 

So anyway, yeah I wanted to run a three-hour marathon. I thought if I told enough people about it then it might help it happen. Today there was no chance of it happening and if I did try I'd pay heavily. Two weeks before I watched all those trying the same in the London marathon have their big day spoiled by some uncharacteristic good weather in the UK in April.  It was sad to see so many friends miss their targets, but my understanding of probability gave me hope. Well that's summer done with, a nice overcast 10C for my marathon guaranteed.

The day before I stood outside at 10am. I thought "this feels ok, a bit warm but I can get on with this". It was due to be the same tomorrow. Tomorrow came, after the lubing and the queuing for the toilets and deliberately getting the L and R on my socks correct I stood at the start line shortly before 10. It was uncomfortable. I was hot and not even started running yet.

There was the usual pre-race talk about the greatest day of our lives and then straight into the countdown. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 - BARIM!!!!

The first mile is always hard to gauge. You feel like you are not running fast enough as you try to wind past flappy arms Steve, grunting Pete and "started way too near the front still twiddling with your iPhone" Malcolm. I recall the first mile is uphill, so don't bother too much if the pace is a bit sedate, say 6.50. 

I am still subscribing to the slowdown approach for marathons, a realistic view that you WILL slow down in 26 mile, whatever the pace so I was aiming to be running the first half in about 1.28 and then the second in 1.32. My first miles need to be around the 6.40 mark. The first was 6.31, so far so good. I saw a couple of Serpies pass me at this point, they were much faster than me and would normally be going under 3 themselves. I didn't try to stay with them.

I held it pretty well for the first few miles, they are exposed on the boulevards of Milton Keynes. Water was every 5k and I was going to drink and splash myself at every one. Any chance I could take to get cooler. 

I felt like I was within myself for the first half an hour. Knocking off some nice miles 6.49, 6.47, 6.32, 6.42, 6.31. This is what I would normally do. At 5 miles I got caught by the 3 hour pacer, I carried on as normal and seemed to drop him again. That felt good. Those miles from 6-9 I wondered whether this might happen after all.

STAY AHEAD OF THE BALLOONS! - Credit (Photos taken by official photographer Tony Sargent at mile 11 near the Peace Pagoda, Willen Lake)

I was wearing my fetcheveryone running top. It seemed to be a good bet for pbs over the last couple of years, plus I can only fit into it when I am in shape. I don't think the black makes a difference. Check out this link for 101 colourful graphs of how my race went to shit. 

Gemma and my 2 year old twins were waiting for me at around mile 11. Mile 10 was my first mile over 7, 7.04 but then I got it back under at 6.59 for 11. I knew now things were going to unravel but I at least wanted to stay ahead of the balloons until I saw the kids. I didn't want them to see me chasing balloons. 

I made it, just. It was nice to see them and at that stage looking "on target", but I knew as soon as they were out of sight my grip on the bigger boy was about to falter and the kick across the playground was imminent. Mile 12 - 7.19, mile 13 - 7.20, Half Marathon - 1.29.50. The balloons passed me without much of a fight. 14 - 7.34 15 - 8.11! 16 - 8.03, then the punch. Finally the race had had enough with me and dispatched me across the floor 

It's a shame this wasn't a half-marathon. In the conditions I would have been happy to just run under 1.30, keep it looking tidy and write it off as a hot day. I felt like I had just raced a half marathon and now had another half to do. I felt a bit sick, my legs were jelly and I felt quite hot and bothered. At this stage whether I got 3.15 or 3.50 wasn't a concern. I felt quite binary about it. Sub 3 or whatevs.

I started to walk, something I've not done in a road marathon for sometime. I debated dropping out. I had no reason to. I was fine, just spent. I've felt much worse in races with much more than 10 miles to go. 

I think I may have forgotten how to suffer. I could have run more. I seemed to be happy to stay in the "plod when you can" mode that I might usually be if I was near the end of a much longer race. I enjoyed the spectacle though. City road marathons are fun! People lining outside their houses giving out ice-pops and spraying me with water. Sometimes I just wasn't looking and got shot right in the face.

Textbook pacing

I felt pretty comfortable once I started to walk though I didn't fancy spending all afternoon on it. Walking about 14 minutes a mile (I was quite pleased with that pace) I did at least run some towards the end. Every time I did run I passed many more walking. One chap who said he was "taking it easy as he has a 100 miler in a few weeks" - bloody smug ultra-runners.

I need to up my whinging game when I get back into ultras. Here I am talking about feeling a bit sick, a bit hot and bothered and my legs being a bit knackered. In ultra speak that's SEVERE GI DISTRESS, BORDERLINE HEATSTROKE and CATASTROPHIC LEGGULAR DISTROPHY. I need more practice at blogging.

I finished in 3.49, (SO CLOSE!) The finish in the stadium is pretty cool. Milton Keynes you should take a bow as this is an incredible event, well recommended.

I don't regret what I did. I wasn't really interested in adding another 3.1x marathon to my results. Even after I'd blown it I had a lot of fun. I am going to give myself a couple more shots at the marathon distance in the next couple of months but I won't be clearing much space for tapering. I want to get going on training for the Autumn 100 in October. The actual "training" is going to be similar to marathon training anyway, just adding a bit more slow plod to my usual tempos and shorter runs. I really enjoyed the process. The Tuesday night 20s and leaving the house at 4.30am on Sunday morning to have the country roads of Bedfordshire to myself while I tried to run fast. That was nice. I'm going to try to keep on doing that.

I can't race that much, it's hard on Gemma having to look after the kids while I'm running. My lack of races could be a blessing though. I think I am willing to burn more now.

I do wonder what became of Barim. I wonder if he grew taller? I'd like to think he's now an accomplished rodeo rider. Who knows, I wish I knew his real name. Hopefully he may recognise himself from this and feel that warm and fuzzy feeling that the 1001 fights he lost in school were not in vain but 30 years later they would inspire a man to an epic positive split in a marathon.

I'm going to say it

I'm going to run a sub 3 hour marathon next Monday.

I'm hoping that just by saying it that might give me a 1% lift during the hard times that might see me over the line.

Who knows.

This is as ready as I've ever felt to do it.

Let me indulge myself by pretending you are interested in my marathon history...

I ran my first marathon in London 2000 and got 4.35. I did a few long runs beforehand but wouldn't say I followed much of a "training plan"

Three years later I ran London again in a more respectable 3.55. I did more running but wouldn't call it a "plan"

I did a few more marathons over the next few years having joined a running club, making incremental progress and running around the 3.35-3.50 range. 

Then in 2006 I did some proper training, with a running track and "yassos" and "fartleks" and "20 milers" and "tempo runs" and "hills" and all that kind of jazz. I was hoping to make some inroads into my 3.35 pb. And whaddyaknow? The training worked. Marathon done in 3.12. 23 minute pb. Almost a minute a mile faster than before. That is huge. 

But then I fell in love with ultras. I wasn't going to do a marathon fast again. I was fine with this. I was running "marathons as training" - feeling pretty smug and sanctimonious about it while I went into the world of running 50 milers.

Then in 2008 a curious thing happened. On a "double" weekend I ran the three peaks fell race (24 miles of fairly gnarly hills in yorkshire) on Saturday and then headed down for the Shakespeare marathon on Sunday, 26.2 miles to make the weekend up to a 50. It felt quite nice, easy in fact. I didn't want to hang about as (The) Ian Sharman was waiting for me at the end to give me a lift home and so I pushed it a bit and finished.

In 3.07.55

Looking back I wished I hadn't of done that. It poisoned me with a feeling that a 3 hours marathon as just going to fall out of my arse at some point while jogging the longer stuff. I was probably "3 hour fit" at that point but never sought to prove it. Like many ultra runners I developed a bit of snobbishness about "just a marathon". The thing that needed to fall out of my arse was my own head. Any distance is hard if you try to do it faster than ever. One marathon at 100% is worth more than a dozen at 95%. 

But the snobbishness continued for a while.  "I am an ultra runner! Better than all these marathon losers! I'm just going to run 3 hours one day when I feel like it!"

That was 2008

Then came 2017. Many things have fallen out of my arse in those 9 years but not a sub three hour marathon and not even anything approaching a PB.

Having twins certainly changed my running. But this could be advantageous. I can no longer just bugger off around the world for a week to do some cool looking race. I can't go to wednesday night runs in London and then drink my face off in the pub. I can't say on a Sunday morning "I'm off to chump about in some fields for 7 hours and when I get back I won't be able to walk". 

But I can do marathon training. I get lots of 90 minute windows in the morning and evening. I can do a decent tempo run or some intervals or a steady 10. Fitting in the long runs might be a bit harder but I can do it. I can train for a marathon.

So last year I did. I found it hard. I didn't do nearly enough of all the things I wanted to do but I did at least do some. I felt like I was returning back to basics with running. I had to figure out again what shoes I felt fastest in, how much to drink and eat before and during a long run as "stopping at a picnic table and yomping a few pork pies" was no longer feasible. I went into the Leicester marathon 5 months after a decent half marathon pb (1.25.50) and more recent 10k and 5k pbs (38.40 and 18.49). 

I went into the Leicester Marathon feeling like I wasn't quite there. I decided against running 24 miles the day before. 

I beat that 10 year old PB.

By 60 seconds.

Leicester Marathon Blog.

I knew sub three wasn't on from near the start. 10k in I was struggling with marathon pace. Nothing went wrong as such I just didn't have the legs to carry the target. I at least got a pb though. First in 10 years. That's a long time. 

And I regained full respect for the marathon distance. It's really hard to run it well. I think all ultra runners should spend 4 months a year trying to do a marathon.

Strava says I am fitter then ever....

If I'd gone under 3 I would have been back running ultras now. Chumping about in fields. I was then going to try to run 100k in 7.45 and qualify for the Spartathlon. Even a veteran sub 3 hour marathon runner would struggle to do that, no chance if you are over it. So I decided to go back to the marathon. Following a sketchy plan. 50-60 miles a week, some much faster, most slower, intervals, tempos and long runs. 

I can't/won't sign up to a rigid plan with the kids. They are more important. Viruses and sleepless nights and a freak rib injury while doing up my 2 year old son's seatbelt on a plane have taken bites out of the "ideal 16 week training plan". 

Running for 20 miles at 7.30mm (40s over marathon pace) is hard. I've been doing this on Tuesday nights. My bedtime arrives at about mile 15. Those last 5 miles are hard. I hope on race day I at least don't feel bedtime.

Running 6-10 miles at marathon pace (6.45) is hard. I can't imagine keeping that up for 26.2. Though I do start these runs before 5am and don't quite feel awake. Perhaps on the day I will feel awake and it will feel easier.

I tried to do 2 tempo/interval sessions a week. I've done OK. It's hard to do this in the dark though. I've done some. I got a 5k pb the other day, I feel like I've got a bigger engine how.

I've got one more "training run" left, 10 miles at marathon pace on Sunday and then 8 days of a few jogs until the big day. I reckon I can do it.

I've lost a couple of KG. 

The MK course is flatter than Leicester.

And I might feel some pressure after this post that people are watching me

Will all this give me those 7 minutes I need?

Hopefully yes, now that I've said it.

Leicester Marathon

So I had this idea at the start of the year. I'm going to get 6 pbs in the main distances. 5k, 10k, half marathon, marathon, 50 miles and 100 miles. It was ambitious. Too ambitious. It was clear half way through the year that I was not going to get time to do justice to a 50 miler or a 100. So I decided to give the distances up to a marathon a good go instead.

I struggled to think of the last time I deliberately trained for a marathon. It must have been the Prague marathon which was a few months after my first ultra. That was 10 YEARS AGO. My marathon PB actually came out of nowhere while I was in pretty good shape from running marathons most weeks as part of ultra training. 3.07.55 at the Shakespeare Marathon in 2007. TEN YEARS! Blimey.

So the plan was to do this like the good ol' days. Before I used to run further. I would run fast sometimes, do those slowey/fastey/slowey/fastey runs and the classic 20 mile long runs. It was going to be amazing, I was going to lose lots of weight, get the 5k and 10k pb along the way and then break through 3 hours in the marathon.

Well, I left it a bit late but I did break my 5k pb just 8 days before the marathon (from 18.57 to 18.49) and 2 days before that broke my 10k pb (39.27 to 38.40 albiet in a "training" run so probably doesn't "count". I'm counting it anyway as there are bugger all 10k races around)

In this respect I felt pretty good about the marathon, 3 out of the 4 pbs down, one to go. I wanted to do under three hours though, cos that's a thing isn't it? 

I planned on following roughly this pacing schedule. I don't believe a negative split or even pacing is realistic in a marathon. This felt right, 1.27 half way and then 1.33 for the next half. So running about 6.40 per mile for the first 13. 

It felt nice to be back on a marathon startline. Off we went, legging it down a long hill at the start passing many an icon of my youth. The underage drinking pubs on London road and then all the cheap shoe shops. 

I felt early on that 3 hours wasn't going to happen. It felt hard doing 6.40 after just 7 of them. The slowdown started well before half way. I don't regret the strategy or the training. I just needed to do more of it. 

I wanted to do 2 decent speed/tempo sessions of running per week and then a bit of jogging around the sides. I got ill a few times and found it hard to do these types of run a 5am or after dinner. I'm not complaining, I need to think more about fitting it around having twins. 

I got to half way in 1.28.30, so behind what I wanted and now slowing more than I wanted. I hoped a PB might still be on. If not that then at least a Leicester PB of about 3.15. The first half of the race should have been easier anyway as it is net downhill and with the wind in your back. I like the Leicester course though it is a tough one. Lots of twists and kerb jumps. 

I had forgotten how hard it is to race a marathon. Jogging them is easy, trying to push it all the time is draining. 

Nothing went wrong as such, I did everything as well as I could but really it was just a product of my training. I didn't do enough. I could have fit more in if I didn't get bugs or I could have taken another 3 months of doing the same stuff and got there. All of the usual marathon mistakes were not made. I didn't bonk on energy, no stomach issues, the weather was good, I had no injuries, I had comfortable new fast shoes, nipples maintained integrity. Nothing to complain about really.

Running with a permanent thumbs up. Thanks Clive Mason for the photo!

The original plan for the next year, get sub 3 hour marathon, use fitness to try to run sub 8 100k to qualify for Spartathlon and then work my arse off to get to that statue in a year. Now it's changed. I am no way for enough to get that 100k time so am not going to attempt it. Instead I will take a virginal approach to ultras, try a 50 and then a 100, try to get good times. I've just rejoined the Bedford Harriers and am looking forward to their cross country season as well as the club championship ultra in July, 36 miles of the Greensands Ridge. The only ultra I know of in Bedfordshire.

But overall I am in a better place. I'm glad I took the time to train for a marathon, I didn't want to get back into ultras until I had given one a go and got a bit of speed back. I didn't want to return to ultra-plodding, I won't have huge opportunities to race anymore so want to be able to do it well when I can.

Future stuff.

Oct-Jan - Three Counties Cross Country

Dec - Bedford Half Marathon (another PB maybe)

Apr - Salcey Forest 6 hour race (on a TUESDAY!)

July - Greensands Ridge 36 miles club championships

First half of year - a 50 miler, aiming to go somewhere near 7 hours

Second half of year - a 100 miler. Somewhere near 16

Milton Keynes Half Marathon

Clearly I was taking this race seriously. As I put a sock on my right foot and saw the "L" on it I immediately took it off again and swapped feet. I had to give myself every chance.

I had an idea at the start of the year, to get 6 PBs at the 6 classic distances, 5k, 10k, half marathon, marathon, 50 miles and 100 miles. I feel that all my PBs are a bit soft (and old). 

I need to give the kids something to beat.

Here is the current table.

Distance	Time	Year Set
5k	18.57	2015
10k	39.27	2009
Half Marathon	1.28.40	2015
Marathon	3.07.55	2008!!!
50 miles	7.37	2009
100 miles	19.30	2008

Yeah, some of those PB's were set when Leicester City were in the third tier of English Football. Who can even imagine Leicester being shit?

An unexpected by-product of having kids is that I seem to be getting faster and fitter. The running I do now is basically "You've got an hour to run that nice 8 mile loop you love before the kids wake up, GO GO GO!!!" rather than my life before which was more like "I've got the afternoon to spare, I might just chump around in a field for 5 hours".

The year started off with a whimper, illness then baby illness meant not much happened in Jan/Feb. But then having trained fairly consistently over the past couple of months and an unhealthy obsession with Strava wankery I seem to have made big improvements. My plan was to go from the lowest to the highest, getting myself 5k fit and then going on from there. However one day randomly I did a 13 mile run in not far off what my half PB is (#humblebrag) and thought that maybe a half PB was within reach. 

I did enjoy getting back into the race atmosphere, though there were a few things I'd forgotten, such as how long should you wait outside a toilet cubicle before knocking on the door and yelling "is everything OK in there?" 

Speed-shitting is a skill you can take from trail running into parenting. You have 17 seconds before the kids find out where you are and start pressing up against the bathroom door.

I dropped my bag in the bag drop thing and immediately felt a little anxious. Normally at this point before a race I still have my phone, money, food, medical cabinet, change of clothes, primary and secondary light sources and a cuddly badger still with me. Now I was just in a T shirt and shorts and asked to make my way to the start area. It was great catching up with Paul Rowlinson too, I miss bumping into people at races. He was gunning for 3 hours in the marathon and was looking pretty good for it on Strava.

Thank You Sylvia Jones for the picture :) It wasn't a deliberate thumbs up, apparently I just run like that.

There were 4 start pens, I was in the fastest. I joked like a dick with the lady there that I may have put too fast a predicted time down She did then chase after me and say I could relegate myself if I was worried about it. Deserved that.

Oh I almost forgot - The Milton Keynes Half Marathon is a half marathon in Milton Keynes. It's called that because it's half the length of a full marathon which they also have in Milton Keynes and that's called the Milton Keynes Marathon.

I managed to start pretty neat the front though and it was very spacious from the off. The first 5 miles or so are on the wide dual carriageways of MK. I imagined it would be on the footpaths at the side of the road and going up and down in the underpasses. It wasn't though, even though the first 3 miles were uphill. The plan was to hold on to 6.30 minute miles for as long as possible. I managed this for 6 miles the other day in a training run and figured I could go twice as far if I didn't need the toilet.

I was thrown by the uphills, I felt like I was working too hard to keep the pace at 6.30 but after mile three when it all went downhill I bagged a bit more time. 

Are you still reading this? My word it's going to be boring. Seriously all I do is run at pretty much the same pace and then get a medal.

Still reading? Your loss.

After about 5 miles of the big roads it cuts into a housing area and then at about 10k it splits from the Marathon course and I head right into a park. It was really nice.By then the runners were spread out nicely, 

At 8 miles I saw Gemma and the babies, the first time I have seen them in a race 😃 That was nice and was impressed that I made it there bang on time, 10.52. 

Soon after though I started to wobble. It wasn't much. I knew 1.25 was now out of bounds but I was doing the calculations in my head (my watch isn't that fancy) as to what I need to do to at least get a pb. I was trying to count the 6.30s on my watch but after an hour it stops reporting in seconds so I had not idea whether a mile took me 6 minutes or 7. 

Although I was slowing, so was everyone else and I was still overtaking people. People who looked like actual runners too, in vest and shorts. I was as close to the sharp end as I ever have been in a big race, 20th out of 3000 (#humblebrag). My guess is all the good people ran London the week before.

All the time I was glad it was my legs that were the bottleneck, usually it's the lungs or heart. They are in pretty good shape right now and legs are easy to train. A few more months of Strava Wankery should do it.

The last mile is a long drag back up into the Stadium. I clocked all the places I was going to eat when I finished, McDonald's, KFC, Nandos. I got taken just before the finish, the only time I got overtaken since about mile 4. 

So, a 3 minute pb. I was pretty pleased with that, the closest I have got to a "dream race result" for a long time. 

And what's great is that the quest for 6 pbs is still on. I had planned on getting the 5k, 10k, and HM by now, I only have the half but 5k and 10k will fall out soon. In fact 5k nearly went two days before, I missed it by 10 seconds in a parkrun. Here I got 40 mins flat for the first 10k and know there is a minute or two to take off that somewhere.

So now I am optimistically planning a marathon in the summer with the view of smashing 3 hours. Should have done that a long time ago. I don't want to do an ultra again until I am a 2.xx marathon runner.

Then if I get the time I'll do something about the 50 and 100 miles. 

1 down, 5 to go.

By the way, this was the best organised half marathon I'd ever done. The route is perfect, the first 5 miles being on very wide closed roads which allow everyone to settle and then the rest on nice cyclepaths. Definitely recommended.

In case of emergency - How to name a Strava run

We've all done it. You go out for a run, you huff and you puff around thinking of all the people who are going rain kudos onto your Strava upload like fivers in a strippers knickers. You get back home and head straight to the sync. DISASTER! It's a bit slower than you expected! What will you fans think?

They will surely know something is amiss. All it would take is for your fans to compare your heart rate against the pace you were running, factor in the vert and overlay the topology of the area, cross referencing that against the weather conditions before and during, work the equation to come up with the answer you already know, you had a shitty run. Kudos will crash.

You know your followers will be desperately disappointed with your sudden mediocrity. You don't want to distress them. They NEED to give kudos. It hurts not to. You need to think of what the impact of your run will do to these poor souls. What do you do?

You only have a minute to act. But you can salvage something out of this before everyone starts thinking you've chumped out of the running game. Kudos will rain again.

It's all in the name.

The name you give your run will let people know of the mitigating circumstances of your shitness. Even if they are made up. Don't worry about "only cheating yourself", you can't give yourself Kudos anyway so what does it matter?

Here are some suggestions.

1 - Say you were chatting to someone.

Example Run Name - Lovely chatty pace chat run chatting with Paula. #runchat #easypace

You were jogging with someone else and they are the ones who are really slow! Of course! I was just doing a good deed by keeping an inferior runner company while chatting away. It was deliberately a no-effort jog along.

They don't even need to exist. Just make sure you don't namecheck anyone who is also on Strava. (some people aren't). 

2 - Post photos.

Run Name - Beautiful trails today. Love this route. Just had to slow down to take it all in.

Always have a stock of random photos stored so you can use as a "get out of shit run free" card. make sure you are wearing the same clothes in them and have about the same amount of beard (unless it's a really long run). 

And if you actually do take photos then Strava stops the clock while you do! It is like the world stands still while you pout. That's nice of it.

And NEVER let people see just the lovely trail you are on, this is a security issue. You don't want one of your followers actually following you. Always obscure most of it with your grinning (but relaxed, cos it's an easy run) face.

3 - Say it was a recovery run

Example Run Name - 17 mile recovery shakeout jogging plod. Legs don't feel too bad considering....

What's the number 1 reason for recovery runs? That's right! It's a way for you to demonstrate to your Strava following that even when you are deliberately jogging along slowly you are still going way faster than they would do when running fast. 

20% Extra kudos for mentioning "cobwebs"

4 - Accumulate to Speculate

Example Run Name - 5 miles, not to shabby after 12 miles yesterday, 36 for the week so far and 47 last week!

Why did you do such a shoddy run just now? Because of all the #EPIC runs you have done already this week. If you do this enough then your followers who try to trace your runs back to a time when you ran without doing #EPIC just before will never find anything. Like a running Ponzi scheme.

5 - Say there was wind. Say it was BRUTAL

Example Run Name - Really tough plod getting brutally blown off by Bertha

The word "BRUTAL" isn't used enough to describe the variable but mostly comfortable weather we get here in the UK. I think train companies should adopt this word instead of their usual "inclement" to explain why you are still stood on a platform an hour late.

But of course, who is to know whether it was still, breezy or a GALE FORCE HURRICANO was stalking your every move, blowing you off course and claiming a few seconds off your pace.

Also remember to follow the 10% rule when documenting high temperatures. If you read on the weather reports that it was going to get up to 30C today then obviously it was at least 33C when you ran.

6 - Make it look like a session

Example Run Name - 3.4 x 14 Flebs with intermediate fartlicks

There are a number of stock sessions people might run at variable paces. They might involve a "warm up" pace, and "effort", a "sprint" and so forth. 

If your pace chart looks like the meanderings of a moth in unnatural light then make up some random words to look like you are deliberately following some sort of twitter fad.

7 - Say you were fasted

Example Run Name - Felt queasy towards the end of this #keto #lchf #fasted run but need to adapt to being able to run on an empty tank #avocado

Of course! You are on a stupid diet! You only ate low GI Quinoa Porridge and a Kit-Kat for brunchfast and could not get the power to run really fast. Perfect. 

Do not under any circumstances forget to mention the #avocado. Otherwise you'll just sound like a dick.

8 - Overcompensate

Example Run Name - Shit run. I am shit. So Slow. I might just give up running and kill myself. Or take up cycling.

If kudos is your aim (if it's not why the hell are you on Strava?) then this is a bit of a nuclear option. It involves admitting that you've had a rubbish run but then taking it to the extreme. Works similar to the recovery run. "Your shit day is better than my good day!" will be the comment of choice, along with the Kudos of course. 

Remember, every time someone fails to give kudos to a run a Garmin fails to find a satellite.

Think of your fellow runner.

I hope these have been helpful. Can you think of any more? If you want to see how awesome I am, follow me here.

This will change the way you run...

As a massive fan of my blog, you'll know more than anyone that I am passionate and committed to bringing you the latest in leading edged break through innoveightional ultra running solutions.

So when a household brand approached me exclusively to check out their latest toy I almost Strava'd my pants. I had so many questions.

Are you going to pay me?

No.

Are you going to give me free stuff?

No.

Are you going to follow me on twitter?

Maybe, but only for the duration in which you hashtag your worship of our mission

There was only one answer here. I think I got a #FKT on saying "HELL YES!!!!"

Before I blow your mind with this let me paint you a picture. 

You are booming off a gnarly segment with 3.4% vert and 12a graded technicalised bogditch. You are ahead of time in gaining record time for the Teddybears Picnic. You need that extra push so you reach into your race vest for some gummy bears (oh the irony). However they slip from your hands as you pull them out. Round and round the garden they go, or straight onto the floor. Now you have no energy to make that final 10ft of climb. If only there was a way of keeping them dry.

Or you are racing along the river. The bouncing is playing havoc on your bowels. It's raining so there are not many people around and you duck behind a hedge and lose the intestinal ball and chain. But you reach into your pocket and pull out a sorry soggy mess of paper. It used to be Kleenex quilted, now wilted. You do the best you can but are now worried about the next checkpoint, worried you'll forget which hand you are not supposed to dip into the cocktail sausages.

Or you are 30 miles into a training run, it's hot, you find a shop and are overjoyed as you remembered to bring a tenner for such an occasion. Disaster! Upon slamming your 2 for £1.50 mountain dews and a couple of Ginsters pasties on the counter your money is greeted with the response "Seriously? I can't accept this. You've been rubbing your ballsack against the Queen's face so hard she now looks like Camilla".

But my friend all of these problems are about to go away. Here it is. 

Introducing the Ziplock Sandwich Bag. 100 years of precision engineering that fits right in your pocket.

Looks simple enough, but this baby is packed with features.

First is the unique "photo-flex" material used to produce this that allows you to see things inside it. So long we have struggled with bags where we have to guess what's inside like some awful game show. They have invented a way of allowing light atoms to pass through the membrane of the bag while dark atoms are destroyed on contact. Sorry to blind you a bit with the science there, I'll try to keep my language simple for you idiots.

The second great feature is this herma-squidge sealing device. It can be operated by any being with oppose-able thumbs which acts as a great security feature against farmyard animals and their pranks. 

Here is a picture of me placing an item into the bag.

And here is a picture of me removing an item from the bag.

So easy.

The third astonishment is it's ability to flex itself to wrap around any item you chose to place within. When you take it out of the box you might be alarmed that the most robust thing you can fit in there is a beer mat but look deeper and you can see that this beast is like a shape-shifting chameleon, on cocaine, making waves in the batmobile. Yeah it flexes to be whatever you want it to be. 

Here are just a few of suggestions. 

#emergencyshitkit

#leavenothingbehind

#recycle

The handy rite-space gives you up to 157 characters to label the bag according to your needs. More that twitter!

So in summary this is an awesome bag. I know you will say that I got given this bag for free and so obviously I am going to say this is awesome. However if I merely say the words "unbiased" and "objective" and say just one thing I didn't like about it then that fully compensates for your doubts and you should believe whatever I say.

It didn't store the egg that well.

Here is a picture of my face with the bag. Just in case you want to put in on a billboard.

FAQ

Q - Is it #Paleo?

A - Yes

Choose Ultras

Country to Capital - My Dream Race

The sun rose majestically over the Chiltern hills, lighting up the snow kissed ground with a warming sparkle. I looked up at the blue sky as the little fluffy quite clouds swooped into formation to reveal an inspiring meme. The letters were hard to make out as the clouds had assembled into a Helvetica font but I think it said;

"Only those who risk going too far will ever end up in Brentford"

Wise words.

The main event for the Country to Capital is the Race to the Gate. A 200m sprint to get onto the trail before the people with Hokas get there and clog it up. I've generally ranked quite high in this and even higher now that many previous podium finishers have had their results nulled due to steroid abuse.

I won the race to the gate easy but then stopped in Costa for a latte. Plue I had to run back and pick up my starting blocks. Loads of people passed me but I was not too bothered, I'd catch up when I'd had my caffeine. 

There are a couple of hills early on. I eat hills for breakfast (and double sausage McMuffins). I made light work of them until I spotted two enormous immovable objects in the distance blocking my path. At first I thought it was the the mighty pairing of Wes Morgan and Robert Huth for Leicester City last season.

I got closer and realised it was not the defensive dreadnoughts but Drew Sheffield's calves.

I realised running past was not an option. The only way to overtake was to feign to the left and then deploy the safety whilstle with it's unusually long chord (often seen as a design error on the One Direction Harry S pack but I quite like it) and lassoo it onto a branch ahead and swing forward. I nailed it perfectly with a satisfying peep.

In the dark dark woods there is a beast. The Black Park Badger. With steel claws and shinny nose, razorback hair and snazzy clothes. It terrifies the residents with towering height and it's deafening roar. I heard the trees fall in the woods as the menacing beast approached to tuck into his favourite food - ultra runner roullade. 

I got past it easy enough though. Just kicked it's face off.

After a bit of traditional English tapas at one of the checkpoints there was an almighty blizzard. Proper apocalyptic sideways snow that showed the Daily Express weather reports to be right all along. The wind was so strong that it's force lifted a carrier bag off the ground and sent it hurtling towards my head. It was only the good fortune of stepping onto some spilled GU and momentarily being stuck to a complete halt that saved me from certain death.

It was not long before we were on the canal. I do love running on the canal but it can be frustrating tripping over the sun loungers. But this is the time to pick up the pace and I decided I wanted to win this time so I picked up the jogging speed.

I passed Jen Bradley and Gary Kiernan who were just messing about taking selfies, reading all the info boards and ticking off bridge numbers in their bridge-spotting books. They were loving the canal. I chatted for a bit but they were a bit weird, especially when Gary yelled "Let's cuddle a goose!"

Booming on down the canal further I saw a bloke stood by the turning who didn't know which way to go. He said "I have the map in my bag which will tell me whether I should turn left or go straight on but I can't be arsed with that so I posted the question on the URC instead. I'm waiting for a proper answer, the first three comments are all "Tailwind"".

I said "Well, I am turning left but we are all an experiment of 1 so that might not be the best thing for you. Just enjoy it and you'll be fine".

Keen to plod on, I knew I still had a couple of people to smash off.

It must have been Southall, that place where the bridge tells you to fuck off where I saw Jim Walmsley twonking out 6.10s on the canal. I jogged up beside him as he was watching a live feed of his own strava collecting record breaking kudos and smashing the "Denham doggers dash" segment CR by 34 seconds. 

Bollocks I forgot to strava this. Now it totally won't count as my 1000th ultra.

Anyway Jim was going a bit slow for my liking and I had a train to catch in 20 minutes so figured I should try and get these 12 miles done with a bit of gusto. I Said my goodbyes to Jim and that I'll probably see him again at Western States when I get a special celebrity place and jogged on.

I finished the 43 mile race in just under 3 hours, which I thought was pretty good given that I was wearing a puffer jacket all the way.  Kylie was there to present me my medal and give me a massage to help uncreak my legs a bit. I got undressed and lay on the couch as she left the room and said they will return with the oil.

 I must have dozed off a bit because suddenly I woke with a jolt and my wife nudging me and saying "can you not hear that screaming? It's your turn to settle him down."

"What time is it"?

"2.47".

"Blimey. It's hard to tell what's real nowadays."

I just want to be a regular failure

I don't want to be an epic failure - I just want to be a regular failure like everyone else - Me

It's hard to make a good movie out of ultra running. Let's face it, it's not that exciting to watch someone plodding around and eating rice pudding in a way that would make you want to smack them on a train. Until they figure out how to get the TV to bring the smells it's hard to imagine anyone pulling it off.

Fair to say that Anika and Tim have done a stunning job here, and not just because I am in it. I mean, it is mostly because of that but the other 99.8% is amazing too.

I am surprised, and at the same time pleased that Laz has allowed his race to be put out there like this. It has been a race shrouded in mystery bit now is probably one of the most famous events in the world. 

I'll let this short intro tell you what the race is about.

And this is my race report from my attempt in 2012.

It was weird being in a screening at the ultra fest watching this and getting a massive round of applause for dropping out.

The focus of the movie is quite rightly on those who do well but it does such a great job of capturing the unique atmosphere of the race.

The movie is now available in the UK on Appletunes here.

Enjoy!

For some people, just to get back to camp alive is all they want in the world - Laz

The universe says no

Sometimes the universe tells you things. I have got great joy in finishing some ultra marathons in my time and so I guess it's telling me "that's great, carry on doing that".

I write and blog about running and people seem to like that so it must be telling me I should do more of that.

Then I organise a simple race, on my own, spend the entire 12 hours having breathing difficulties and then ending up that night in A&E having a stress induced asthma "incident".

I think here it might be telling me "nah, don't do that again".

It should be the easiest race in the world to organise. I need a table of snacks, a bag of balls and send people running around a loop.

I have just cancelled the third edition, it had only 10 signed up but in all honesty I breathed a huge and non-asthmatic sign of relief when I hit send on the email saying "sorry I have to cancel, full refunds on their way". I didn't want to go and waste the oxygen in Bedford Hospital.

It was something that stressed me every time I woke up, what about the race. Need more sign ups, book the toilets, order the ball bags, get the permit, do the risk assessment. To someone of a more project orientated disposition these would be wonderful tasks to stomp on one by one and give a feeling of satisfaction of progress. For me they were little monsters I was afraid to go near.

I've always had huge respect for race directors and have more so now. The financial and personal risks involved are huge.

When you are organising a race you really are putting yourself out there. It is such high risk and you need to be the sort of person who can fall back on the groundwork you have done. Unfortunately I dont have the care and attention to do that properly.

Oddly I think this is a strength in ultra running, not getting too hung up on worst case scenarios and just getting on with it. There is a duty of care to consider worst case scenarios when organising something for others. What happens if someone collapses, or the weather turns or the kettle breaks.

These things just stress me, enough to end up in hospital!

I doubt I will organise races again. I loved most of my experience of doing it and loved the people who all helped make it happen.  I have so many ideas I would love to see happen and would be willing to "help" on so long as I had no actual responsibility. 

Feel free to steal...

The piece of string

You've probably heard of this. The "World's most pointless race". It's been run 3 times before under the proper directorship of James Elson. It would be great to see this back. 

Race report of first edition

Race report of second edition

GET IN THE VAN!

Bingo

Have you ever felt that life is a little unfair? Some people seem to get handed life's pleasures on a plate when others labour and toil for little reward. Did you take up running as a way to escape is injustice? To be able to claim reward based on the effort you put in? Do you think that the world would be a better place if it was all just like a nice long run?

Well bollocks to that, here is a running event that is steeped in reality more than any other race you have ever done. Basically you might run your balls off, run harder and further than anyone else in the whole field and still get nothing to show for it. At the same time some lousy chumper, probably called Rupert, probably educated at Eton, probably been to a Regatta or two in his time will just waltz through (yes he does ballroom dancing too) and finish with little effort.

Makes you sick doesn't it?

Well, inspired by life I have created "Bingo - The World's most Unfair race"

At the start you will be issued with a Bingo card. This bingo card will have 3 numbers on it. Say it has the numbers 13,17,23 on. 

There is a loop of about 2.2 miles. You run a loop and then pick a number out of a bag in a Bingo style. If you pick one of your numbers, say 13, then you can cross that off and do another loop. If you pick another number then you just head back out onto another loop and repeat.

You will each have your own unique ball bag and chosen balls are not replaced. This ball bag will contain 30 something balls. Anyone who makes rude jokes about ball bags will be given more balls.

The 24 hour version will involve a longer loop. And more balls!

You finish the race when you have all 3 of your numbers crossed off. Easy.

So in theory you could finish this race in 6 miles, if you are the luckiest person in the world.

You could run forever and just never pick your numbers out.

There will be a 12 hour cut off. You could run a 100k PB and still DNF. That would be hilariously unfair wouldn't it?

The predator

The predator   Somewhere in africa a gazelle knows he has to outrun the fastest lion to survive. The lion knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle to survive.   You've probably heard this quote before. Doesn't really apply to you does it? But how about you replace the word "africa" with  "hertfordshire" and the replace the word "gazelle"with "you".   Interested?   Could you do a race where you were constantly looking over your shoulder? Where one slip or short break could spell the end of your race? Where you could run till you lungs burn and your heart explodes but still get that tap on the shoulder that says you are not good enough to survive.   Or perhaps you are the lion, eager to pick off the gazelles one by one   Welcome to the Predator race -survival of the fastest.   So what is it?   You will be chasing and being chased. You will be set free into nature on a trail loop at regular intervals and your objective is simple, don't get caught. When you get caught your race is over.   Perhaps you fancy yourself as a lion, running others down and taking them out of the race. Be careful, there may be more than one lion.   So how does it work?   Simple, we mark a loop of about 10 miles, we 12 runners and set them off one by one at 5 minute intervals. If someone catches you then that's it. We just keep going round and around until only one man is standong.   In the unlikely case that more than 12 people want to run this race then we will have more races and call them "heats". One day will be for the heats, the next day will be the grand final.   So who should apply for this race?   A decent 100 mile runner would have a good chance at tiring everyone down, unless of course a super quick marathon runner took him out early. A decent marathon runner would do well, unless of course a super fast 10k runner decided to start out hard and kill him early. Someone may decide on a suicidal 5k sprint at the start just on the off chance of securing an early kill. All runners will benefit from having a good 50m sprint on them.   Will there be a seperate womens race?   Do you think a lion cares whether the carcass it devours has child bearing hips? Short answer, no they can compete in the same race

Tortoise and Hare

I tried organising this last year but due to lack of interest (and to be honest not much pushing on my side either, oooh errrrr missus) it never got off the ground.

What's so great about this race? Well, if you have the race of your life, run better than you ever have done before then you have a really good chance of winning! No matter what your current pace is. I think it will be an incredible experience, those who are often bringing up the rear will spend most of this race in the front pack! And those who are usually racing like whippets at the front will get to experience what it is like being at the back. getting to the checkpoints last and having to make do with horrible green jelly babies covered in sweat and who knows what.

You enter the race and as part of your entry you tell me your recent 12 months worth of marathon and ultra times.

I will then assign you a starting time with the goal of you finishing the race at 7pm for the 50 milers and 6pm for the 50k'ers. 

So whether you are a 12 hour 50 miler or a 6 hour boomer you should in theory be sprinting together at the end of the race.

How cool would that be?

Double or quitter

You are entering a 200 mile race. Some route somewhere, does not need to be too hard. Everyone starts together as in a “standard” 200 mile race – as standard as any 200 mile race could be.

It goes as normal except that at the 26.2 mile checkpoint there is a finish funnel. You now have to decide whether you double or quit. By quitting you go through the finish funnel, collect a marathon medal and an official marathon finish THAT COUNTS and can sit back having completed a (rather expensive) marathon.

Or you can go on, but take one step beyond the threshold and that’s it, you are committed. You can’t go back and claim that marathon finish. If you twist your ankle at 28 miles and pull out that’s it. You get nothing.

At 50 miles you have the same choice. Double or finish. An official 50 mile medal/time etc.

Can you imagine what would go through peoples minds at 99 miles? I can finish and get a buckle/finish and pretend that it was ABSOLUTELY THE RIGHT DECISION or I can go on. But take a step beyond that 100 mile line and that’s it, you’ve just stepped into another 24+ hours of hurt.

You could get to 190 miles, drop or miss the cut off and leave with less than the guy who bailed at 26.2 who is probably at home now wearing a marathon finish t shirt and stroking a medal.

Map my run

Teams of two. One person is given a proper map that the other person is not allowed to look at. They then cover the route on the map and get to the end. However while doing so they need to create written instructions for person number 2 to follow. These can be made up of words, drawings etc but no photos and no proper professional maps or grid references.

I doubt many would finish this. I suspect person 2 might be a bit slower than person 1. Or maybe not.

Run until you drop

This was originally an idea from Paul Lewis and has become a fairly popular challenge in February, though I do wonder... How many days could you go for? I reckon I could get to 70. If I had nothing else to do.

The current social edition;

"Run Until You Drop" is an annual running challenge held in February each year where participants attempt to walk, jog or run a number of kilometres OR miles equal to the day of the month (i.e. 1km or 1m on the 1st Feb, 2kms or 2m on the 2nd Feb and so on all the way up to the 29th Feb).

Anthrax

Imagine a chemical explosion at a point. Say in the middle of London. It radiates a deadly gas at exactly 4mph outwards. Every runner starts off with a GPS and has to stay outside of this ever increasing circle from the start point.

The trick is obviously you have to maintain a distance of at least 4 miles each hour as the crow flies, and unless you know a perfectly straight road (I guess the A5 might be a good option) you are going to have to cover more distance than 4 miles in an hour. You’ll be tested on quick decision making about the length of roads as well as your pace.

You can go in any direction you please.

I would imagine some sort of online tracker with the runners spots and this ever increasing poisonous circle. No checkpoints or support or anything, just the trackers and the internet.

The 99 

A proper officially measured exact 99 mile race. Would anyone do that?

Might throw in an officially measured 26.1 mile race too.

The Ultra Tasting Menu

Kind of inspired by having to endure posh restaurants and their tasting menus.

Silly fun one. 100 miles, 48 hours, 10 checkpoints each with a national theme such that you can only have food from that country.

Probably need to think of the order, Italy and China would have to go near the beginning. Maybe leave India and Mexico towards the end.

The Karl Marx Classic

A looped race with a cut off of 30 hours. You are randomly split into two groups.

If you are in group 1 you just run as normal and get a buckle if you complete 100 miles.

If you are in group 2 then your group must average 100 miles and then everyone gets a buckle.

Would be a fun experiment. Would people try harder if other people were relying on them? Would the disconnect between their own performance and reward make them think "fuck it, I'm off home"?

From each according to their ability...

What makes the toughest ultra?

A while ago I was helping produce a "toughest ultras" book. It didn't work out in the end but I did draft a first chapter as to what I think makes the "toughest" ultra. Here it is.

The Hardest race, The Toughest Challenge, The Ultimate Ultra.

These words are thrown all over event websites with reckless abandon. It’s the easiest thing in the world to type them into a marketing slogan. Our world is saturated with superlatives. Every day we are in “crisis” or at a “tipping-point” or experiencing something on an “unprecedented” scale. Most of us have learned to glaze over this hyperbole.

Is there a “toughest” race out there? Which one is it? Can we even tell?

I think seeking the toughest race on paper misses the point of what attracts people to ultra running. Races are not hard when you are reading about them in a book or on a blog. They are hard when you are doing them.

I’ve completed a number of these so called “toughest” races, I could look back on all of them, crunch some numbers, finish rates, altitude, temperature, humidity, climbing, deserts, jungles, bears and distance and declare “yes, according to my algorithm the Smash Canyon 3000 race is the toughest”. Someone else with a different algorithm will give a different result. And none of these results are valid unless you have been there.

The human brain has a great ability to discount previous hardship and exaggerate the present. The consequence of this is that any moment in time can be the “toughest” of our lives. There comes a point in every challenge where moving forward becomes the toughest thing we have ever done, where you feel like what you have is not quite enough. You have to find something from somewhere, build it out of nothing

And that is the great appeal of this wide array of ultra marathon challenges, some are very high, some are very hot, some are very cold, some are just very very very long. Each one has the potential to take to you to that place where you say to yourself “I’ve never suffered anything like this”. You could run the numbers through the tough equation you may have created and say this races is 87% tough, or you could go there yourself and experience it.

Some people seem to prefer the cold, declaring that they could “never” run a desert race. Some only like the mountains and will claim that they could never run a road race. Some love the roads and despair at the thought of a rocky trail. We all have different strengths and fears and running ultra marathons help us to use our strengths and conquer our fears.

Ultra Marathons allow us to break through personal limits, be they physical or mental. Ultra Marathons can break you into small pieces, humiliate and destroy you. There will be times when you feel like the most pathetic person on earth, you are moving so slowly and hurting so badly you are unworthy of the human form. You will suffer paranoia and anxiety, as if everyone is laughing at how hopeless you are. All of this while you are hungry and tired, your bones are aching and your muscles are mutinous.

It is the pushing through these times that make these race worth doing, the memories of being at your worst but somehow holding on just enough. The times you can look back and say “I was reduced to nothing, I felt like I had nothing left to give, yet I somehow managed to hold onto myself just enough to take that step forward, and then another, and then another. I went from feeling sub-human to super-human and all it took was motion”.

Every race here has the potential to humiliate and destroy. But they also have the potential to elevate. That’s why I do them. That’s why a growing number of people from all walks of life do them. That’s why you should do them.