Thursday 14 June 2018

Race to what....

Well that’s it, I’ve run 53 miles in one go.  Race to the Tower - the Broadway Tower in Worcestershire, which (by the way) I still haven’t seen as it was shrouded in mist and just a green and purple haze from the giant lights at it’s feet.














The word is that it’s an amazing achievement, unbelievable, inspirational, epic, awesome - keep coming with the superlatives. I’ve heard them all. 

It’s been a while since I last wrote a blog. Pre-Limassol when I ducked out of the marathon and did the half (which quite frankly was the right decision as I was not impressed by that race). Since then my training has been on and off. I ran Bewl Marathon but, to be honest, I probably didn’t do the required miles for a 50+ ultra. I did do my hill training though - which has turned out to be more useful than I could have imagined! 







I could spend endless words describing the race, the good points, the bad points. The brilliant organisation of Threshold. The joy of seeing friends at the start and on route. The benefits of Run Mummy Run or UKRunchat at events like this. I could....but I won’t. What I will do is thank some people - Lucy, whom I met for the first time at about mile 5 and we passed each other at various points until at half way we had some food and drink together. Then set out for the second half and ended up sticking together. Her walking pace (due to injury) my running pace! We climbed stupid stiles together, laughed together, shared stories of life, dragged each other up endless hills and she even had to suffer my singing a few times. But she was awesome, unbelievable, amazing and inspirational. And didn’t leave me. Even on that last hideous hill when I struggled to motivate myself to the top. Okay so she out sprinted me on the finish line, but hell - I’ll forgive her that. 





Keeley - my wife - who for the first time properly acted as race support. Turning up in places I didn’t expect (so i nearly missed her) and in places i did (even though I was hours late). Saying hello to other friends, offering them all sorts of useful and non-useful items....but still smiling, still waving and cheering all the runners whether she knew them or not. Right until 4 in the morning! 





Jules - who sat up through the day and night watching a tiny blue dot move across a map, ever more slowly as time went on. Sending me messages of support, making me laugh and virtually cheering me to the finish. 

Yep that was my first 50+ ultra. Should I stop there? Should i tell the truth? It was hard and hilly. The equivalent of climbing Snowdon twice (apparently) - over 7000 feet in elevation. Timings slipped early on. Feet started hurting before even pitstop two and at half way my first ever blister had appeared, popped and was being taped up. Another 26.2 meant i slowed to slower than walking pace (next time I’ll learn to walk faster) and i went from an 8 hour marathon to an 11 hour marathon. Vaseline became my new best friend. The dark created challenges I had expected but hadn’t understood. Tiredness and lack of sleep leads to the mind fixating on just reaching the finish. And you cannot underestimate the effect of focusing on one thing and one thing only for 19 hours and 22 minutes. I have a new found respect for those that go further and faster. 





At the finish - as sunlight was beginning to reappear I couldn’t enjoy any of the Threshold hospitality - instead I was suitably sick and whisked away by my amazing wife. Not even able to properly say goodbye and thank you to the equally amazing Lucy! 

There were plenty of mistakes made along the way. Plenty of lessons to learn. Plenty of things to consider - if and when there is a next time. I hear you laugh “of course there is a next time”. But no decision until I come back from holiday. Why? It’s simple really. It all feels a bit ‘meh’. I haven’t celebrated. Tonight was my first drink of alcohol since I finished. People send messages of congratulations and I just feel slightly fraudulent. I’ve joked that perhaps I have PTSD or PTRD....I should feel elated, high - right? The good news is my legs feel great. They felt strong. Still feel strong. My feet and lovely chafing not so much. And that’s it really. I’m disappointed. I didn’t do as I expected. It wasn’t the glorious finish - it wasn’t target 1, 2, 3 or even 20. I joked I had 24 hours and I was only a few hours short of needing them. 

My fear is when I feel this way I like to go back and race again - Beachy being a race in point. But I don’t want to go back to RTTT. I never want to see those hills again. I’d like to go back and visit the Cotswolds - maybe even get to see the tower. But 53 miles of that is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone! Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, I laughed and smiled, chatted and jazz hands. Ate and selfied. It was beautiful and well organised. But it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and in that it became more than perhaps I knew it could be....meaning reaching the finish could never match that. It could never be the achievement I needed it to be, at least not yet. I’m hopeful over time and reflection, after other races maybe, it will dawn on me what I have done. And I won’t just feel ‘meh’ - I’ll feel proud.