Those of you following will want to know how this weekend went. It was time to face my Nemesis. To face my demons from last year's DNF (Did Not Finish) at 84km, and my injuries that have plagued me all year.
It was time to face my fears. Fear of failing again. Fears of realising that the 300km later this year is too much. Fear that my body would let me down no matter how much I wanted this. It was time to take this old, heavy, broken body through the meat grinder and face the 100km Jurassic Coast Challenge... running.
Feared and revered, this course is harsh. The first 58Km stretch is widely regarded as one of the hardest course routes in the UK of its distance. It puts in almost 8000ft of elevation gain, most of which is multi-hundred feet climbs at 30-45 Degree angles, and the entire mix of gravel, rocky, grassy, muddy, stony surface. Going up is hard, coming down is horrific on your feet and knees and you do it again, and again, and again. To give some context, this first 58km is the same as going up and down more than the UK's two highest peaks (almost all 3 of them) after running a trail marathon
In short... it's a monster.
I knew what was coming... Arguably a good thing, but also arguably not because you know how monstrous parts of this are. This time I had the powerful thought of last year's failure to hit target distance in mind. Combined with a very problematic injury that had me limping before I had even started for the last couple of weeks. This time I had listened to my lessons of the past learning the hard way - stomach upsets, extreme blistering, time stopping and seizing up, pacing, etc. I also had crew! I'll be talking about my Crew for this event in a separate post, but for now I'll just say that my buddy Graham was hugely important in keeping my feet on the ground going into this, and feeling that I was not alone with what was to come.
After a funny journey down, Graham laid down the law... "No running until you are 5km in and on top of the first ascent and it had levelled out" was the instruction. He clearly remembered how I'd started running from the very start last year, and how mangled my feet became by the time I had to retire.
Checked in, registered and squared away, Dinner, early night and final kit check before the big day.
4am and time to get up. Did 30 minutes of Wim Hof breathing (ending with a 4 minute breath hold!) and I was good to go.
The event start was pretty typical. Lots of people, and a great atmosphere. Fresh faces gave me a little chuckle of how long those smiles would last before the course started to bite hard.
The challenge had started and my heel issue piped up immediately. The course had already bitten me.
It left me in a shit frame of mind. Just hoping that it would warm up and ease off...
It didn't. I hobbled up to the top of the first big climb and tried to jog it off, but it was impossible. This coincided with my airpods entirely refusing to work despite being fully charged. It left me very pissed off. No music to take my mind off what I was feeling... nightmare!
After a couple more Kms, I stopped (for a 2nd time) to answer the call of nature (as I was certainly 'hydrated'... in fact I I had proved that I had 'won Hydration' in spectacular fashion). It was then I was warmed up enough to get a better sense of the problem in my heel. My ankle was feeling compressed in the front of the joint. It wasn't quite in the right place, in the same way my back problem felt 'out' ever so slightly with the issues I had earlier in the year.
I took a few minutes to stretch and pull at my foot, and the heel pain eased up. Finally... I could start to jog now. Ironically it was more painful on the flat than the downhill, but for a change I was moving past people while admiring the stunning view.
By the time I reached the first rest stop at 12km, It had become painful again. The first thing I did was ask Graham to traction it. It helped, but still didn't give me that pop I knew it needed.
The next stretch was tough. The trail sections were incredibly treacherous being so rocky, and had to go easy. I treated my first blisters there as early as I noticed them. Another instruction from Graham, I might add, rather than wait for the next rest stop. I took time to do it right after the mess I made of my feet last year by rushing it.
This surface was a foot-shredder. Miles of stony ups and downs that were simply treacherous in some of the stretches. It was very easy to turn an ankle if you weren't paying attention. This lasted for at almost half of this particular leg and was not doing my heel and ankle any favours. Secretly I was even hoping I'd stretch or roll my ankle and get that pop I desperately needed, but that was a high risk strategy so took my time. After this was Church Knowle and the lunch stop. I was making ok time considering the heel issue. No music was getting on my nerves though, and peppering the silence was my swearing (getting very creative by this point... who knew 'cockshitter' could raise a laugh from local dog walkers), which was happening with ever increasing frequency. At the stop I got the pop in my ankle I needed when Graham put the traction on. It helped a lot. He also found my Beats Earbuds in my bag which I'd accidentally left in. Thank God! They even still had charge! Things were starting to look up.
Stopping for only 20 mins to eat and change socks (with a quick blister check), I was keeping pretty good time, but the heat was was on. Clear blue skies and noon sunshine started to kick in and the next few hours had no shade. There were some amazing views though and I was able to get into a bit of flow with my running.
I was on the ridge line with some gently undulating up and downs for a couple of hours. It's a long but beautiful stretch. A few KMs from the start of the business end of the day stretch was the trusty Graham, who'd driven ahead and parked up by the road to give me a shot of Coke and traction to put me in good shape for what was to come. It was like he'd read my mind.
The next section after running along the top of the Purbecks though is what this course is all about.
Lung busting, quad battering climbs, followed by knee hammering, ankle pummelling descents. Thank f*ck I had poles! This was where they mattered as the hardest of all the climbs loomed into view...
Meet Arish Mell... The Wall. That hit us at around 40km. You have just endured a trail marathon and then you are hit with this beast. I admit, having done this hill twice before, I was intimidated. I'm sure even a little wee came out. And it never gets smaller... Never. I was both excited and anxious about what was to follow. I really do love these f*cking hills, but also hate them. They royally shit on your parade and always make you feel underprepared. For that, I also respect them. I knew Bad things happen to people from this point... Murdered feet. Hyperventilation. Heart rates well beyond the safe max, loss of consciousness, lost toe nails, calf tears, busted knees and sprains on descents. You will find medics treating people for these and so much more along this next stretch. You can guarantee it. That it was a hot day, underlines that fact.
Running toward the impending horror of what was to come, The thing just kept getting bigger and bigger (those little dots heading up there in the picture are people). A 40 degree climb that breaks souls after the type of distance many of us had already put down. and just when you think you have reached the top, you realise you haven't. The Wall's false summit is a dose of woe, each person should experience at least once.
All the swearing gets done at the bottom of this. You dare not waste breath swearing while climbing it.
Finally, after testing my newfound Wim Hof lung capacity to its fullest, I summited this beast. My Heart rate had climbed into the 190 BPM range doings so, which meant I needed a few moments to settle back down.
After Arish Mell, the course changed from last year. Last year it was a gentle descent into Lulworth cove along the switchbacks on the trail down. Now it was a take-your-life-in-your-hands-on-tired-legs insane descent to the back of Lulworth village, then up the long hill to the next Rest stop at 42km.
Graham refuelled me again at this stop. More coke, more electrolytes, more Peanut Butter & Jam wraps, more ankle traction. He barked a clear instruction to get up and stay on my feet. The next section was going to be hard and he didn't want me stiffening up in a comfy chair in the shade. No. There was the hardest stretch of work to come. The next section of climbs and descents were going to be savage all the way to the top of White Nothe.
Keeping the stop as short as was feasible, The next stretch was widely acknowledged as the hardest physical part. It's at the end of this leg where the majority of people who choose to retire do so... This year it took hundreds of prisoners. Out of the 1200 full distance 100k challengers over 400 did not finish (2600 took part in the full series of challenges from 25k all the way to 100k)
That meant that 33% of starters on the full 100km distance retired this year. 90% of those did so after this next stretch....
Out from the rest stop and down to Durdle Door, you are first faced with Swyre Head. This is Swyre head....
Hundreds of insane metres of shitty climb, strong gusts of wind and treacherous steps that leave you panting like a rabid dog.
Next came an ankle breaking descent and immediately into climbing Bat's Head. This is Bat's Head... a 45 Degree angle of pure 'joy' that chews you to pieces by the time you reach it's peak when you have run so far already.
The angle is dangerous and difficult and I was grateful for dry conditions. Some people had to do this in the Dark, having not reached this point until late into the evening!!
Then you get a small relief on a very tricky downhill into the last of the three monster climbs to White Nothe.... which looks like this...
Once I'd reached the top and looked back This was what I saw, and it sank in what I'd just put myself through all the way from the furthest peak in the distance (top left of the picture) in this section of the course. That was only about 1/10 of the total distance, but it holds a savagery to it that lives forever in the mind.
All the suffering was worth that moment. Looking back over the climbs and descents I'd just done in the sunshine was a feeling of amazing accomplishment. This is the single moment I love most about this course. That 'look at what I just did' moment. It never goes away and always gives you a pure reminder of how strong you are. Next was the descent into Osmington Mills at 50km, running the 4km downhill stretch in the afternoon sun... and it was stunning.
50Km put to bed at Osmington Mills, and quickly seeing Graham who was treating himself to an ice cold beer at the pub there, next came lots of steps to climb as we made our way to Weymouth and the 58Km (Halfway?) stop.
Halfway was a very different experience for me than previous challenges. Graham had been busy with his camp cook up of my evening meal of rice, chicken and tomato passata (with lots of salt and sugar). It tasted like ass, but was exactly what I needed from real food in that moment. I only ate about half a standard dinner portion, but it was perfect. The last two times I reached this point my stomach was in distress. The effort to reach this point is extraordinary and leaves so many people feeling sick as a dog.
Not this time. I'd nailed my nutrition for this challenge. I knew it. I had energy, I didn't have the sense that I'd shit myself at any given moment (like I've had on just about every challenge I've taken on). My feet were blistered in the heat and had swollen considerably, and the downhills had already battered my big toe which had gone beyond sore to just totally numb (I'm gonna lose that toenail for sure).
But I felt good and turned that stop with dinner around after just changing socks, reloading my pack, changing my shirt, pulling on thermal base layer and jacket for the long night stretch ahead. I was good to go... and I knew I'd finish this thing.
And then the dark set in. ...And then came the rain.
The next stop at Wyke Regis was short, and a simple refuel which then sent me into the badlands of Lulworth Ranges. Thunder, lightning and rain came down. This was a pitch black stretch of road and trail with a couple of hills that felt like they would last forever. And then we met the stiles...On very tired legs. I spent much of this stretch entirely alone. Just me and the head torch and the rain.
This is what I saw for the next few hours...
This journey through the dark is where the mental challenge kicks into gear. Not a soul for hours. No view, no points of reference. Just endless one foot in front of the next. Grateful for no hallucinations this time, it was just a matter of keeping putting one foot after the other, and concentrating very hard on uneven surfaces on which you lose depth perception due to only having the headtorch. The dark at this point can be long. It can be lonely. Doubts you have kick in and the voice attached to it speaks louder. It's pervasive and can throw your resolve if you are not careful. The only way to deal with this when alone is to simply bite down, move forward and be relentless. Speed is irrelevant when alone in the dark. Constant Terminator like forward movement is what matters.
The stiles that came as the trail become muddy were obscene. 80km in and you have to climb 5 feet to get over these stone monstrosities, and jump 4 feet down to get off. They were utter bastards. These were the parts that finished me and my feet off last year. They were not going to do that to me again. No f*cking way. I had blisters aplenty, but I was trundling ever forward. Resolute, stoic and focusing on beating this thing. The scariest moment came along the final high ridge before the 84km rest stop at Abbotsbury. The trail was very narrow with 50 foot sheer drop less that two feet from the trail. It was rainy. It was windy. It was muddy... and it was pitch black.
The guy in front of me slipped on tired legs and mud, and lurched off to the cliffside. His left foot slipped over the edge, and somehow the guy jammed his pole in a bush growing on the side of the cliff. Looking off to the side all you could see looking down was black. He fell over and despite securing himself from dropping 50 feet by landing face down on the mud, I still dived forward to grab his shoulder and pack strap to secure him while he got up. I was relieved. He was grateful. He was also wearing shitty footwear with little grip for the trail. That could have ended very badly, but luckily didn't. It's simple... if it's trail then you need footwear with grip.
Having warned him of the tricky descent to the next rest stop, I made my way down in the rain. It was slippery and muddy but my mighty Speedgoats and running poles got me down safely.
The rain was torrential by this point so I made a judgement call to stay 30 minutes longer than I wanted to at this stop to wait for it to ease up. The rain had slowed things up on the last leg, so I would have had to push dangerously hard to get inside 24hrs because of this. The conditions would have made that target tricky and more miserable. It would have burned me out too fast. I was good with my decision. All I cared about was the finish and knew that I would..
Next was the penultimate leg. A 12km stretch of the challenge that included an 8km stretch of pure misery... welcome to Chesil Beach.
A pure shingle beach that greets you around 86km and decides it's going to steal the little soul you have left by this stage. It was pitch black when starting this stretch and sunrise as I was finishing it. The crunching of stones with each step grates on you. But I powered on, and got through it. It was nasty. It was soul destroying, but it was mine. I reached the final rest stop at Burton Bradstock in better spirits than I'd imagined. Nature reminded me of my body's response to challenge by sending me to the portaloo for a well needed sit down ahead of the final 6km stretch. That final stretch was two aggressive hills and one of the maddest steep descents I can remember, into West Bay.
The final couple of KM to the finish line was tough but I finished running most of the last Km and received a well earned medal and opportunity to put my battered feet up.
I was tired, but I was happy. I had a cry as I came over the finish in just over 25hours. It meant a HUGE amount to me to do this as a runner. More so after my DNF last year, and in light of the injury issues I had all the way through my training block and even going into the start line. It means something special. It says something special. It really is something special.
My watch tracked 100km in 25hrs and 23 minutes. I placed 222 out of 2674 total starters
I had burned 28,000 calories and had put 140,000 steps through my legs carrying a pack in a single sitting. My heart rate never came below 140 bpm and i had covered 100km and 8000 feet of climbs and descent. 33% of challengers were chewed up and had been eaten by this course... but they were all winners. Each and every one. The courage to even get to the start of something like this is immense. The truth I've found out is most people can do the same as I just have, but it's not the challenge itself that people fear. It's the consistent commitment and effort over time that doing something like this demands. But I can say that it is worth it when you do. This moment showed me this. All it takes is the courage to do the work to get to that start line. Make it to that point and you've already won. The successful finish is simply the icing on the cake. 48 years old, still carrying injury, still much heavier than I'd like... but finished. For me, at the age, condition, build, fitness, injuries, etc this is especially significant. I should not be able to do something like this. Only 4 years ago, I never thought i could or should even attempt it.
I was wrong.
Given how I started this challenge... I'll take that result, and be especially proud of it. 100km in 25 hours on such a monstrous route is something I will be forever proud of. Many people will be bored of hearing about what I'm up to. And I don't care. It's easy to just think of such a challenge as a single day, but there is an unspeakable amount of work, effort, commitment and emotion involved when you start from zero. I can't tell you how far beyond, or different to, something like a marathon/etc it is. But the truth of it is most people can do something like this, as this blog demonstrates. It just requires the will and effort to put the work in. That's what this blog is in part about. The journey. It's the fruition of seeing all that come together on one day, among all the hardship and setbacks that makes it mean something. It's the knowing that you are prepared to go so far beyond most people's comfort zones, as well as your own' to do something remarkable. I swore that I'd never do that 100km again while at the final rest stop... Now I'm not so sure ;-) Next up is the Mother of all Challenges... 300km. This next challenge is the apex of everything I'm doing, and likely the biggest challenge I will ever undertake. It's insane to think that what I just completed in one of the hardest 100km Ultramarathons in the UK was a 'training run'. But it is part of the journey from zero to 300km that I am on. Time to see it through.... Thanks for reading....
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