John Muir Way Ultra: Race Report (with swears)

Before I go any further, let me first say:  I am now officially an ultra runner.  I finished the 50k JMW Ultra in a few minutes under the cut-off time of 7 hours and, if just finishing a race of this length counts as a success, then I was indeed successful.  And I have the medal to prove it.  However, it wasn't the race that I wanted to have and, while I am feeling more positive about the experience today, I'm still a bit demoralised and am questioning whether I really have it in me to take on the 100k distance at the end of May.  So, without further delay, let the whingeing commence....

My fears about the weather proved accurate.  According to the Met Office, the wind on the day ranged from 20-24mph, with gusts to 30+mph.  The windchill was -2 to -4.  Fortunately, the predicted snow never happened nor did the torrential rain, but there was enough intermittent rain in the first half in particular to thoroughly soak everyone.  I  judged my choice of running kit appropriately:  full-length windproof tights; technical t-shirt; mid-layer; an additional third layer; lightweight waterproof/windproof jacket; winterweight headband/ear warmer; fleece gloves; buff.  It sounds like a lot of clothes, but I never once felt overheated.

The weather was so foul at the start that we skipped the traditional pre-race photo and just huddled like penguins in a group for warmth while waiting for things to get going.  The first four miles or so mostly ran along very narrow sandy trails above the beach.  I ran in a patient queue, going at the pace of the runner in front, which suited me as it meant that I wasn't tempted to go out too quickly (plus the person in front of me served as a wind break).  I quickly realised that I needed to adapt my run/walk plan as the narrow paths meant that there was no safe way to disengage myself from the running queue, but I was proud of myself for staying calm about needing to wait for my walking opportunities.  I took my first walk break at 40 minutes or so, and then only for a couple of minutes before the wider path returned to a narrow one.  Over the whole 50k, between narrow paths, congestion, and terrain issues, the regular run/walks that I practiced in training never really happened.

Between miles 5 and 10, there were tarmac and roadside footpaths but also some lovely woodland paths to give the legs a break.  So far, so uneventful.  It would have been gorgeous on a nice day but the wind and rain meant that I had my hood up a lot of the time so only really saw what was directly in front of me.  My legs were feeling the effort of running into the wind but I was happy with how I was holding up.  Between miles 10 and 18ish, we ran through fields along what looked like sheep tracks (and where the woman in front of me caught her foot in a tussock and landed in an awkward heap on the ground, breaking her finger in the process), along woodland trails (nice and springy underfoot), through the side streets of North Berwick (amazing houses), and along the beach through huge deep swathes of seaweed to the North Berwick RNLI station, where there was a sheltered aid station.  I stopped briefly for a pee (which I didn't actually need, which made me realise that I probably wasn't drinking enough) and some banana and some of my energy bar but I was so wet and frozen at that point that I had to start running again just to keep myself warm.

We could see this from miles & miles away.

It took me a couple of miles to warm up and to get my legs moving freely again.  Fortunately (or not, depending on your point of view), the next section included some steepish uphill tarmac paths through the woods and I was okay again by the end of the climb.  The route returned briefly to pavement before heading onto a path that skirts around the bottom of North Berwick Law.  The race organisers have been trying to get permission to take the route to the top of the Law but so far have been unsuccessful.  Such a shame.


The route then went through part of Balgone Estate (roughly miles 20-23ish), which apparently is very beautiful on a sunny and dry day.  On a very rainy day, after several previous days of rain, it was a fucking nightmare.  Mud, mud, and more mud.  Ankle deep mud that threatened to suck my shoes from my feet.  Clingy, sticky mud that made my shoes look twice their size and that weighed my legs down.  Mud that clogged up the treads in my shoes so that I had no traction whatsoever.  Mud that was so deep and unpleasant along the path that we had to avoid it by making our way across the muddy hillside, hanging onto branches and bushes in an attempt to keep from sliding down into the morass.  Running felt impossible, and walking was barely manageable.  I hated it.  I hated every single solitary step of it.  I just wanted to cry and, if I had been alone, I would have.  But misery loves company and there were four of us at this point who had been overlapping each other, and we supported each other through the worst of it.  At the end of this stretch, there was another aid station and I stopped for a brief stretch and a drink (I tried Active Root, a ginger-based sports drink, which was really really really nice) while the others carried on.  The volunteers at the station told me that there were a number of runners who had emerged with torn tights and gashes in their legs from falling, so I feel fortunate that I escaped that section with just tired legs.

And bloody hell, were my legs tired.  The slow walking, the effort that it took to unstick my feet from the gloopy mud, and probably the cumulative effect of running into a headwind for the first 15 miles had taken their toll.  Miles 23-26 took in some tarmac (hurrah!), paths through farm fields (hurrah - not muddy, just wet!), and Drylaw Hill (not hurrah; the last thing that my legs wanted was a bloody hill to climb, so I walked.  Very slowly.  It took me 10 minutes, but I got to the top.  Eventually.)  I was alternating short periods of running with short periods of walking.  It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fast, but I didn't stop.  I had forgotten that I had some ShotBloks with caffeine with me - idiot! - so took some in the hope that they would give me enough energy to get the rest of the way.

The aid station at mile 26.2 was most welcome, and I had some more Active Root drink and chatted with the guy who developed it, who was helping to man the station - turns out that we have a friend in common so we caught up on her exploits and I had a bit of cake before I remembered that I had a race to finish.  I asked how many miles to go, expecting to be told four, because I had been operating on the assumption that 50k=30 miles.  Oh, how wrong I was.  Apparently 50k=31 miles. You'd think that an extra mile would be neither here nor there, but when you've been basing all of your finishing time calculations on 30 miles it feels like the end of the world.  Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.  Off I trotted, with that bloody cake sitting very badly in my tummy.

By this time, I could feel the caffeine from the ShotBloks doing its thing.  Which would have been excellent, except that the mud returned.  Not continuously, but for the next two miles it seemed that every time I started to get a rhythm going, mud appeared.  I did try to run through it but after a couple of times of skidding, doing the splits, and pinwheeling my arms to try to stay upright, I made the decision to walk instead.  It just felt too risky given that I am majorly uncoordinated and unsteady at the best of times.

There was a marshal at the '5k to go' point and I had a brief moment of optimism - it's just a parkrun, I could still feel the caffeine in my system, and my legs felt like they would have been happy to run.  But no.  The last 5k was another nightmare.  Mud, mud, and more mud, this time on a very narrow coastal path that if I had slipped, meant going into the water.  I was past wanting to cry, but I'm afraid that I did shout major swears every single fucking time that I slipped.  I knew that if I wanted to make it across the finish line in under the cut-off, I needed to get my arse in gear and I had Ben in my head saying exactly that whenever I started to walk.  Again, it wasn't pretty and it wasn't fast, but I got there in the end.  The last 200m was across a muddy and waterlogged field (quelle surprise) but I was NOT going to walk this with folks watching.  I might have been the last one across the line, but I was going to do it running!

And so I did.

This has become too long so I'll leave my reflections on what went well (e.g. I didn't cry) and what didn't (e.g. my nutrition) for another day.  On the one hand, I am disappointed that I was so slow.  On the other hand, I did my first ultra in conditions that even the race organisers described as brutal.  So maybe, just maybe, this can be counted as a success after all.

Proof that I did it!