Reflections on the JMW Ultra

It has taken me almost a week to properly come to terms with my first ultra experience.  For the first couple of days, I felt quite despondent about the whole thing.  It hadn't been fun, there had been parts that I actively despised, and I was back to being one of the slowest runners.  And as for running twice that distance in two months?  Ridiculously out of the question.

However, encouraging (and sensible) words from Bassman, Adam, and various friends and a lengthy post-race discussion with Ben all helped me to put things into perspective and I am feeling more positive now about what I achieved.  I'm very good at identifying what didn't go well, most of which I laid out in the last post, so for a change, here are the good things:

• I didn't cry, even though I wanted to.
• It never crossed my mind to DNF.  Not once.
• I kept moving, even if that pace was just a slow walk. 
• I ran the whole race without my iPod.  If my fingers hadn't been frozen, I might have taken it out of my pocket but as it was, I learned that I can comfortably be in my own head for that length of time.
• Even without the iPod, the time passed really quickly.  I might have been shattered, but I wasn't bored.
• I enjoyed the chats that I had with fellow runners.

And most importantly, I finished with my legs feeling in relatively good shape.  They were stiff and aching immediately afterwards, as one would expect them to be, but within 48 hours all of that had pretty much disappeared.  72 hours post-race, I did a 30-minute recovery run that felt fine.  My post-race massage with Adam was uneventful, with only a slightly tight right calf and lateral hamstring to show for my efforts.  This is a recovery week so the only other run that I have is 60 minutes tomorrow, and I'm certainly feeling ready for it.  Of all of the positives that I could possibly have hoped for from this race, rapidly recovering legs is the best positive of all.

The area where I need to make improvements is hydration and nutrition.  I didn't drink enough and I certainly didn't take on enough calories and, while I did not hit The Wall, this certainly contributed to my lack of energy in the later miles.  Ben thinks that I need to reverse my nutrition strategy and rather than taking gels and quick acting carbs early in the run/race, save them for the later stages when I need to perk up my legs.  Instead, he's recommended eating easily digestible whole foods in the earlier stages when my digestion is still working reasonably efficiently.  He suggested the cookbook Feed Zone Portables, which is recipes for little bites.  I'm willing to give it a go, although I'm more nervous about cooking than I am about running 100k.

Ben said that although London2Brighton will be harder physically, he is confident that it will be much easier mentally because the conditions underfoot and the weather will not be as soul-destroying as those in the JMW.  Maybe, although his track record at predicting good weather is not reassuring ('It's always brilliant weather for the Florence marathon!').  But even if it does turn out to be shit weather, at least I've had a lot of experience at not giving up in the face of it.

I still can't imagine being able to run 2x50k but for at least today, I'm back to being willing to try.

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!

The night before the night before

This time tomorrow, my cough and I will be tucked up in our hotel in Haddington, just a short drive away from the start of the John Muir Way Ultra.  I'm still quite excited about this and aside from worries about my cold, I've stayed fairly positive throughout training.  But now, this close to the start, some anxieties are creeping in.

First, there's the weather.  Depending on whether one looks at BBC Weather or the Met Office, the forecast for Saturday includes 13-17mph wind (with gusts to 25-30mph), 30%-50% chance of rain, and 3-5 degree temps.  With the windchill, that takes it into minus numbers.  Sigh.   Once, just once, I'd like to run a race in reasonable weather.

Second, the adverse weather has thrown up all sorts of issues about what to wear.  My shoe choice has been made (Saucony Excursions) but everything else is up for debate.  Waterproof jacket?  If yes, the winter-weight one or the lighter spring one? Long tights or capris?  If long tights, compression vs windstopper vs the ones that make me look thinner?  Base layer is sorted, but the mid-layer will depend on which jacket I choose and whether I actually think I'll be wearing the jacket or just carrying it in case it rains heavily.  Old hydration vest, with its sticking zips and lack of pockets on the front but very broken in, or new hydration vest with lots of pockets in the front but which I've only worn for two one-hour runs.  And then there's the different versions of  the buff, ear warmer headbands, and gloves....good thing that I'm driving down, as I'm leaning towards emptying my running drawer into the boot and making a final decision on Saturday morning.

And finally, it looks like there may be navigational challenges.  My understanding was that the route stuck to the well-signed John Muir Way, but apparently it deviates in places to avoid town centres and to give more time on the trails.  The route notes are along the lines of 'Turn left at the third toadstool; follow the trail to the secret door in the hidden wall; take the next turning through the graveyard whilst avoiding zombies; and finally turn right before the bridge.  If you cross the bridge, the trolls will get you.'  We've been assured that there will be marshals (with stakes for the vampires, of course) at the more confusing junctions, but I suspect that this whole thing may be more of an adventure than I was expecting.

What a difference a day makes

After yesterday's debacle, I was seriously leaning towards not going for today's 60 minute easy-effort run.  I tried to convince myself that yesterday's performance - or lack thereof - was an indication that I needed more rest but actually, I just was feeling lazy and didn't fancy moving from the sofa.  Because I couldn't think of a good reason to justify taking today off, and because I knew what Ben would say if I tried, I ended up with no choice but to get dressed and get out the door. 

Within five minutes, I was running into a freezing headwind and being pelted with huge heavy raindrops (no idea where they came from; the sun was out when I left the house) and seriously considering taking myself right back home again.  But we ultra runners scoff at bad weather (when we aren't whingeing about it) and besides, I knew that by the time that I got home the sun would be back out so I put my head down and plodded into the storm.

Sure enough, the sun was soon shining again and because I had plotted a route that was not only mostly downhill or flat but also mostly kept the wind at my back, I ended up with a very enjoyable run.  My legs felt back to normal although I suspect that it might have been another story if I had tried to make them run any quicker or if I had been running into the wind for any length of time.  The crushing fatigue that I felt yesterday seemed to have gone, and I only started to cough (but at a much reduced intensity) once I was back home again.  Phew!  It looks like the race might be on after all.

Struck down (sort of) at the final hurdle

I have a cold. 

After months of training - months of SUCCESSFUL training, I might add - and months of doing everything that I possibly can to get myself to the start line in one piece, I have been felled by a bloody cold.  FFS.  I knew from a raging sore throat that it was coming on last week but told myself that if I could just get my last two long runs in, I'd have two weeks in which to recover from any unwellness that was lurking.  And while it's true that there were two weeks, I had forgotten that my colds (and more specifically, the hacking, booming, endless cough that I get with my colds) take forever to resolve. 

One week has passed, in which Ben suggested that I not run until today, and I'm still a coughing machine.  I've coughed so much that I lost my voice for two days and then gave myself a migraine.  I have not, though, cracked a rib like I did several years ago during another violent coughing episode. #gratefulforsmallfavours

As horrible as my cough is, it is not in my chest so I did do today's run, which was meant to be 6x5 minutes with alternating sets of threshold and 10k pace, but I felt for most of it like I just wanted to lie down on the soft grassy verge in the sun and have a nap.  A combination of wind, post-cold lethargy, and sluggish legs from not having run for five days meant that threshold and 10k paces just were not happening, and even a fast jogging pace was a bit of a fantasy.  I was left feeling that if the ultra had been today, I'd have been a DNF.  I've felt so optimistic about this race and today was the first time that I've thought, I'm not going to be able to do it.  And frustratingly, not because of poor training or injury, but a bloody cold.

I'll try to stay focused and try to stay positive - there's still a week to go and surely I'll be a bit perkier by then.  If not....well, let's hope that it's a lovely day for a long walk!

Going strong

I have reached a lot of running milestones during my time being coached by Ben and each one has felt at the time like the Best Thing Ever.  Well, this week surpasses all of the other milestones for sheer unbelievability and wonderfulness.  Wait for it...

I ran 42.09 miles this week.  Me.  The one who could never manage more than 15 miles/week without something popping, snapping, or seizing.  Fuck me.  I have no idea whose legs these are, but I'm not giving them back.

Today's 18 miles (25 minutes running/5 minutes walking) on a hilly off-road route was great.  Even after yesterday's 12 miles, my legs felt fine.  Well, they felt fine up until two hours, when I stopped to have a chat with the owners of two lovely Alsatians.  Unfortunately, my legs interpreted the stop as them being finished and no longer needed, and they were most unhappy at being pressed back into service (especially since there was another hill looming).  It took most of the next hour to convince them to perk up and, while this wasn't exactly comfortable running, I knew that it was just tired legs and that I'd get through it.  And sure enough, after an hour's slogging and trying not to focus on how absolutely bloody tired my glutes, calves, and feet were, it was like a switch was flipped and I suddenly had functioning legs again.  Weird. The last half-hour was back to feeling comfortable, and I even had enough energy to pick up the pace for the last mile. I finished the run feeling strong and capable and positive, and confident that I could have continued on.

So that's it.  My last long runs before the ultra on 31 March.  I'm tempted to spend the next two weeks doing absolutely no running at all - there's no point in risking attracting the attention of the Running Gods at this late stage - but I suspect that Ben would not be supportive of that (although I haven't asked, so who knows?).  However, to show how determined I am to do all that I can to get to the start line in one piece, I will not be wearing heels to my Girls' Night Out in Glasgow tomorrow. 

We ultra runners know the meaning of sacrifice.

Note to self:  Putting a swoosh on them does NOT make them running shoes.

Get out of my way!

My long runs today and tomorrow (2 hours and 3.5 hours, respectively) are the last long runs as I approach the ultra at the end of the month, and I had grand plans of exploring some new routes to celebrate this.  But real life in the form of 20+mph wind and what feels like the start of a cold (why, oh why, oh why do my clients NOT STAY AT HOME when they are unwell????) meant that I sat on the sofa for far too long this morning feeling sorry for myself (cough cough, sniffle sniffle) whilst also perusing multiple weather charts, trying to find somewhere to run that wouldn't result in me being blown off my feet.

I eventually decided that such a place didn't exist in this country and proceeded to 1) moan to Bassman about hating running and saying that I think that it's really quite a ridiculous and pointless thing to do (which made him look askance at me and say that he couldn't believe that it had taken me this long to figure that out); 2) grumbled about how unfair it was that Coach Ben is in the Algarve at the Full Potential warm weather training camp and I have to YET AGAIN go out for a run wearing three layers, gloves, and my ear warmer headband; and 3) huffed my way out the door to do one of my usual road routes, fully intending to hate this run and everything that it stood for. 


Because I expected to just shuffle my way around the route and to walk when I got too irritated by the wind, I made the decision to not look at my pace at all.  No point in demoralising myself even further.  Once I let go of the idea that this was going to be a fun run where I achieved something, I surprised myself by starting to enjoy it.  The wind mostly came at me from the side, aside from between 70-90 minutes when I was running directly into it and 90-120 minutes when I had it at my back, and it felt manageable.  My calf behaved itself.  My breathing was nice and easy.  The sun came out and there were lovely views of the snow-covered hills across the water.  There were some snow flurries.  My legs felt springy and happy.  And I overlapped with Bassman, who was just doing the last section of his own run, for about five minutes half-way through which was a nice surprise.

Bassman asked what pace I was doing and I had no idea, but I glanced at my watch and told him that I had just about completed six miles.  We carried on chatting and running, when it suddenly hit me that six miles in an hour meant....10min/mile pace.  Surely not....I didn't look at my Garmin again until I was almost home, and got the biggest shock when I saw that I was going to be at almost 12 miles at 120 minutes.  I carried on for an extra four minutes just to make the round number, and finished feeling like I could have merrily carried on. 

Just goes to prove - surprise surprise - that what holds me back the most is....well, me.  Sigh.  We'll see if I can manage to get out of my own way again tomorrow.