Genesis
Taking part in this iconic British race has
been three or four years in the making. I had been surfing the internet and
came across a highly entertaining (and inspiring) account of James Adam’s race across
America, from Los Angeles to New York. The GUCR had been his first major long
ultra, and his review of it sparked a desire – as it has, apparently, with so many others – to
compete in it. It wasn’t just the challenge of the distance – 145 miles, 233km
– but also the low-key, almost tribal atmosphere that seemed to characterize
this race.
But between right time, right mind-set, and
a willingness to face my fears, take the plunge and commit to structured
training for the first time ever (and more than I’d ever done), it took a while
before I finally put my name in the hat. And it got pulled out!
I had just started a new job, and the more
I thought about it, the more 233km just seem too daunting for me to tackle on
my own. So, for the first time, I asked for professional help. I have my friend
Anthony to thank for that. Actually, since I was working with Anthony when I
first read James Adam’s blog, he has followed my wavering about the GUCR from
the start – but he claims he always knew I would do it, and I believe him. In
fact, I think that’s in some measure why I ended up signing up for it: Anthony
helped me realize that I really did want to do it, and believe that I could.
So French running coach Bruno Heubi drafted
a 20-week training plan starting in January Just over 5h/week at the beginning,
ending with several weeks at 9-11h. I stuck to the program 97% (it’s not that I love numbers, but
the plan was to run five days a week for 20 weeks, and I missed three days, so
it’s quite easy to figure out) and arrived in Birmingham feeling ready. I have
my amazing wife (and a lot of early morning runs) to thank for the fact that it
didn’t put too much strain on family affairs.
And Anthony was there, which was a
priceless boost. I have a hard time being away from the family for a race – the
selfishness of it really get to me (though it does fade during the race, it can
come back to haunt me if the going gets tough). We drove up together from London
in his dad’s car (in horrendous traffic), registered at the Travelodge, ate a "last meal" at
O’Neil’s pub (steak and ale pie!). Anthony and I marveled at the fact there we
were here in Birmingham after more than three years talking about it, I pointed
out a few GUCR hoodies and Spartathlon T-shirts worn by other running pub
patrons also having their last meal (and, for many, pint). Then I tucked in for a relatively
early night. My past 10 days or so of melatonin and homeopathic sleep spray worked
its wonders and I had the best pre-race night’s sleep I’ve ever had.
I was running unsupported. Having flown
over from Zurich, Anthony was mainly there for (absolutely essential) moral
support, though he would supply me with water and some food items (English
novelties for me) that were amazing in breaking the monotony of my own food. To
tie me over between check points, I’d packed an assortment of gels, jellies,
fruit purée, cheese and salami in seven plastic baggies that I could recover
from my drop bag at each checkpoint. I was a bit wary of the salami sticks and
Babybel cheese, since they’d been stuck in my bags the day before for a
five-hour, traffic-laden trip from Heathrow to Birmingham in sweltering heat.
But after the first few went down ok, with no stomach problems, I figured I was
safe.
Birmingham to Heart of England Pub (53 miles/85km)
Birmingham to Heart of England Pub (53 miles/85km)
I’d broken the race into three parts, not
only for strategic reasons but because I found it impossible to think of the
full distance of 145 miles. The first would be to checkpoint 4 at mile 53 (km
85), Heart of England pub, slightly more than 1/3rd of the way,
which I hoped to cover in about 10.5-11 hours; then Grand Junction Arms at the
100-mile (actually 99.8) mark (160km) in 23-25h; then I would have at least 20
hours to cover the last 45 miles. My idealistic A goal was sub-36, and that
depended on arriving at Grand Junction in good form; the more realistic B goal
was sub-40; and of course finishing was key, no matter what the time. I could
not DNF this race.
The plan was to start out at about 8.4km/h,
mixing in about a minute of walking every quarter hour, starting at hour 2,
with only short breaks at the first three checkpoints, to end up with an
average speed of just under 8km/h and arrive at this first milestone in about
10.5 hours. The problem is that I’d only realized a few days before that the
course was in miles! These pacing numbers in miles meant nothing to me. Ok, I
figured that 8.4km/h was 11:15-11:30 mn per mile, but once I factored in the
walking and the breaks, I was lost! Well, I solved that by reverting to just checking
average speed, since I knew 8km/h was 5mph, so anything above that in the first
third good going. Once I’d managed that complex math problem, I called my wife
to wish her a happy birthday and ensure that the flowers I’d ordered the day
before had arrived (they had, definite brownie points).
The plan worked to a T, at first. After
almost wandering off along another branch of the canal within the first few
miles, I arrived at the first checkpoint at Catherine de Barnes (10.7
miles/17km) in two hours and just scoffed a few Jaffa cakes and refilled my
water bottles before moving on. There were two sporadic rain showers, but I put
away my waterproof jacket after the first one since I realized it wasn’t going
to be a big deal and it was nice and warm out, with a breeze that made the heat
bearable. I hit CP2 (22.5 miles/36km) at Hatton Locks at just around 10.30am,
also right on schedule. Had a banana, orange squash (hmm, love being in a
different country for a race, nice change of pace at the food stations), and
then got really confused about the time, momentarily thinking my average pace
(11:27/mile) was the time and wondering how I managed to be an hour behind
schedule when my average speed was above 5 miles an hour. Oh, boy, less than 5 hours
in and I can’t read my watch right (too much data and too many screens on my
Garmin). I did remember to refill my water bottles, which was a good thing
since in the entire race I only managed to spot one water tap – and my key
wouldn’t work!
I was playing leapfrog with Jim, a friendly
guy displaying an Australian flag on his backpack, who was suffering a bit from
inflamed Achilles’ tendon. I left him at this point chatting with a friend he’d
caught up with and moved on ahead. I also exchanged a few words with another
runner, Simon, whom I’d cross paths with again later in the race. The big
difference in this race compared to mountain runs is that because it is flat,
everyone seemed to have a real pacing strategy, and since this entailed a bit of walking at
different times, you never really ran alongside anyone for very long. Tends to
cut conversations short, like “well, I had bloody awful weather at the CCC in
2010 and [beep, beep, Garmin watch alert] – oh, right off you go/ah, time for
me to walk, catch up later...”
I was still pretty much on target when I
arrived at Birdingbury Bridge (CP3, 36 miles, 58km), where I met up with
Anthony for the first time. I enjoyed a bowl of beans for lunch and headed out after
a bit of banter with a hot dog in hand. I also plugged into some music for the
first time. I do that in spurts – sometimes it really boosts my mood, sometimes
it takes my mind off things and sometimes it just
gets annoying so I switch it off to enjoy the relative silence… In this case, I
went through a real “purple spot” where I had to rein in my enthusiasm not to
start running too fast and the music provided the perfect backdrop. The sun was
shining, the route along the canal was as picturesque as I had imagined, and I
ambled along like that for a while, trying to remember to put in some marching
minutes to save energy for later. It was at that point I remembered a passage
from James Adam’s book, Running and Stuff,
where he describes his start at his first Spartathlon, when other competitors
who had run it before treated him a bit like a happy Labrador who has no idea the
walk in the woods is actually a trip to the vet. I wondered if that wasn’t what
was going on now: I’m having my bouncy Labrador moment, just before the shit hits the fan.
![]() |
Yes, that's a hill! |
Well, the shit didn’t exactly hit the fan
but obviously the moment wasn’t going to last. Before Braunston Locks my
running pace slowed slightly and I started to walk a minute every 9 instead of
14. I’d planned that in any case after CP4 and figured this could happen
before, but this was still earlier than expected. I was slowed even further
when we hit the only hill on the course around mile 44 as we leave the canal
for the only significant time– and it felt like one, though the picture hardly
shows any incline!
My morale sank a bit. But then at the bottom of
the hill, I saw Anthony next to his car, which was a welcome sight! I sat down
for 5mn and unloaded some unneeded gear from my backpack. I also gave up my
front water bottles which were bruising my ribs – that never happened even
during 42 hours at the Swiss Irontrail, but I suppose there’s another
difference about running on an almost consistently flat surface. I would rely
only my back water pouch, hoping that would be enough to see between
checkpoints. Anthony gave me a Monster energy drink and chilled coffee. It seemed a bit early (about 3pm) for caffeine,
but what the hell, I needed a boost. It worked too: I headed off in better
spirits, walked some more uphill along a road for a quarter of a mile, before
heading back into the forest and the security of the canal. In hindsight, I
should have appreciated this escape beyond the canal limits more, since by the
following morning I would sometimes feel trapped by the high bushes and trees
that lined the canal and made it impossible to see anything of the outside
world. Everything was restricted to water, barges and locks. Always beautiful, but
sometimes I felt like I was running in circles along the same track…
I made it to CP4 at Heart of England (53
miles, 85km) around 5pm, so at the slower end of my schedule but still moving
at just under 8km/h (4.8mph) with walking breaks every 10mn. I spent almost
half-hour here – I had planned a longer rest, to get my stuff sorted (and
pierce a blister that had appeared on the middle left toe), drink some tea, eat
some canned fruit (mmm, another delicious novelty I wish they could import to
races in Switzerland and France), tomatoes and a few other things that would
make my eyes light up (if it looks good, my body must need it). I changed my
socks and off I went, calling my wife for the second time that day (it was,
after all, her birthday!).
Heart
of England Pub to Grand Junction Arms (100 miles/160km)
The wheels came off a little sooner than
expected. I was still feeling ok and morale was high, but I just couldn’t
manage so much running, so I was soon at 8mn run/2mn walk and then even 7/3,
and my pace was slipping towards 4.5mph. But the running pace was rather
consistent, and the walk was brisk, and mainly I still felt good, so I wasn’t
too bothered.
Suddenly my phone beeps – i pull it out of
my waist pack and read a text from Anthony, “Drinking a pint with James Adams”.
Go figure. I was only about 20-30mn out, but I never did actually get the
opportunity to say thanks to James in person for introducing me to this
incredible race. I realize now that as much as his and others’ race reviews
attempt to convey the special atmosphere of this race, it still impossible to
grasp what exactly sets it apart. I can’t explain it either. There’s just
something about it…
Anyway. I reached CP5 at Navigation Bridge
(70.5 miles, 113km) on schedule (more or less at this point) around 9.45pm. The
checkpoint was on a bridge we had to cross over, under a dark tarpaulin with
almost no lighting. I didn’t mind much, I just huddled in a far corner to keep
out of the breeze that was chilling me now that night had fallen. A kind volunteer
immediately brought my drop bag, then tea, porridge and a bunch of other food
items I now forget. I used my headlamp to fish out a new food baggie of my own
for the next leg, my vest and sleeves from the drop bag.
With my stuff sorted, I was ready to go
within 15mn so I was pleased. I’d been hearing Anthony’s voice for a while and
had called a few times with no response, and it was only when I crossed the
road to meet up with him that I remembered that only volunteers and runners are
allowed at the checkpoint at Navigation Bridge, everyone else has to stay on
the other side, mainly inside the pub, completely taken over by crew, great
atmosphere.
Anthony and I went inside – not sure what
the original reason was, I think he wanted to give me more coffee, but I’d
taken a caffeine pill (made in USA, a blue thing that looked like Viagra and
was probably nearly as strong, not that I’ve taken Viagra though someone did
try to get me to take it at Burning Man – funny when I think about all the
stuff I did take back then but it’s Viagra that had me worried – that was in
2002, by the way… Anyway, I digress). So I was good, but think I drank a very
tasty iced coffee anyway.
I also checked the blister on my middle
left toe, and it didn’t look good (but didn’t feel bad either, so no worries).
Another had formed. I couldn’t find my lighter so I just popped it with the
safety pin without disinfecting it and luckily that didn’t come back and haunt me later. Anthony cobbled some form of taping for it, and I was done – now my
turn to apologize to the pub patrons sitting right next to me for the gruesome
sight.
Spent an additional 10-15mn but it was
definitely worth it. I headed off into the night with the usual chills coming
out of the pub. I almost went the wrong way following a runner who was actually
going to the car park to meet up with his crew. I had momentarily forgotten
that I was supposed to be following a canal... I soon got back on track and
within about 15mn was warm enough to take off the jacket.
Shortly afterwards, a guy running in the
opposite direction quickly informed me that there was a competitor sleeping by
the towpath and not to wake her up. I came across her about five minutes later
and I’m glad he warned me, but I did wonder why he hadn’t stayed with her or put
up a “do not disturb sign” (though how he could have done that, I don’t know –
maybe that’s why he was running back to Navigation Bridge; at that point my
functioning brain cells were mainly involved in anything immediately
race-related), because if he hadn’t warned me I would in all good conscience have
had to stop and see at least if she was breathing ok.
It was pitch black beyond my
headlamp spotlight, and time started to dilate. I enjoy night running in that
respect, my whole relationship with the race experience shifts, becomes
internalized. You find yourself alone with your thoughts, dreams and demons –
ooh, and that’s when the shit really hit the fan. Shortly after Milton Keynes, my legs
suddenly screamed at me. I had bad flashbacks to the Ultra Tour de Léman where
I just ground to a halt after about 130km, and this was just about the same
distance. Back then in September, I just couldn’t face another 45km. Here I
had another 100! But Anthony had given up his weekend for me, I’d woken up too
early on too many mornings for this race, imagined it on and off for several
years, I’d travelled from Switzerland to compete in it, so I put myself in
solution mode, which I’d failed to do at the UTL , and avoided coming up with
very good reasons why I couldn’t continue. Also, since the fact that the race fell on my wife's birthday had escaped my attention when submitting my application, my wife had said that if I didn't come home with a medal, I'd find my bags packed on the doorstep... She was joking, of course, but jokes always from somewhere...
So as soon as I came across a break in the
hedges and undergrowth lining the towpath that opened onto a small park, I
found a friendly tree to put my legs up against to hopefully relieve some of the fatigue. At least, that was the plan.
My quads were so tight I couldn’t crouch. Hmm. I did actually stop to ponder
how I was going to get from standing up to lying down. Finally I just sort of flopped
down sideways, then edged up to the tree so I could elevate my legs. I set my
timer for 10mn just in case I fell asleep – but I needn’t have worried with all
the caffeine. However, I did start shivering now that I wasn’t moving. Bother!,
so I had to remove my windbreaker from my backpack which was making a nice
pillow. I got bored after about 5mn and something did the trick. Once I managed
to get up (imagine a beetle or a turtle on its back trying to right itself), I
ambled off in a little less pain and slightly more confident. I think mainly
that I found the whole episode – thankfully not witnessed by anyone – so silly
but so much part of what I love about ultra running, that amusement overcame
any possible sense of despondency. I even managed to keep up something close to
a 7 km/h (4.3mp) pace; less than originally planned but I was good
with that.
I arrived at Water Eaton, checkpoint 6, at
about 2am, so already nearly 1h30mn off schedule, but the schedule was for an
ambitious 36-hour finish and at this point I was going for “best effort”. I
spent about 20mn gathering my wits, chatted with a Belgium guy who was on his 6th participation
and hoping for a 3rd finish, and with another great volunteer who
reeled off a list of things I might like to eat like I was at a five-star
restaurant. He lived in Leighton Buzzard but originally from Brazil, which I’m
glad he specified because I was beginning to think that the local accent was
quite exotic, even to my Swiss ears. Anyway, five-star service it was, more
tasty food and drink (coffee, tea,…), and, yes, I’ll admit, a pill of pain
relief. Finally I got moving, just after Simon came plodding in, looking about
as fresh as I felt.
After that it’s something of a blur until
Grand Junction Arms. But a good blur. The legs stopped whining and started
cooperating again. My pace didn’t change much, but at least it was done in
quite high spirits. Made even higher by meeting up with Anthony outside Tesco
at Leighton Buzzard around 3am. Not sure when that man slept, but what a rock!
He also gave me some more delicious morsels to eat and topped up my water, and
just a good energizing chat. I had a middle-of-the-night constitutional, and
found to my relief that I could squat and lift off again (and all the duties in
between) without too much difficulty. I really don’t understand how the body
can feel like it’s about to give up – and then instead of getting worse, things
get better. Then again, I don’t understand how my phone, computer, TV work, and
I don’t let that bother me either - so not letting things that you don't understand bother you is apparently the way to finish an ultra...
I snapped a picture of myself an hour or so
passed dawn, knowing that I would finally complete 100 miles on foot for the
first time in 17 years. And I remembered that picture I took in November 2000
at the Jordan Desert Cup when I passed, at dawn, the 100km mark for the first
time in my life. It was harder back then to get a good selfie with a disposable
35mm film camera.
Shortly afterwards, fatigue hit me like a brick. Some runners feel new energy with dawn – not me. It’s like my body saying, “ok that’s it, you’ve done dinner, pub, night club and after-party – time to go to bed”. I started weaving, barely able to keep my eyes open. Then I saw a bench. Very inviting bench in an absolutely stunning location next to a lock. I set my alarm for 10mn and laid down using my backpack as a pillow. Bliss…
Shortly afterwards, fatigue hit me like a brick. Some runners feel new energy with dawn – not me. It’s like my body saying, “ok that’s it, you’ve done dinner, pub, night club and after-party – time to go to bed”. I started weaving, barely able to keep my eyes open. Then I saw a bench. Very inviting bench in an absolutely stunning location next to a lock. I set my alarm for 10mn and laid down using my backpack as a pillow. Bliss…
I was up before the alarm went off and
after a few seconds trying to catch my bearings, I was off feeling incredibly
refreshed. Well, that might be an exaggeration. Let’s just say that the nap had
the effect of an on-off switch and the desire to sleep was gone, which really
is the best I can ask for.
Around 7am I stumbled into Grand Junction Arms, the most picturesque check point I have ever had the pleasure of stumbling into. This, and the fact of feeling surprisingly rested and reaching 100 miles feeling good might explain why I gave everyone a hearty “good morning”, because it really did feel like one. I know, Grand Junction Arms is not really at 100 miles, but whatever. I still felt very proud, and I’ll take that any day over dark thoughts and moping.
Around 7am I stumbled into Grand Junction Arms, the most picturesque check point I have ever had the pleasure of stumbling into. This, and the fact of feeling surprisingly rested and reaching 100 miles feeling good might explain why I gave everyone a hearty “good morning”, because it really did feel like one. I know, Grand Junction Arms is not really at 100 miles, but whatever. I still felt very proud, and I’ll take that any day over dark thoughts and moping.
Grand Junction Arms to Little Venice (145 miles/233km – FINISH!)
Anthony was there, really not showing any
signs of fatigue, bloody amazing. I changed shirts, ate some porridge and
pretty much whatever I could reach on the table in front of me without getting
out of my chair (hmm, canned tangerines, another delight), once again the recipient
of some amazing volunteer care and attention. (Next time, if there’s a next time,
I should remember to at least ask their names.)
I took off after about a 30mn break, ready
to tackle the long 32km stretch till the next checkpoint. But very quickly I
felt a distinct sense of unease. At this point, with almost 20 hours to cover
the last 45 miles and no particular ailments to complain about, I knew I should
be able to finish - I did get some faint nausea on two occasions but crystallised ginger worked wonders... However, despite being within my predictions for a sub-40h
finish and pretty much hoping to be in the state I was in at this point, now
that I’d reached Grand Junction Arms, I definitely didn’t feel like the race
was in the bag. 70km is still a long way to go, and it was conceivable that
something could happen that would make even plodding it in impossible. Not to
mention that my legs were definitely exhausted, my feet were hurting, and I
knew that nearly two marathons in this state was going to be like a very long session
with my boss: informative and always a learning process, sometimes even empowering, but mainly painful. I really
had to take it one moment at a time and not think of the whole distance left to
cover.
The scenery helped. I gingerly avoided a
swan, having read reports about people getting pecked at. I marveled on two
separate occasions at a heron taking off from the side of the towpath as I
approached (definitely less aggressive than the swans), gliding with
jealousy-inducing ease over the water to the other side. I stopped for an
ice-cream at a boat rental place – unbelievable! I had been very upset at not
seeing the candy boat I’d read so much about in other reviews, so when I
spotted the ice cream sales sign, I didn’t hesitate. I’d carried a few heavy
British pound coins just for this.
The
sun was shining bright in a California blue sky, and though it was not only
warm but also humid, I preferred that to rain. Compared to the previous day,
there was also a lot more life on the towpath. Yesterday was all about the
boats drifting down the canal – families, boy scouts, couples – or
beer-drinking and barbeques on parked boats. On Sunday, there were cyclists,
joggers (please notice my race bib as you rush past!) and families out for a
stroll on the path. A lot more life, but not always very relaxing, especially
with the bikes.
It was around this time that I started to feel trapped. As beautiful as the scenery was, the sides of the canal were often bordered by high trees or, even more tantalizing, hedges that reached just high enough to prevent me from seeing any of the surrounding landscape. I welcomed a break in the hedges, locks that opened up the view to rolling, sheep-filled pastures as much as a maximum-security prisoner enjoys his hour stroll in the prison yard.
I was slowing down too. Running was rare
and in spurts, and my walking pace was almost a plod. I tried listening to music
but, as often when I am in this state, I would aggravate me more than take my
mind off things. But I think that having realized at Grand Junction Arms that
the race was far from over enabled me to stave off any downward spiraling
negativity. I started doing some pacing math, which usually is a bad idea but
in this case helped. I figured that if I could maintain a pace of 3.3mph/5.2kph,
I could finish under 40 hours.It was around this time that I started to feel trapped. As beautiful as the scenery was, the sides of the canal were often bordered by high trees or, even more tantalizing, hedges that reached just high enough to prevent me from seeing any of the surrounding landscape. I welcomed a break in the hedges, locks that opened up the view to rolling, sheep-filled pastures as much as a maximum-security prisoner enjoys his hour stroll in the prison yard.
That became my goal and I started speeding
up and immediately felt better. What also helped was that I had been slowly
moving up in the “rankings”. I knew I had been passing other participants, and
hadn’t been passed by anyone since Leighton Buzzard, but I hadn’t realized
quite how well I’d been doing. It’s not the competition aspect of gaining
places that buoyed my spirits so much as the fact that, after 17 years of ultra-running,
I’d finally not gone out too fast and was now reaping the benefits. So
apparently as slow as I felt I was plodding on, everyone else was in the same
boat.
Anthony met me near Berkamsted Bridge,
which was a huge welcome break to the long
stretch between checkpoints. With each step and I could taste that medal, I
just wished I could move faster...
Then:
- Arrived at Springwell Lock somewhere between 1-2pm; in any case still on target for sub-40h.
- Anthony’s dad had joined him on this lark, taking the dog out for a Sunday stroll. Possibly the strangest way to meet a friend’s parent, but he took it all in stride. It was nice to have some company for a few hundred yards, which Anthony and his dad did on a couple of occasions after Springwell Lock.
- Changed shirts again.
- A few chafing issues difficult to resolve with additional cream and there was no area to hide decently. I dealt with that after leaving the check point as soon as I found a secluded spot. Difficult with all the Sunday public on bank holiday weekend.
- Ate an amazing bacon, baked beans and egg sandwich. That’s why I came to England to do an ultra. Sadly, I sort of stalled before the end and had to toss away about a quarter, to the utter dismay of the kind volunteer who had made it for me.
- Tried another catnap after Springwell Lock, but got interrupted by a woman on a barge asking me if I was alright. I said yes, just tired, been running/walking a long time. “Yes, from Birmingham, right? Been seeing you guys go by all day”. Well, if you know, why did you wake me up?! She was very kind otherwise. So was her husband, originally from New York, who appeared extremely pleased about his life on an English canal boat far from Manhattan. Who could blame him?
And so still managing what I felt was a
pretty decent walking pace with some sporadic running, I made it to the
left-hand canal turn and the GUCR famous sign-post “Paddington, 131/2
miles”. I didn’t visibly weep, but tears were flowing inside. Finally all the
fear of not finishing vanished. My feet to my shins hurt like hell at every
step (I could no longer feel my quads) and I just wanted to end. I wanted the
medal and the finish, but I couldn’t contemplate the prospect of the next 3-4
hours of pain that the finish required. I kept having to tell that of me to
shut up and let me get on with it.
Soon after the turn and just before the
final checkpoint at Harborough Tavern – under a graffitied bridge vaguely
smelling of urine – the volunteers are saints – I am welcomed by a man who I’d
seen at various moments since the very first checkpoint. Wearing the same
clothes, which evidently meant he’d been following the race without sleep just
to help man the checkpoints and encourage everyone along. God bless him. He
asks me if I’m ok, and I just break out in a huge grin – hurting, sure, but
fuck I’m going to finish, how can I not feel great! He walked me into the
checkpoint as we chatted, and I asked if he’d done the race. “A few times”, he
says modestly. “What’s your name?” I ask, finally remembering social niceties.
“Pat,” he says. I guess I had a few brain cells left, because I realized it was
Pat Robbins, who’s won the GUCR several times and held the course record until
last year. I asked him how he was able to run it so fast, and he just modestly
responded that he didn’t know how the guys winning last year and this year are
able to do it in under 24h or thereabouts. Well, yes, I guess we all have our
own reference points. Anyway, I promised him I wouldn’t blab about this
incredible race so that it doesn’t get run over by foreigners, but I have been
unable to keep my mouth shut. But no worries, it’s not like I have a huge fan
following.
So that’s about it. It started pouring down
just as I got to the checkpoint, and I’d put my rain jacket in my dropbag (“ah,
I’m done, let’s pack everything away!”) and there’s no dropbag at the last
checkpoint. But incredible and resourceful Sandhurst-graduate Anthony met up
with me with a cut-out garbage bag, which tied me over perfectly until the sun
came out again not long after. I said goodbye to Anthony, since he had to
return to his dad’s place before flying out the next morning for work in Paris.
Difficult to express the depth of my gratitude at that moment. For sure we’d
shared an incredible experience, and not sure I would have made it without his
unfailing presence. Or if I had, it would have been with far darker moments and
doubts. We did this race together.
Shortly after leaving the checkpoint, I was
caught up with Simon! Aside from one half-hearted attempt to jog, we basically
just walked as best we could. Didn’t even feel like a death march because I did
feel like I was giving it all at that point just to put one foot in front of
the other. And so we chatted for over three hours, about our respective
experiences over the previous 36 hours, past and future races, home life, and
other stuff.
And then Little Venice came into view. Finally, the FINISH! 39h23mn, and a medal that completely lived up to expectations. After that... Well, I succeeded so well in splitting the race up into smaller chunks that I still can't wrap my head around the full number of 145 miles, 233km. I love it!
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