One day I will write a book about the Spartathlon and me. It
has been a big part of my (running) life since, it seems forever. I do hate
though all these celebs and sporties who write their autobiographies when in
their 20’s when their life has only just begun so maybe I will leave it until
the story has an ending … if it doesn’t already. Or maybe perhaps, I am still just
looking for my story to have a happy ending when it should really be a tragedy.
Anyway, my tale begins long ago, back in in 2003. I’d not
long done my 1st ‘proper’ Ultra, the 145m GUCR from Birmingham to
London that year, when I heard about this idea of replicating Pheidppedes’ ,
famous for his marathon of antiquity, lesser known run from Sparta to Athens to
enlist the help of the Spartans in holding back the Persians. According to
history he ran 152miles from dawn one day to dusk the next before being told by
the Spartans that they couldn’t come just yet. He ran back home again and the
Athenians beat the Persians at Marathon without the Spartans help. To attempt to replicate this feat sounded
like the best adventure in the world. History and endurance both rolled into
one. 152miles in 36hours in the heat of a Greek summer. I was determined to give it a go.
In 2004 and after my 2nd GUCR, I entered the
Marathon of Britain. A stage race, it allowed me for the 1st real
time to speak with fellow Ultra runners and to discuss things of awe. I met
Mark and found that he too was entering.
Neither of us had done it before but the S word was discussed in hushed
tones all that week.
In those days Ultra running was not a big scene in the UK and
the Spartathlon seemed only to be known about by word of mouth. There were few
UK entrants, the rest of the runners being from all over the rest of the world,
but mainly from Japan and Germany and clearly elite ones at that. I shared a room with John T and Jackson, both
of whom I’d met for the 1st time on my 2nd GUCR earlier
that year. I will always remember sitting down on my bed in the room after the
briefing with Johns sage words reverberating around my head …
‘ you do realise don’t you, that of all the body fat in this hotel,
half of it is in this room’
Lambs to the slaughter indeed. That year I came of age and
realised just what an Ultra race really is. I made it to 50miles at which point
my hips had seized up completely, the miles of sun and hot tarmac having
relentlessly and mercilessly sucked me in, chewed me up and spat out the bits.
The others didn’t fare too much better. Jackson was there already at Corinth
when I fell foul of the deadlines. Mark, so strong at Nemea at 70m was dead by
the mountain only 20miles further on and John, just the other side of it. Glynn
Marston was the only Brit who made it that year but I was there to see him in,
hobbling in along that last hot road into Sparta all the way up to Leonidas’
statue, before collapsing in emotional relief. That was going to be me one day.
I knew it straight away. There was nothing I wanted more. I just could not
imagine a better or more fitting end to a footrace. But watching the wounded
hobble in along that glorious boulevard is just where it did end for me … that
day and many times afterwards.
Now, I’m not known for a tarmac runner and never have been.
Mountains are where I love to be and always have done. Give me the Spine or the
4 Inns and the wind howling across the moors or rain rattling against the hood
of my jacket. Give me white clouds scudding quickly across the field of view or
the eerie silence of dense fog. Give me mud, bogs, heather, skidding down peat
into a grough, a sudden panoramic view once the mist clears and hills or
mountains in the distance and I am at home. Give me technical hand over hand rocky
stuff. A water ice covered ascent of Pen y Ghent in mist to meet a billion
stars on the summit, on last years Spine springs to mind. The best of memories
and I have never, ever been as one with the world as I was at that moment, but
there is something about this race to Sparta that looks deeply into me and
speaks to me in terms of great moment.
Shelley, famous for his Pheidippedes work sums it up for me in Ozymanidias, king of kings, when he says
Look on my Works, ye
Mighty, and despair!
This is Ultra royalty, another world. Not better, but
different, majestic and awe-inspiring at the same time. It does not get more
demanding or intimidating, in its way and this is what has been driven into my
soul like a nail. The moors are there to assuage the pain but the nail is still
there, hammered in deep, and still, after all this time oozing blood and pain
from a wound that will never heal.
2
It took a while to summon up the courage to return. In 2005
I’d run the last proper London to Brighton to see if I could handle tarmac a
little better. It was the nearest thing to the Spartathlon I have ever done in
the UK, but is sadly no more. The result was a little non-committal, a no-score
draw. I’d done it ok, but in pain and pulled up no trees. I’d done GUCR again
too. I’d figured that I needed to get in under 36hrs to stand any chance but I
could only manage 37.48, 3minutes faster than in 2004, but I fudged it and
entered nonetheless and in those days if you entered, you got in. There was no
queue and no lottery. The die was set.
There were a few more Brits this time but it was hot. I’d
thought it was hot in 2004, but this was bloody hot, and we all knew it
straight from the off. That start below the Acropolis is the worlds best race
start and looking back over your shoulder as the early light of day creeps in
at the Acropolis is unbeatable. We were all Pheidippdes and all invincible …
well, for a few miles anyway.
At first I was able to keep a proper pace. This time, I knew
what was coming but it was just so hot. A life trogging Derbyshire bogs does not
prepare you for this and nor does 145miles of wet, grey canal running. It is
not just the heat it’s those deadlines too. Inexorably drawing you on into a
tightening noose, the knot just does not loosen. Although there are water stops
every 3 or 4 miles each station has its own cut-off. At 1st the
cut-offs are achievable and the officials lax but you have to be relentless.
Your prize for a 4hour marathon is not the rest in the shade you are used to
but another one, in an oven this time as the day heats up and any clouds that
have clung to the coast over the last few miles have long since evaporated like
the dreams of some runners already.
The 1st marathon was fine but when things start
to slip the buffer that you have built vanishes as soon as any morning clouds.
At a little over 30miles I started to get cramp. It had never been a problem
for me back in the UK. Still a novice in these things at this point I had never
heard of S-caps and the like and had thought that gels and electrolytes in my
drinks would be enough. Well, from thinking I had it all planned out, I went to
despair in a matter of a couple of miles. I could walk but not run. As soon as I ran the cramp returned and went
again when I walked …. Hmmm. Many years later I do wonder about that. I can
still recall the searing pain of the cramp, that was real enough but I know the
tricks that the mind can play a little better now too and it is a little
convenient that I could walk, but not run as much as I did. Maybe I was
subconsciously looking for that coup de grace, the finality of the cut-off
removing me from pain in a manner ‘out of my hands’.
At any rate I managed to hobble past Corinth this time. As
the day cooled I felt a little better, I even started to build the buffer back
the right side of negative, but I wasn’t eating. I couldn’t. My many gels just
made me retch – even just thinking about them did. The electrolyte drink I had
loved in the UK and for a few miles here was too sweet and sugary and I
couldn’t face it and there’s only one ultimate result when running on empty.
Throwing up on the go but staggering onwards regardless, it wasn’t too long before
the batteries just fizzled out. The cramp was still there and on the hills near
Halkion I just ground to a halt and seized up. Further, but still not even half
way.
3
2007 was no better. In fact it was very much worse. Better
researched and armed with technology I was rattling with S caps this time and
full of confidence. I’d had a good year but I’d taken getting fitter to an extreme an ageing body couldn’t
honour and a successful UTMB only a month before killed off my quads and within
30miles my legs were fried. After only 30 miles I couldn’t even walk downhill
let alone run. I was this time guilty of just not giving the race the respect
it deserved. In truth I guess I’d seen my life slipping away. Whilst
Spartathlon had its claws into me and demanded a return, I still needed my
mountain fix. This had been put on hold for tarmac over the last few years and
there were other races out there I needed
to do. I selfishly couldn’t put off one or the other, there wasn’t time in my
life and surely I would be able to do both. But you have to be at 100% both
physically and mentally for Sparta, no question of that and there’s no margin
for error. Any mistake or setback and there just isn’t any time within those
deadlines to revive a race off the rails for one reason or another. By now I’d
managed to get my GUCR time down to sub 36hrs, my personal race entry
pre-requisite and I was in no doubt I had it in my head and was physically
fitter than I’d ever been up to that point, but my head was in truth in the
sand and two races of this order, and so close was just too much for my body. In
truth I knew that would probably be the case, I had just arrogantly hoped I’d
be able to wing it. Big mistake … it was damn hot again, and yet again I ended
up spat out at the side of a cliffside road, sat down and looking out over the
hazy sea towards Corinth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
4
After that my R knee went and I then got appendicitis. As a
result I had to take 2008 out. Perversely this partly justified my panicked
need to get all the races in I’d been trying to do. After all, at 50 how long
did I have left at this level of endurance? How long would my joints stand the
hammer? Recovery was slow but in January 2009 I managed my 1st Ultra
in exactly 12months. The same race in fact, and 8minutes faster this time.
My build up this year was by way of the inaugural 250m
Thames Ring and then with a month to go, the 86m Ridgeway. I worried that it
might be too close but 86m on the Ridgeway is not the same thing as UTMB and I
needed to train hard since my year was clearly missing one major and relevant
thing … tarmac. As I age I find it difficult to balance what I need to do to
train up and what I need to leave out to recover. As I age even more I find these
two often overlap. It’s no easy balancing exercise to peak personal performance
at the right point at the best of times but as you age it gets harder still and
the variables more numerous. I now find I need more exercise to get to the same
level of fitness and if I leave it for just a few weeks I am back to square
one. On the other hand my ageing bones need longer to recover from the
exertions I put on them. A real juggling exercise.
But there I was at the start line again. By now it’s
difficult to be confident. I have my self-doubts against which I permanently
battle like everyone, but 3 prior DNFs in the same race, when I have never
DNF’d any other race in my life tends to indicate either that I am just not
suited to this run or I am just plain stupid. But I am relentlessly stubborn.
It’s a trait that has served well elsewhere but here stubbornness alone isn’t
enough and you need to have a certain amount of ability and speed to overcome
those ridiculous deadlines that make you start off at a speed, in the heat of a
very hot day that is far too fast for your own good really. I have always been
certain that I can run 152miles. I am pretty certain I can do it in 36hours
too, but what I do struggle with is meeting the deadlines that the race
imposes. There is little point in being anything other than fatalistic about
this. This is the race and part of its draw. If the race had no internal
cut-offs runners on some major roads would become so spread out, it would be
impossible for organisers to police safely. What it does mean though and is something that
I find difficult to explain to people is quite how I can derive drive, year
after year for a race where I have at best a less than 50% chance of finishing,
against any number of other and perhaps more exotic ‘hardest in the world’ races.
But here I am again, another year older. Now I am older
still, I look fondly (?) at my worries back then. I had already been losing my
speed for a good 10years by this point. It’s a shame I never learned of this
run when I was in my mid 30’s when I was running my road PB’s but now, more
than 25years on from my mid 30’s I am in the main just glad to be here and
still running at all, let alone still be looking to complete the greatest
running challenge of my life. But I guess that is life. If we stop and stand still and look to reminisce, that way
lies stagnancy and decline. It’s giving up, and I’m not ready to, just yet.
There are many challenges that lie ahead in life and I still don’t yet know
whether the answer to this particular challenge was really accept what
limitations you have and get on with what you are best at in the time left, or
persistence pays off in the end. My glass half full head however knows that
without this race, without the challenge of trying to find a finish, what would
really drive me on? Would I still be running at the level I have managed to
maintain if I did not have the drive to train to finish this race. Perversely,
if I do ever finish this race what will then drive me on? Am I therefore a better
runner for not yet having finished this race and still striving to stay
competitive into my 60’s when it would be just so easy to ease off the gas? I
think there may be a lot of truth in that. Without this race always being the
be all and end all of all I do in running, and being in my head for every
second of every day, I do not think I would have had as good a 2016 as I have
just had.
Anyway, I guess I’ve given the game away. I didn’t finish. I
was proud of the race review I did of my 2009 race so I will (and have) publish
it elsewhere. https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4055162947863373#editor/target=post;postID=3914103606194983704;onPublishedMenu=overview;onClosedMenu=overview;postNum=3;src=postname
At the time it defined the anguish I really felt about this race, wanting a finish but not being quite good enough. Although I hadn’t done my sub 36hr GUCR this year and indeed barely been on tarmac at all, I felt good about my running. I’d been slow, but relentless on TR250 and steady, but unremarkable on Ridgeway. I still don’t know (and never will) whether I’d have been better served by resting my legs instead of running the Ridgeway but I gave a good account of myself regardless and managed my furthest yet, reaching the hellish switchbacks just below the mountain at about 97miles before collapsing into an ignominious pile of puke and diarrhoea by the side of the road when things well and truly let go big style.
At the time it defined the anguish I really felt about this race, wanting a finish but not being quite good enough. Although I hadn’t done my sub 36hr GUCR this year and indeed barely been on tarmac at all, I felt good about my running. I’d been slow, but relentless on TR250 and steady, but unremarkable on Ridgeway. I still don’t know (and never will) whether I’d have been better served by resting my legs instead of running the Ridgeway but I gave a good account of myself regardless and managed my furthest yet, reaching the hellish switchbacks just below the mountain at about 97miles before collapsing into an ignominious pile of puke and diarrhoea by the side of the road when things well and truly let go big style.
There were so many ups and downs that this may have been one
of my finest races even though I never got to the finish. The highs are not
high without the lows to compare them against and I battled relentlessly
against the odds and I really felt that as the Duke of Wellington said it was ‘a close run thing’. At least I felt it
was. In reality and whilst it’s quite possible that had I battled my demons
better and more to the point refuelled better, I could have made it over the
mountain and then metronomed it to the end, equally I could have as well just
fizzled out just another few miles on. I am good on 2nd days, I know
that but I also know that this race really isn’t over till the fat lady sings.
So many runners better than me have run into problems on the 2nd
day, even once over the mountain and then failed to finish. Statistics show
that if you get over the mountain you have a good chance of finishing, but they
lie. The hills on the 2nd day are relentless and everlasting and the
heat is as bad … and that long, last hill down into Sparta is just what your
legs do not need … or at least that’s what I’m told. What I do know is that
runners have wasted into oblivion or been pulled even with just 5 or 6 miles to
go. It’s that brutal.
So, although my 2009 race did not take me into Sparta on
foot it did epitomise to me why I needed this run in my life.
5
And that’s pretty much it really. 2009 was 8 years ago. I
was 51 back then and by the time this years race comes around I’ll be 59. It
certainly puts my worries about age back in 2009 into context ... but I’m still
here, still fighting and still hoping, or dreaming anyway. There are runners
out there who finish Spartathlon well into their 60’s and like a lot of Ultras
it is a race where experience is often rewarded over youth, but most of those
runners are grizzled vets with many prior finishes to their name. There are
some, but fewer who still manage a 1st finish and that is still my
aim.
Its not to say of course that I’ve just stood still since
2009 or that I’ve not in all that time managed to hold off from making a fool
of myself again despite not meeting my self-imposed race entry pre-requisites.
Of course I’ve been back. It’s just that the efforts I justified to myself in
2010 and 2012 were by comparison, pathetic.
I was in fact straight back for 2010 with determination
refreshed after my 2009 attempt. My article after that race recorded that just
as my son used to constantly press the reset button of his PS2 after only a few
seconds into his game until he was satisfied with his start and then usually
blats along quite happily, I was quickly searching for my own non-existent reset
button for the same reason. The 1st
section is always critical for me. Get it right and it can then set me up for
another 50-70miles at least, but get it wrong and I might as well call it a day
there and then since it isn’t going to be my day whatever I try to do to
resurrect my race. It was in any event my 1st ‘last’ attempt. I
convinced myself that despite not having beat 36hrs on GUCR I deserved a final
encounter to put my demons to bed permanently one way or another, only of
course it never does, does it.
At 1st the race went like a flash and to plan but
it wasn’t long before I was in trouble. The stats don’t lie. I was too slow and
had been in training so to try to do the 1st 25 in 4hrs put me on a
knife edge. When I could run a marathon in 3.15, to slow down to 4.00 would
have given me a good leeway but when I’m at 3.45-3.50 on a good day, to run at
4.00 pace from the off puts me at 100% … and that’s just not sustainable with
the heat and another marathon … and another marathon etc.
Very soon I couldn’t run. I was hot, dizzy, sleepy even. My
legs hurt and nothing could haul me out of it. I was not frustrated this time
though. I knew it hadn’t even been close. It was the end of an era. Maybe one time in 10 things might just all slot into place
and I might have a good one but not this year.
I felt that nothing else in running would ever satisfy to the same
extent that a finish in this race would and I wondered whether I would ever
really enjoy running again but also felt Clint would say,
‘maybe a mans just
gotta accept his limitations’.
6
It took me until 2012 for another ‘last’ attempt but the
result was no different. After my 2012 race I wrote down immediately the
feelings of utter dejection I had felt when grinding to a halt so that no
element of rose tinted spectacles could ever creep back in, in the future. On
each occasion I have failed to finish this race there has been a different
reason for failure – and that’s dangerous because evidently and along with race
blinkers it can lure you into attempt after attempt. The constant nagging feeling
that this time things will be different is hard to ignore, particularly where
the race heart is concerned. In 2004 it was my hips, in 2006 it was 35miles of
cramps slowing me down, in 2007 it was attempting to race within a month of
UTMB. In 2009 I was ‘nearly’ there … 97.5miles but the result was ultimately
the same, timed out yet again. In 2010 it was my hips, quads, knees, dizziness
and everything else that fell apart, and quite early on too. So I gave up. This
route just isn’t for me. Although a finish would have crowned the twilight
years of my ultra career I realised that I just can’t run fast enough, or for
long enough on hot tarmac any more, if I ever could in the 1st
place.
In 2012 I had kidded myself that things
had been looking up. Some of my times had been faster recently. I had recently also
found Hokas and combined with Perpetuem and S caps they were the mainstay of
the plan. I had no injuries and slow but steady, Hokas, Perpetuem and Succeed all
had to go like clockwork and with no surprises, there would just not be enough
time otherwise. Even on my best estimate things were going to be marginal.
But it was hot … again. This time it
was the hottest anyone could remember and the usual 45% or so finish rate
translated into one a little over 20% instead and after the race I wrote:
The heat was enough to show me just how
fragile the plan had been. In a matter of less than 10miles the heat knocked
over half an hour off my buffer and enough to end my race. Even just an hour or
so after my race had ended, and having cooled down I struggled to recall the
feelings of utter desperation and a total inability to run that had caused me
to sit down. Again it was my speed v the cut-offs that had been the issue. It
always is. As ever, I could have carried on – but not at a speed that would
have enabled me to meet those deadlines, which have forever been the bane of my
attempts. Is it foolish, now that I am slowing down, to expect to ever be in a
position to reverse that, no matter how much I want it?
It has been an adventure though. I find
it impossible to explain to anyone just how I can get infinitely more from
attempting this race even where there is only a 20% chance of getting to the
end, than I can in any number of other races. The depth of highs and lows I
have encountered on my travels year on year are just not found in any other
race, but the one emotion I am not able to write about is the one of feeling
just what it is like to run down that final road in Sparta under the shadow of
the statue of Leonidas. It has been said
many times before but if there is a race to attempt, this one is it. It will
take you where no other run ever will, even if it does not take you to Sparta.
But life is an exam. It is only at the
end when we will find out whether we have passed and whether the individual
lesson we all face was in fact one of humility and acceptance or of persistence
against the odds. There is no way in advance that we can know whether we will
eventually be rewarded for our faith and determination or be ridiculed for
foolishly wasting what time we have.
7
And there it’s been since 2012. In 2013 I wrecked my back
bigstyle. I had to have most of a disc out and it wasn’t clear whether I would
get back to running at all, let alone running Ultras. 2014 was recovery and
damage limitation. I finished my 7th GUCR out of 7 starts and in my
2nd fastest ever time of 36.27 too. The Hokas helped immensely but it wasn’t sub
36hrs and I’ve been sucked in here before. It was close but I wasn’t going to
fudge it again. I was happy and grateful to be where I was and smiled the whole
way round. Even listening to Derby chuck away the Championship play-offs to QPR
on the radio as I made my way down to London couldn’t dampen my spirits. I was
at peace, happy with my lot.
8
… Except life isn’t like that. Just when you have closed the
door and then bolted it shut, twice, even three times, you find your hand still
hovering over the bolt. Against all odds and quite by chance, there had been a
revolution. Quite what it was or where the cause of the coup lay is unclear and
was probably multi-faceted, but the result was surprising. So much so that
there were times when I was distinctly worried.
It started off in 2015 innocuously enough, with a 25.11
Thames Path 100. Along with my old pre-requisite of a sub 36hr GUCR I’d always
had a sub 24hr 100mile time pre-requisite too and this wasn’t enough to stir
the loins. But then I came 7th in the Long Eaton 50K and did a PB on
the Ridgeway, getting 1st Vet 55 in the process. More to the point I
was losing weight all the time. I wasn’t sure why since I wasn’t trying too
hard, hence the initial worry. I ended up losing about 1.5 stone and ending up
weighing the same as I had when I was 18, a weight I’d not seen for 40years.
When September came around I was
royally pissed off. I was in the condition of my life - All revved up with no
place to go. Of course it made it far worse that it is much easier to watch the
race from afar these days. It’s almost like immersing yourself in the actual
event watching the little flags marching relentlessly along the thin red line.
Over the years I have gained inspiration and hope from other runners in our
joint trials and tribulations and that for me is one of the best things about
this race. It’s not you against the
other runners, it’s you with them
trying to finish.
In the warriors
code
There's no surrender
Though his body says stop
His spirit cries, never!
Deep in our soul
A quiet ember
Now it's you against you
It's the paradox
That drives us on
It's a battle of wills
In the heat of attack
It's the passion that kills
The victory is yours alone
There's no surrender
Though his body says stop
His spirit cries, never!
Deep in our soul
A quiet ember
Now it's you against you
It's the paradox
That drives us on
It's a battle of wills
In the heat of attack
It's the passion that kills
The victory is yours alone
1st there was Sam, a far better runner than I
will ever be, but a similar age to me and apparently with similar problems ...
but he made it in the end, a few years ago and with persistence. Then there was
Rob too. Rob has had similar struggles, mental and physical but in 2015 he made
it, endlich. I was so pleased, for
both of them, when they got the success they deserved.
What if? … the seed was planted … again
9
2016. A year to remember.
In fact I cannot ever remember a running year so good. Since giving up
on Spartathlon I’d been looking for another challenge to replace it since I
wasn’t ready just yet to retire gracefully. It wasn’t an easy job but in the Spine
race I’d found a race I hadn’t realised I’d been looking for, all my elder
years. A race more suited to my
remaining strengths would be impossible to find. The hardest race I have ever finished by a mile and one that rewards
dogged persistence and stubbornness over speed.
One with mountains, navigation, lots of weather – but none of it hot,
and everything else but the kitchen sink thrown at you. A real adventure. The
finish rate was low, on a par with Spartathlon, but this time I was on the right
end of it. A good start.
It took a while to recover (my L big toe still hasn’t, a
year on) and for a while afterwards I was eating for England. The seed that was
planted back in September was sufficient a week or so later for me to enter
Spartathlon again for 2016. My 2014 GUCR time was still a qualifier for 2016,
though it wouldn’t be for 2017 so the die was cast - but it’s harder to get
into nowadays. The race has become deservedly more popular and is not the
hidden treasure it once was, especially here over in the UK. The race is still
the same but the effort of getting an entry in the 1st place is akin
to other class Ultras, by way of lottery, and almost as hard to achieve as a
race finish itself. What’s more the UK only get 25 places. In 2004 this wouldn’t
have been an issue, but roll on 12years and the Ultra revolution is here to
stay. As a result I didn’t get in. I was high up the waitlist but it would be
tight. No worries, I still had to meet my self-imposed race pre-requisites,
without which I wasn’t going anyway. I was sure on that, having been bitten by
the ‘nearly, not quite’ issue many times before. It was no accident that my
best race had been back in 2009, at a time I was capable of a sub 36hr GUCR.
Next stop though was London. I was still lighter than at any
time since I was 18 and the weight loss was helping with my speed. In the week
before London I managed a 10yr+ best over both 10K and 5K. London itself was
the fastest marathon at 3.32 (still narked about not getting sub 3.30 – at
26.2m on my watch I was at 3.28!) that I’ve done for getting on for 15years …
and all in a week.
Then it was once more unto the breach and GUCR – again, my
yardstick of progress. I was more
anxious than I can recall having been previously since much was hanging on this
race. I was determined not to blow it in the early stages but more determined
instead to hang on my pace into the
night since after Spine and its interminable darkness and wondrous hallucinations,
May’s sleepmonsters held no fear for me. And I did run better into the night. I
still struggled as per normal after Bridge 99 but the 1st indication
that things were moving was arrival at GJA, the 100mile point at 23.13.
Normally I arrive here at exactly the same time, no matter how my race has got
me there and in the past all my times have varied only between about
24.35-24.45 so I knew I was well on target. The game was now well and truly
afoot. I did struggle a bit to Springwell, my R knee was sore, but I hammered
it out and beat my 2007 PB by over 1¼hrs, getting a new fastest time of 34.31.
Pleased was an understatement. I had smashed not only my race pre-requisite but
a PB I had never thought, in my dotage, to emulate.
One tinge of ‘nearly, not quite’ snuck back in though. From
2017 onwards Spartathlons own entry requirements have been much tightened up. I
still wasn’t off the waitlist, though I was now at the top of it, but if I
didn’t get in the qualifying time for Sparta via GUCR was being reduced from
40hrs to 34hrs. In truth it’s probably a fair estimation of success in Sparta
but it wouldn’t help me. In advance and with my prior PB being 35.43, I knew I
was never in for a chance of getting anywhere near sub34hrs. As it happened I
was much closer than I’d ever dreamed possible, but still 30mins off a 2017
qualifier. It had to be this year. There was no chance of me ever getting in
again otherwise, since it now looked more than ever to be a race for the elite
only.
Only I didn’t get in. It was hard to maintain training and
discipline still being on the waitlist but following GUCR I knocked 30mins off
my Nomad 50 time and came 5th. I also registered a 2nd
place in the inaugural Insomnia 24, with 102 miles, the 2nd time in
a year I’d managed 100miles in under 24hours – something I’d never done in my
life before, but with the waitlist closed in July my dreams were shattered. I
had done much more than I could ever have hoped to have done but it wasn’t
enough and I had fallen even before the 1st hurdle. This race has a
habit of throwing curved ball after curved ball at me and all I can do is take
the hit and roll with it time after time, then keep coming back for more. The
ultimate hit was the finish rate of the 2016 Spartathlon being much more like
50%, the best for a long time and much different to 2012’s 20%. It could have
been this year. This year I could have done it, I know I could.
But I knew by now that I wasn’t going to get to run and all
I could do was keep going, regardless. What’s more, not only was I not going to
get to run but there was a big chance that I’d not even get the chance to try again.
I could have 2 names in the hat for 2017, but only if I got a qualifying time and
the new 100mile time was 21hrs. I was distraught, I had run my arse off this
year and knocked my 100mile time down from 24.30 to 23.13, but it wasn’t enough
by a long stretch.
So, I did all I could do and found a run. It was as far from
my comfort zone as I could think and the polar opposite of the Spine. 24hours
round a track in Tooting. 100miles in 21hrs or bust. I really couldn’t see it
happening – another 2¼hrs in addition to the 1¼hrs I’d already knocked off this
year? Who was I kidding?
Louise has always struggled to understand my obsessive desire
to keep going back to Sparta. She understands Spine and GUCR and this year was
glued to my GPS tracker. She was also intrigued by Insomnia 24 and was happy to
support me every hour or so from the comfort of her sunbed outside the camper
as I lapped past. She even ran a few laps with me overnight. Likewise and
whilst she couldn’t understand my need to do lap after lap of a track she was
happy to park the camper on the outskirts of the track for a cheap night in
London whilst she went to Kew Gardens for the day. I was still going when she
came back and still going when she got up in the morning.
It was a brilliant experience and much less boring than I
thought it might be, after all you got to swap directions every 4hours. I had a
great time chatting to Neil, Roz and Paul. Neil did the Spartathlon in 2005 and
knew what I was there for and Paul and Roz were there for qualifiers too. There
were no sleepmonsters this time. The track was fully lit and I never really
even felt tired. Of course it was hard but I powered through the 100mile point
at 19.31. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather at that point –
1½hrs inside the requirement. I never
saw that coming to say the least. I coasted after that. I registered 117m in
the end, but I wasn’t in a rush. I’d expected to get close to the requirement
but perhaps fall just short. It just goes to show I shouldn’t write myself off
just yet.
Well, perhaps that’s
what it showed. The time was enough to allow me to enter 2017s race but not to
guarantee an entry. The only way I could do that was to get an autoqualifier by
knocking another 20% off my time. Impossible over 100miles, given that what I’d
already achieved was a miracle.
But what about 48hrs? the Athens 48 in February 2017 – 1k
loop round the old airfield, was handily,
within the 2017 qualification period … just. The qualifying time would
be 174miles in 48hrs meaning that 20% beyond that would be 335kms/208 miles in
48hrs. Looking at past results only the top 2 or 3 do that and it also seems
that William Sichel holds the UK V55 48hr record of 334kms in 48hrs. To
autoqualify I’d have to come back as UK V55 record holder. But, what the hell,
what had I got to lose, I was going great and a holiday in Athens in February
2017 was approved.
10
And that’s where we are right now. The flights are all
booked and the plans are laid only …
… I’ve buggered up my R knee. At the beginning of December, I was just
thinking of ramping things up when ‘pop’ something went in my knee. The
meniscus is torn but that’s only the part of it. Apparently I have SONK, which
is a condition breaking down the medial side of the articular surface of my
femur. As I write this I’m on Vit D supplements trying to keep the bone
regrowth on a par with its deterioration whilst I wait to see the consultant,
but the MRI isn’t a great bundle of fun.
So that’s the next curved ball I’ve been thrown. Against the
odds I’ve been able to build up to a height of fitness I never thought I’d see
again and done times far better at 58 than I was ever able to do when 20years
younger, only to 1st have a 2016 attempt denied and now another rug
pulled. Entries open next week and I have to enter. I have to dream that
there’s hope but I’ll need to lose the weight all over again and need to get
fit all over again – if and when I can only start to do so and though I do
remain positive , I’m scared too.
But I have to enter. If I don’t, I’ll lose my 2 names in the
hat and be back to square one. As it is my best hope probably lies with
entering and not getting in … again. That way I can hopefully take 2017 to
build things up and for 2018 I’ll have 4 names in the hat … but I’ll be 60 by then.
It’d be a good way of celebrating but the way this run likes to tease, I’m
almost certain now to get in this year, have to drop out and then be back to 1
name in the hat for 2018, and an unlikely place, or even worse go there anyway,
not as fit as I have been or could be and do the same as usual.
As I said, this race is a life lesson for me but I’m not yet
ready to write that book. Not quite. I still don’t know how it ends.
P.s. sorry for nicking the photo Mark, but it’s the most
atmospheric photo of Spartathlon I’ve ever seen. Just sums it all up for me.