Sparta and Me

Not me

Sparta and me

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 1^st ‘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 2^nd GUCR, I entered the Marathon of Britain. A stage race, it allowed me for the 1^st 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 1^st time on my 2^nd 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 1^st 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 1^st 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 1^st 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.

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 2^nd 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 2^nd 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 2^nd 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 1^st 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 1^st 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 1^st ‘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 1^st 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 1^st 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 1^st 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 7^th GUCR out of 7 starts and in my 2^nd 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 7^th in the Long Eaton 50K and did a PB on the Ridgeway, getting 1^st 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

1^st 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 1^st 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 1^st 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 5^th. I also registered a 2^nd place in the inaugural Insomnia 24, with 102 miles, the 2^nd 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 1^st 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 1^st 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.