It's a simple premise, as most really difficult things usually are.
24 hours around a track, plus one extra hour for the change in clocks, to run 100 miles. I've chosen this as a fund raiser for Riley whose treatment for stage 4 stomach cancer is expensive and not available to him on the NHS. More about his journey here:
My Cancer Journey: Chris Riley
After returning from injury last year I've been training under the watchful eye of my coach Kim Collison after being self coached previously. This has meant a change in approach for me and I have far more balance and focus to my sessions and the mileage is easy and I've been feeling great. This isn't my main goal for the year so while training has been going well there's a small taper and nothing too specific to 24 hours around a track apart from a few steady state road intervals at pace on the flat. We have a good chat before the race and cover various scenarios, rest, sleep, walking and problem solving on the go. All is good.
I have a 3 hour drive in the morning to get to the track, which is just outside Cambridge, and when I get there I meet a fellow competitor Martin who has driven down the night before from Glasgow. We talk football and running for a bit before finding our way to the track to drop our boxes at the side.
When I said it's a simple premise that's perhaps an understatement - no hot water, limited snacks, one box per competitor, no music (no headphones), cold water to top up with and two portaloos. Plus no shelter. My box and bag of spare clothes is next to the outside lane on a strip of flags around the outside and I quickly decide to put my bag inside a bin bag for the rain forecast later on. I've brought enough food for about a week in the box with what I think to be a good selection - but what I also know is that no matter what you bring you always want something else!
We mask up, register, line up and set off. It's that simple.
403 laps to get to 100 miles. Round and round and round and round and round and round we go.
The first 4 hours are pretty good and I cover the anticipated distance of about 25 miles, I get chatting to Martin again and also Alex who are running at about my target pace of 9:30 a mile. Then I do a couple of laps with James who is leading to see what sort of pace he's doing and it's too fast for me but good fun to run a little for a couple of laps. Then I get a bit bored so start to run a little faster than planned but try singing as I go around (sorry folks) to keep a lid on the pace. I do that for a while then drop back to steady.
Then it starts to rain. A little earlier than forecast and with increasingly strong winds to go with it. In fact most of the runners are adopting a 300 metre run 100 metre walk strategy treating the 100 metres into the headwind and the driving rain as an uphill. I add a coat. Then I change in to my waterproof over trousers and also my winter coat.
Photo: Karen Webber
So 50 miles in - about 8 and a half hours. This is still on track and I'm ok but starting to lose the will to carry on a bit. In the next 8 hours I slow to a grindingly painful pace. I'm covering the bare minimum to maintain forward motion. I chat to Claire, who I know from Deadwater number 2, and we have a section that lifts my spirits but then I stop. I lose my head completely. I'm shivering, staggering, weaving, slowing down and generally feeling really sorry for myself. For most of this time I'm trying to work out how I can quit with honour. The numbers on the track are thinning visibly as more people drop out. There's a woman in pink flying round. Then she's gone. Two men running together who drop out one after the other. others who I don't notice until they're not there.
I've left it too long to check on how things were going. I've walked a few laps now crying in frustration about how I'm feeling. My hands on my head. I really don't want to carry on anymore. I don't want to run anymore. I don't want to do any more running anywhere ever again. Ever.
Tony, who I know from Deadwater number 1, has been brilliant and we keep having a little word. As has Alex who has a positive word every time she comes by, which is frequently. Paul Wilson, who I've just met, says hello as we have mutual friends and also a mutual love of the fells and I have a couple of quicker laps while we chat but I have to drop off the pace.
The next 4 hours are a painful slog in the wind, rain and darkness until I realise that I'm in danger of not finishing the 100 within the 24 hours. I compromise my goals pre-race and decide that sub 24 for 100 miles has to be my main focus rather than running for the full 25 hours - which at this pace would take me right up to the limit. In order to do that I'm going to need to take in more calories and it suddenly dawns on me that I've not been keeping up with this. The combination of wind and rain plus cold has meant that stopping and opening boxes and bags and then choosing food has been too much. So I've ignored it. So much for problem solving on the go - well you can only start from where you're at so what do I need?
Photo: Karen Webber
My head's gone and my legs feel like they did in UTMB when I couldn't walk, what rescued me there was rehydrating with electrolytes and taking on liquid calories. So I crack open a Precision 100 packet in my drink and take on a Kendal Mint Co. Gel which is like drinking liquid gold. It's a start but I need to keep on top of this. I open my bag and there's my Montane Fang 5 rucksack that I'd planned on using to hold a drink and some snacks so they were at hand. I put it on and stock up. Water, apple, banana, more gels, Torq powder and some Haribos. Now I can drip feed my stomach.
Next problem - speed, and lack thereof. I rummage around for my phone which has been stuffed well away in a pocket. I thought if I needed to use it then it might hasten my reasons for quitting. I fire up the lap Timing Monkey website and see the laps tick off as I cross the line. I've dug myself out of holes before, do I really have it in me to do it again? I remember on my Paddy Buckley Round arriving at Aberglasyn with two legs left to run and exactly the time left as I had on my schedule. I burst in to tears as soon as I sat down because I knew I had nine and a half hours of pain to get through to the end and I was going to have to count every minute to keep track. I finished with 12 minutes to spare. Do I want this enough?
There's a lot rightly said about Lance Armstrong and his career but what I remember most from reading his book 'It's Not About The Bike' is not how great the story was of his comeback but of his stark assessment of cancer survival. It didn't matter if you were a fighter or not, cancer didn't care. He didn't survive because he was a fighter or through some brave struggle; he survived because his treatment worked. When I'm running events the challenges are all arbitrary, this hill, this many mountains, this many laps. There is control. All variables are controllable or can be mitigated. Riley wants the best chance to get the best treatment he can. This is going to hurt.
I've already negotiated with myself to finishing when I reach 100 miles rather than running the whole 24 or 25 hours. Now that's settled I've a target I can aim for. I up the pace and embrace the pain. It feels like I'm flying but I'm also aware that running hard in my current state is going to hurt not just now but also later. After a few laps I dial back the pace and settle into a rhythm of a few quicker laps then a few slower ones, not dissimilar to my interval training but a lot slower. I see my position raise from 15th to 11th then realise I can catch 10th. I identify who I think the runner is who's ahead of me (I'm wrong lol) and run a flying lap to get one ahead before I hit 400. I gain a lap on everyone left so it shows as a success on the lap timer but it's only when I've finished and see 11th place also finish that I realise I've been chasing the wrong person.
I cry all the way round my final lap, taking in great big gulps of air. I'm absolutely finished. I kneel down by my box for about half an hour trying to drag some warm clothes on. Then I hobble to the van and assess my swollen legs and feet. Half an hour later I make it back to collect my box from the track and there are two runners left. I hobble back to the van again and lie down before I can even think about the return drive, which will be after a good rest. I can't move very well at all. But I'm buzzing that I finished strong. 'It's all come back together for you' one of the runners had said as I was in my finishing 4 hours. 'Too little too late' I replied but maybe that's being a bit harsh on myself. It took too long for me to identify the problem but when I did it got sorted. I hit one of my targets which was a sub 24 hour 100 mile run - my first ever. 403 laps, 100 miles, 22:28:29 and tenth place. 21 finished out of 42 starters with over 50 registered. The medal also doubles as a bottle opener.
When Mark and Karen presented me with my medal and took photos at the end I said 'Tick - never again' and I absolutely meant it. But the runners ahead of me were impressive and disciplined and it's hard not to want to be a bit more like that next time. Your first 24 hour track race is just to test the water right?
More importantly I'm nearly at my revised £1000 target for fund-raising with a few days left to go until the link closes. If you have enjoyed reading about my pain (or even if you haven't to be honest) all donations very much appreciated.
