Buckinghamshire: Chiltern Ridge Ultra Trail 50k race recap

This was my first official race after a very long enforced break (7 months!) thanks to Covid-19.  Since my last official race I've run 12 solo marathons just to keep my hand in, but I was definitely ready to earn some new medals.

I saw a link to this race on Facebook a few months ago and thought it looked like a nice day out. It was designed to be Covid-friendly and promised a refund if cancelled.  I knew when I booked it that it was the same weekend as the Isle of Wight marathon, but given IoW was a large road race, I pretty much assumed it would be cancelled.  Spoiler: it wasn't.

I prepared for the race by having a mega-stressful week at work - my boss was off, we were already carrying a vacancy, the caseload has gone a bit mad because of Covid 2 - The Return Of Covid. Much overtime and working outside my comfort zone followed.  I did no running all week because I was exhausted.  The day before the race I got up at 4:30am to pack and then lead Project Awesome before going into work for a few hours.  Ian picked me up from work and we drove through the pouring rain to Wendover.  The weather forecast was truly grim:

On the drive down, my brain provided me with reasons not to take part.  "It's more important that I finish the Isle of Wight.  Running is meant to be fun, what's fun about running through mud and rain for hours?  You've had a hard week, you could just have a nice lazy day in bed and then go and do Isle of Wight.  This is going to be really grim, are you sure you've done enough training?  You've not done hills for ages.  There's a weather warning for floods you know".... and on and on and on.  I told Ian he just had to get me to the start line in my kit no matter what, and I would take care of the rest.

The next morning I felt quite a bit more cheerful, though annoyingly my legs felt slightly sore from overdoing the squats at Project Awesome - oops.  My mum sent me a message that made it sound like I was going to a funeral rather than enjoying my hobby:

After a slightly stressful attempt to drive down a single track lane to find the place, we arrived at the start.  To my surprise it wasn't actually currently raining (though it had rained all yesterday and overnight) but was just really misty instead.  That tiny light in the photo is the huge bright light outside race registration, shown in the next pic, which was only about 100m away.

Registration was in a tent, everyone had to put a mask on to go in and collect their number and a race wristband.  You also had to put a mask on at all the aid stations.   There was a staggered start spread over 45 minutes.

This was the queue to start, with runners setting off every 20 seconds to aid social distancing.  I was having Garmin problems as the start and finish were right on top of each other so it kept completing the course before I even began!  I started at around 8:30am as I was mindful we were booked on the Isle of Wight ferry at 7:30pm so it would be helpful if I could finish in less than 7 hours. 

Ian took this slightly eerie pic of me setting off alone into the mist:

The race was proper trail right from the very start.  I knew a lot of it was in woodland which I was trusting would help minimise the effect of the rain.  It sort of did and sort of didn't.  This picture was taken near the start by the race photographer and I love how atmospheric it is!

The rain started within half an hour of setting off and didn't stop for hours.

For the first few miles, I was being overtaken approximately every 20 seconds by all the runners behind me.  I walked every hill, and tried not to worry about what anyone else was doing, reminding myself that they probably didn't have another race tomorrow.  Around about 7km in, I got into a rhythm and started to feel OK.  I realised that if this was one of my multi-days, I'd be quite happy just pootling along through the woods on my own and that I should really try and make the best of it as there's not many trails like this in Liverpool.  I got to a place with a bench and a viewpoint, though sadly I think the mist took away from it slightly:

 

The race goes through Tring and first passes over a busy road and then past Tring station, where you had to be lucky to avoid getting a free shower from the cars passing by:

I had cunningly put my phone in its waterproof case prior to this race (this was an exceptionally good plan, as was wearing waterproof socks (Sealskinz) without which the whole day would've been a much grimmer experience).  Nevertheless, by the time I got to the chalky hills up to Ivinghoe Beacon, my phone was dying a death.  My hands were wet, the screen was wet, all my clothes were wet so I had no dry surfaces to dry anything on.  I couldn't swipe, it couldn't recognise my face, I couldn't click on the photo button.  Much swearing ensued.  Eventually I managed to get it to take these pics, just as I came out onto the open tops, with the wind whipping across at 45mph and the rain lashing down:

The hills were steep and there were quite a few of them.  People were coming back in the opposite direction thick and fast by now.  They'd already been to the turnaround point and were on their way back.  One of them warned me to be careful of the chalky slopes because they were very slippery.

When I finally got to the top I spent several minutes wrangling with my phone and some tissues so I could take a picture at Ivinghoe Beacon.  Visibility was terrible and the wind was truly horrific so I didn't hang around.  In the back of my mind I was still thinking about finishing in time for the ferry crossing, and also I started getting cold the minute I stopped so I decided to just crack on.

On the way back I discovered there were only 5 people behind me.  One of them was a girl with an injured knee who I'd overtaken some 30 minutes ago, she told me she was just hoping to make the cutoff.  This reassured me that I would make it as she seemed to know what she was doing.  I had skipped the first check point and all I'd eaten was a sausage roll that Ian gave me.  All my food was in a dry bag inside my sodden vest but I forced myself to make the effort to open it and retrieve my Dolly Mixtures.  These sustained me all the way to the next checkpoint at 24k, the half way point.  There are no photos because the rain was just too heavy.  I saw another bloke slip over and I helped him up and rescued his hand sanitiser from where it had slid down a bank and we ran together for a little while.  The rain, the narrow trail, the low number of participants (105 in the ultra) and the staggered start didn't lend itself to finding people who were a similar pace as me to run with so I ran the vast majority of this race alone.

At 24km, after a field of bulls (!) I came to the second checkpoint.  Ian was waiting there for me and I stopped for at least 10 minutes to try to sort myself out.  I huddled under a sloping roof next to a wheelie bin, where I stripped off my waterproof trousers, jacket and t-shirt and changed into dry ones.  I drank tea from a flask Ian had brought.  I ate a whole flapjack.  Ian reported he had found somewhere in Beaconsfield that could sell me a cable for my bone conduction headphones so I put them on.  I took 2 paracetamol, scanned my wristband and took some chocolates and headed out for the second half.

I took this pic to show how phenomenally well signposted this race was.  I don't think I've ever done a race that was better.  There was red tape (to the left of the picture) and signs at every possible turning, and often "wrong way" signs - which twice saved me from heading off in the wrong direction.  There was a GPX, updated with the covid-changed route, which was accurate, and marshalls at key turnings.  Even the graphic design on the pre-race info was on point.  There was a pre-race briefing on Youtube which was succinct and clear and spectators were made welcome throughout. Results went up the same day.  I couldn't recommend Runaway Adventures any more highly!  Massive thanks due to the team who de-flagged the course after - that must've been quite a job.

The mud and water however - I failed to take pictures of the worst of it due to phone issues, this is just a mild taster.  Suffice to say all of my kit needs a good wash....

As the race continued, I gradually overtook people.  I was quite enjoying myself now - getting from 25k to 30k was quick and easy and I always feel races are easier once you're past that point.  The rain had eased off and eventually stopped completely and I could even see some bits of the countryside.

I think this might be the view from that viewpoint that was all mist earlier:

There was one more checkpoint at 38km outside a pub.  Ian was there and had brought me Coke which I drank enthusiastically.  I swiped my wristband and set off to get this done. My legs were really sore at this point - definitely not used to those hills. I remember chatting to someone who told me the race had been postponed from May, which I hadn't realised.

I can't really remember the last few miles of the race.   There was nobody around.  I just plodded on.

Finally arrived back onto the field.  Other competitors who were getting into their cars stopped to clap, the race volunteers clapped, Ian took photos.  The race director himself gave me my medal (still wrapped in plastic) and I thanked him profusely for a lovely race.  I finished in 6:56 - pretty much dead on my estimate.  Looking at the results afterwards there were at least 12 people behind me plus all the people who didn't finish, so as usual my ability to maintain a (slow but steady) pace for hours served me well.

 

Ian took this lovely photo of me and then I went and stood behind those toilets in the background and stripped off all my wet kit for the second time today.  I put on some warm clothes and went to get a cup of tea and a pizza from the local vans that were on the field - both of which were amazing.

We managed to get the car out of the mud-infested field without getting stuck (unlike some people) though the car got pretty muddy during the experience...

Ian then kindly drove for several hours down to Portsmouth.  We got there early so I hobbled around Gunwharf Quays food establishments wearing my medal and begging them to let us in (everywhere was fully booked).  Eventually Cafe Rouge took pity on us and I got a hot sandwich before getting on the ferry.  Finally arrived at the guest house on the Isle of Wight at about 22:00 and finally got a shower slightly after.  It had been a loooooong day.  Now to do it all again tomorrow (!)

A runner's thoughts on corona virus

Last winter, when I signed up for Hardmoors 55, I was feeling very low and vulnerable. My plan had been to speed train all winter to try and get a BQ for Boston marathon, but every time I thought about it I felt depressed. I saw this race and thought, “Screw Boston - I’d much rather go far than fast” and signed up on a whim. It was only later I realised this was the race that had been called off in 2018 during Beast from the East, with many runners getting hypothermia.
 

It was then I began to realise how much I’d bitten off. The race has a 16 hour cut off, which at first glance is fine, I’d done a 50 miler in 10.5 hours earlier in 2019. But that was flat. This one involves 2400m of ascent - here’s the elevation profile:

I was definitely going to have to do some hill training.  Over the last four months, I’ve been to Lancashire three times, the Lakes twice, Yorkshire twice and West Sussex once. I’ve run more hills than I’ve ever run in my life. It has been tough and I’ve made sacrifices in every other area of my life to accommodate it because I really, really wanted to do this. The cost of accommodation and travel has run into quite literally thousands of pounds. I have run through so much mud and in some insanely strong winds during the winter storms. I ran a few marathons that didn’t count towards my challenge just to get extra hills in. I ran when I was ill. I even DNF’d a race - I missed the cutoff and I cried - but I went out and did another loop anyway so I could get some extra hills in. All the pics below were taken on training runs in the last three months - this is the reality of winter ultra running.  It's brutal.  According to the Health app on my phone, I've run and walked a total of 1100 miles since December 1st. 

I was also nervous about self-navigating around the moors in the dark on my own (who wouldn’t be?!) and did a course with the legendary Joe Faulkner of Nav4 Adventure to improve my map reading.  I went to a recce to practice running 25 miles of the course at night. It was during Storm Dennis and the weather was truly horrific. I wanted to quit so many times - torrential rain and wind, ploughing through deep mud and icy puddles, in the dark. I dug deep that night, because I knew if I could endure that, I could use it to get me through the race. The next morning I got up early and ran another 23 miles to practice a different section of the course alone.

The race has extensive kit list requirements and many of these items I’d never needed before. Some of my gear needed upgrading - my best gloves had holes in, making them less than waterproof, for example. I went to the fabulous Let’s Run in Stokesley and spent £500 on kit. It would be worth it, I told myself, to finish this race. 

Last weekend, I was booked to go on a skiing holiday. All winter I’d worked through NHS winter pressures without any time off so I could conserve my annual leave for this holiday. It was hard but it would be worth it. Then corona virus happened.  On Saturday I packed with one hand whilst obsessively reading the news with the other until finally at 8pm the news came through that it was cancelled. I was due to set off for the airport at 3am the next morning.  Gutted, but never one to give up easily, I started planning a solo adventure. 

By Sunday lunchtime I was on a train to Hull with a tiny backpack to attempt three back-to-back self-supported marathons along the Yorkshire Wolds Way.  I finished yesterday. The total ascent was 2900m. I didn’t even need to do any stretches as I’ve become so accustomed to hills.

On Monday night it was announced that Hardmoors 55 would go ahead, albeit with major changes to the aid stations/start/finish. I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew other races would be cancelled - my April marathon  had already been pulled - but not Hardmoors. Hardmoors never cancels!

On Tuesday night, after 56 kilometres of running, I had an email to say that it was cancelled. More accurately, it’s being postponed to October, but it might as well be cancelled as I can’t put myself through this again. The expense, the sacrifice... I just can’t. Besides, I’ve got an expedition in August, then Iz is off to uni in September and I’m attending two weddings. I've said many times that this is the last winter ultra I’d ever do - the training crossed a line for me to the point where I really wasn’t having fun anymore. But my sheer determination and tenacity means I couldn’t give up until it was done. 

You’d think I’d be relieved but I’m not. I’m grieving.  Every time I think about it I get tearful all over again. I know Corona virus has been wreaking havoc with everyone’s plans, but most people haven’t spent ALL WINTER preparing for one day of pain and glory and triumph. Being out in the hills, the stunning views, the fresh air, fighting your demons and at the end receiving the chunk of metal that proves you defeated them. That’s what running means to me. 

Hardmoors 55 was due to be held on 28th March. I’ve got my last two days of annual leave booked (work have already said all future leave will be cancelled so this is my last time off for the foreseeable future). I’ve got sports massages booked for before and after. I’ve got two days accommodation (non refundable, because Hardmoors never cancels) in a very nice hotel in Helmsley. 

I totally understand that Race Directors are in an unenviable position. If I were them I would’ve cancelled too - they really had no other choice. I’m concerned for the livelihood of these people who do so much for our sport. My final glimmer of hope is that all I need to count this towards my challenge is a medal.  It doesn't have to be an official race - I just need to have a medal to show that I've completed it.  I've emailed the organisers to ask if I run it anyway, and send photos and a GPX file to prove it, would they possibly be able to let me have the medal?  My fingers are crossed waiting for an answer, but even if they say no, I won’t be taking up their offer of a refund. 

Obviously I do realise there are more important things in life than running.  I will get over this eventually. I still plan to run a hundred miler, one day.  But it will definitely be in summer...!

UPDATE:  The Race Directors said no.  They had to - if they'd let me run, they'd've had to let others, and it was all just too risky.  My hotel subsequently cancelled my booking and so did both my physios.  The government advice regarding non-essential travel became increasingly strict.  It was clear that this simply couldn't happen.

West Sussex: Steyning Stinger marathon race recap

I'd been looking forward to this race for ages as I lived in West Sussex for nine years and this race is largely on the South Downs Way, which I ran last year.  It was going to be a glorious adventure!  But then Storm Jorge came along, and I knew from Iz's Scout hikes that the area was frequently a mud pit in March, especially after a fortnight of perpetual rain.  On the way down on the train, I saw this:

 

... basically saying "it's going to be horrific".  Oh deep joy.  Ian and I had booked a couple of nights at super-fancy hotel South Lodge first so we had a lovely meal, a good night's sleep in a comfy bed and a morning jaunt around the muddiest bit of Sussex as a precursor:

Later that day my lovely friend Cat came to visit and we drank wine, had facials and mooched around the spa.  That evening Mattgreen came for dinner in the pub and cocktails in the hotel lounge.  It was all gloriously civilised.

The next morning I got up early, reluctantly checked out and made my way to Steyning Grammar School.  Organisation was good and the event was sponsored by Clif bars, which I liked.   What I didn't like was the prospect of spending many hours running up and down hills in the mud in the rain.  Trying to fake enthusiasm:

The one upside was they had given me the absolute classic running number 118.  This both guaranteed I wouldn't forget it and also gave me ideas for cool photo opportunities, as shown:

 

(Many thanks to Iz Green for the photoshop skills!)

The race had a somewhat quirky start in that it didn't have an official start time.  You could basically rock up anytime between 07:30 and 09:00 and just start running. This was weird as it felt like you were running by yourself.  Also, normally during a race, you naturally end up with a group of people who are around your pace who you overtake/they overtake you all the way through the race.  This didn't happen, as there could be someone who was your exact pace but who started 20 minutes later than you and your paths wouldn't cross all day.

The day was much nicer than predicted and within the first mile or two there were already hints of Sussex countryside loveliness:

 

The weather forecast was much worse than the reality and I was a bit warm from the get go.  Blue skies and pretty countryside - I felt my mood lifting pretty early on.

Nevertheless Sussex never fails to deliver on the mud front.  I was wearing new waterproof socks to try them out for Hardmoors and despite being filthy and having splashed through many (deep) puddles, my feet felt surprisingly dry.  Especially as my shoes had holes in them!

 

This picture was the one time the weather clouded over.  It rained, briefly, but I was in the woods at the time, and by the time I came out it had blown over never to be seen again...

There were many long slow climbs like this one, followed by long slow stretches across fields like this one:

 

In the pre-race email it said, "Along with many other events we are looking to reduce our use of disposable cups. We would therefore encourage you to bring along your own reusable soft cup or water bottle to be filled at our water stations".

I took this at face value and duly brought along my cup.  To my surprise, when I arrived at the first aid station, I was very surprised that they had loads of plastic cups.  I was literally the only person I saw all day who'd brought a reusable cup.  I'm afraid I'm quite draconian on this one - there is no such thing as TRY to reduce plastic - you just have to DO it.  Tell racers there will be no cups and to bring their own.  Sell your own branded one at the start for anyone who forgets.  They'll remember next time.  The end.

This chap was probably regretting the decision to wear white shorts:

 

The race organisers had photographers out on the course who provided free photos, always a nice touch - thank you!  Here I am not looking too miserable as it was on a flat bit!

Somewhere around 18km, I saw in the distance the familiar shape of Chanctonbury Ring.  It was surprising how little I recognised about this route considering I'd run it before.

When I got closer I took this picture.  This is the 'wrong' side of the Ring - the other side looks out on glorious countryside and reminds me of the night Ian and I wild camped here without a tent and Ian woke up with a slug in his sleeping bag.  Also the time Ludo escaped here and disappeared over a hill beyond an electric fence whilst I shouted obsenities - ahh happy memories!

A bit later you do two small loops.  I overheard someone saying they were very muddy so I had that to look forward to.  I saw Ian at the start of the first and he asked if I wanted anything - I said COKE because there was nothing but water at the aid stations to drink.  He went off to search for it and I completed the loop and headed on to the next one.  Lo and behold, when I arrived he was there clutching a bottle of it.  Lucky me!

I ran some more.  Sussex was Sussex-y.  There were hills, but nothing too savage.

There was mud, but nothing unexpected.  In fact one chap told me he'd run a big chunk of this route 2 weeks ago and it was loads worse then.  Immediately after I took this picture I spotted a lady I'd been running with earlier, Sharon, who tripped on this mud and fell over.  We ran together for the next 10k or so.

Here we are coming into the aid station at the end of the second loop.  She was from Horsham and had grown up children also so we had plenty to chat about!

Here's another one of the race photos.  I had a hat at the start but it was too hot, so I took it off and then my hair kept getting in my face, so I used my buff to hold it back.  I do look a bit strange though...

Race conditions were ideal by now, this is around the 37k mark.  I was feeling strangely comfortable, I'd been taking it easy all day and was feeling fine and cheerful.

The last little bit goes through the woods and is quite pretty.  Here's Sharon and I (slightly blurry):

Probably about a mile from the end there is a horrifically muddy and totally impassable section without going straight through it.  Oh well!  Crack on! 

Here I am crossing the finish line.  Today's was a pretty slow, sluggish one, but with 991m of ascent and a significant amount of mud, plus having spent yesterday doing very little, I felt it was OK.

I waited for Sharon at the finish and clapped her in - when I saw the results later she actually finished 20 minutes before me as she'd started after me (!). Then I went straight to the showers, via the boot wash.  This turned out to be a lot of fun - look at the colour of my trainers under all that mud!

Another quirk of this race is it includes a free breakfast.  I chose the veggie option but still didn't much feel like eating it - I managed the bread roll and the baked beans and a cup of tea though.

Here I am with my medal - they weren't given out at the finish but instead in the room with the breakfasts, so I didn't collect it until I was clean and changed.  The medal was small and has a really short ribbon - looked quite funny on big strapping men!  Overall a nice race - well signposted, extremely well marshalled and friendly.  Enjoyed it.