Are you really an ultra-runner if you've never DNF'd?

 

Today I ran some of the copses of Bracknell as a way of starting my training for the London Marathon 2022. The weather has cooled a bit, but it's still nice and sunny, and heating towards mid-day. It's still July but the marathon date (2 Oct) is surprisingly only 10 weeks off.

Having completed a PB marathon and 10k in the last few weeks, and also having 'completed' my first-ever DNF at Snowdon, I'm being careful to recover properly before taking on new challenges or races. I've been taking it easy since Snowdon, but also just revelling in the fact that despite the DNF it was such a fun run and great day. 

Besides which, are you really an ultra-runner if you've never DNF'd?  I would say NO!  Now I'm an ultra-runner!

And I'm going to shoot for a PB at London, which I've left as a fairly easy mark having finished in 3:50 at Southampton back in April.

I'm running for charity (Treloar's), so please donate if you can: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/gwilymeades

Southampton Marathon 2022

At the start line: focused!

It wasn't that hot of a day, but the new course is very hilly, even more so than when I ran my first marathon here back in 2018. 

What I'm saying is: they've added hills since then. And it was really hilly back then.

After completing the marathon this year, with all its delights, including 4 times over Itchen Bridge, Strava told me that the course (two times around the main loop) had 1050 feet of elevation gain.

One thing I will say is: it felt like it!

Psychologically this is an interesting course. You got a loop within a loop, and you have to do the main loop twice if you're running a marathon.  That's four loops, which is why you cross the bridge that many times. 

Some will say, the bridge isn't really a hill.  I beg to differ: it really is! It's not as big as that REALLY big hill later on, but the bridge is not flat. It looks like a mountain when you're running up it, and it goes on for a good long while. It's hard!

Powering across Itchen Bridge

Photo: Colin Mitchell

Now, I had some strategy going into this race, though technically, it was a training run for me in preparation for my 10 July 2022 Xterra Ultra Snowdon race. With that said, I spent at least five to six weeks doing marathon-specific training, using the training plan provided by Southampton.

Just past halfway, feeling great!

The photo above shows me just past the halfway point, feeling great. My strategy was to maintain an 8 minute mile pace throughout the race, with even pacing. With that said, my watch reads in km, so I told myself not to ever go faster than 5 min/km as a rule, so as not to go too fast (which I inevitably would).

The first mile was slow, and then they got a bit too fast, but not by too much. Splits were around 7:58 mins per mile at times in the early going. Later, the first time up the hill for example, I told myself to pace it out, and dropped down to maybe 8:30s.

I knew the second mini-loop, on the east side of Itchen, would be possibly the toughest psychologically. This is the 15-19 mile zone. It was hard, but not that bad. A big boost came when I crossed Itchen for the last time, and actually this was a nice spot because the wind had a big cooling effect, and the temps were creeping upwards.

At mile 20, just past the stadium (which we ran through, and was a big boost), the pace dropped just a bit. This is where in my first marathon in 2018 I had decided to walk.  Not this time. I didn't walk once during this race.

To mile 22 I was fine, there was a breeze, and some bands were playing really excellent music. It was a nice day for a sunny run.  Then I turned the corner for the final hill and the wind completely dropped away, there was no shade, and I was surrounded by concrete.

At the same time as I hit a 10min/mile pace, so did everyone else around me.  We were, at least, in sync, and I wasn't being passed.  Through the university area we finally got some shade, and there was great support through there too.  

I switched from Soreen/Lucozade power mode (one quarter of a Soreen mini per mile maintain up through mile 20), to Lucozade and water only (though I did power down a big block of Kendal sugar bomb). The water was the key thing as I had dutifully kept my energy stores up, and now just needed to sweat.

I was sick of Soreen, but cool due to having taken water at at least 10 different stations.  There were a lot of water stations, and a lot of water to be had at each, not in little sippy cups either.  These are proper sack/bubbles, with more than enough to quench the thirst.

The support was excellent, it was fun, and the course is amazing, with a lot of variation. I would run it again, actually. It was my Personal Best marathon time (that is, of ALL TIME, FOR ME), at 3:52:44, beating my previous best by a couple of minutes. This despite the fact that I took a wrong turn at the (very silent, unsigned) split point where the HMs carried on to their own finish line, and we took a left for our second half.  

For a training run, I'm super happy with this. I had trained to go faster obviously but as all marathon runners know, nothing ever really goes according to plan on race day, and you take the good with the bad.  Actually there was very little of the latter, nothing bad to report (just that unclear split point), and I love every aspect of this course, which has helped in my ultra training and racing to come.

What winning the Radgick Award means to me

I keep a running journal to manually record my route, distance, time, and notes on daily runs (or rests), with one entry for every day, whether I run or not. It started out as a Runner's World pre-formatted book that I'd bought at Smith's, but after a couple of years of those, I just started writing out the headings each time, always making sure to include some information on how the run went. This might be how I felt, or how the weather was that day. I paraphrase below from my journal entry for today.

Yesterday I received the Radgick Award for ultra-running from Bracknell Forest Runners.  This was an incredibly validating and meaningful award to receive for me.  It has a great deal of value in addition to that which I gained from completing Race to the Stones and Run to the Sea this year. That extra bit of recognition really helps, and its value goes way beyond the physical object.  And it's not just about looking back. 

I now have added inspiration about what went so well last year, and how to apply it to the coming one. I've identified 5 things that went well and that I plan to continue doing:

1. I listened to my body. I didn't run when I felt that doing so might result in injury or sickness.

2. I was consistent. Long (10, 12, 15, 18, 20+ miles) training runs occurred at least every other (if not every) week.

3. I let myself recover: 2 rest days per week

4. I did strength training (at the gym or at home): 2 times/week

5. I paid attention to eating enough and eating well before, during, and after running

My goal race for 2022 is the 60km Xterra Snowdon Ultramarathon. It looks crazy written out on the page (and even crazier looking at the elevation profile of the course). In the meantime, I have Wokingham Half and Southampton Marathon as milestones on the way to that midsummer dream, about which I will be blogging in the months to come.

I feel that I must also add that, while training for ultras often involves a lot of solo running, it wouldn't be possible without social support from friends and family, and without a lot of social and group running. Track, MNCR, and BFR Sunday runs from the Lookout are the true inspiration behind successful ultra running!

Run to the Sea 2021

 

My first ultra since Race to the Stones a few months ago, I had been checking out the course on Google Earth for a few days.  My practice runs had been supposedly about honing my race strategy in terms of pacing and nutrition.  I say 'supposedly' because for some earlier races (the Stones, and Brighton Marathon), that strategy (especially the nutrition part) hadn't really worked out.

But for this race, it did, both on the food and on the pace side.  Where earlier in the year I had failed to eat enough on the course, which had then contributed to a severe dropping off of my speed, during this race to the sea I had replicated a strategy that I had honed pre-lockdown, way back in my Laurentians run into northern Quebec when I spontaneously went out for a 48km run from Morin Heights on the Corridor Aerobique.  I count that as (until now) my best ever run.

The run I did yesterday, down to Poole and across to Bournemouth, has just usurped that position as 'top run'.  What I done earlier, I did now, which is to say, "Eat enough."  As in the Laurentians, I took with me sufficient food to fuel a 50km run (and then some): 4 Peanut Clif Bars; 3 SIS gels; 3 bottles of Lucozade, spread across three bottles (one in my Kalenji trail bag/vest; one on my running belt; and another carried by hand to the first check point where the empty bottle was discarded).

I ate all of it, the final two gels being washed down with a berry flavoured Lucozade in the final three miles of the race.  I still had energy, though a very faint tell-tale tingle haunted my finger tips, a sure sign of impending low-blood sugar for me.  

The beginning of the race took us through dry forest-lands bordering on some swampy areas, in alternation.  I had lined up with the 7:40am group and spotted a few other BFRs across the way.  But second later everyone was running, grouped or clustered or single (like me), just behind the whole big cluster.  I was NOT going to head out too fast.  This, the second successful strategy, which was to keep the pace above 10mm the whole way.  Begin the race and you intend to end it.  Which I did!

It was more like 11mm+, which was even better.  I ran along behind a bit group that had some jokes circulating and some big laughs, a great feeling that was infectious.  As they pulled away from me I actually began to believe I might've been in last place, but then I remember all the people I'd left behind back at the toilet queue.  A couple more solo runners passed me and I settled into the first leg to the checkpoint.  The scenery remained haunting and beautiful with early morning fogs just beginning to lift across boggy meadows and moors.

The terrain was pretty flat throughout, with a wide gravelly pathway and lots of room to pass other runners, or be passed, or to say hi to dog-walkers and families of the earlier morning bent.  At each checkpoint I ritualistically downed a Clif bar and washed it down with plenty of Lucozade.  I hit the second check point having only consulted my watch a couple of times, and that to see if I was indeed on the right track, following the organiser-supplied .gpx file I'd set to 'Navigate' as a course.  It was spot-on the whole way.

So, the long middle section arrived, and my pace crept up a bit.  I run a lot of half-marathons, and was heading into that distance, between the 19km checkpoint 2 and the 31.5ish km checkpoint 3.  During this log segment I paced myself with some 10mm runners and overheard their chat and knew I was on a fast bit and that I'd need to not get carried away if a finish was to be possible.  My instinct to just finish always kicks in at some point as I fatigue during a race and adjust.

The first time I checked my distance was when navigate informed me I had 21km to go.  It was nice to have this information well past the halfway point because in my mind I was only just halfway.  And here I was with just a couple of kms to the next checkpoint, and already on the seafront.  Once you hit that seafront you feel like you're on the home stretch, and you have a lot of support along the way.  You feel a bit like you're just out for jog like everyone else, nothing special for certain stretches, but then of course there are the dedicated supporters walking along, or sitting at one of the many pub tables along the way.

A lot wobbly looking people in the heat of the final checkpoint, and we had only 8+km to go at that point.  The last 5 miles felt long and a bit hot (though with cool breaths of air from the sea), and I mostly managed to run the whole thing.  I think I only walked for less that one mile during the entire race.  An older runner paced me for part of it: he was indefatigable and never once walked and he had an absolutely metronomic pace going.  I was with him at checkpoint 4 at which point he stopped for about a minute, and then was off into the distance without me.

The last legs are the most inspiring finishing segments I've seen for a while, with grand vistas along the beach to a distant headland cliff.  You push through some sand and up a knoll and you're there, and everyone's so laid back lolling on the grass like its a summer festival.  Which it was, with summery weather even though only early autumn.  A great day, and a very memorable race that I'll consider doing again next year.

Race to the Stones 2021

 

In this first photo (above) I am in the Field of Dreams, possibly the most iconic location along the section of The Ridgeway that comprises the Race to the Stones route.  As a friend pointed out, it very much looks like I just ran here with the attention of arriving to say 'hi, I'm here!' on Instagram.  Which in a way I did, I had viewed images of the locale on the RTTS site, and on Google Earth recon missions so many times, that I was elated to actually be there in reality.  Field of Dreams is The Thing Itself.

In the second photo I've just finished the race and have a genuine smile on my face. I was very happy to see my wife Diane who had just arrived moments before I crossed the finish line.  A woman behind me was sobbing and laughing at the same time, and I could see the crowds of people waiting behind the COVID line as we approached.  I held my Loki Micro Trail Pro poles (see photo below) one in each hand to highlight (if only to myself) how important this gear choice had been. These poles were a key element in my pacing which towards the end I would characterise as a 'fast walk', on very uneven and unforgiving terrain.  The chalkland ruts in the final leg of the race are notorious and 'vicious' (as a friend so aptly put it). Having the stabilizing influence of this light comfortable bit of kit was wonderful through the whole of the second day of the race (I was pole-less on the first day). 

The first day was also amazing in its own way, and it was really different, a real contrast, to the one that followed.  I was the fourth person out of the start gate at 6:30am on Saturday in a field near Lewknor.  It was dry and cool, great conditions, and I saw a couple of people I knew, and I waved and smiled, with only slight nerves running through me as I spaced myself next to the other starters.  I paced myself out to the 1km marker where marshals and race supporters cheered us on as I sarcastically remarked "one down" to the 1km marker and the cheering people standing next to it.  I had a good chat with a pair of similarly-paced (approx 10 min mile) runners about how good the conditions were, and about how nice it was to be on the trail, pacing, and not going off too fast.  At this point, and throughout the entire race I was being passed by runners going faster than me.  I was never passed by a walker.  By the end I managed to finish in 171st place (fourth page down on the Weekender page), a result with which I am most pleased because it reflects not only my goal of completion, but also a fine finish for someone not really out to compete.  Scrolling down the pages later I saw a LOT of DNFers and 'dash' finishers (a dash next to your name meaning what, I not quite sure).

The photo above shows my posing after several lovely cozy fun hours with my wife at the basecamp, a couple of which were kind of miserable with rain, but luckily we were under a beautiful dry tent, and I spent a good deal of time stretching, eating (a massive burrito filled with chips, salad, sour cream, and lovely cooked veggies), showering (I was the first person into a pristine shower stall over in the 'quiet' yellow tent section, which I LOVED, because it was ACTUALLY quiet ALL NIGHT).  During the dry hours we watched Wimbelodon on a truck-sized television next to the chill-out tent, sitting in chairs we'd had stashed in the back of the car for just such as occasion.  In the photo above I'm sporting my RTTS sweatshirt featuring a yurt-sized hood. The next day I wore my 'official' RTTS running shirt despite it allegedly being bad luck to do so.  

In a way it's amazing how well I could walk by the end of the first day, given how brutal it had been, especially Grim's Ditch.  I had read up on this feature beforehand but it is impossible to see at the resolutions available on Google Earth.  It's an old fortification or jurisdictional/parish boundary that runs for several kilometres roughly east-west, and it is filled with tree roots and a lot of non-flat slippery or single track sections with very little recent trimming.  Because of the mostly single track aspect of it, and because it is early in the race, it is very easy to get locked into the pace of the dozen or so people directly in front and behind you, like a moving queue.  This for me was the most challenging aspect, and after Grim's Ditch I never really went very fast again, though I'm proud to have maintained a good pace anyway.  After about 18-20 miles the fast part of my race was over.  This does, I realise, amount to starting off too fast, which seems bound to happen regardless of best intentions, given how excited and fresh one feels to be starting one's race after six months of training and a really good taper. 

The other best decision (aside from pacing myself and using poles in the second half) was my choice of shoes. I chose to run in a pair of newish (<100 mile) Asics Gel Kayano 26s and not to switch to trail shoes for the second day.  Sticking with the Asics was definitely the right choice because I have never done significant training time in trail shoes, and because the majority of training was done in the shoes in which I actually ended up running the race.  The poles, however, were virtually a new addition on race day, so why did these end up working?  I had actually used poles on some long runs at one point back in 2020, perfecting my so-called Nordic walking technique, which I did use a bit on race day until it started to give me blisters.  Before those blisters could even set in I changed my technique to more of what I might call a 'back stab' technique which I'd seen another guy a bit older than me using at the start of that glorious second day.

I actually feel like I made a friend with him, and we chatted for a good half hour.  I had actually seen him before, in 2019, and vividly remembered having been asked by him that first time if I was running on fresh legs (which I was: in 2019 I did day 2 only, coming in at around 5h 30, and managing 10th place for that day). Turns out, having chatted to him a bit more and being a bit more companionable this time around, he's a lifelong runner who has switched to ultras and staged races now that he's mostly given up on marathons.  He will be running in Iceland as training for some 300 plus mile sled-pulling staged events finishing up in the Canadian Arctic at Tuktoyaktuk, NWT.  This chat at the start of day 2, on the glorious route that it represents, in the brilliant sunshine along towards Uffington White Horse and that whole landscape, was the highlight of the race for me.  I loved Grim's Ditch and its mud/guts/glory aspects; and I loved Field of Dreams; but being able to bond and relate and find out about someone else's journey was the winning moment and a breakthrough.  It was also really funny how announcing at one point like it was a big deal that I was actually going to run, I then ran for around 10 miles leaving my friend behind, only to have him continually thereafter pop up several places ahead of me (not too far mind you), but without him seeming to ever break a sweat.  It was funny, and is part of the reason why I was still smiling right at the end (after passing my friend again, him having beaten me to the Avebury Stones themselves on that funny little jog at the end where the race cruelly makes you double back around to reach the finish line). 

In the map above, Grim's Ditch is the straight section with the hard left-turn at the end, moving from top right to the left across the map.  Below you see my completed second section from the Strava map. Many people complained about day 2 but I think it is both more beautiful overall and more forgiving.  It is only hard because the very last section is rutty single track and because you're exhausted. 

My take aways from my first 100k?  Well, first of all, I'll be doing it again!  I will probably do the weekender again next time because I love the vibe at basecamp, and loved spending time with my wife there to just get a big boost, and relax and enjoy the summer a bit.  

Second, I love the landscape and will seize any opportunity to experience it again. There's something magical about the area, and not just because I'd read Pratchett's The Wee Free Men just before my run. The whole Ridgeway feature is packed with history and beauty, with friendly people and adventurers, with the most beautiful cows I ever seen (like cows from heaven), with the hardiest looking grains and soils and bedrock the most sensuous-smelling vegetation and just solid foundation-running I can barely formulate into words. It is a holistic and unforgettable life-changing world-shaking experience that I will try to do as many times as I can again before I die.  It might sound weird to say that, but it is truly something to measure oneself by, and it brings to mind thoughts of mortality at times in part, well, let's be honest, because you feel like you're dying!

Third, it's a great run and love setting up the kit, being prepared, and just running out there in my carefully chosen ensemble right down to the socks I'd picked up at the last minute at the running store and that brought me as much comfort as anything when I was sore.  Mostly I remember feeling good to be honest and I was lucky to be able to recover from this run really quickly too.  Part of the 'great-runness' of it has been recovering with a big juicy steak on Sunday evening; managing somehow to stay up for the England-Italy match later that same day (was it still the same day somehow?); going out for another big juicy steak on Monday the next day, and by Tuesday feeling ready to run again.  I am lucky, but I also prepared well and didn't overtrain.  My max training run was 24 miles; my best training run was a 20/14 mile back to back.  These things (and just shy of 1000 miles training over 6 months) got me through.

Fourth, I have to say I love posting stuff post-run, and I'm all about the kudos.  With that I'll go reminisce and scroll a bit more, and think about signing up for next year! I can't wait for RTTS 2022.....

5 years' running

July 2021 will mark 5 years since I started running.  I was 46, a 'master's' runner, when I began my couch-to-5k program with Runnymede Runners at Windsor Great Park. It was a pretty big group that met at the Savill Garden car park 3 times a week to alternate run/walk in a big long line. If you got to the front during the run phase, you'd curl back around in the opposite direction and go to the back of the line until it was time to walk again. This was repeated as many times, on as many days, as needed, to get to the point where you were running the whole 5k.  I was pleased in those days to do an easy 5k in 37 minutes, noting to myself that it wasn't hard if you just paced yourself.

Now I'm 51 and I feel like I've come through a big string of personal bests and fitness improvements that were massive, but also due to my age that I'm angling back down to where I was at the start of the c25k journey, noting often to myself these days that 'I'm just glad that I can run'.

In 5 years I've overcome IT band pain, runner's knee, Morton's neuroma, and shin splints, all of which felt fairly major, and took me out for at least one three week period at a time.  Each time I got back to running I told myself 'I'm just glad that I can run, no matter what the pace, it's the fact that I'm running that matters, because it feels so good.'

So, in a way, not much has changed.  For example, during today's recovery run, in which I honestly felt that I could not have run much faster, I did about a 12 minute/mile pace, about the same pace as my first 5k.  The difference now is that I labeled today's run a 'recovery run' because yesterday I did a 'lactate threshold interval' run, in which you maintain your 10 mile race pace for 12-14 minutes during a 10k run.  It was tough but very do-able, and my pace alternated between 7 minute/mile and 10 minutes/mile.  

Earlier in the week I had done some intervals at the track.  A couple of days before that I did some long very slow running around Swinley Forest in preparation for my upcoming Race to the Stones. Now I'm doing ultras and have both marathons and half marathon races to run by the end of the summer.  And I'm supposed to be racing 5ks every so often on some Wednesdays with my now exclusive club Bracknell Forest Runners (though I'm still bolstered by lots of kudos from by old running buddies in Runnymede).

Strava tells me I've done 1220 runs to accumulate 7500 miles in my 5 five years.  

But it still really just boils down to that one truth: 'I'm just glad I can run'

Still Running: Why do I run?

 I'm reading Goddard's book Still Running, and it is making me think about why I run (and about why I am still running).

The book is written by a lifelong practitioner and scholar of Zen Buddhism, and it includes reference lists for each chapter, mostly on Buddhism, but also citing Noakes (Lore of Running) and other rigorous scholarly works.  This is (for me, an academic) both reassuring and useful because if I want to I can chase up another book later if I want more on a topic.

Goddard covers a lot of ground, and she includes a practical exercise at the end of each chapter.  I was surprised to find almost all of these useful.  For example, she recommends a 2:3 breathing rhythm (I use 2:2, meaning 2 steps on the inhale and 2 steps on the exhale), and has a set of running instructions for both experimenting with, and choosing, an effective pattern.  I have come to my own 2:2 pattern after reading Daniel's Running Formula. 

Goddard also covers cadence, and the golden 180 number that so many others cite as ideal.  She is quick to note that 180 is bandied about as an 'elite' figure, and that we should work up to it, building consistency through our practice.  You don't need to be a Buddhist to appreciate this book, and you don't need to be a runner.  This an introductory text for becoming a (better) runner; it also introduces some fundamental concepts (such as breathing and mindfulness) in Buddhist practice and philosophy (as noted above, with references).

Sometimes (especially after an injury) I'm almost surprised that I'm still running. I've met middle-aged men who seem to be former runners who will often cite injury or laziness as a reason for not continuing with the sport.  For me, one of the biggest ongoing challenges to continuing to run is that the social aspect of it has been pulled away for over a year now.  One of my last 'social' runs was the Wokingham Half Marathon in February 2020. I ran a few times with a small group in August as well, but since then I've run roughly 1000 miles on my own.

As a cumulative fact I'd say this has been harder than being injured. Running solo has its upside but done too often it comes to feel like an overuse injury: non-acute but gradually noticed as pain over time until it almost comes to feel debilitating.  

Opportunities are starting to emerge to run in groups but the sad fact is that my last group run in August ended in acute injury: a shin splint pain that made me hobble home and that even three weeks rest failed to fully rehabilitate.  It took me until December to finally be able to begin to build up to 20 miles a week, and then very gradually up to 40/week and into an ultra-marathon training plan (from the book Relentless Forward Progress, the easiest plan in the book, in preparation for July 2021's Race to the Stones). 

But even now I manage the shin pain which has flared up again at times, in part by adjusting my pace on the fly and in the moment, something you can't really do when you're pegged to a metronomic group-paced run.  

So I keep running on my own, managing 20-45 miles a week depending on how I'm feeling.  Often it is slow going, but other times I surprise myself by doing fast-paced runs that feel easy.  It is those pacier/easier efforts with a small group that I really miss, and that I fear might never return.  

Even if they don't (and they will), I'll still keep running, and with Askwith and others, I'll practice slow running, running like a deer (visualisation), or maybe even blind running; in other words, I'll keep experimenting and having fun, which is another aspect of Still Running: it makes running fun again.