This ultra is one of many examples of mission creep in my relationship with running. When I started my C25k programme in Summer 2010, my goal was to be able to run 4 miles in 45 mins so that run-commuting became a viable option. Then, in December 2010, I heard about Janathon, organised by JogBlog, and everything changed.

Overnight, I became a member of a running community*** and discovered my inner pit bull. I heard about parkrun, I was tempted into entering my first 10k race and the rest is history.

Yesterday’s run, from Brecon to Cardiff along the Taff Trail, went something like this:

Prelude – 4:15am to 8:00am

After setting my alarm for disgusting o’clock, I leapt out of bed as soon as it went off****, made a cup of tea, marmited two bagels for the coach, abluted, changed into the kit that I’d laid out neatly the night before****, picked up the bag that I’d carefully packed the day before****, and made my way to Sport Wales to catch the 5:30 coach to Brecon, leaving the bagels on the kitchen counter.  Doh!

By this time my nerves were rampant, but fortunately I recognised some familiar faces from the London Ultra and Newport parkrun and also sat next to a very kind and experienced ultra runner on the coach whose plan was to be back in Bristol by teatime in order to take down a marquee.

We arrived in Brecon with time to spare, and I wandered round chatting to people and working out which bits of my kit it was safe to leave.  Keith suggested leaving my entire pack, but that was just a touch too radical for me.

Travelling light

Section 1 – sociable

After going off far too fast at the London Ultra, I was determined not to do the same thing here, so started at the back of the pack. For the first 25 minutes, I ran with David who was adopting a time-based run/walk strategy, and shortly after leaving him (my plan was terrain based) I met up with Frances, who writes the Renaissance Chic blog.

All of which made the first section seem like a fun run in glorious countryside on a spectacular day.

Section 2 – mercurial

You name it, I felt it. Positive, negative, smug, bored, lonely, happy, sad.

Straight after checkpoint one (slightly early at eight miles) came the slow, steady climb up to mile 13. I was still with Frances for this bit, so the climb itself was offset by the company and some spectacular views.

A spectacular view

As we went over the top of the hill, I said farewell to Frances and took advantage of the slope to add some speed without increasing my effort.

The quarter-way point came and went (feeling strong, feeling smug) and the scenery was gorgeous (happy days) but I was running alone (bored now) and the odd “I’ve got to do that again three times” thought drifted into my head.

I stopped briefly at checkpoint 2 to top up my water, where I was overtaken by Peter, and then it was onto section 3.

Section 3 – faff, fidget and flag

Oh the palaver. I stopped to add some body glide to my bra strap where it was chafing due to my pack. I stopped to loosen my laces as my feet were starting to overheat and swell. I stopped to rearrange my jacket which had started to flap irritatingly against my legs. And my definition of a runnable hill started to contract markedly as the day became warmer and warmer.

But I caught up with Peter just shy of checkpoint 3 and this boost was amplified by an outpouring of twitter love which lifted my spirits and made me think that section 4 could be the best yet.

How wrong can one person be?

Section 4 – bloody long

I left checkpoint 3 with a runner called Chris, and we’d gone about half a mile down the path when we spotted two people, one on the path and one in the ditch. As we got closer we realised that there was a third person there, a cyclist who had taken a nasty tumble and who was bleeding profusely from cuts to his face and head. While the two good Samaritans called for an ambulance, first aider Chris helped to keep the injured man calm and checked for other injuries. Meanwhile I remained on the path reassuring passing runners (including Peter and Frances) that the situation was under control and that yes they should carry on with a clear conscience.

The four of us stayed with the cyclist and his wife (who had been a little way ahead of him at the time he’d come a cropper) until they left in the ambulance, after which Chris and I continued on.

I ran with Chris for a while, but although the impromptu stop had given me a useful rest, for Chris, already suffering from cramp, it was the beginning of the end. By now my “walk the ups” strategy had morphed into a “walk the sunny sections” one as I was wilting in the heat, but I did gradually start to catch up with some of the runners who had passed as we waited for the ambulance.

Halfway through this section my Garmin bowed out and I lost all sense of time and distance. I was buoyed by a wonderful cyclist who adopted a stretch of the trail to support and who cheered and encouraged with gusto. I caught up with a battered and bruised Frances, who had also taken a tumble, and gratefully slowed down to walk with her to checkpoint 4. Which was just around the corner. Wasn’t it? Surely it must be soon. Oh for pity’s sake where is it? Is that it? No. How about that? No. We are still on the right route aren’t we? Surely we must be. Oh yes there’s a marker arrow. Where. Is. This. Checkpoint?

Aha! There! Yay!

Section 5 – leapfrog

By now most of the runners in my immediate vicinity were walking with the odd run thrown in so this section was a game of leapfrog. I’d pass a walker on one of my runs only to be passed back by them on my next walk. A few shady downhills allowed for some extended runs but the last five miles stretched on and on and on. By this point I was walking almost exclusively, though I was managing just enough running to keep up with the two runners ahead / behind / ahead of me. I tweeted Sue to say where I was and give her an ETA and then saw a sight even more welcome than that of checkpoint 4. Sue on her bike come to guide me home.

I’d love to say that I ran the last two miles, but I didn’t. I did however run far more of them than I would have done without her. And eventually, just shy of twelve hours after setting off, I finished.

Yay!

And I’ve already entered my next race – the inaugural Downslink Ultra 38 in October.

*And walked. And crawled.

**Garmin DNFd

***including the amazing @suejonze who invited me to stay with her and then proceeded to mother me beautifully.

****I’ll leave you to decide where this statement sits on the truth scale.

Please stop reading my blog.

If you read it because you know me personally, and you feel obliged to, then stop*.

If you read it because I once commented on your blog and you feel some sort of reciprocal duty, then stop*.

If you read it because there was one post ages ago that you enjoyed, but since then it’s really not spoken to you, then stop*.

If you read it because you feel somehow that you ought to, then stop*.

If you read it for any reason other than enjoyment, then please stop*.

Because I am not writing this blog to become rich, and I am not writing this blog to become famous, and I do not care if it is read by one person or many.

I am writing this blog because I want to, and if my parkrun reviews inform you or my struggles with motivation reassure you, or my attempt at ultra training amuses you, then that’s great.  But life is short, and time is precious, and there is very little that you will read on here that will transform your life.  So go, with my good wishes, and discover a blog that you can’t wait to read*.  Like Cake of Good Hope.  Or Something about Rowing.  Or College at Thirty.  Or Not Much of a Runner.  Or Bad Science.

*Unless you are Abradysis.  In which case, I’m sorry, but tough.  Reading my blog is a requirement.  And there will be a quiz.

I have just spent the day at Write this Run, listening to inspiring tales of derring do*, grit and general awesomeness from the likes of Donna DeWick, Mimi Anderson, Kevin Betts and Scott Overall.

After which I drove to Wimbledon Common, sat in my car, watched the rain, ditched my planned run and drove home.

*I have no idea what this is.

My training plan called for an easy parkrun followed by an hour of rolling trails, but after ditching both Thursday’s tempo session and Friday’s easy three-miler, I decided that a tempo parkrun was probably the order of the day.

I turned up bright and early, ready to meet Plustenner (who had agreed to be my SatNav for the additional miles) and was, once again, bowled over by the beauty of the Banstead Woods parkrun course.

In addition to the usual trees, today also sported a (small and extremely well marshalled) hurdle …

Banstead parkrun hurdle

…and an abundance of bluebells.

Banstead parkrun bluebells

After which, Plustenner led me along the nature trail, through the fields, around the houses and back again.

Bluebells and sunshine on the nature trail

…where I bumped into Run or go crazy and her son.

Sometimes sloth has its benefits.

Which in no way detracted from the appeal.

I arrived just in time for the start, after a mad dash from a nearby car park.  I said a few quick hellos to some familiar faces, listened to the briefing and then we were off.  It’s a flat, three lap course run on a mixture of grass and tarmac, and the laps have enough twists and turns to make them interesting, featuring trees, a river, two bridges and assorted other bits of scenery.

The turnout may have been swelled by curious tourists, but judging by the number of parkrun first timers and Winchester and District AC members who were there, a good proportion of the 280 runners will be back in the future.

And given the parkrun’s proximity to the South Downs Way*, ideal for when parkrun forms part of a longer training run, I may well join them.

*Which I found very easily with a little** help from Rob and Marc.

**Okay.  A lot.  Directions followed by a guided jog, once my ability to follow instructions was shown to be wanting.

It’s one of the more unusual parkrun courses that I’ve run*.

To anyone from Cardiff, St Albans, York, Harrogate or Bushy parkruns, this is a hilly course.  To anyone from Dewsbury, Ashton Court, Ally Pally, Hampstead Heath or Conkers, it’s flat.

Visitors from King’s Lynn, Netley Abbey and Maidstone will find the switchbacks familiar, and will be well trained in the art of keeping to one side of the path looking for friends or rivals running in the opposite direction.  Visitors from more traditional lapped courses like Wimbledon, Dulwich or Hilly Fields may find the sight of so many approaching runners disconcerting.

Buggy runners from Finsbury Park and Riddlesdown will find the relatively gentle gradients and tarmac surface a welcome relief (though they’ll need to watch out for the bollards), and everyone will be able to appreciate the café.

*Three slightly different laps of gently undulating tarmac, each with an out and back section.

I had it all planned.  I would drive to the Reigate Hill car park, get changed in the loos there and then run out and back along the North Downs Way before the light faded.

But then the universe started giving me hints*.

Hint 1: rush hour traffic – I was significantly later getting to the car park than I’d anticipated.

Hint 2: closed toilets - cue trying to change in the car without contravening public decency laws (damn you, sports bra designers, damn you all to hell).

Hint 3: disassembled hydration pack – cue ten minutes of trying to force the plastic tubing into the cloth sheath

Hint 4: Garmin having a spat with the satellites – and taking what felt like hours to find a signal.

At which point I was nearly ready to give up and go home.

But I didn’t*, and I had one of the most enjoyable runs I’ve had for a long time.

Maybe the universe was just testing my resolve*.

*The universe is not sentient and does not revolve around me.  The universe is not sentient and does not revolve around me.  The universe is not sentient and does not revolve around me… [repeat ad infinitum]

This includes things like wearing shoes that you bought ten days ago, using a race belt that you bought at the expo two days ago, using Clif Shot Blocks when you’ve only ever used GU Gels and wearing a short sleeved, wide-necked t-shirt when all your training runs have been done in a long-sleeved, high-necked base layer.

So which of those did muppet-features here do?

Every single one.

Coz I’m a fool.

The day started promisingly enough.  Saturday’s heavy rain and high winds (I felt for the SDW50 runners who were out in those conditions) were replaced with cloud cover and the occasional gust*.  My plan to catch the train into Brighton and walk up from there was vindicated within minutes of leaving the house when I crossed paths with James, who was planning the same journey.  The train itself was heaving with marathon runners, and my vague research into walking routes from Brighton to Preston Park proved entirely unnecessary as the route, in true parkrun fashion, turned out to be ‘follow the person in front’.

My last-minute nerves were calmed by Paul, an experienced (and fast) marathon runner looking to go sub 3:15 to win a good-for-age place in London 2014 and before I knew it I was wading through the muddy goo of Preston Park to join the veeeeeeeeeeery loooooooooong queeeeeeeeeeeeeue for the loos.

After which I met up with Plustenner, Run or Go Crazy and Any Excuse and headed to the Pink corral.

Round and round the garden

The first mile is slooooooow.  Hoards of runners weaving their way around the outside of the park before joining the main Road.  If you’re aiming for a PB you might find this frustrating, but if you are in the habit of setting off too fast then it might prove to be a blessing in disguise.

A nice bit of culture

After leaving the park you run down towards the sea, but peel off to your right before you get there for a short tour of Brighton’s theatre district, the Brighton Pavilion**, St Peter’s Church and a small park, before you double back on yourself and head back towards the sea.

The hills, the hills

Of course, this is the Brighton Marathon, and nothing is straightforward, so you don’t actually make it to the sea.  Instead you peel off to your left to run up a hill before finally turning down onto the coast road.  The coast road that climbs up towards Rottingdean, leaving the sea far below.

The climb up to Rottingdean does come with some benefits for the middle of the pack runner.  As you run away from Brighton, you meet the fast bods coming back (Go Becky!), get your first chance to see the people just behind you (Go Alma! Go Giselle! Go Lorraine!) pass the Vuvuzela crew (Yay Lesley!) and then have a chance to see the back of the pack (Go Tiger! Go Donkeys! Go Nuns!) on your way back towards Brighton.  Which brings you to…

Halfway!

I was going well up to this point.  I’d stopped briefly at mile 12 to take a stone out of my shoe (where do they come from) and backtracked briefly to pick up one of the three gels that had made a bid for freedom from my gel belt (goodness only knows what happened to the other two), and I felt relatively fresh as I ran through the halfway point.

I also heard someone calling my name (Yay Run or Go Crazy’s family) and started believing that a serious PB might be on the cards.  But then we turned up into…

Hove actually!

and the road narrowed, and the runners bunched up and the pace fell and I wobbled.  The two miles out into Hove were slower but steady and I managed to hang on to a run.  Then came the return section and the knowledge that I could, at any point, pass Alma, Giselle and Lorraine coming in the other direction.  And it wouldn’t do to be seen walking, so I carried on running.  But then I passed them (Go y’all!) and I decided to take a walking gel break.

Run walk run walk run!

The next section was hard.  I just about managed to keep running, but only by walking the water stations.  Fortunately for my grit, I knew that at the far end of the harbour lurked family, so I plodded on.  Sure enough at the end of the harbour service road came the welcome sight of support, albeit on the other side of the route.  I waved, ran on, turned the corner, waited until I was out of sight and then walked another water station***.  Which brought me back to my posse.

Any excuse

I had to stop for a photo and a chat.  I would have been rude not to!

The last leg!

And then it was just a matter of running back to Brighton for my medal!

*there is some debate about this.  I didn’t register the wind at all but then I’m used to running along that section of the coast, and know quite how windy it can get.

**I know this because I have looked at the map and know the area.  On the day, I didn’t notice the pavilion.  How I could miss such a gaudy monstrosity, I will never know.

***A very generous description of the whole of the turnaround loop!

With a short downhill start, the rise and fall of the bridge and the short uphill finish, it’s not pancake flat, but to describe it as undulating would be unkind.  I was pootling along at the back, saving my energy for Brighton Marathon, but I imagine it will prove to be a fast course.

It’s also a great course if you like watching the frontrunners in action, as you’ll have the chance to see them on their way back.  Unusually, the leader at their mile two (my mile one) was not a man but a woman, Liz Weeks, who finished a full 30 seconds ahead of the rest of the field.

Following close behind were parkrun tourist Ian and Janathoner I Like To Count, both of whom were suitably encouraging as they passed and both of whom hung around at the end for a coffee in the museum café, which opened up specially for parkrun, where chat centred around marathons past and present. ’tis the season, after all.

*I gather from the middle of the pack runners that running over the bridge as part of the crowd is a somewhat disconcerting experience, as it vibrates with the footfall of the runners.  As there were only three other people on the bridge when I got there, I can neither confirm nor deny this assertion.  But I’m tempted to go back just to find out.

**this isn’t exactly the route shown on the website, which spends a little longer in the park than we did.