CTS Stage 1: Suffering Suffolk

We're milling about, ready to go, and the race director tells us it's time. We all wander into the starting area. I say we, I mean everyone else does. I found the end of the start and finishing chute and am faced with a wall of runners. It turns out I was about to start the race running the wrong way. Wouldn't be the best start methinks. 

I walk up to them and turn around. It looks like I'm going to be starting the race at the sharp end. There are only about forty of us so not a large field. Normally Endurancelife allow slow marathon runners to start at the same time as the ultra, but today they are keeping us all separate, so it's just the forty of us on the line of the first race in the Coastal Trail Series. 

A bit chilly to begin with...

After a quick countdown we're off. I'm away in the lead. I'm winning the race. The first thing we have to do is run to the end of the field down one side of a fence, go through said fence and double back on ourselves to come down the other side of the same fence. 

We reach the end of the field and before going through the gate I bottle it. It was a quick cheap thrill leading the race, but it's too much pressure and I hang back and let the next person go through the gate first. There goes my race winning career, living and dying in those glorious/hideous twenty seconds. 

The Ruins of Greyfriars Abbey. Start and Finish line.

We go back down the other side of the fence and pass directly beside Greyfriars Friary. Or rather, the ruins of it. The event base is situated in and around the grounds of the old friary, still walled off at the same medieval boundaries but with only a ruin of a building in the middle. Still, it's a pretty amazing place to start a race, with the morning sun hinting just over the top of it. 

It's a pretty chilly morning today. I'm a bit nervous about my kit choice as I've opted for a minimal pack weight today, carrying the mandatory kit and nothing else. Normally I take a few extra supplies and layers 'just in case' they're needed. Normally I'm finishing in the dark though and the temperature changes considerably through the course of a race. 

Today it's only around thirty four miles, or fifty three kilometres. As we're starting at eight thirty, I'm figuring I'll be done by the mid-afternoon so am baking on the fact that the weather will beat up and not cool down again before I'm back. Because I haven't got any extra layers. And I hate getting cold in a race. It's a risk, but the forecast is thirteen degrees so a fairly safe one. Instead I've got a base layer, shirt, and really thin wind stopped on. I figure there is still likely to be a lot of wind given this is the first race of the Coastal Trail Series. 

We found the corner at the bottom of the head and head down into the town. I'm still up with the guys at the front and am surprised they're not going quicker. I guess I expected the front runners would just whizz off, but a group of three friends are just running along and chatting a few metres ahead of me. 

We come down onto the main road. Well, not really a main road, but the only road through the small town of Dunwich in Suffolk, East Anglia. We potter along here for a bit and another guy passes me, putting me into fifth position. I briefly toy in my head with the concept of trying to keep up with these guys for as long as possible. Then I remember I've only put in three solid weeks of training and am still well above the race weight I'm aiming for and decide that it would be a really stupid idea to try to stay with these guys. 

We head back onto trail and I still have the first group in my sights, although they are getting further away as another veteran passes me. We're mainly in forest now, and it's nice to get a chance to have a bit of space to move and not worry about the road and potential death of a car coming towards us. My legs loosen up a bit and I settle into a bit more of a rhythm. It's quite a long stretch but I still stay near the front of the field, only being passed by one more guy. 

Soon, however, any dreams I may have been pretending not to have of finishing well up the field disappear. As is normal, a few guys went off the front at the start. As is also normal, a main bunch of runners stays not too far behind and remain in a group for the first while. This is the group that now pass me. In the space of three hundred metres I go from sixth place down to sixteenth. I must admit I feel a bit more comfortable with this. It felt a bit weird being close to the front. Because I'm not particularly good at this running lark so it felt a bit like cheating and pretending to be a better runner than I am. 

My plan for this race leading up to the day was simply to get around the course in one piece. After an unsuccessful attempt at a hundred mile race in May, I ended up losing nearly all motivation and not doing hardly any running over the summer. All the weight I'd lost in the build up to that was put back on. All the speed and endurance I'd built up dissipated as well. 

So a month ago I entered the first five of ten in this series. They're mostly the same distance excepting a couple of longer ones. So not daunting distances. The thing that makes them tough is that, apart from a break at Christmas, they're all three weeks apart. So the challenge is going to be staying injury free and pushing through training deep into the weather of winter. If it all goes well I'll be entering the other five races in the series as well. Fingers crossed. 

We reach the next of the long straight through the forest and go through a kissing gate. As I leave it another runner steps on my heel and catches my shoe. I stumble a little, he apologised and I say not to worry. We stay together for a minute or so and I start up a conversation, saying that's it's a perfect day for it. He says it's lovely weather and that it looks like I dressed exactly right for it. I say it's the wind topper that I'm banking on and explain about the fact I've not brought extra today. He agrees we're unlikely to be needing it. 

We chat as we head out of the forest and over the marshland. We're swapping hard packed trail through the reeds for wooden walkways on a regular basis and the sun is really starting to show. It's absolutely perfect conditions. Couldn't ask for better. As the ground underfoot isn't too dodgy here I get the chance to look up around me and survey the scenery. The whole area is a protected sanctuary for birds (RSPB) and I can't remember us passing a single road in the five kilometres or so we've already done today. It's fabulous looking out and hearing nothing but the wind in the reeds and the occasional birdsong as they fly away into the distance. 

We head closer and closer in to the coast, until we're only a path away, then we're down on it. There is mainly sand down here with a few pebbles. It's not too soft though so we can still get a bit of pace going rather than just having to trudge through the sand, which I'm glad not to have to be doing so early on. It's not a large section, only about a kilometre on the sand before we reach the inlet and are sent back up the beach to solid ground. It's been pleasant getting to hear the waves gently crashing but I'm glad to have hard ground underfoot again all the same. 

I cross a small wooden bridge and I'm at the first checkpoint. I dib my timing chip into the little machine, grin and thank the volunteer. As a last thought I ask him how far we are as it feels fairly quick to be having a checkpoint. He lets out an 'ooh, ah...' And I laugh and tell him not to worry. Not far enough is the right answer.

I head over to the inlet of the River Blyth and turn inland. The path here is solid as we head out over the marshland. For kilometres to my left are reeds waving in the wind. To my right, over the small river, is the same. There's a very old lighthouse directly over the river from me and in the distance is a ruin of some long lost building. 

I head up the path alone, but with other runners not too far in the distance as the ruin gets nearer. The sound of the ocean mixed with the reeds in the wind as the sight of the bright blue sky wakes up ready for the day is divine. 

The path is not particularly wide here and another runner comes up behind me. I move to one side briefly but they don't pass so I go back to the middle of the path. I look behind a few times to try to catch sight of him but we're still moving at quite an acceptable clip. After five hundred metres of so I give up and stop worrying about him, leaving the onus on him to move past if he wants. He doesn't, he just stays about a foot behind me. I briefly contemplate getting silently annoyed that this person is using me to pace them, not to mention following far too closely without either passing or starting a conversation, but decide it's not worth the effort on such a lovely day and choose to just ignore them instead. At this point I also notice I have a hot spot building up and start to wonder if it's going to turn into a blister and subsequently a problem. I decide to wait a bit too see if it gets any better. 

The path gets about three kilometres inland then takes a sharp left to head out across the marsh that way. As I reach the bend I see we are just following the curve of the river and the path takes several of these bends over the next couple of kilometres, giving different views of different parts of the marsh. My hair is starting to adjust a little to the hot spot and I'm starting to think it may not be one of the ones that goes away. 

Soon enough we reach the edge of the marsh and go through a gate to leave it. At this point the woman decides to pass me. Clearly I wasn't taking very detailed glances behind me given that I didn't realise her gender. She mentions it's a nice day and I agree. We make some small talk about which direction we should go and she carries on ahead. It's nice not to have her following so closely though I must admit. We cross a boggy section of path that's just a bit too big and my right shoe sinks quite deeply down into it. I joke that I'd hoped to keep my socks dry and she laughs as she's heading off ahead of me. 

We follow a few country roads and intersperse them with paths across farmers’ fields. It's nice having a change of scenery every three or four minutes and really breaks this section down to small parts in a way to long winding paths of the marsh didn't. It's not necessarily any better, just different, which is exactly what you want in an event like this. I do notice at this point another difference in that the hot spot definitely feels like it is now a blister and needs some attention soon if I'm to avoid it becoming a more serious issue. I resolve to stop and fix it the next chance I get to sit down properly and attend to it, figuring I'll do a better job of it if I can sit down and clean it. 

I go through another gate and head over another field. There is a ditch running across it and no walking bridge that I can see so I take a run up and leap over. It's close but I clear it. I'm feeling smug with myself when I come up on another ditch with shiny big water glinting up at me. This one is wider and less simple to clear. I briefly debate going further up but it doesn't look like anywhere else is going to be any better so I just leap in...and land up over the ankle in the bog. I get out the other side and carry on. 

I realise that it was my left foot that's just gone in the bog. The one with the blister I'm hoping to sort out. That's now seeming a much trickier prospect than before as it’s sopping wet. Bugger. I move further along the trail, through a get and into what looks like a car park. I realise I've come full circle back to the first checkpoint. 

I run up to them and ask if I can borrow their camp chair a moment. The volunteer says it's fine and I take a seat. I undo my muddy gaiter, pull my shoe off and peel the soppy socks off as well. It doesn't look too good. I clean it as best I can and get a Compeed out of my bag. It's not exactly fresh, having been caught in my bag by a burst gel, but it's going to have to do. I put it on and give it a few seconds to bond before rolling my sock up and taking my leave. 

Another runner has just passed through and I start chatting with him. He'd like to do quite a few of the races but is out of the country a lot of the time for some reason. Just as we're starting to get it moving and have a good conversation, I realise the blister has come off. It's lasted all of two minutes. I apologise and let him carry on ahead. 

I lean against a fence and go through the same ritual. The Compeed has come completely unstuck and is almost pointless so I grab the other one, also caught by the burst gel last week, and apply it. This time I do my best to clean the area first, but can tell it's an impossible task just as it was a few minutes ago. A pair of runners go by in the meantime. Eventually I put the plaster on, stick the other one over the top to try to help it stick, hoping the fact it's pretty wet doesn't just ruin both of them, and carry on my way. It still doesn't feel like it will hold, but may have to do. 

I'm pretty annoyed with my bad luck of falling in the bog water at such a bad time and head off again at quite a clip. I'm back dipping in and out of the forest now so again it's nice to have some variation, but the blister issue has knocked me a bit, having cost me a few minutes and still not feeling like it’s only going to hold for a short period. And I'm out of Compeed plasters. 

There's a fair bit of weaving in and out for a while until I reach a bit of a straight. As far as I can tell the plaster is holding but I'm starting to wonder how long for. I decide to throw a last resort solution at it. I stop. I sit down on the wet ground. I open my bag and pull out the fabric strapping. I check the plasters and they are holding but don't look too secure so I strap them up as best I can to secure them in place. 

As I'm doing this about ten other runners go by. There goes my hopes of finishing in a vaguely respectable position and I start to wonder if I'm now in last place. I hope not. It wouldn't be the end of the world but I thought I was doing a bit better than that. Most of them ask if I'm okay. I reply to all that it's just a blister. The first guy says with a grin that it's never just a blister. I laugh as he goes by. I wait for the rest of the field then pack up and head off myself, fairly demoralised. 

I'm also feeling quite tired and check my distance. I'm still only half a marathon in so shouldn't really be feeling tired at this point. Weird. It's been dead flat so I can't blame tiredness on a head course. I guess maybe it's just not my day today. I carry, or rather plod, onwards. It stays fairly straight for a few kilometres at this point with nary a turn so it really is just a matter of putting my head down and trying to get some easy miles in. Occasionally the odd marathoner passes and I wonder how many, if any, of the ones earlier were in the marathon rather than the ultra. 

At some point I pass a woman at a kissing gate who informs me the checkpoint is over the road and make a joke that at least it not raining for her standing here in the cold, which she politely laughs at. I often wonder whether there is much point in these silly jokes. The jokes themselves from a runner are usually immensely mundane and never funny and the checkpoint staff always laugh more than they need to in an effort to help boost the spirits of this retarded runner who can barely move attempting to make an abysmal funny. It's great for the runners as it gives them some human interaction and boosts their ego. I'm never quite sure what the volunteers get out of it, though, other than a string of banal jokes that make you question the intelligence of the nation. 

After what seems an age I turn a bend and see another long straight up to a road. It's nice as it does break it up a bit even if gradual inclines are a pain in the arse. Not quite big enough to justify walking but not enough to run without raising your heart rate slightly and having a panic you're struggling until you realise it's due to the incline. 

I reach the road and cross when the marshal tells me I can. I ask if I need to dib my timing chip and he looks confused. I ask again as I'm passing and he looks confused then decides to laugh it off, saying 'I don't know, maybe', followed by a jovial laugh. I presume I don't need to, then. I continue on. 

There's another lengthy straight and I'm suddenly passed by a rocket. This guy is hammering it and fast. He's followed not far behind by another guy at breakneck speed. Either I've joined the ten kilometre race route, or I'm going a damn sight slower than I thought I was. The second guy shouts 'runner on your right', before passing. Well, he sounds like a ten kilometre runner. After he passes, he says thank you. Now he sounds the same, but a trail runner rather than a road runner, who'd be more likely to punch me than thank me (that's not a stereotype, I really got punched in the guts by one for not moving off a footpath into a bush just last week). When the third guy goes past, or rather stops at a gate and I get more than two seconds to do so, I ask if they are doing the ten kilometre race. He confirms with a 'yup', then zooms off. 

The straight carries on for quite a while, punctuated by a slight bend before another long straight over some brushy area and eventually, as I'm being passed by another group, they turn down a sharp left and I carry on deeper into the forest. It suddenly becomes a lot less busy and, whilst it was nice to be around other people, their energy was very different to how I'm feeling plodding along so it's old to get back to that. 

I see almost no one for the next hour as I again just put my head down to try to get some more kilometres in while my legs aren't feeling like the tendons want to ping off. The good thing about such a flat course is that you can really get some speed in. The bad thing about such a flat course is also that you can really get some speed in. Hills break the day up a lot more and I do find I'm much better at performing on hills than on the flat. Today seems to be getting a bit monotonous, but that's largely due to how I'm going about it than anything else. I try to break myself out of my funk but don't have a huge amount of luck at it. 

Eventually, at about thirty five kilometres in, I reach the coast again. A quick glance to my right reveals the nuclear power station bizarrely placed in the middle of this sanctuary. I turn left though and head down the track off the side of the beach. 

At this point I start to feel a bit ill. I normally try to just eat normal food when racing but as I know the checkpoints here are only stocked with jelly babies and it's a short enough distance I've opted today to go for just gels. They're easier to carry and I find they only tend to give real problems on longer distance. But as I approach the part of the path where it meets the actual sand I suddenly just feel ill. Not insurmountable, but enough to be a pain in the jaxy. 

As I'm just hitting the sandy but it slows me to a walk for a second, then I see a grassy verge to the side and head for that. It's a pyrrhic victory though as it last all of five metres before heading back onto the sandy path. 

The next section is interspersed with equal parts sand and pebbles, with a dash of actual path thrown in for good measure. It's not too bad but I can already hear people back at the finish complaining that it's 'brutal' or 'unforgiving'. I'm finding it okay, but then I reach a stretch that goes on forever of pebbles and start to wonder if I'm wrong. I'm getting flashbacks to the Portland, Dorset race in the Coastal Trail Series in December 2010. My first ever race. There was a section, done twice, running up the pebbles of Chesil Beach for a couple of kilometres. Now that was agony. So I decide to run the pebbles today and in truth they're quite small so not hard to run on. I'm still feeling a bit grim but am mentally trying to put that to the side for a minute or two. Then after only a couple of hundred metres, I'm diverted off to a path on the side, away from the pebbles. And I was just getting used to them...

There is now a dead straight path on a slight rise with the sea dropping down to one side and Minsmere nature reserve to the other, with birds swilling around in the sky. Ahead is a small hill and I wonder if this is the one with a tricky turn mentioned in the race briefing? I reach its base and take my first proper walk of the day up it. At the top is the coastguard museum of Dunwich Heath, but just before it I find the tricky turn, which is actually well signed and not too hard to find. Ahead I see an ablutions block, and whilst I don't actually need to go, it's a good excuse for a quick rest so I decide to use it anyway. 

After that I take a short walk over to the clearing with the checkpoint and dib in. I'm just grabbing some jelly babies when the guy who I was running with earlier, near the beginning, pipes up. It's nice to see a friendly face, so I set off with him, although am puzzled why I've caught him until I realise he's done another loop of the ten kilometre route so is at the final checkpoint on his way to the finish whilst I still have another lap to go. I guess I must have really fallen behind if I'm getting lapped. He says the route is really quite nice, missing the nasty beach altogether and I decide to slow down and let him go off with a grin. Still, it was nice to chat and has raised my spirits a bit. The slight nausea seems to have been resolved by the short break as well. 

I'm on a path through brush which then suddenly narrows to little more than an animal track. An animal track with brambles at head height. I laugh it off and brush through them though to open out on another section of the same, but with the brambles at a more respectable shin height. They scratch and claw at my bare legs but I don't mind, seeing it more as a good thing I can still feel them at close to a marathon into the race. 

The path reaches back into the forest and wends its way around some trees. There is a lot of hubbub now as there are supporters cheering, marathon finishers, ultra finishers and ultra stragglers such as myself all mixed in together showing various degrees of pain and elation. As I've still got another lap I try not to get too caught up in it, knowing I'll just come crashing down again when I head off for my final lap. I pass the one mile to go sign and resolve to keep the pace up until the turn off and do exactly that, passing a few stragglers from the lesser distances. I reach the finishing chute and am cheered on by people telling me I've done well. I grin and thank them, choosing to appreciate the generous friendliness rather than throwing it back at them by pointing out they shouldn't clap as I'm nowhere near done. It's kind of people to be cheering for everyone rather than just their own friends and family so I grin and say thanks. 

I reach the turn off to finish but instead take the path to the right, down into the town on pavement and following it along the same road I was at five hours ago. I reach the end of it, however, and instead of heading off toward to the marshes of Minsmere, I go straight up the farm track following the signs for the ten kilometre route. It's a long straight. It's a very gradual incline. I'm knackered. But I push on. The hustle and bustle of the finish area is gone and I'm back on my own, with only my own mind to allow me to push on ahead of slow down and give up. 

I take a short walk up the small gradient. I think back on the day. It hasn't gone perfectly, what with the blister issues and feeling tired and lethargic at other points. But then at the same time I've not taken any walking breaks until now really, which is definitely a positive. Given the fact that it's been almost as flat as a pancake I would have hoped to bring it home in under six hours, but that's definitely not going to happen now. Not the greatest start to the series, but with only three weeks training after a lazy summer putting on weight it could certainly be a lot worse. 

Anyway, enough of that, I need to get to the finish. I pick the pace back up to a run and take a left turn up another long straight with a gradient to a road and recognise it as the one with the man who didn't understand me earlier. I slowly plod on until I reach him, this time opting for a grin and a thank you before continuing on my way. 

Past the farm on the right, through the gates where I met the speedy runners earlier and over through the brushy fields the same as before. Some people can't stand running the same section more than once, but I don't mind it. Mentally it gives me a little boost knowing what's coming up and what I can expect, although this part is pretty flat and straight. 

I soon see a runner at a crossroads up ahead walking around and staring at the ground around him and looking a little confused. I can't tell if he's lost something or just feeling fatigued, especially as he's coming towards me, so as I approach I ask him if he's okay. He looks at me as if I've just insulted his mother and says in a haughty voice that yes, he's fine. I've clearly misread him so turn right down the path to leave. 

I'm confused though. His race number said he was doing the ultra, so I don't understand why he was coming towards me from the opposite side of the path at the crossroads. I stop. I turn around and look back at him as he disappears down the opposite side of the crossroads, both of us now having come from opposite directions to take right turns and leave in opposite directions. Have I gone the wrong way? Has he? 

I see another runner come out from the direction he's come from and realise this must be where two completely separate parts of the path meet and diverge at the same time. The new guys sees me and seems to recognise me. He grins wide and shouts out a well done and congratulates me on nearly being finished. As I've no idea what's going on I'm unsure if he's a few kilometres ahead of me of me him, but either way I grin and shout back he's looking strong as well. He maybe just recognised my garish shorts? 

It's nice to have seen some other runners if briefly but I'm now back to my own devices through a more dense section of forest, still familiar, and still long and straight so I'm pleased to turn off through the forest on the sharp turn I saw people go down earlier. It also signifies that I'm hopefully only a couple of kilometres from the final checkpoint. 

I'm now on a stretch through what looks like a logging forest, with some lovely great trees booming up above me. There's no one around, all I can hear is the crunch of my sodden shoes on the autumn leaves below and a gentle breeze through the woods. I'm knackered, but this is pretty marvellous. 

Soon enough I reach the edge of the trees at the base of a small hill and turn right around it rather than going up it. By now I'm checking how far I've gone on a fairly regular basis. I'm guessing that I should hit the final checkpoint around fifty kilometres in and I'm now at forty eight. I mentally resolve myself to run the entirety of the final stretch with no walking breaks as I've taken a couple of short ones on this back section of forest. 

I sense I'm getting nearer as I'm still at the base of this hill and am starting to think that it's the same one the checkpoint is on the top of at the coast. It seems I'm in a part of the forest set up for kids as there are a number of educational signs out to let people know what is around the area and the types of plants. I don't stop to check them...

I'm just past forty nine kilometres and mentally looking forward to the boost of seeing the checkpoint, although it's been a lovely stretch of forest I'll be sad to leave. Out of nowhere though I pop out into the open and up some steps over a track. The same track I was at earlier with the beach on the opposite side and all of a sudden I'm walking up the hill to the checkpoint. 

This time I don't get any supplies I just dib in and continue. Now for the final push to the end. I go up the familiar track through the brush followed by the narrow one through the same brush. This time there are a lot of walkers, some of whom I saw earlier with a couple of dogs. They move aside and I go past, passing a couple of marathoners not too far from finishing. The doc gets stuck on the other side of me though and runs away in the opposite direction of its owner barking scared of me. Eventually it gets past so I can carry on my merry way. 

I'm out of the brush and back in the forest. I'm still holding fast and running. I reach the road and this time there are a couple of people standing there who ask if I'm still doing the race. I am indeed, I shout back, albeit a little upset that I'm so slow they aren't sure if the race is finished. Nae bother, though. 

I push past through someone else who's clearly just finished the race walking in the opposite direction who grins and applauds for me as I go by. I pass the 'one mile to go' sign and turn down the dirt road leading through the few houses in the town, all very posh. A local man is walking past in the opposite direction carrying some of the biggest mushrooms I've ever seen. 

I head back into the forest, this time Greyfriars Wood, signifying I'm just about there. I crunch through the final leaves and through the gate to do a lap around the edge of the field, then straight down the centre of it. Past the abbey ruins and double back to cross the line, collect my medal and take a seat on the grass with the sun beating down on me. 

I look back on the day. I feel I could have done better but with the short period of training it feels about right. I'm twenty eighth of thirty three finishers, forty starters. So considerably lower than I would have hoped as if like to have been in the top half of the field, but there is a lot more work I can do before the next one to improve. Plus there'll be hills next time, which I'm better suited to than the flat. On the plus side I don't feel like I pushed my body too hard, so will be back training in a day or two and gearing up for the next one in three weeks. Not to mention the fact I went into this one days after a bad cold took me out and affected my training, so I'll hopefully be at full strength then.

So there we have it. The first race of the series down. Four to go that I've entered. All going to plan, I'll be feeling stronger then than I do now and will enter the final five of the series and complete all ten. Can I do it? I don't know, but right now I'm feeling like I can...we'll see after I've finished at the Gower one. 

Here's the tracking as well: