So I'm awake nice and early. It's still raining. The weather report was right, it rained from about one in the morning right through but is just starting to let up. Not the most glamorous side of camping but hey, accommodation this weekend is costing me a tenner.
I get up, get ready and registered then stand around getting nervous. I feel a bit more nervous than normal, I'm not sure why. It's a longer race than normal at forty five miles. It's also really tough hills, which I remember from having done the shorter version of the race two years ago. Nothing much for it, though, other than to get cracking.
Eventually we get through a cold and more detailed than normal briefing, including a pretty funny point where the race director pointed out that a lot of us won't make it to the finish. Cue laughter and an embarrassed looking race director, who pointed out he still wanted everyone to finish, but the truth is some won't.
We mill about for a few minutes then line up for the start. We're in the Hunter Valley in Exmoor, and it's still a bit nippy down here. The weather is expected to pick up later, though so I've not put on extra layers meaning I'm cold and glad to get going.
I know that there is a bottleneck switchback almost straightaway, so to try to avoid getting caught in a snaking procession up it I decide to go hard to be near the front going up it.
The loudspeaker goes and we take off around the field and straight into the forest paths leading down the stream toward the coast and sea. There is some nervous chatting but mostly people are just trying to get going and take off at speed. I try to stay with them as much as I can and find myself about ten back from the front when I cross the bridge to the other side of the valley. There are a couple of flat easy pats back along the base of the hill then a right turn up it.
I'm still fairly near the front which means I can see the guys leading and still running as it gets a little steeper. We come out of the trees onto the hillside and the switchback I remember fondly looms ahead and becomes fond no more. At the top the leaders are still running even this part, but as soon as I hit it I drop back to a fast hike, trying not to lose too much pace. I'm conscious now that, whilst I've succeeded in not getting into a slow bottleneck on this hill, I'm near the front so now liable to be the one who slows everyone down into a bottleneck. Keen to avoid that, I make sure to keep the hike fast.
Left turn, up, right turn, push on. Soon enough I cross a rubbled exposed part, quite slippy, and reach the trail on the other side as it then flattens out a bit and we can pick up the pace a little once more.
There is a burning smell and I notice then steep hill below me has succumbed to a forest fire recently. The trail is very narrow here, with a steep drop to the side, so I'm glad to reach the other side. There is a lovely view over to the hills on the other side of the valley as we now approach the coast itself and take a left turn, passing a sign pointing out the dangerous cliff edge we're about to go around.
As I do go around I'm hit by the coastal wind, which I was previously protected from, being in the leeside of the hill. There are quite a few tricky steps, with rocks jutting out all over the place.
I navigate over them fairly easily though, as does everyone else and we carry on along the side of the cliff. As mentioned, there is a sharp and dramatic drop off to our right, which is slightly unnerving with a new prescription in my contact lenses meaning my sense of balance doesn’t feel quite as good as it should.
There follows a nice section undulating along the side of the fields at the top of the hill here. The fence line is right on the cliff edge and the path is carved out just underneath it providing us with some great views, though at this point I’m trying to give it a bit of pace to make sure I don’t become the guy causing that bottleneck of runners so don’t fully appreciate the view. It’s alright though, I’ll be back here later today.
The pace is still quite fast for me considering there is a wind smashing me in the face, but I stick with it all the same, wanting to do fairly well while I’m still feeling good.
I reach a dirt road/path with a bit of width and take the pace back a little though. At this point Noel, who is doing all ten races as well and I met at Sussex the other week, comes up beside me and says hello. I grin and say I wondered when I’d see him catch me.
We chat a bit about how training has been going and how we’re feeling ahead of today. I think we’re both feeling okay, but aware it’s going to be a pretty long day all told. We take a left turn and start going straight up the hill towards the top where I remember the checkpoint being when I did the race two years ago.
Another guy starts chatting to us at this point as well, so between us we manage to distract each other from the hill all the way up to the top. We get there and find the massive cairn signifying time to turn and go down the other side and thankfully enjoy a nice downhill for a few kilometres. I have harsh memories of terrible weather coming up this hill on my last lap back then, but fond memories of the exhilaration I felt then bombing it down the other side to the finish.
We do exactly that, bomb it down. There are some lovely open land sections to get down, followed by some switchbacks and then some narrow single trails with tree branches jutting out waiting to poke you in the eye. It then takes us down into the woods of the valley with some steeper sections again and a necessity to pay a lot of attention before flattening out onto a path that snakes around the side of the hill on a much more horizontal slant.
It’s a quick chance to catch our breath and the three of us are still in a group as we then approach another turn back down further into the forest and another steep and uneven section. I tackle it with glee. Love a good downhill, me. And I’m still fresh enough I can tackle it without it hurting too much.
We hit the road at the bottom, cross over and go down a dirt four-wheel-drive road. It’s a bit more spacious so we regroup and continue the conversation, now at a slightly more sedate pace than we’ve been at for the last mile or two. It’s a really nice section through the woods, and one I’d all but forgotten so I’m glad that I’ll be seeing this a couple more times today.
A kilometre or two further along, we reach the only road into this area in the Hunter Valley and pass a few houses in the tiny little hamlet. We cross a bridge and go around the corner to find ourselves back where we started, having reached the end of the first ten kilometre section.
It was a lot tougher than I remember and I just try to put it straight back out of my mind so I don’t let it build up to an astronomical daunting beast by the time I get back to do it again.
Noel points out that we’ve done that section in one hour and fifteen minutes. It’s slower than the pace I was going at in Sussex, but was a much harder section, so I’m pretty pleased with my efforts and that I’ve been able to keep up with these two guys who are both quite a bit quicker than me. We joke that it’s time to start it all over again and off we trot up the path, this time taking a right turn up the other side of the valley rather than following the stream along the way we did earlier.
I remember this section being quite steady. Not the steepest, but still quite steep as it makes its way up to the top of the valley on the other side. It’s one of those sections which you could run, but it takes a hell of a lot of effort.
I mention this, and the fact that I always, no matter how many times it happens, manage to think I’m failing due to struggling and have no fitness, until it flattens out and I realise it was all in my head and I was feeling terrible due to the gradient. We start running.
It’s quite a wide path and not too bad conditions underfoot so it’s just a matter of making our way up valley slowly, before it turns around and continues slowly up the other side of the hill until we’re actually at the mouth of the stream and on the side of the hills right on the coast with the sea rushing and crashing down below us. Looking back, I can see the whole of the Hunter Valley, and over the other side the horribly steep hill we started on this morning.
We take a turn in the opposite direction now though. There is, as there was earlier in the other direction, some dramatic views looking far along the coast line, and Wales across the other side of the Bristol Channel. It’s a really cracking view, and I can’t help but mention how I’d forgotten how beautiful it really is along this part of the coast and how lovely the scenery is.
The path stays fairly easy to get around all along this part, meaning we’ve got time to chat and distract each other to pass the time. It’s the same conversation it always is at a race – pacing, course records, races done and desired, nutrition and the ever important question of kit. The exact same conversation it always is but for some reason never gets old. It passes the time as we stare out at the view and tick off some easyish undulating miles.
There’s quite a long downhill section here that takes us back down into the woods at Woody Bay, which also takes us down to the section where we reach the second checkpoint, one we’ll see a few times today. Again, we’re quite surprised at the pace we are managing to hold here. Or I am, anyway.
What goes down must go back up, so we start along a bit of a climb further along the coastline. I’ve been tagging along at the back for quite a while, so figure it’s my turn to take the lead. I’m not sure how many people care about pacing or whether or not either of these guys have even noticed, but didn’t think it’s terribly fair of me to tag along and expect them to pace me for too much longer, so hop up the front.
This means that I then feel like I need to go much faster, and as I’ve taken the lead on a steep switchback, that’s a bit of an effort. I’m feeling good right at this moment in time though, so happy to crack on. Plus, the pacing thing is probably not even something either of the guys had even thought about so there’s no pressure, but I’m a bad one for putting pressure on myself.
We reach the top and I realise I’m slightly ahead so slow down a little to catch my breath and let us regroup. I suddenly realise as well that we haven’t seen anyone for a very long time. I start to wonder quite how fast we are going. It does feel okay, but I know I’m way ahead of where I should be.
Either way, we’ve reached the top of another hill and come out of the woods so get another sea view. Carrying on along, there I a sudden switchback that makes things quite steep all of a hurry. It gives a great view back along the coast though so I don’t mind. We turn back the right way at the top and carry along.
We’re now treated to a nice bit of a downhill all the way through to Lynton. It’s a lovely town here, very quaint and tiny, with Lynmouth down below it, connected by road and funicular. The nicer part is further down, but we skirt through the top of the town, glad to have a little bit of pace and a chance to open up and stretch the legs on a road downhill.
As before, though, there is a sharp turn around the corner of the building which we weren’t expecting that takes us straight up another steep hill. We slow to a walk and plug on up it. It’s not a long one, just steep so we find ourselves heading back down again soon after. There’s a nice little path that takes us past some of the houses and bed and breakfasts with a bit of a view through the trees down the valley below.
After a while we find ourselves down the bottom of that valley behind Lynmouth. We cross a bridge and unsurprising head back up the other side of the valley.
Again we push on to the top of the hill, before following the coastline along at the top of the woods. I can feel myself starting to struggle a bit now. I’m pleased to have lasted this long holding this pace with the guys but definitely am starting to feel it and that I’ll need to slow down a little bit soon.
As we start to go back down the other side I ask noel how he’s feeling and mention I’ll probably take a bit of a breather soon. He confesses he’s a bit unsure as well. I am feeling okay, just getting a bit anxious I’m going to pay for it later.
We get down to the bottom of this valley and cross another bridge. It seems to be a bit of a theme today, doesn’t it? Go up a valley, down the other side and cross a bridge. Rinse. Repeat.
This time, though, there is a checkpoint. I remember that this one had a bit of a beast of a hill following it, so I’m a little apprehensive. I fill my bottles, grab a couple of Jelly Babies and a few crisps and that’s all then get ready to carry on.
Noel points out that we’ve got here, to the seventeen mile checkpoint after all those hills, in three hours. Definitely way too fast. Even he’s a bit concerned and he’s considerably faster than I am. We get a move on all the same. There’s a fair bit more downhill for a while, again through the woods. This time, though, instead of going up the hill and over towards the coastline further on, this time we’re heading straight back to the coast, tackling the hill head on.
We reach another bridge on a path. There are quite a few hikers here who kindly let us pass then we’re away up the other side. Through a gate and it’s straight up the gully on the other side. There’s no switchbacks this time. No easing of the gradient. Just straight up the hill. On the previous downhill we lost the third guy as he steamed on ahead. On this uphill I start to see Noel going off ahead. I debate trying to stay with him, but decide instead that it’s time to ease off to try to avoid blowing up later.
By this point some of the marathon runners are passing us so I start chatting to a couple, but they’re gone past me as soon as they arrive so I let them go as well.
Eventually I reach the top of the hill, gasping, cross the road and crest it properly, ready to start down the other side and finally take a turn back in a westerly direction along the coast and back to the start. To start it all again. I see Noel only a little ahead so catch up to him again.
It’s only briefly though. As we start down the nice and welcome downhill section here, he heads off and again I decide not to follow so that I can catch my breath. That damn hill really took it out of me. It was worth it though, as I’m now getting my first look back at the coast line in the reverse direction of travel.
It’s just as nice as it was before, only this time it’s mentally easier as it feels like I’m no longer going further away from my destination, but back towards it instead. I’m just trying to put the three extra loops that follow out of my head for now. Those are little and manageable loops so they don’t count. For now. It’s all a mental game.
There is a good three kilometres now of downhill along the coast all the way back, this time, to Lynmouth. After the undulations of earlier followed by that beast of a hill, it’s pretty nice to be able to tick off a couple of easy miles and catch my breath. The wind is quite vicious right at the moment, so I can catch my breath fairly easily.
By the time I reach Lynmouth the sun is almost out and there is a nice little section along the promenade through the town. There are a lot of people out and about despite this place being quite isolated, and most of them are looking a bit bewildered despite me thinking most of them would be family and friends of the racers.
Either way I try to be polite and get out of peoples way as much as possible. Soon enough I’m through the town, narrowly managing to avoid stopping for ice cream, or the funicular up the hill for that matter. Instead I take the path that zig-zags its way arduously up the hill. I try to take it easily and mostly succeed. I’m starting to wonder if I sometimes tackle hills a bit too full on as I can really be shattered at the top of them. Or maybe that’s just because I should have quit smoking earlier than I did.
At the top of this section I go through a gate and there is a well paved path along the side of the hill all the way to the Valley of the Rocks. Basically it’s a big pile of curiously stacked rocks dropping down to the sea a hundred metres or so below. It is a nice view, though, that’s not in doubt.
I go past and around the back of them then get a little lost trying to figure out which path to take. The sign is pointing forward towards the road and up a hill, but there’s clearly a path to the right of me. I go for the path as the road just doesn’t seem right then soon enough find that I am on the right track luckily. Getting lost is the last thing I need.
There’s quite a steady uphill section to keep me entertained for half an hour or so. I’m now definitely feeling the increase in pace for the first while of the race, so am conscious of just trying to keep a steady but much easier pace to hopefully stave off the feelings of exhaustion and sore legs.
I’m still considerably up on the pace I thought I would be by here though so I’m mentally feeling good after this race having been a daunting one for the past couple of months, being just that little bit longer. And that large bit harder than I remember it being.
I plod on though, finding myself back on the section I was going in the other direction on earlier. It’s a nice wooded part, and I know that it means I’m getting close to being back at the Woody Bay checkpoint. I pass a big wood shelter that I remember being just after said checkpoint then find myself back at the checkpoint itself, saying hello to the marshals.
There are a few other people here as well as this is the checkpoint which is the turnaround for the half marathon, so the trail fills out a little more, having been quite sparse most of the day. I hear the marshal tell some of them it’s pretty much all downhill from here and think to myself that I bet it’s not.
There is a short and nice downhill part, then sure enough straight onto a long stretch of uphill. It’s actually about two kilometres, so I’m now positive the marshal was lying when he told the other competitors that it was all downhill. Eventually I round the final corner and recognise the downhill section back to the start and finish and must admit I’m pretty relieved to do so. I’ve been chatting away with someone else who remembered me from the Suffolk race so it’s been nice to give myself a bit of distraction, but it’s even nicer after taking it a bit easy to get a downhill where you can go slowly and really catch your breath.
In particular it’s useful for me as I know what’s about to come. That bugger of a big hill and the rest of the ten kilometre route. We get stuck behind an overweight half marathon runner who’s not going particularly fast nor willing to move aside and let us past so it forces us to not speed up too much which is actually a good thing as I feel a lot better by the bottom than I would have. We go through the woods and pass him. We carry on and reach the, you guessed it, bridge over the stream leading back to base so that we can again go up the other side of the hill.
We keep chatting about the other races that we’ve done, as she has done one or two others and is planning on doing the Classic Quarter, the only other race the organisation are doing this season. I can feel she is one of those people good at pacing and has held back for the first while and is now about to power on though, so when we hit the base of the big bad switchback, I let her go on ahead.
I realised back at the bridge that I had passed through the marathon point in five hours and ten minutes, which is far too fast for this kind of terrain with never-ending hills. I’m definitely feeling and regretting it now as well. But I decide to just keep with the strategy of keeping things slower, easier and importantly steady.
I reach the top of the rocky scrambling switchback section and carry on around the burnt out slope to the edge of the valley and the cliffs beyond. As I round the corner the wind seems to have picked up a bit further. Oh well, not much I can do about it other than push on. So I do.
Because I’ve been putting it out of my mind for the last section, it has meant that I’d forgotten that it wasn’t just a quick sharp uphill followed by a lull then another big hill as I’d fondly remembered. Instead, there is once again the very long two or three kilometres until the turning point up the hill. It was fine this morning, because this morning everyone was still together, excited and quick. This time around I’m alone, tired and not really particularly excited about the section I’m currently on.
It’s fine though, I grit my teeth and push through. I think the fact that I now have an idea I’m doing pretty well is keeping me pushing, so in some ways going too hard is still paying off. Soon enough I reach the turn up the hill and push up it.
Willpower gets me to the top without too much complication, but it hurts and it has definitely cost me getting up this section. Plus, as I went over the crest to the top, instead of the cairn I saw another crest just as big ahead of me that I’d misjudged. When I do finally reach it, I pull the fingers and swear at the cairn when I see it.
I head down to the checkpoint and ask about water, knowing I’m not allowed any here. He does say I can have some if desperate, but I’m more inquiring about when I can get some and that’s back at the base only three miles away so I say it’s fine and push on down the hill.
After feeling fairly beaten by the uphill, I no tackle the down with gusto. I want to keep holding on as long as I can, but I can feel my stomach turning, which is the last thing I needed. It seems to happen on every race at the moment. I keep telling myself I’ll change my diet or I’ll take more real food on a race, but I just don’t.
Actually that’s not true, I have a cheesy bean pasty in my bag but the thought of it uncooked makes me think I’d rather deal with the ill stomach. So, correction, I need to bring more real food that I know I’ll actually want late into a race.
So I carry on down the hill, trying to ignore the queasy feeling as I know I do have a pile of good food in my drop bag. I’m particularly looking forward to some cherry tomatoes, so hold off on a gel so that I can try to refuel and settle my stomach with those very soon.
I go down the steep section, then the flat one until I turn back down the forest and finally flatten out. Not far now. I see the ‘one mile to go’ sign as I cross the road and feel confident, sort of, that I can get through this and be fine when I get to the drop bag.
A mile comes and goes, and a couple of other guys arrive next to me. They’re seeming quite cheery and like they’re enjoying themselves so I’m quite surprised when they get to the kit check and announce they’re dropping out. Bizarre.
Either way, I don’t plan to myself. I put my bag up and quickly run through the mandatory kit necessary. It’s a thorough check and they actually ask to see all of the items, which is good to see. I’ve got them all and am prepared for the check so it takes no time at all except for the fact my head torch is in my drop bag.
I go in and grab the drop bag, and open it up ready to eat. First thing I do is find the cherry tomatoes and pop one in my mouth. I’m hoping it will be my salvation. Instead I start to retch.
Uh oh.
That wasn’t the plan. I hurry outside again and try to quickly work out where I can go where the marshals won’t see me in case I chunder. Don’t want to risk being pulled from the race. I hide behind the drop bag tent. Luckily it passes after few moments.
The panic stays though, as this is obviously a pretty dire situation to be in. I had hoped this would solve my problems, but it’s made them worse. With a lot of mental fortitude I manage to get a couple of them down and throw the rest in my bag for the remainder of the journey.
I don’t bother grabbing other food as the pasty thing is still in there, but do grab a cup of coke to try to get some sugar and energy into me. It seems to help marginally. I walk back to the marshal to show him my head torch and try to keep a calm demeanour. I don’t think I’m entirely successful, but I don’t think he’s entirely bothered either so that’s fine. I also note at this point that there aren’t all that many numbers checked off on his list, around twenty, so I must have really pushed it. No wonder I’m feeling like shit.
I wander off along my way and head over to the portaloos. I don’t know why, but whenever I can I seem to do this. Most of the time I don’t need to go, but I translate sore guts with needing to drop one, so find some perverse comfort in confirming that I, in fact, don’t. I guess it gives me peace of mind to know I won’t be caught out later on down the trail, so is one less thing to worry about.
Either way, I give myself a good talking to. After the retching, my confidence took quite a knock, and the possibility of just dropping out now flirts with my sanity. It would be so easy and the tent is only fifty metres away.
But I stand up, take a good look at myself in the musty mirror on the back of the portaloo door and tell myself to stop being such a pussy. I leave and carry on back up the trail. I also take a look at the time and note that I am over half an hour faster than my finish time at this exact point in the race two years ago, which is a massive confidence boost leading into the final half marathon.
I’m now heading back up in the direction of the undulations. Mentally I tell myself this bit will be easy. It’s kind of like quite a long break period before tackling the big bastard hill on the ten kilometre loop again. I tackle this bit quite tentatively as I want to let my stomach have a bit of time to settle. So I only run short section of this windy hill back to the eastern side of the mouth of the stream into the Hunter Valley. Last time I pushed it quite hard here and was running nearly all of it with the other two guys, but not this time. This time I’m taking it easy.
Nearer the top I think it would be a good idea to get some nutrition in so I bust out the pasty. It looks pretty manky and mangled after seven hours or so in my backpack, but it also looks like precious nutrients. I open it gingerly, and take a bite out of the contents. The first bite is pretty much just dry pastry. As it’s cold it’s not particularly appetising and sticks to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. Not the best feeling. I get a bit of it down, but end up spitting some out and ripping a bit more of that part of so I can get at the cheesy bean filling. I take a bite of that and…it’s better. Marginally, but it’s better. I can only manage a couple of bites though and it goes back in my bag to be further mangled.
I round the headland to take the next part of the journey along and it’s still an uphill, but one of those annoying ones from earlier. In fact, I think it’s the same one that annoyed me as it’s runnable but makes you feel like the worst runner in the world. As I’m going along bumbling and mumbling I’m passed for the first time in a while by a fresh looking woman.
It’s not too long before I’m near the top of this section though and able to plod along with a bit more pace as it’s a bitter flatter at the top of the hill. It’s actually not too long before I’m making my way back down into the woods again and I find myself quite surprised that I managed to get through this section so easily. It feels like it’s been no time at all and already I find myself three miles or so later coming down the road into the Woody Bay checkpoint for the third and final time.
I stop and have a bit of a chat to the guys for thirty seconds or so as I debate whether to bother trying to eat anything. I see there’s pretty much no food left anyway so just grab some flakes of crisps from the bottom of the bowl and carry on down the nice little punchy downhill that they so fondly liked to tell people was the same all the way back to the finish.
Can’t fool me though. I get to the bottom and start moving up the long hill for the final time and it’s at this point that I start giving myself the mantra that it’s the last time.
For most of the day, each section has been either one I was going to see again, or one I would only see the once on the far part of the course, therefore wanting to make sure I take it all in. But this is the first loop where I can tell myself I won’t be back. It’s another little mental trick that just gives me that extra little boost. I won’t be back here so better make the most of it.
So I do. I look around and remind myself how dramatic and spectacular the scenery is in this little densely wooded and hilly part of the world. I look along the coastline ahead of me, and over to Wales in the distance over the other side. I’m still not pushing it though and it shows as I’m passed by another two or three people along the way.
Soon enough I’m reaching the top of the uphill section again and can take a breather as I make my way back down. It’s a couple of easy kilometres to bank and again that just gives me another little boost to know that I’m getting that small bit closer to the end. I push on down the gravelly single track traversing the slope of the valley until I reach the woods at the bottom and cross the little, you guessed it, bridge for the last time. I check my time, eight hours and twenty two minutes. That means my goal of sub ten is almost in the bag. Almost.
I go along the flat back and forth sections to take me up to the turn off to go up the bastard switchbacks for the final time. And it hurts. Bad. I know that I have a tendency to push too hard and end up spluttering my guts out on steep gradients. So I take it slow. I go for thirty seconds or so at a time, then I take a little breather.
Stupidly, I’m still feeling like I need to race. I know I’m skirting with danger, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this far up the field this late in a race and I really want to try to keep pushing with it. But it’s all about balance. I see a guy not far below me and just try to make sure I stay the same amount ahead of him on the switchback and then I can keep a steady pace when it becomes the undulations around the cliffs. Or that’s the plan anyway.
By the time I reach the top of the switchback, I’m spluttering my guts out. I feel half dead and am cursing under my breath. It’s really taking a lot out of me, but I’m here now. Past the burnt out ground…for the last time. Onto the undulations around the cliffs…for the last time.
There is one undulation that starts going that little bit harder on me. I try to slow down. I’m already at a walk, but now I’m barely moving and by the time I reach the top of it, I’m beaten. This little undulation has beaten me.
I sit down on the grass on the side of the trail and take thirty seconds. The guy I was trying to stay ahead of approaches and asks if I’m okay. I tell him I am it’s just sore guts. As he passes, I get up and try to follow him. I last another twenty seconds or so before I slow to a walk again. Bugger, here comes that blow up I was hoping to avoid from going too hard earlier.
The rest of the undulations are an absolute disaster. Most of them aren’t even that big, but it’s just the cumulative effect that they have on you that really catches you out. I can see the final hill and cairn in the far distance and shake my fist at it. In the next two kilometres I find myself sitting down three or four times, rueing the day I entered these damned infernal races. At the last one, I pop a couple of cherries and steel myself for the final push ahead. About five more runners pass me in this section.
I amble on the dirt road until I see the left turn up the hill. This is it. The final uphill push. I’m ready this time. I stare it down and start plodding with a vengeance. I fix my gaze on the top of the crest and stumble up to it. I remember this time there is another one the same size after so nary is there a falter when I approach the first crest. I push on up the final one, seeing three people behind me and wonder if I’ll stay ahead of them.
My resolve fades and I realise after having been passed by so many in the last hour there’s no point bothering worrying about these three. When I do reach the top though, I still pull the fingers at the cairn and swear under my breath at it once more. As I’ve noticed the person closest behind me is a woman though, I have my mitten over my hand so she doesn’t see and wonder if I’m mental.
As I’m catching my breath at the top she catches me and asks how I’m feeling. I feel bad for doing it, but the first thing I say is “Shit, actually. You?” She kind of ignores it, which is probably for the best, and she’s actually quite friendly which is probably the sort of person I should be around at the moment and may well rub off on my miserable mindset.
Then she asks if I’m Ben. I look at her a little confused, then she introduces herself as Sophie, who I’ve been chatting to online as we both ran sections of the South Devon race with another Ben, who we’ve both kept in touch with, but not actually met ourselves yet. It’s a pretty random surprise as I wasn’t aware she was even going to be here, and this is also how I got to be friends with Ben, as he popped up at the very end of that race.
We jog down to the final checkpoint and then push on over to the final downhill section. We keep chatting, though one of the signs seems to have been moved so we get a little lost, before finally working out which way to go – down.
It’s weird, but having chatted to someone just for a couple of minutes has really lifted my spirits and I start to boss down the hill. When I get to the bottom of the section, where it flattens out, I wait a few seconds but can’t see Sophie behind me so start to jog on slowly ahead figuring she’ll catch up.
As I’m taking the turn down into the second part of the woods she does catch up, but me and my downhills, I move on down shouting I’ll see her at the bottom. When I get there and cross the road for the final plod home, I do slow right down and she does eventually catch me at the ‘one mile to go’ sign.
We keep chatting and it sounds like she’s feeling nearly as rough as I am, though it also sounds like she’s managing to stay a lot more positive than I am. We trundle along until we reach the main road back and start to pass the little houses in this hamlet…for the last time.
Just as we cross the bridge over to round the final corner, the two guys she was running with catch us and we all run together for a minute or two. They’re trying to egg us on, but my hearts not in it after the last hour or so and now checking the time I’m well over the ten hours mark I’d hoped for after the final uphill disaster, so when Sophie says she’s taking a walk I join her.
Then we round the corner and pick up the pace one final time, go through into the field with the flags and go down the finishing chute. I tell her to go ahead and clock in first as she motivated me over the last half hour or so, so it’s only fair, and then we’re done. I feel shattered, but pleased that after struggles I managed to push on and not entirely lose faith other than becoming a bit grumpy.
The next morning it’s a bit of a grim hike up towards the Woody Bay bus stop, to catch a bus to Minehead, then one to Taunton, then one back to London and a train home to arrive about one in the morning. It’s a grim prospect, but luck is on my side as another camper pulls up and offers me a ride. I say the main road would be perfect as that where the bus is and he asks where I’m going. When I say London, he tells me he’s going there as well and is happy to take me the whole way.
It’s a massive help, and good to have a chance to have a chat on the way home rather than spending the day bored on buses, and I’m home by three o’clock. Just shows the trail community for what it really is, what a champ. Certainly added an extra little nicety to my race experience.
Tracking is here:
I get up, get ready and registered then stand around getting nervous. I feel a bit more nervous than normal, I'm not sure why. It's a longer race than normal at forty five miles. It's also really tough hills, which I remember from having done the shorter version of the race two years ago. Nothing much for it, though, other than to get cracking.
Eventually we get through a cold and more detailed than normal briefing, including a pretty funny point where the race director pointed out that a lot of us won't make it to the finish. Cue laughter and an embarrassed looking race director, who pointed out he still wanted everyone to finish, but the truth is some won't.
We mill about for a few minutes then line up for the start. We're in the Hunter Valley in Exmoor, and it's still a bit nippy down here. The weather is expected to pick up later, though so I've not put on extra layers meaning I'm cold and glad to get going.
I know that there is a bottleneck switchback almost straightaway, so to try to avoid getting caught in a snaking procession up it I decide to go hard to be near the front going up it.
The loudspeaker goes and we take off around the field and straight into the forest paths leading down the stream toward the coast and sea. There is some nervous chatting but mostly people are just trying to get going and take off at speed. I try to stay with them as much as I can and find myself about ten back from the front when I cross the bridge to the other side of the valley. There are a couple of flat easy pats back along the base of the hill then a right turn up it.
I'm still fairly near the front which means I can see the guys leading and still running as it gets a little steeper. We come out of the trees onto the hillside and the switchback I remember fondly looms ahead and becomes fond no more. At the top the leaders are still running even this part, but as soon as I hit it I drop back to a fast hike, trying not to lose too much pace. I'm conscious now that, whilst I've succeeded in not getting into a slow bottleneck on this hill, I'm near the front so now liable to be the one who slows everyone down into a bottleneck. Keen to avoid that, I make sure to keep the hike fast.
Left turn, up, right turn, push on. Soon enough I cross a rubbled exposed part, quite slippy, and reach the trail on the other side as it then flattens out a bit and we can pick up the pace a little once more.
There is a burning smell and I notice then steep hill below me has succumbed to a forest fire recently. The trail is very narrow here, with a steep drop to the side, so I'm glad to reach the other side. There is a lovely view over to the hills on the other side of the valley as we now approach the coast itself and take a left turn, passing a sign pointing out the dangerous cliff edge we're about to go around.
As I do go around I'm hit by the coastal wind, which I was previously protected from, being in the leeside of the hill. There are quite a few tricky steps, with rocks jutting out all over the place.
I navigate over them fairly easily though, as does everyone else and we carry on along the side of the cliff. As mentioned, there is a sharp and dramatic drop off to our right, which is slightly unnerving with a new prescription in my contact lenses meaning my sense of balance doesn’t feel quite as good as it should.
There follows a nice section undulating along the side of the fields at the top of the hill here. The fence line is right on the cliff edge and the path is carved out just underneath it providing us with some great views, though at this point I’m trying to give it a bit of pace to make sure I don’t become the guy causing that bottleneck of runners so don’t fully appreciate the view. It’s alright though, I’ll be back here later today.
The pace is still quite fast for me considering there is a wind smashing me in the face, but I stick with it all the same, wanting to do fairly well while I’m still feeling good.
I reach a dirt road/path with a bit of width and take the pace back a little though. At this point Noel, who is doing all ten races as well and I met at Sussex the other week, comes up beside me and says hello. I grin and say I wondered when I’d see him catch me.
We chat a bit about how training has been going and how we’re feeling ahead of today. I think we’re both feeling okay, but aware it’s going to be a pretty long day all told. We take a left turn and start going straight up the hill towards the top where I remember the checkpoint being when I did the race two years ago.
Another guy starts chatting to us at this point as well, so between us we manage to distract each other from the hill all the way up to the top. We get there and find the massive cairn signifying time to turn and go down the other side and thankfully enjoy a nice downhill for a few kilometres. I have harsh memories of terrible weather coming up this hill on my last lap back then, but fond memories of the exhilaration I felt then bombing it down the other side to the finish.
We do exactly that, bomb it down. There are some lovely open land sections to get down, followed by some switchbacks and then some narrow single trails with tree branches jutting out waiting to poke you in the eye. It then takes us down into the woods of the valley with some steeper sections again and a necessity to pay a lot of attention before flattening out onto a path that snakes around the side of the hill on a much more horizontal slant.
It’s a quick chance to catch our breath and the three of us are still in a group as we then approach another turn back down further into the forest and another steep and uneven section. I tackle it with glee. Love a good downhill, me. And I’m still fresh enough I can tackle it without it hurting too much.
We hit the road at the bottom, cross over and go down a dirt four-wheel-drive road. It’s a bit more spacious so we regroup and continue the conversation, now at a slightly more sedate pace than we’ve been at for the last mile or two. It’s a really nice section through the woods, and one I’d all but forgotten so I’m glad that I’ll be seeing this a couple more times today.
A kilometre or two further along, we reach the only road into this area in the Hunter Valley and pass a few houses in the tiny little hamlet. We cross a bridge and go around the corner to find ourselves back where we started, having reached the end of the first ten kilometre section.
It was a lot tougher than I remember and I just try to put it straight back out of my mind so I don’t let it build up to an astronomical daunting beast by the time I get back to do it again.
Noel points out that we’ve done that section in one hour and fifteen minutes. It’s slower than the pace I was going at in Sussex, but was a much harder section, so I’m pretty pleased with my efforts and that I’ve been able to keep up with these two guys who are both quite a bit quicker than me. We joke that it’s time to start it all over again and off we trot up the path, this time taking a right turn up the other side of the valley rather than following the stream along the way we did earlier.
I remember this section being quite steady. Not the steepest, but still quite steep as it makes its way up to the top of the valley on the other side. It’s one of those sections which you could run, but it takes a hell of a lot of effort.
I mention this, and the fact that I always, no matter how many times it happens, manage to think I’m failing due to struggling and have no fitness, until it flattens out and I realise it was all in my head and I was feeling terrible due to the gradient. We start running.
It’s quite a wide path and not too bad conditions underfoot so it’s just a matter of making our way up valley slowly, before it turns around and continues slowly up the other side of the hill until we’re actually at the mouth of the stream and on the side of the hills right on the coast with the sea rushing and crashing down below us. Looking back, I can see the whole of the Hunter Valley, and over the other side the horribly steep hill we started on this morning.
We take a turn in the opposite direction now though. There is, as there was earlier in the other direction, some dramatic views looking far along the coast line, and Wales across the other side of the Bristol Channel. It’s a really cracking view, and I can’t help but mention how I’d forgotten how beautiful it really is along this part of the coast and how lovely the scenery is.
The path stays fairly easy to get around all along this part, meaning we’ve got time to chat and distract each other to pass the time. It’s the same conversation it always is at a race – pacing, course records, races done and desired, nutrition and the ever important question of kit. The exact same conversation it always is but for some reason never gets old. It passes the time as we stare out at the view and tick off some easyish undulating miles.
There’s quite a long downhill section here that takes us back down into the woods at Woody Bay, which also takes us down to the section where we reach the second checkpoint, one we’ll see a few times today. Again, we’re quite surprised at the pace we are managing to hold here. Or I am, anyway.
What goes down must go back up, so we start along a bit of a climb further along the coastline. I’ve been tagging along at the back for quite a while, so figure it’s my turn to take the lead. I’m not sure how many people care about pacing or whether or not either of these guys have even noticed, but didn’t think it’s terribly fair of me to tag along and expect them to pace me for too much longer, so hop up the front.
This means that I then feel like I need to go much faster, and as I’ve taken the lead on a steep switchback, that’s a bit of an effort. I’m feeling good right at this moment in time though, so happy to crack on. Plus, the pacing thing is probably not even something either of the guys had even thought about so there’s no pressure, but I’m a bad one for putting pressure on myself.
We reach the top and I realise I’m slightly ahead so slow down a little to catch my breath and let us regroup. I suddenly realise as well that we haven’t seen anyone for a very long time. I start to wonder quite how fast we are going. It does feel okay, but I know I’m way ahead of where I should be.
Either way, we’ve reached the top of another hill and come out of the woods so get another sea view. Carrying on along, there I a sudden switchback that makes things quite steep all of a hurry. It gives a great view back along the coast though so I don’t mind. We turn back the right way at the top and carry along.
We’re now treated to a nice bit of a downhill all the way through to Lynton. It’s a lovely town here, very quaint and tiny, with Lynmouth down below it, connected by road and funicular. The nicer part is further down, but we skirt through the top of the town, glad to have a little bit of pace and a chance to open up and stretch the legs on a road downhill.
As before, though, there is a sharp turn around the corner of the building which we weren’t expecting that takes us straight up another steep hill. We slow to a walk and plug on up it. It’s not a long one, just steep so we find ourselves heading back down again soon after. There’s a nice little path that takes us past some of the houses and bed and breakfasts with a bit of a view through the trees down the valley below.
After a while we find ourselves down the bottom of that valley behind Lynmouth. We cross a bridge and unsurprising head back up the other side of the valley.
Again we push on to the top of the hill, before following the coastline along at the top of the woods. I can feel myself starting to struggle a bit now. I’m pleased to have lasted this long holding this pace with the guys but definitely am starting to feel it and that I’ll need to slow down a little bit soon.
As we start to go back down the other side I ask noel how he’s feeling and mention I’ll probably take a bit of a breather soon. He confesses he’s a bit unsure as well. I am feeling okay, just getting a bit anxious I’m going to pay for it later.
We get down to the bottom of this valley and cross another bridge. It seems to be a bit of a theme today, doesn’t it? Go up a valley, down the other side and cross a bridge. Rinse. Repeat.
This time, though, there is a checkpoint. I remember that this one had a bit of a beast of a hill following it, so I’m a little apprehensive. I fill my bottles, grab a couple of Jelly Babies and a few crisps and that’s all then get ready to carry on.
Noel points out that we’ve got here, to the seventeen mile checkpoint after all those hills, in three hours. Definitely way too fast. Even he’s a bit concerned and he’s considerably faster than I am. We get a move on all the same. There’s a fair bit more downhill for a while, again through the woods. This time, though, instead of going up the hill and over towards the coastline further on, this time we’re heading straight back to the coast, tackling the hill head on.
We reach another bridge on a path. There are quite a few hikers here who kindly let us pass then we’re away up the other side. Through a gate and it’s straight up the gully on the other side. There’s no switchbacks this time. No easing of the gradient. Just straight up the hill. On the previous downhill we lost the third guy as he steamed on ahead. On this uphill I start to see Noel going off ahead. I debate trying to stay with him, but decide instead that it’s time to ease off to try to avoid blowing up later.
By this point some of the marathon runners are passing us so I start chatting to a couple, but they’re gone past me as soon as they arrive so I let them go as well.
Eventually I reach the top of the hill, gasping, cross the road and crest it properly, ready to start down the other side and finally take a turn back in a westerly direction along the coast and back to the start. To start it all again. I see Noel only a little ahead so catch up to him again.
It’s only briefly though. As we start down the nice and welcome downhill section here, he heads off and again I decide not to follow so that I can catch my breath. That damn hill really took it out of me. It was worth it though, as I’m now getting my first look back at the coast line in the reverse direction of travel.
It’s just as nice as it was before, only this time it’s mentally easier as it feels like I’m no longer going further away from my destination, but back towards it instead. I’m just trying to put the three extra loops that follow out of my head for now. Those are little and manageable loops so they don’t count. For now. It’s all a mental game.
There is a good three kilometres now of downhill along the coast all the way back, this time, to Lynmouth. After the undulations of earlier followed by that beast of a hill, it’s pretty nice to be able to tick off a couple of easy miles and catch my breath. The wind is quite vicious right at the moment, so I can catch my breath fairly easily.
By the time I reach Lynmouth the sun is almost out and there is a nice little section along the promenade through the town. There are a lot of people out and about despite this place being quite isolated, and most of them are looking a bit bewildered despite me thinking most of them would be family and friends of the racers.
Either way I try to be polite and get out of peoples way as much as possible. Soon enough I’m through the town, narrowly managing to avoid stopping for ice cream, or the funicular up the hill for that matter. Instead I take the path that zig-zags its way arduously up the hill. I try to take it easily and mostly succeed. I’m starting to wonder if I sometimes tackle hills a bit too full on as I can really be shattered at the top of them. Or maybe that’s just because I should have quit smoking earlier than I did.
At the top of this section I go through a gate and there is a well paved path along the side of the hill all the way to the Valley of the Rocks. Basically it’s a big pile of curiously stacked rocks dropping down to the sea a hundred metres or so below. It is a nice view, though, that’s not in doubt.
I go past and around the back of them then get a little lost trying to figure out which path to take. The sign is pointing forward towards the road and up a hill, but there’s clearly a path to the right of me. I go for the path as the road just doesn’t seem right then soon enough find that I am on the right track luckily. Getting lost is the last thing I need.
There’s quite a steady uphill section to keep me entertained for half an hour or so. I’m now definitely feeling the increase in pace for the first while of the race, so am conscious of just trying to keep a steady but much easier pace to hopefully stave off the feelings of exhaustion and sore legs.
I’m still considerably up on the pace I thought I would be by here though so I’m mentally feeling good after this race having been a daunting one for the past couple of months, being just that little bit longer. And that large bit harder than I remember it being.
I plod on though, finding myself back on the section I was going in the other direction on earlier. It’s a nice wooded part, and I know that it means I’m getting close to being back at the Woody Bay checkpoint. I pass a big wood shelter that I remember being just after said checkpoint then find myself back at the checkpoint itself, saying hello to the marshals.
There are a few other people here as well as this is the checkpoint which is the turnaround for the half marathon, so the trail fills out a little more, having been quite sparse most of the day. I hear the marshal tell some of them it’s pretty much all downhill from here and think to myself that I bet it’s not.
There is a short and nice downhill part, then sure enough straight onto a long stretch of uphill. It’s actually about two kilometres, so I’m now positive the marshal was lying when he told the other competitors that it was all downhill. Eventually I round the final corner and recognise the downhill section back to the start and finish and must admit I’m pretty relieved to do so. I’ve been chatting away with someone else who remembered me from the Suffolk race so it’s been nice to give myself a bit of distraction, but it’s even nicer after taking it a bit easy to get a downhill where you can go slowly and really catch your breath.
In particular it’s useful for me as I know what’s about to come. That bugger of a big hill and the rest of the ten kilometre route. We get stuck behind an overweight half marathon runner who’s not going particularly fast nor willing to move aside and let us past so it forces us to not speed up too much which is actually a good thing as I feel a lot better by the bottom than I would have. We go through the woods and pass him. We carry on and reach the, you guessed it, bridge over the stream leading back to base so that we can again go up the other side of the hill.
We keep chatting about the other races that we’ve done, as she has done one or two others and is planning on doing the Classic Quarter, the only other race the organisation are doing this season. I can feel she is one of those people good at pacing and has held back for the first while and is now about to power on though, so when we hit the base of the big bad switchback, I let her go on ahead.
I realised back at the bridge that I had passed through the marathon point in five hours and ten minutes, which is far too fast for this kind of terrain with never-ending hills. I’m definitely feeling and regretting it now as well. But I decide to just keep with the strategy of keeping things slower, easier and importantly steady.
I reach the top of the rocky scrambling switchback section and carry on around the burnt out slope to the edge of the valley and the cliffs beyond. As I round the corner the wind seems to have picked up a bit further. Oh well, not much I can do about it other than push on. So I do.
Because I’ve been putting it out of my mind for the last section, it has meant that I’d forgotten that it wasn’t just a quick sharp uphill followed by a lull then another big hill as I’d fondly remembered. Instead, there is once again the very long two or three kilometres until the turning point up the hill. It was fine this morning, because this morning everyone was still together, excited and quick. This time around I’m alone, tired and not really particularly excited about the section I’m currently on.
It’s fine though, I grit my teeth and push through. I think the fact that I now have an idea I’m doing pretty well is keeping me pushing, so in some ways going too hard is still paying off. Soon enough I reach the turn up the hill and push up it.
Willpower gets me to the top without too much complication, but it hurts and it has definitely cost me getting up this section. Plus, as I went over the crest to the top, instead of the cairn I saw another crest just as big ahead of me that I’d misjudged. When I do finally reach it, I pull the fingers and swear at the cairn when I see it.
I head down to the checkpoint and ask about water, knowing I’m not allowed any here. He does say I can have some if desperate, but I’m more inquiring about when I can get some and that’s back at the base only three miles away so I say it’s fine and push on down the hill.
After feeling fairly beaten by the uphill, I no tackle the down with gusto. I want to keep holding on as long as I can, but I can feel my stomach turning, which is the last thing I needed. It seems to happen on every race at the moment. I keep telling myself I’ll change my diet or I’ll take more real food on a race, but I just don’t.
Actually that’s not true, I have a cheesy bean pasty in my bag but the thought of it uncooked makes me think I’d rather deal with the ill stomach. So, correction, I need to bring more real food that I know I’ll actually want late into a race.
So I carry on down the hill, trying to ignore the queasy feeling as I know I do have a pile of good food in my drop bag. I’m particularly looking forward to some cherry tomatoes, so hold off on a gel so that I can try to refuel and settle my stomach with those very soon.
I go down the steep section, then the flat one until I turn back down the forest and finally flatten out. Not far now. I see the ‘one mile to go’ sign as I cross the road and feel confident, sort of, that I can get through this and be fine when I get to the drop bag.
A mile comes and goes, and a couple of other guys arrive next to me. They’re seeming quite cheery and like they’re enjoying themselves so I’m quite surprised when they get to the kit check and announce they’re dropping out. Bizarre.
Either way, I don’t plan to myself. I put my bag up and quickly run through the mandatory kit necessary. It’s a thorough check and they actually ask to see all of the items, which is good to see. I’ve got them all and am prepared for the check so it takes no time at all except for the fact my head torch is in my drop bag.
I go in and grab the drop bag, and open it up ready to eat. First thing I do is find the cherry tomatoes and pop one in my mouth. I’m hoping it will be my salvation. Instead I start to retch.
Uh oh.
That wasn’t the plan. I hurry outside again and try to quickly work out where I can go where the marshals won’t see me in case I chunder. Don’t want to risk being pulled from the race. I hide behind the drop bag tent. Luckily it passes after few moments.
The panic stays though, as this is obviously a pretty dire situation to be in. I had hoped this would solve my problems, but it’s made them worse. With a lot of mental fortitude I manage to get a couple of them down and throw the rest in my bag for the remainder of the journey.
I don’t bother grabbing other food as the pasty thing is still in there, but do grab a cup of coke to try to get some sugar and energy into me. It seems to help marginally. I walk back to the marshal to show him my head torch and try to keep a calm demeanour. I don’t think I’m entirely successful, but I don’t think he’s entirely bothered either so that’s fine. I also note at this point that there aren’t all that many numbers checked off on his list, around twenty, so I must have really pushed it. No wonder I’m feeling like shit.
I wander off along my way and head over to the portaloos. I don’t know why, but whenever I can I seem to do this. Most of the time I don’t need to go, but I translate sore guts with needing to drop one, so find some perverse comfort in confirming that I, in fact, don’t. I guess it gives me peace of mind to know I won’t be caught out later on down the trail, so is one less thing to worry about.
Either way, I give myself a good talking to. After the retching, my confidence took quite a knock, and the possibility of just dropping out now flirts with my sanity. It would be so easy and the tent is only fifty metres away.
But I stand up, take a good look at myself in the musty mirror on the back of the portaloo door and tell myself to stop being such a pussy. I leave and carry on back up the trail. I also take a look at the time and note that I am over half an hour faster than my finish time at this exact point in the race two years ago, which is a massive confidence boost leading into the final half marathon.
I’m now heading back up in the direction of the undulations. Mentally I tell myself this bit will be easy. It’s kind of like quite a long break period before tackling the big bastard hill on the ten kilometre loop again. I tackle this bit quite tentatively as I want to let my stomach have a bit of time to settle. So I only run short section of this windy hill back to the eastern side of the mouth of the stream into the Hunter Valley. Last time I pushed it quite hard here and was running nearly all of it with the other two guys, but not this time. This time I’m taking it easy.
Nearer the top I think it would be a good idea to get some nutrition in so I bust out the pasty. It looks pretty manky and mangled after seven hours or so in my backpack, but it also looks like precious nutrients. I open it gingerly, and take a bite out of the contents. The first bite is pretty much just dry pastry. As it’s cold it’s not particularly appetising and sticks to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. Not the best feeling. I get a bit of it down, but end up spitting some out and ripping a bit more of that part of so I can get at the cheesy bean filling. I take a bite of that and…it’s better. Marginally, but it’s better. I can only manage a couple of bites though and it goes back in my bag to be further mangled.
I round the headland to take the next part of the journey along and it’s still an uphill, but one of those annoying ones from earlier. In fact, I think it’s the same one that annoyed me as it’s runnable but makes you feel like the worst runner in the world. As I’m going along bumbling and mumbling I’m passed for the first time in a while by a fresh looking woman.
It’s not too long before I’m near the top of this section though and able to plod along with a bit more pace as it’s a bitter flatter at the top of the hill. It’s actually not too long before I’m making my way back down into the woods again and I find myself quite surprised that I managed to get through this section so easily. It feels like it’s been no time at all and already I find myself three miles or so later coming down the road into the Woody Bay checkpoint for the third and final time.
I stop and have a bit of a chat to the guys for thirty seconds or so as I debate whether to bother trying to eat anything. I see there’s pretty much no food left anyway so just grab some flakes of crisps from the bottom of the bowl and carry on down the nice little punchy downhill that they so fondly liked to tell people was the same all the way back to the finish.
Can’t fool me though. I get to the bottom and start moving up the long hill for the final time and it’s at this point that I start giving myself the mantra that it’s the last time.
For most of the day, each section has been either one I was going to see again, or one I would only see the once on the far part of the course, therefore wanting to make sure I take it all in. But this is the first loop where I can tell myself I won’t be back. It’s another little mental trick that just gives me that extra little boost. I won’t be back here so better make the most of it.
So I do. I look around and remind myself how dramatic and spectacular the scenery is in this little densely wooded and hilly part of the world. I look along the coastline ahead of me, and over to Wales in the distance over the other side. I’m still not pushing it though and it shows as I’m passed by another two or three people along the way.
Soon enough I’m reaching the top of the uphill section again and can take a breather as I make my way back down. It’s a couple of easy kilometres to bank and again that just gives me another little boost to know that I’m getting that small bit closer to the end. I push on down the gravelly single track traversing the slope of the valley until I reach the woods at the bottom and cross the little, you guessed it, bridge for the last time. I check my time, eight hours and twenty two minutes. That means my goal of sub ten is almost in the bag. Almost.
I go along the flat back and forth sections to take me up to the turn off to go up the bastard switchbacks for the final time. And it hurts. Bad. I know that I have a tendency to push too hard and end up spluttering my guts out on steep gradients. So I take it slow. I go for thirty seconds or so at a time, then I take a little breather.
Stupidly, I’m still feeling like I need to race. I know I’m skirting with danger, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this far up the field this late in a race and I really want to try to keep pushing with it. But it’s all about balance. I see a guy not far below me and just try to make sure I stay the same amount ahead of him on the switchback and then I can keep a steady pace when it becomes the undulations around the cliffs. Or that’s the plan anyway.
By the time I reach the top of the switchback, I’m spluttering my guts out. I feel half dead and am cursing under my breath. It’s really taking a lot out of me, but I’m here now. Past the burnt out ground…for the last time. Onto the undulations around the cliffs…for the last time.
There is one undulation that starts going that little bit harder on me. I try to slow down. I’m already at a walk, but now I’m barely moving and by the time I reach the top of it, I’m beaten. This little undulation has beaten me.
I sit down on the grass on the side of the trail and take thirty seconds. The guy I was trying to stay ahead of approaches and asks if I’m okay. I tell him I am it’s just sore guts. As he passes, I get up and try to follow him. I last another twenty seconds or so before I slow to a walk again. Bugger, here comes that blow up I was hoping to avoid from going too hard earlier.
The rest of the undulations are an absolute disaster. Most of them aren’t even that big, but it’s just the cumulative effect that they have on you that really catches you out. I can see the final hill and cairn in the far distance and shake my fist at it. In the next two kilometres I find myself sitting down three or four times, rueing the day I entered these damned infernal races. At the last one, I pop a couple of cherries and steel myself for the final push ahead. About five more runners pass me in this section.
I amble on the dirt road until I see the left turn up the hill. This is it. The final uphill push. I’m ready this time. I stare it down and start plodding with a vengeance. I fix my gaze on the top of the crest and stumble up to it. I remember this time there is another one the same size after so nary is there a falter when I approach the first crest. I push on up the final one, seeing three people behind me and wonder if I’ll stay ahead of them.
My resolve fades and I realise after having been passed by so many in the last hour there’s no point bothering worrying about these three. When I do reach the top though, I still pull the fingers at the cairn and swear under my breath at it once more. As I’ve noticed the person closest behind me is a woman though, I have my mitten over my hand so she doesn’t see and wonder if I’m mental.
As I’m catching my breath at the top she catches me and asks how I’m feeling. I feel bad for doing it, but the first thing I say is “Shit, actually. You?” She kind of ignores it, which is probably for the best, and she’s actually quite friendly which is probably the sort of person I should be around at the moment and may well rub off on my miserable mindset.
Then she asks if I’m Ben. I look at her a little confused, then she introduces herself as Sophie, who I’ve been chatting to online as we both ran sections of the South Devon race with another Ben, who we’ve both kept in touch with, but not actually met ourselves yet. It’s a pretty random surprise as I wasn’t aware she was even going to be here, and this is also how I got to be friends with Ben, as he popped up at the very end of that race.
We jog down to the final checkpoint and then push on over to the final downhill section. We keep chatting, though one of the signs seems to have been moved so we get a little lost, before finally working out which way to go – down.
It’s weird, but having chatted to someone just for a couple of minutes has really lifted my spirits and I start to boss down the hill. When I get to the bottom of the section, where it flattens out, I wait a few seconds but can’t see Sophie behind me so start to jog on slowly ahead figuring she’ll catch up.
As I’m taking the turn down into the second part of the woods she does catch up, but me and my downhills, I move on down shouting I’ll see her at the bottom. When I get there and cross the road for the final plod home, I do slow right down and she does eventually catch me at the ‘one mile to go’ sign.
We keep chatting and it sounds like she’s feeling nearly as rough as I am, though it also sounds like she’s managing to stay a lot more positive than I am. We trundle along until we reach the main road back and start to pass the little houses in this hamlet…for the last time.
Just as we cross the bridge over to round the final corner, the two guys she was running with catch us and we all run together for a minute or two. They’re trying to egg us on, but my hearts not in it after the last hour or so and now checking the time I’m well over the ten hours mark I’d hoped for after the final uphill disaster, so when Sophie says she’s taking a walk I join her.
Then we round the corner and pick up the pace one final time, go through into the field with the flags and go down the finishing chute. I tell her to go ahead and clock in first as she motivated me over the last half hour or so, so it’s only fair, and then we’re done. I feel shattered, but pleased that after struggles I managed to push on and not entirely lose faith other than becoming a bit grumpy.
The next morning it’s a bit of a grim hike up towards the Woody Bay bus stop, to catch a bus to Minehead, then one to Taunton, then one back to London and a train home to arrive about one in the morning. It’s a grim prospect, but luck is on my side as another camper pulls up and offers me a ride. I say the main road would be perfect as that where the bus is and he asks where I’m going. When I say London, he tells me he’s going there as well and is happy to take me the whole way.
It’s a massive help, and good to have a chance to have a chat on the way home rather than spending the day bored on buses, and I’m home by three o’clock. Just shows the trail community for what it really is, what a champ. Certainly added an extra little nicety to my race experience.
Tracking is here:
