Tuxedos, Wetherspoons and the Unwelcome Tour of an Oxfordshire Vineyard
The first event in my 2012 race schedule was the inaugural Thames Path 100, a new event from Centurion Running. This would provide perfect preparation for another attempt at the 24hr in September and also help me achieve my first 100 miler, one of three required to be able to apply for Badwater. I had previously reached 100 miles in 19:19 during the 24hr and had then broken down in the final hours due to insufficient running mileage in training. As I had achieved more running volume in preparation for the TP100 I was hoping to finish in under 19:00. Simple on paper!
I travelled down to London on Friday and stayed at the Worst Hotel in London ©. The afternoon and evening were spent in my room packing, emptying and repacking my special needs bags, and filling tubs and sandwich bags with various energy powders, gels and snacks. The bags were to be available at four aid stations along the route and I packed a base layer, waterproof top, gloves, socks and hat in each bag as the weather forecast was predicting rain on and off throughout the event. It might have appeared overkill to some who only packed the odd essentials, but I was still very aware of the lessons learnt in the appalling conditions at the Triple the previous year.
The race started by the Thames at Richmond town hall and I was taken there in The Dirtiest Unlicensed Minicab in London ©. The registration was much the same as any other endurance event, but I was still adjusting to how relaxed ultra-marathons are compared to Ironman events. Thousand yard stares and earphones were noticeable by their absence and nobody (except me) seemed to be comparing legs with their competitors. Old habits die hard.
Event video courtesy of Centurion Running.
The course was very simple on paper: start at Richmond and run West along the Thames Path all the way to Oxford. There were aid stations approximately every eight miles with some providing hot food and drink. The event notes described the course profile as predominantly flat and the route was to cover a variety of surfaces.
After a countdown approximately 200 runners set off at 10am, each with their own personal goals and strategies. My strategy - based on my limited ultra-marathon experience from the 24hr - was very simple: start slowly, walk regularly, eat and drink regularly and take advantage of hot food and drink wherever possible. As there were virtually no climbs it took a lot of discipline to force myself to walk early in the race as everything felt so easy. I seemed to be the only one around me to be taking such a conservative approach, but I suspected most people would be covering the first ten miles too quickly and would pay the price later on.
The first couple of hours passed uneventfully as we passed Hampton Court Palace along predominantly wide gravel paths. There was rain forecasted for the morning, and then intermittent showers expected throughout the night. We ran through a light shower for the first few minutes, but this quickly passed and the remainder of the morning was relatively bright with a light breeze: perfect for running for which I was very grateful.
Follow that skinny man!
I was running with a Camelbak carrying enough fluid to get me to the next aid station and also had a few sweets and a couple of gels. I replenished everything I had used at each aid station and had extra supplies in the special needs bags waiting for me at the designated aid stations. The first couple of aid stations were at Walton on Thames (12 miles) and Wraysbury (22 miles), and were busy affairs as runners were still in close proximity and several spectators were there to help their friends in the race. There was a good variety of sweet and savoury snacks and the volunteers were all very helpful. The route then wound its way to Windsor which was probably the best part of the course for me. I could see the castle in the distance and I couldn’t take my eyes off it as we ran past. At the Windsor aid station (28 miles) I made use of my special needs bag, changing my socks and filling my Camelback with PSP and Nuun.
The view as I left Windsor. Gawd bless you ma'am.
I was half expecting the wide path we had enjoyed in the early miles to continue all the way to Oxford but it was becoming clear that the surface varied considerably as did the reliability of the signs. The course often deviated away from the side of the Thames and it was very easy to miss a turning, something many people (including me!) would fall foul to before the end of the race. I had previously made some Blue Peter style laminated maps which showed the route and all aid stations including whether they provided hot food or special needs bags. As they were 1:50000 scale it was often difficult to identify which way to go on the trickiest sections.
Here's one I made earlier - maps with course details.
It was soon after Windsor that I started to experience my only bad patch in the race. My legs gradually started to feel heavy, tired and sore. My left lumber back began to ache and I started experiencing shooting pains through my left glutes, something I have never experienced before. I wasn’t particularly worried as I knew pains could spontaneously appear during events but I did wonder if I was going to suffer later on as I had during the 24hr.
We then passed Dorney Lake rowing centre where I managed to get stuck in a bramble bush and then passed through Maidenhead to the aid station at Cookham (38 miles), the first one which had hot drinks on offer. As it was ten miles since the previous aid station I ran out of fluid with around three miles to go, partly because it was the warmest part of the day and also because I was only running with one litre of fluid to keep the weight down. I gulped down three cups of energy drink, filled my Camelbak and snacked on some cake and crisps. I then had a very welcome cup of tea before walking off while I drank a second cup. I made sure I repeated this at every opportunity.
Unlimited food and drink at one of the aid stations (Photo Centurion Running).
The early pace was taking its toll on several runners as I was gradually working my way through the field. I was determined to run my own race, and for this reason I ran the entire event alone. If I felt good I ran, if I wanted to walk I walked.
My bad patch was improving by the time I reached Marlow (44 miles), one of the nicest places I’ve ever seen. It was late afternoon, warm and sunny and it would have been the perfect place to waste the day away in a pub garden. Families and couples were walking and cycling along the path or sitting on the grass enjoying the weather, all oblivious to the emaciated dickhead with a snotty nose running past them on his way to Oxford.
Cheese! (Photo Centurion Running)
By the time I reached the aid station at Henley (51 miles) the light was rapidly fading which was lucky as my head torch was waiting for me in my special needs bag. I changed my socks again but didn’t need anything else as I was still dry. After some hot baked beans and the usual routine I carried on with my brew. I stopped for as little time as possible for two reasons: I was determined to achieve a decent time and didn’t want my body to get comfortable and switch off.
During the night I seemed to alternate between navigating through fields in the pitch black and fog or running through brightly lit town centres. The path surface seemed to be split between gravel or paving as it passed through towns, or barely visible grass tracks during the rural sections. As my ankles can’t deal with uneven ground at the best of times it was always a relief when the path deviated through the occasional village or random housing estate.
I had begun taking caffeine gels and Coke in the second half of the race and also started using Ibuprofen after a couple of slight ankle sprains. I knew further sprains were likely and was keen to avoid the agony I’d felt from similar problems at the Triple. Whether these factors played a part or not I don’t know but the more the race progressed the stronger I felt. I was still passing the occasional person, but caught and passed around five people on an undulating forest track after the aid station at Whitchurch. People were tending to slow down and group together the more the race progressed which was still something I wanted to avoid.
Mobile phones were a mandatory piece of kit to use in emergency, and would also be useful as a GPS device in the event of getting lost. At around 11pm I felt the phone vibrate. It was a very thoughtful photo of a glass of ice cold beer and some crisps from Joe, an aspiring MMA fighter from Prestwich. T.W.A.T. are four letters which readily came to mind.
The photo I received at 11pm.
My ankles were failing the more the race progressed. Smaller sprains were becoming more violent and as the ankles weakened the sprains occurred more often. On level surfaces I was running at a decent pace, but anything uneven was causing me to walk more than run which was extremely frustrating. The head torch wasn’t helping either. I had bought a more powerful one than the one I had used at the Triple and had also put new batteries in it. Regardless of this the beam wasn’t able to illuminate the ground sufficiently to allow me to judge the terrain with predictable results.
As the route was now almost exclusively rural the routine was: run, sprain ankle, swear, limp, walk (repeat). I had another couple of Ibuprofen and progressed as quickly as I could. Relief was found as I passed Wallingford on a decent track, but this was soon replaced by confusion as I approached the aid station at Benson (79 miles). The bridge where I was supposed to cross was fenced off. I continued a bit further where I drew level with the aid station on the other side of the river. There were a couple of runners there visible by their head torches, but I couldn’t work out how they’d got there. A shouted conversation across the Thames with the marshals confirmed I’d missed an earlier crossing, so the only alternative was continue and cross the river a couple of miles ahead.
This sounded perfect and would have been if the path continued that far. Within a few metres the path had merged into a rutted field which I had no alternative but to follow. Things then went from bad to worse. I was approaching some buildings to my left so kept close to the riverbank on my right hoping to pass without obstruction. Wrong! There was a brook running across my path from as far as I could see to my left. I turned left and followed it hoping to find the end of it or at least a bridge to cross it. The map also showed a road running parallel to the river a few hundred metres away, so if I could reach it I would be back in the race. What I did find was a twenty foot wall disappearing into the distance blocking any progress around the buildings, and no bridge across the brook to allow me to progress along the river.
The place I should have been at Benson.
I had no choice but to find the narrowest place to jump across so spent five minutes scouting for the best position. To add to the frustration I could see the head torches of other runners passing me on the other side of the river. I eventually found the narrowest point and jumped as far as I could, just clearing the water. I then ran back towards the river to continue along the original route but found one obstacle after another – no matter where I looked there wasn’t a way through along the river bank. I had no choice but to make my way back through the grounds away from the river to try and find my way to the road. I gradually realised I was in the grounds of an enormous mansion so skirted around the perimeter to avoid setting any lights or alarms off.
After a couple of dead ends I eventually found the driveway and thought I’d found the way out. Wrong again! I found myself running around a courtyard with the mansion on one side and outbuildings full of luxury cars around the perimeter. I was expecting floodlights to switch on at any second and wouldn’t have been surprised if I heard dogs being released. By now I was very keen to escape. There was one available opening which I entered but it was pitch black and full of trees so I retraced my steps (again) and found the entrance gates. I climbed my way over the gates and was finally on the driveway which would eventually take me up the hill to the road.
By now I was pumped full of adrenaline and anger so I really had to hold myself back as I was running far too fast. I finally reached the end of the driveway where I saw a sign proudly welcoming me to a vineyard. If I had have gone through the opening into the trees I’d have probably still been trying to find my way out at dawn. I turned right along the road and made good progress eventually dropping down to the bridge where I rejoined the course. I could see another couple of people drawing level with me, and I was wondering how many more had caught me during my unplanned vineyard adventure.
It was a relief to be back on track but it was very annoying to know I’d lost at least twenty minutes and several places simply because I’d missed a sign. I still felt strong and relaxed as much as possible as I continued through the next few aid stations. The clear sky we’d enjoyed throughout the first part of the night had been replaced with cloud but it still remained dry. The only piece of clothing I changed at every opportunity was my socks, whether I felt the need or not. I’d coated them with Bodyglide before packing them and I was determined to prevent blistering, something which had crippled me many times in the past. At the Little Wittenham aid station (82 miles) I changed my head torch batteries which seemed to increase the brightness for a while, but soon deteriorated to the previous level of visibility.
Since the vineyard incident I hardly saw anyone at all until the finish. There was a two hour stretch in the early hours where the only person I saw between aid stations was a man strolling along the river in the pitch black wearing a tuxedo. I’m not sure who was the most surprised, but we both exchanged greetings and carried on with our respective journeys.
I continued to feel strong until the finish, the uneven sections being the only factor limiting my progress. As I finally approached Oxford the path became flatter and I was able to finally run properly. The difference in my condition compared to how it had been at this point at the 24hr was 100% better. I ditched all the fluid from my Camelback and ran the last few miles at the fastest pace I had during the entire race.
There were a few twists and turns as I approached the finish but signs and glow sticks marked the way. It was now that the weather finally turned and it started to rain. I eventually reached the ice rink where I saw the finish line. “20:04, fifteenth place’’ I was told as I received my belt buckle. I was gutted at first, mainly to have missed 19:59 due to missing a sign, but also to have felt so good throughout the majority of the race and not beaten the 19:19 I had previously achieved.
My first sub-24hr belt buckle.
I didn’t feel anything particular at the finish. I was relieved it was over, frustrated to have needlessly lost so much time and several places, but pleased my body had clearly responded to the training. I had progressed one step further to Badwater and Spartathlon and was in promising shape for the rest of the season. I felt understandably stiff as I sat and recovered, but had none of the dramas I had experienced after previous ultras. I got changed and had a cup of tea, and then it was a case of waiting for somewhere to open for breakfast.
As I finished at 6am I had considerable time to kill but the weather was deteriorating so everyone was confined to the event marquee. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a while but there wasn’t anywhere to go. I eventually limped into Oxford in search of food and stumbled across a Wetherspoons. More renowned for smelly old men, inebriated slappers and crap food, this one also featured the Most Miserable Barmaid With a Slapped-Arsed Face in The World ©. I couldn’t have found anywhere more appropriate so I sat in the warmth, stuffed my face and drank coffee for the rest of the morning.
Recovery snack at Wetherspoons.
Reflection
Centurion Running provided a very slick event with very enthusiastic and helpful volunteers. James Elson is a very experienced ultrarunner, and this is essential in understanding athletes’ needs and staging a successful event such as the TP100.
My feelings at the finish were in response to my own race rather than the event itself. I heard similar stories to mine at the finish, and it seemed most people had gone off course to some extent during the race. I had run considerably further than 100 miles over rough terrain with a backpack so the finishing time wasn’t the failure I had initially felt it to be. However I left with a feeling of ‘job done’ and nothing more. My running endurance is significantly better than it was at the 24hr and that’s very promising as I progress through 2012. I finished in a much better state than any previous ultra and came away without any injuries including a complete absence of blisters. To achieve anything in running-specific events I need to race on road which is very convenient as Badwater and Spartathlon are my clear targets. One 100 miler done, two to go...
Race details here: http://www.centurionrunning.com/thames-path-100-2012/tp100-2012
Race photos here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/centurionrunning/tags/tp100/
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