London 2 Brighton Challenge - 100km

Sleep is important at the best of times, more so when you've half a day of running ahead of you, even more so when you've a 3 a.m alarm call. Being the fifth race weekend in a row, my poor girlfriend and I had somewhat acclimatized to hideously early weekend awakenings that had ranged anywhere from 2 to 7 a.m, and once again had the "defo in bed by 9, right?" conversation. That never rings true. Despite pre-packing Thursday night and ready to rumble, leaving work late on the Friday delayed the food supplies run, which in turn delayed the consumption of pre-race carbs and the double/triple checking that my kit was indeed packed there before my eyes. With a settled mind and body the sack was hit as the clock approached midnight.

Having not quite reached the full depths of sleep, I had no problems getting out of bed nor any desire to hit snooze. Coffee, toast and porridge consumed (at a time when many were feasting on kebab) I put on my running gear (at a time when many were putting on their pj's) and headed down to the car, laden with bags for the quick jaunt across town to Richmond. 

Last year had been quite hellish, such was the torrential rain from the outset, mud bath trails and the broken thumb I'd received from my first outing/accident on my TT bike, conditions were bound to be better for 2015. They were, and quite gloriously so. As we approached TW9 the East End darkness we'd left behind turned to stunning blue skies. Buoyed by the meteorological goodwill, my spirits were high and I felt decidedly relaxed. Knowing the course (having ran it twice prior) certainly helped as one knows what to expect (ie. that f***-off hill at 88km) and how best to plan for it. With the best part of an hour until the 6:10 start, I took in some coffee, tried to 'go' (nothing) and decided that my girlfriend needed a second attempt at pinning my number on - straight. I think it was down to nerves, poor thing, as she would be setting off on her own little 100km journey that day in order to crew me, in the new car she had only driven once before. Having witnessed her practice-parking to be a little wonky it was a relief to see her at each checkpoint with a 'I haven't scraped the car on the way here' confirming smile!

It still wasn't on straight

And we were off...at a time of day I rarely acquaint with of a Saturday. The 100km route would have a number of checkpoints thus subdividing the race into multiple sections. In so much as the terrain had it's ups and downs, so too would my mood. Broken down the race unfolded as follows:

See you in Brighton

Start: Old Deer Park - 12km: Green Lane Rec.

An ultra-marathon start is a funny thing to witness, elite athletes aside. Here you have a group of people, fit as fiddles, running extraordinary distances and they shuffle off at a snail's pace. It's rather anti-climatic to say the least. My plan was to run at 6 min/km pace for the first 56km, exceptionally slow, but so as not to tire my legs and to acknowledge the presence of hills/styles/steps etc. Heading out of the park and along the Thames I was shuffling quite merrily at 5:30 pace and feeling light on my feet, I felt no reason to reign it in. 

When it comes to racing I'm a hybrid of tortoise and hare (tort-are?), I find myself far from spent (even after the sprint finish) when I cross the line therefore I'm making efforts to speed things up earlier on. This was my thinking this time around, if I was to make notable gains on my 12:02 of last year, I would need to make use of my early steam before the inevitable wheels came off.

The majority of the first section followed the meandering ways of the river upstream to Kingston, past Twickenham and Teddington before turning off into the suburban streets of SW London. Small groups of runners were forming ahead and behind me, everyone quite chatty and energetic, though I found myself alone, head down, taking in nutrition on the half-hour. All terribly focused. Still early, the odd dog-walker bid me good luck, apart from that the streets were silent. It wasn't long until I passed through checkpoint 1, the volunteers welcoming their first arrivals of the day, with little fanfare. What would count for most as a decent run was merely a minor dent in the day's task and stopping solely to refill my bottles and guzzle a cup or two of Gatorade, I was off to run the second section that would take me to the quarter mark where my girlfriend would be waiting patiently.

12km: Green Lane Rec. - 25km: Oaks Park

It was rather much of the same toward checkpoint 2, the first major rest stop. When you're running such a great distance, the early miles feel a little like waiting around, even though you are in fact moving. You need to cross them off, but you know the main event is yet to start. The focus is on limiting the impact on your legs, ensuring that you are taking in regular fluids and consuming enough calories. There are so many hours in front of you that there's no thinking of the finish, one section, one footstep even, at a time.

My pace was still comfortable and I was passing the kilometer markers at an encouraging rate. Much of the first half of the race is tarmac, and this was the case here, crossing roads, up and down pavements, through tunnels, the section had a few climbs to deal with but all in all allowed for unhindered running. Marvelling at the housing stock and daydreaming about living in quieter quarters, I passed through the midst of such delights as Stoneleigh, Cheam and Banstead. My first cock-up of the day came in Nonsuch Park, where the route and it's runners lost themselves a little in the tall grasses and streaming sunshine. I zig-zagged somewhat before following the confidence of a fellow runner who saw me straight, panic over. Let that be the last I thought.

Boy, was it humid. I was aware of just how much I was drinking and with my head down the sweat was a constant trickle to the pavement below. Another awareness I had was of a more 'internal' nature. Failing to come up 'trumps' at the start, the next checkpoint could not come soon enough. Thankfully it was not far off, and when it did arrive I sent my girlfriend off to refill my bottles as I made a dash to have the clearance I had hoped for earlier. Empty and full in the right bladders, I scoffed at various foodstuffs, chin-wagged a little before heading off for the marathon mark, and out of London.

Hot and bothered

Back out and re-hydrated

25km: Oaks Park - 40km: New Henhaw Farm

Only a few minutes out and again I had run wayward, not concentrating as I followed the heels of the runner in front rather than the signage itself. A whistle rang out from back down the street from the runner behind me (how terribly sporting) to inform me of my lapse. I too shouted at the guy in front, probably twice, to no avail. Let that be a lesson to him I thought, I mean who wears headphones on an ultra?

Fifteen kilometres spans quite a time, given the slower pace, to get through on a litre of fluids. I was drinking every five minutes and as a result was running low quite early on. Additionally, I wasn’t taking in enough nutrition as I couldn’t quite stomach another gel, handful of sweets nor protein bar. This was stressing me out, as too was the fact that my pace was now slowing. Still mostly on road, the ascents were getting steeper and more frequent and I was finding it hard to keep to 6 minute kms. Good job I had started out ‘fast’ so I was averaging out rather than falling behind. One of these ascents took me up Ditches Lane, through Farthing Downs for the first of many ‘turn-a-round and take in’ moments. Pushing on, I reached the M25, through the surrounding woods and out into the countryside.

Not ok at 40k

Arriving at the checkpoint, I had a right grump on. Hearing the news that the couscous and pasta was still in the car (as we had agreed) nearly broke me. I wanted to eat, but not more sugar. Just one marathon down, with another one and a half to go, I was feeling really tired and down. Was it the lack of sleep, the humidity, the time pressure I was putting myself under, I don’t know. Given the race had merely started, plus the thought of my upcoming 100 mile, certainly exaggerated things, as I thought ‘and you’re struggling after just this!’.

40km: New Henhaw Farm - 56km: Tulley's Farm

I left New Henhaw Farm with an additional bottle in hand and a sandwich bag of sausages (no lie), for what would be the longest section of the day. I knew that the next checkpoint would represent more than half of the race complete, with just a marathon left to run so this perked me up a tad. The route ran for the majority through farmland parallel to the M23 (for all you motorway junkies). Whilst the section posed no notable ascents, it was mostly trail which meant stiles and gates to slow me down. My pace was off what I had planned for the first half, but I put it in a box and simply concentrated on the next kilometer marker ahead of me. I ate very little once more, half a protein bar, and a sausage that I nibbled at like a cannibal starting with the fingers! The Gatorade was pulling me through and the knowledge of hot food at the 56km mark saved me from panicking.

For kilometers on end I would find myself running alone, with no runners in sight. Now and again the shuffling of feet would encroach, or I'd catch a runner walking an uphill and I'd prepare myself for a 'stop and chat'. The energies at the start and the jubilation toward the finish make people chatty, mid-way through not so much. Personally I was very head-down to symbolise that I wasn't after a running mate or conversation, I just wasn't in a good place.

Familiar with the course I didn't need distance markers to tell me I was close to pulling in to Tulley's Farm midway point. Being near to the front, the checkpoints can be quite bare but the applause is more focused and there's an air of 'these guys are really ploughing ahead' which feels good as you take in the fanfare. Running through the scanner arch I was awarded a medal for completing the 56km race, realising my error and confirming I was doing the 100, I turned the other way where my giggling girlfriend was waiting...with couscous and pasta.

Another marathon left for me

56km: Tulley's Farm - 67km: Ardingly College

It seems rather pathetic in the aftermath, but I was close to giving up at that point, I was over it. It wasn't giving up on being able to complete it, rather on being able to complete it in the way I wished. Sat at a table with a plate of hot pasta in front of me, shoveling it in like a rescued hostage, it was all I wanted but to lay down and sleep. You picture what you'll be up against in the run-up to a race, and how you'll soldier through when it gets tough. But it's very different when you're in it, and struggling, and there's 7 hours left. I was clearly non compos mentis. Thankfully, my girlfriend was though, and her tough love was what I needed. Her words "Get your bloody mind straight. This has cost us a lot of money". There was something else she said about some people not having legs and to think of how fortunate I was. It worked. I headed off for the final 44.

The second half understandably, was a more picturesque affair taking in the High Weald and the South Downs. Most of the running herein was through forest, along farm tracks and country lanes. The sections were notably shorter and this helped immensely knowing the next checkpoint was never too far away. Between checkpoints I had more or less given up on eating anything. I simply drank copiously and then shoveled as much in to my gob as I could stomach when I reached a stop. 

The run through to Ardingly was very up and down and I would break in and out of a walk when steepness got the better of me. What was surprising was the effect long straights of road were having on me. I would occasionally take a turn and look up to see a long expanse of road and I just couldn't run it, giving myself any excuse to take a walking break. I think it was more monotony over fatigue that was messing with my head. I started off allowing 100m walks every km, then 200m, then I no longer cared. Crossing the beautiful Ardingly Reservoir, through the town to the college, another section complete. I sat down (they say never sit down) eyelids flickering, managing to get some food inside me and trying not to think that I still had a third of the race left.

Meanwhile...Sarah had her own obstacles to overcome

67km: Ardingly College - 80km: Wivelsfield School

I had barely left the college two minutes before losing my way a third (and thankfully final) time. Coming out into farmland from Standgrove Wood I ran straight across over a stile, across another field and through to another wood, before accepting I was lost. Retreating through the wood, across the field and back over the stile, I saw that there was a sign stating 'do not go over this stile'. My bad. Concentrate Norris!

The section was fairly flat, nothing too cumbersome to ascend and it was where I passed the first walkers who had set off on the ‘last 44 leg’ at around midday. It was quite nice for the soul to get a ‘hello, looking strong’ from the brief encounters and took my mind off the task ahead somewhat. When alone I spent most of my time fantasising about living ‘out here’, to have all this running country on my doorstep, to potter about in the garden and to work on DIY projects in an outbuilding, maybe a lane swimming pool to boot. The desire was crushed by the thought of having to take a train to work every day, the expense too, though the run commute home would be epic. One day.

To wrap up a fairly eventful section I had a scare crossing a field of livestock. After yet another stile, this one correctly navigated, I saw up ahead that the route passed under the hoofs of several wandering cows. Building up the impending meeting of day-glo footed man and animal, I flinched in anticipation as I ran by which in turn caused fear in the cows who then flinched too, causing me to get a proper trot on. I’ve not yet reviewed my Garmin data but I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the maximum speed logged in the second half of the race.

Pulling in to the final main rest stop, I told my girlfriend of my narrow miss, but she had her own story of woe. A grumpy (fat c*** apparently) local had told her to "f*** off you yuppie" when she’d parked legitimately opposite his house. With one eye on my watch, I allowed her a few seconds of consolation. Poor cow I thought.

At least she saw a bunny

80km: Wivelsfield School - 88km: Plumpton College

Boy I was tired. Like proper ‘ready to nod off like a granddad in his armchair’ tired. I was loving the pesto pasta I’d started working on at the last checkpoint and the sausages were proving a winner. The key with food here is moisture. Between checkpoints I had been experimenting with small bites of protein bar washed down with water, which was ghastly but worked. Physically I was in quite tip-top shape, no signs of cramping, no real aches, no blisters, nothing. Sat on a curb, scoffing away, I exaggeratedly shook off the wave of fatigue and rose to my feet to run the flat 8km section I’d long been looking forward to, taking me to the final checkpoint. Spirits were lifted.

It wasn’t the hottest day on record, but it was incredibly humid. Over the course of the day I must have drunk ten litres at least, but such was the sweat leaving my body, that popping for a wee wasn’t much of a requirement. Eventually when it was required, I didn’t quite ‘pop’ for one as it were. 

I had first put in to practice the 'technique' at last year's event, again at a similar point late in the race, with no one around, I thought 'f*** it'. To successfully pull it off (so to speak), one should assure themselves a clear stretch of path with clear vision both ahead and behind. Remaining alert, simply dip the shorts, aim to the side and Bob’s your uncle. It saves you precious seconds. Give it a try!

High on the life, and with a sense of devilishness I reached kilometre 88 and the final checkpoint. Just 'that hill' to overcome before the predominantly downhill ride to the finish and Brighton itself.

Not quite the fanfare one expects after 88km

88km: Plumpton College - Finish: Brighton Racecourse

Phew, just 12km left to navigate unscathed to the finish. My girlfriend's driving had been impeccable and I was overjoyed to see the car (Peppy) in the car park safe and well. I guess I was in 18th-ish position when I came through and being so far up, the checkpoint was dead. I found a wall and leaned up against it like a drunk. At that point if someone had asked me to describe my ultimate fantasy, it wouldn't have deviated too much from the norm, but just the bed part.

Staring down at Plumpton College is one hell of a hill that greets the runner upon leaving the checkpoint for Brighton. Up on top runs the South Downs Way, around mile 74 on the SDW100 route that I'll be racing on June 13th (in darkness). Its bark is worse that its bite I find. After the ‘see you in Brighton’ celebratory send off, I managed a run to the foot of the hill and carried momentum until it got too steep. Speed walking up a track to the left, then another up further to the right, finally reaching the top where the views over green and pleasant England were breath-taking.

Yeah, but first that hill

A couple of hours back I had questioned whether I would even break twelve hours such was my mood and slowing pace through the trails and up the hills. Now I was looking set to post at the very worst an 11:45. The route was largely downhill from herein and I knew if my legs would grant me, I could register a time nearer 11:30, which would be very pleasing after what had been a ropey day.

It’s amazing what you can get out of a tired body when the end is nigh. That switch in mentality allows you to achieve so much more. Running the flats and gradual inclines, still granting myself small walk breaks, Brighton racecourse soon came into view and the adrenaline kicked in. With new found energies I ran the last 3 kms at sub-5 pace, knowing that sub 11:30 was now a certainty. I passed a couple of runners late on, congratulations now being shared on a good day’s work. All the while keeping a beady eye out for route markers, not wishing to relive the finish of 2013 where I missed the entrance to the racecourse and had to climb a fence to get back on track!

Running down the final furlong (no idea how long a furlong is), I took a walker to get a clear gap to the finish line. Arms aloft, I came through victorious in 11:26. Feeling pretty good, but mightily relieved it was over.

We'll probably video the finish next time

At Tulley's Farm where I had a tantrum, I told my girlfriend that I was definitely not running this race again, and I really meant it. As soon as I crossed that line, I was already plotting sub-11 and top 10 for next year. That my friend is ultra-running. It's painful, but it's bloody addictive.

Over

London 2 Brighton Challenge 2015 / 11:26:03 / 16th place