We planned together, trained together, ran the recces, and obsessively read all the blogs. NDW50 was going to be the first ‘grown up’ ultra with challenging (for us) cutoffs. We knew we probably wouldn’t stay together for the whole day - we were following ‘race rules’ after all. In the event we didn’t even reach the first aid station together.
In the few days before the race Helen came down with a cold. On the day of the event she did everything she could to be in a position to get through and enjoy 50 hilly miles. But the reality was she was not at 100% and it was not too long before it began to show. We started near the back of the field, and quickly got to a comfortable pace, overtaking a few people in the first few miles. Helen commented that her legs felt a little weak, but kept smiling. After a while she nipped behind a bush telling me to carry out. I spent the next few miles expecting her to come up on my shoulder… but it didn’t happen.
After the third aid station and those interminable steps at Box Hill, my phone rang. It was Helen. ‘I’m at the third aid station, I’ve dropped.’ And with that I was on my own. Helen made the right choice - she could perhaps have ‘death marched’ to the finish, but the big hills were yet to come, and that wouldn’t be the best way to recover from a cold. She promised to see me later.
So how about me?
Although I’d love to think I was a strong runner, I knew that my biggest challenge would be getting to the finish line within the 13 hour cutoff. That required an average of 15 minutes per mile (9.75 mins per km)… give or take as the route is actually slightly longer than 50 miles / 80k. So instead of my usual strategy of thinking from aid station to aid station, my focus was on checking my pace at the end of each km, and keeping my mind on the finish line.
The race consists of a 24 mile, relatively runnable, first half (if you don’t mention the climb at St Martha’s Hill). I finished that in 5:07. And my brain kicked into calculation mode...So that’s nearly 50% of the race done in just over a third of the time… Ok, so I’ve banked some time, maybe I could be nearer 12 hours than 13.
The second half (as well as being longer) starts with steps that go up for ever at Box Hill and then gets even hillier. The steps are never easy, but after 24 miles of running, they are hard! After getting to the top and just getting into a recovery speed walk at the top a spectator was cheering me on by saying ’no more steps’. She has clearly not spent much time on the NDW - there are lots more steps!
Some of the highlights of the next few hours include seeing a deer bounding across the path in front of me. A wild wee behind a log - there was no-one in sight when I squatted down, but when I bobbed up a few moments later there were 4 or 5 other runners going past - oops! The wild garlic was intense - huge carpets of wild flowers, and that smell! The views are gorgeous… but I didn’t spend time enjoying them - this race was all about business and I kept a close eye on the trail in front of my feet. No falls, no turned ankles - all good. I had the start of a blister but taped it up so all was well. I should have worn my gaiters - they weren’t needed when the trail was all mud in February, but now it is dry as a bone, and every little twig and seed and stone tried to make it into my shoes.
My race plan was to take the hills easy, push on the downhills and recover on the flats. I love downhills, and managed to make good progress when they weren’t too technical.
Helen and Eileen met me at the Caterham aid station. It was lovely to see familiar faces, although I really wanted to send Helen home for a hot bath and a sleep!
Ally’s friend Chris was looking after me too - he had been told to treat my like a queen! Although really all the aid station volunteers treat all the runners like they are royalty - the event ethos is fantastic.
I was blown away by the course marking. The North Downs Way national trail is pretty good, but when we have done our recces we always needed the GPX track on my watch, a map, or even a phone to make sure we didn’t get lost. The Centurion organisers position tape at regular intervals so that every time I looked up wondering if I was going the right way there was a reassuring piece of tape in sight. Even more awesome is how this gets cleared away - last year we ran part of the course just a few hours after the race went through - there was no sign that the event had ever happened as the sweeper had already cleared all the tape and signs. A second sweep goes through next day just in case.
I was slowing down in the second half. As time went on there was more walking, and it was taking longer to recover from each climb before I could get back to a run pace. My rule was ‘move with intent’ - don’t stroll, always power walk. I was able to achieve 13 to 14 minute per mile pace with a power walk. But where the terrain got gnarly that wasn’t always possible.
By the time I was at the last aid station I was spent and beginning to feel a little nauseous. I had 15 minutes before the aid station cutoff - I chose to sit down for 2 minutes… and it helped.
7 miles to go. I can’t do the sums - how much is that in km? Low battery alert on my watch, turn off navigation, now it won’t show total elapsed time. Did we start dead on 8 - if I finish by 9 am i under the cutoff? How far is there to go? Ouch my shoulder feels bruised and hurts when I run. My backpack is really heavy. How far is it since I left the aid station? How fast do I need to go? It's getting gloomy, should I get my head torch out? And slightly chilly, do I need to stop and put a top on. Oh - that’s the corner where we had to look at the map on our last recce - that’s near the end, isn’t it? Or was there another 4 miles? I don’t have time for 4 miles! I remember this bit - isn’t the final field just round the corner. No, maybe the next corner. No. Moving with intent. Try to run - ouch my shoulder hurts. How much time? How far to go. Surely it’s the next field? I don’t know if I can run now. Are Helen and Eileen tracking me. Would they call me and tell me to go faster if I was going to miss the cutoff?
I can hear something - that must be it. They are cheering - wow it must be near. Yay - I can see the finish. What did James say in the briefing - about a mile to go? Is that more than a mile or less than a mile? Uphill through the field - move with intent. Through the gate, into the lane. It’s downhill - run! Keep going, you’re so close, run! Turn the corner, its uphill, move with intent. A volunteer telling me its some meters to go (he may have said a number, I blanked it). Turn left at the yellow sign. Oh my life, it’s uphill, that’s cruel. Veer to the right so they can’t see me at the finish line yet - I’ll have to run if they see me. Have I got time? Helen and Eileen appear by my side and urge me on - you’ve got this. People cheering - I love this finish line - raise my arms for a good finish photo, smile, stop. It’s done!
Get a chair, a hot cup of tea. Why tea? I never drink tea! But it did the job. Medal, photo, t-shirt. Cheer the last few runners.
I beat the cutoffs by 10 minutes. I joined the Centurion army.
