TransGranCanaria 125km: a dark heaven

TransGranCanaria 125  starts when you wait for the bus to get to the start line.

It's 9:40 pm and we are around 100 sleepy runners waiting to get into the bus to the start in Agaete. We are all looking nervous and unsure of what's going on, wondering if this is wise. Midnight start is awful, you can't sleep the hours before no matter how hard you try ( unless you are like James Adams and 2 beers is enough to knock you out until the start ;) ) and so, you end up being a zombie/vampire until the sun rises, daydreaming of going back to bed...But the buses are there and we fill them up to the last sit.

2 hours later, we are welcomed in Agaete with the sounds of drums and cheering locals. It's cold and windy. My heart is racing, just looking at the 500 runners ice-fill my mind and runs shivers of doubt and fear down my whole body. Mick does it again: reassuring me that it will all be ok, it's 90% mental, 10% in the head he says...I smile at this and shake my head, surely there is a physical aspect to this whole thing, No?!Winking, he replies, I'll find out soon enough...and with a last kiss, the start is given. It's 12 am on Saturday 01 March 2014. Up there 10 km away,  our first checkpoint Tamadaba awaits. We do a bit of road to say goodbye to civilisation and reassuring artificial lights before entering 8 hours of darkness under trees and rockies.

For the next 43.5 km  the only sounds I will recollect will be fragments of failed conversation with other runners in 3 languages, the whimpers of the Brat , the walking sticks knocking the rocky path and the cheers of the volunteers and passers-by from the the 3 aid stations. For 7 hours and 53 minutes, I will remember nothing but fragments of dead looking trails, phantom-like runners' gloomy faces caught from the halo of my headlamp, and looks of runners wishing we could turn back and forget this whole thing.

But the sun rises, and with that, what was dark and gloomy becomes almost enchanting, what was a depressing past becomes a better future. I wonder how Mick is feeling, I'm hopeful he's doing great and this help me running down faster without thinking of the Brat biting my leg. We reach Fontanales check point where I'm welcomed by sun-rays warming up my sleepy head and Scott who's doing the 82km version. I've made the first marathon point in 8 hours, if I do the second marathon the same way, chances are I can finish in 20 hours as the third marathon is supposed to be easier as it is flat and downhill, and I could keep the Brat at bay. I have mentally prepared myself to “embrace the flat” so I don't stop at the checkpoint, and carry on to the next one. Maybe I could do it in less time and not be running up and down for a second night?

From the race profile, it's just a small climb to Valleseco before reaching Teror Checkpoint 6kms later. The elite runners of the 82km are flying by, and I daydream of doing the same! I attempted to follow...but the Brat is playing up, moving up and down my leg, butt and lower back, reminding me that I would never fly! Pufff....clenching my teeth, I distracted myself by attempting a conversation with Bill, the UN work and by the distance left...where is that checkpoint again?

The not so accurate profite

 The climb does not end...and Vallesesco is still out of sight. I don't have a watch or a gps so guessing is all I've got but I'm sure it's been 7km! I make the mistake to ask other runners with big watches and funny enough, they all have different left over distance. So in 3 different languages, we compare notes and find a compromise that we still have 4 kilometres to go before Vallesco...ok maybe I miscalculated the time/distance travel....this day is getting longer by the climb. It's ok, the sounds from the Spanish runners are a very good distraction. They are talking so fast and continuously on that climb! I wonder how they can talk so much and still keep up with the climbing rhythm. I wonder what on earth they could be talking about. I wonder if maybe training while talking a lot is beneficial.I wonder if elites talk so much.  I wonder so much that Vallesco CP suddenly appears. The volunteers and locals are so genuinely caring that my water bladder and cocacola bottle are filled up in to time and I am gently pushed towards...the other climb to Terror before going down and up again to El Talayon. Brrr just the name is scary but it's the half way mark!

View of Pico de las Nieves from one of the climb

 The scenery is breathless and I enjoy looking around until we reach this climbing pine foresty path with dry pines leaves. What is this?  Seriously? The leaves are making the trail very slippery and unsteady...I'm tired... I wonder what time it is. I wonder where is Mick. I wonder why they made us go through this path. Are they mad? Did they not think that after 60km people will be going a bit mad themselves? Here's a man taking a nap of the sliding pine leaves. I wonder how comfortable it is. I wonder if I should join him and close my eyes for a little bit. Hum...if I could just lay there for a while, but time is flying by and I need to keep swearing at the road parts and hardcore concrete village paths that shot the hamstrings and feet in a way I could have never imagine, to reach what I think is the end of the climb to Garañón. 

How wrong! This is not it, it is some nice rock (El Garanon) where they have decided to put the chip control. Arrrh! Really?! Don't get me wrong moon landscapes are great, but with more than 12 hours in the legs, I really don't feel like taking a picture and having a picnic. No No, especially when you then tell me that I need to go back down more and then go up for another 5 km to the actual checkpoint. 

Because you know what, that's not how the race profile look like.

See:

The not so accurate profile

I tell this to a bunch of Spanish guys, I call them FC Barcelona hehe we've been playing cat and mouse for a while now,  even if words are not what we are sharing, they are nice company. They are laughing asking if it is my first time...Venga Venga they say, it's not too long to Garanon where there will be pasta. Haha I never seen people being so excited about pasta! But these guys are and their good mood is contagious, so I follow them down...and up and what felt like was not too long, is actually super long and screws with my imaginary plan. It's 16:30 and I have 3 hours before night fall and I wanted to be there 1h ago to not be running up and down in the night again. It's really not fun, and it plays with your mind in a very nasty way.

So after being controlled there, I try to hurry my way up to Tunte. It's supposed to go up for a little well... according to the race profile, but I start doubting this alot, and so I climb until it is time to go down again and don't stop until I reach this mountain path made of small rocks where you have to jump from one to the others with care or else you twist your ankle or worst fall head first. This game is fun but time consuming and I can see the sun setting, It's 18:15...where is the CP?! ... come on!  A board with the distance left to the finish appears in the horizon. OK, we should be 20 km away and CP should be just around the corner. But that's' where I got it wrong again, from that board, we have 30 km left, meaning...no! CP is another 8 kilometres away up and down...which means I won't reach it in time before sunset. Noooooooooo!

Ok ok, No I just need to run down faster, from the race profile, it's all going down! So let's get on with it.
And that is what I am going to think for the next 5 hours, yes...it took another hour to the check point and 4 hours to do 25km. How naïve was I to think that I could do  a bit more than half a marathon in 2 hours? How naïve was I to carry on thinking that the race profile was truly what was on the bib number...The night had fallen now, and what should have been a shallow descent is actually the deepest descent of the whole race....just before the CP Arteara. I tried running it, walking, butt-sliding it, swore at it, cry to it, cringe at it until I just let it go and went with whatever way came under my feet with cactuses from both side of the paths with sharps rocks and your mind  making the path probably worst than it really was.  Reaching Arteara, we found ourselves going wait... upwards again...I can hear feet heavily pounding the rocks,  quads taking all of energy left to get up and down, everyone around looking again like mechanic zombies. But a worsen zombie version of the night before, as the stride is heavier, the mind in a darker place, and the fatigue is taking over everything good of the human spirit and making people forgetting about the joy of running...

We reach Machacadora checkpont at 117km and we have 6 km left to the finish. I don't stop, barely smiling at the volunteers I reach the 5km to the finish board.  I should be happy but somehow I am not relieved and I'm not feeling anything at all: My mind is gone...what's left is my soul knowing that Mick is waiting  at the finish line and this is almost over. And so I go...we pass Sonneland, the hotels, locals cheering up until we finally reach Maspalomas Lighthouse. It's over: 125km, in 23hours and 11 min of darkness in heaven.

I reach Michael's arms and understand what he had said 23 hours ago: pain is only temporary and this was 90% mental, 10% in the head. Wherever the mind go, the body follows no matter what. But what happen when the mind is gone and the body is fine? or you think it's fine?

I wondered about many things during this race but never questioned my mind about its own limits, but where is the line? 

Kimbia Kenya: More than a run, a life adventure!

Kimbia Kenya: when running is a human adventure

6 days of pure struggle is what Kimbia Kenya brought me but I don’t regret any second of it. This 100k, 5 days 20km stages race was supposed to be “easy” and used as a training for Gran Canaria 125km offering both running in attitude, hot weather and little rest. 

Savannah

As it happened it wasn't that easy but we've learned and as a result grown so much from a human and solidarity perspective to the point that sitting at a desk has now become the real struggle...

In short: This adventure was staged around 2 main lakes: Elementaita and Nakuru  which are part of the world patrimonial national parks as well as ancient volcanoes: Mont Suswa and Eburru.

We ran alongside zebras, buffalos, giraffes, ostriches and many birds such as flamingos, herons and pelicans.

We ran on infinite straight lines,

through villages, volcanic lands and breathtaking scenery!

Some days felt easier than others according to individual preferences. I struggled on each flat parts and thrived when we had hills! For others it was the other way around.  The temperature and dust took out a few runners, getting up super early was key!

 We stayed above 1800m sea level and went up to 2500m, where air is thin and a bump looks like an atrocious punishing hill. At least we never encountered a mosquito at this attitude and your head always felt light headed!

The most challenging part was to not be able to recover between each stage as for each afternoon we visited a school to provide school furniture, sport equipments and clothing as well as sharing songs and games.

Even rest day was not one as we learnt how to make of Chapati and Masai Lamb curry in a Masai Village as well as sharing life stories with Masai families!But it was all worth it as each school visits brought hope to the kids and opened our heart to the wonders of giving for nothing in return

 

We met some wonderful people with great community spirit

and made friends for life!

Would I do it again: YES! The scenery is unbelievable, the people are amazing and the weather is to die for. The only thing I would love to change if I had tons of money and a bit of power would be to make clean water available for all and clean streets!

So ready for Trans Gran Canaria? I can safely say hell no! I haven't been able to run without pain for more than 20k depening on the terrain and doctor said not to even think about it....the Beast as become a Sciatica with damages to both end of the sciatic nerve...But heho! how far do you think I can go by "graciously" run like a giraffe and get sorted later? can't be that mad right?

The Brat is a life sucker

8 weeks...

It's been 8 weeks of pain with no running, which means 8 weeks where ambitions, excitement of training for a race and everything that comes in between have diminished little by little...The brat is on a mission of sucking life out of me.
It's funny actually, as I recall how some elite ultra runners like Anna Frost have had many months of no running due to injuries, or how others who I thought were fanatics for running 7 days a week or doing races every weekend had injured themselves, it never occurred to me I could actually be "injured" because I was not doing what they were doing. little did I know that the Brat was a creeping shadow eating up my leg little by little.

The Brat

How naive!  I thought that injuries could only happen to others because they were overdoing it, over training it, over everything it, while I was just doing it and Brat was a niggle. But then BAM! I'm now part of the running clan who is looking at runners on the street and wishing we were the one running.
I should have known, injuries only creep in when you don't take care of niggle, when you think you are invisible. Thanks to the Brat, I know wish I had listened to Mick and the others, but pride/ego and everything else, just make you carry on, doesn't it? It makes you not listen to advise, not be wise and get...injured! Alala! What have I done...we have so much running adventures to look forward to next year!

First it's Country to Capital in the UK.
Then it's Kimba Kenya, in Kenya, a 100 km, 5 day stages race where you get to run with gazelles and zebras, go around lakes and the savannah!

We have the TransGranCanaria in March, 125km trail race crossing the whole island.

The Royal Raid, an 80km trail race across Mauritius Island in May.

and Andorra Ultra Trail  in July, Mick is doing Ronda del Cims, while I'm still unsure if I'll go for it or if I should just stick to the Mitic

or

So the Brat needs to go, or I'll never get to be part of this! But how?

Between madness and stupidity: Endurance Trail 100km

Endurance Trail 100km in Millau, France. 4600m of ascent around scenic forest trails, canyons and untouched historical villages. This was our final race of the season and the longest we had ever done. Physically we felt prepared, having done some long runs, and downhill training. Mentally... well, having got lost during a race, running injured or hitting many walls, nothing could have surprised us, or so I thought.

This is not a race report, as I ended up walking the last 65 km. This is the story of how I manage to finish our first 100km when everyone said that I would not make it. Was I mad or stupid? that's for you to decide. But I hope that it will inspire others to just carry on even when it looks like it is impossible. Because you know what, I’ve done it, I finished that 100 km sucker, and it was all worth it, all the lows and the pain brought so much more than darkness and self-doubt.

The race starts with goose bumps all over the body from the Templiers music theme, the atmosphere is electric, the night is warm and cosy.

  Listen to the first minute, you'll feel it too :)

Everyone started the race super fast! From the first 100 m, I tried to keep up with Mick, who was trying to keep up with the first 100 runners. But I lost him quite quickly, legs were feeling heavy and the Brat was quite "noticeable".

At the first checkpoint (18.8km down the trail), I was in the last 100 out of 749 starters, the sun was still asleep and it was quite weird running for 4 hours in the dark with the Brat for company, keeping the pace slow and awkward. My mind wanders as the body is on auto-pilot. How's Mick feeling, I hope he is having a bit more fun than me. Looking around,no one dares breaking the silence of the night run. Head down, we all attempt to zombie trail till sunrise.
I finally get sun-kissed 22km down the trail. It feels good then, following Mick advice to eat something every hour, the legs and spirit are getting nice and warm and the Brat is getting manageable. For the next 10 km, I pass pretty much everyone who had passed me for the first 20 km, ( thanks to the sun and not trying to keep up a pace that wasn't mine). At that point, I'm thinking if I could carry on like this for the rest of the race, I could make it before nightfall...ah, how more wrong could I have been?
At kilometre 35, pain strikes on the outside of...my back right knee. Yes, you right, not the Brat (who sits nicely on my left knee) but the right. I still can’t describe the pain, never had it before, medic will say tendonitis, other runners some other scary names I choose to ignore, and so it takes me quite some time to accept that something was very wrong.It hurts! So much so that I can't no longer run, tears are running down, walk becomes this limp-y dragging leg twisty thing, weird sounds are coming out of my mouth.
My legs can't race no more but thoughts on the other hand are racing crazy. It goes from no no no, this is not looking good, I am actually stopping? to No way, I didn’t just come here to not even complete a marathon, right?.... What is Mick going to think? would Mick quit? can I quit? I can't quit? all of this training for nothing? I need to carry on...,quit?...walk till the next CP?
Mind was going wild, crazy thoughts of flying, sleeping, hibernating mixed with these questions were hiding the fact that it is very painful and it's really not looking good. People are passing by, looking sorry for me. I don't want you to feel sorry for me, I want to run with you, I'm only 7 km to the 42km checkpoint, that's a marathon, I could at least do a marathon... that's reasonable right? it doesn't hurt that much...madness
My walk is slow and...long! Every one I had previously passed, passed me again, and more are coming down my way. It's frustrating, a lot of them asked if I am ok, if they should call someone, one tells me the CP before was much closer than the one I'm heading towards... Stupid... My pride takes another big hit, clinching my teeth, smiling and telling them I’ll be allright,...I'm boiling inside. But who can blame them? I guess I am not looking great there. A bunch of guys passes me and snort! Nice! One even tells me " You not going to make it sweetie, and even if you do, the DNF bus will be waiting for you"... with a smile on his face! what a twat! I can't believe my ears! I didn't ask for anything!

The thought of DNF hadn't really sink in yet, I was still trying to come to terms with this new niggle.  But this guy, how dare he?! Like my bubble is not burst enough already, you need to create a new one and burst it on top? really?!
He's disappearing on the slop! I so want to run to him and kick his ass ...,I'll get him, don't know where and when, but I'll get him. I was going mad, from  superwoman who wants justice to fatalist wimp who just wants to stop, and all variations in between in a space of 2 hours . And what felt the most excruciating was that I was alone, everyone seemed to have passed me. Gosh! where is this CP?! Should have put the watch on! Slowly coming down, a man stops at my side and decide to walk with me to the CP. I ask him what happened to him, he explains that he's been vomiting 3 times since the start of the race, and can’t seem to keep his food down so he is stopping. I don’t know how it feels, and can’t seemed to find any words that could make him feel better. So I try to joke around unsuccessfully, and end up walking silently wondering why he is staying by my side and half wishing he could just leave me alone in this endless death walk. He is a nice man, lending me his sticks to try to walk a bit faster. I’m so slow and he is staying ... it’s really frustrating. My mind wonders, would I have given up because of food?

We finally arrive at the CP, I see a medic, she asked what happened, I’m unable to explain, a bit confused myself about the how it happened bit. She gives me ice to put on both knees and an anti inflammatory pill. I take it, feeling annoyed. Really annoyed. I'm trying to reason myself, at least I’ve done a marathon, right, I can let it go? I don't realise that I'm talking out loud. The medic looks at me with her kind big brown eyes and tells me “ this is not the marathon km yet, sweetie, it’s up that hill, you are at kilometre 41.1.” My world scrambles, what?! I’m not at the marathon km?! Mind is racing, how far to the next checkpoint? 10 km she says, it’s up that hill and down again.

Grrrr, I’m not at the marathon point, I can't let it go, I need to do a marathon ( No I don’t, thinking about it now, I’m mad! or stupid) This thought is haunting me, I think of the snorty dude and this helps me decide. Next checkpoint... I have 5 minutes left before the cut-off. Screw this, I’m at least doing a marathon,... and if I can carry on to the CP I will have done a small ultra... not a bad way to DNF...Man, I really hope Mick is having a better day than me. So there I go, I’m last, I don’t care, just want to do a marathon. I go up the hill, pass a few people. There is this very very old man breathing hard, I admire his determination. I carry on, the leg is feeling better, maybe the pill effect, I tried to run,... how wrong I was. I miserably limp again until it’s bearable. Stupid, so stupid.... I’m on top of the hill, a flatty section before some serious downhill. I've done a marathon.

Mad moment on hill, I feel like walking superfast, I pass another few people, but they pass me back as I slowly go down this rocky path. Silly! Soon, I’ll be at the CP. I can see it from here, it’s just...2 hours down the trail..I finally make it, I’m happy I’ve done 51.1 km. Mick would be proud to know that I finally knew when to stop to avoid to damage myself even more. I'm not stupid or mad, I say to myself. I should stop now,... I've done good...Where is the next checkpoint? Huh? Who asked that?! I hear..., 10 km up that way. Really 10km? I can do another 10 km right? at least until they pick me up because I didn’t make the cut-off right? I could just walk till I drop?! aiaiaiaie madness or stupidity?

I say to myself, at least it won’t be a “I’m giving up because it hurts too much, DNF” but a “well I tried but I got caught by the cut-off people, DNF”, the latter one sounded more bearable than the first....so leaving my common sense at the CP, I carry on, walk the uphills, walk faster on the shallow flats. I pass more people, they are so surprised to see me, they thought I would have given up at checkpoint 41.1km. We play a cat and mouse game, I walk steady, they run pass me, stop 100m at the front, walk slow, and so I pass them. This is a cool game. We laugh at the whole situation, and I try to make them feel better. Some of them are struggling to keep up with the pace they’ve set themselves. I tell them don’t push it this hard, just breathe and take the time needed to finish. They must think I’m crazy....I did leave my reason at the last checkpoint, but I don’t feel tired, it’s been 12 hours, I can’t run but I can walk, I can do this I tell myself. Madness...

Next checkpoint. I’m at checkpoint 61km, the pill effect must have run out as my right knee is killing me, I ask for a medic, they tell me, she’s at the next checkpoint, 13km up this hill. 13 km I say, I can do 13km to the pill. Why? This is stupid! This pill- thou is motivating me to go, like a druggie in need of a fix, I want it, I want to ease the pain.  Faster, faster I keep telling myself, but haha it’s only words, actions are slow to follow.
74km down the trail, I'm at the checkpoint, the medic doesn’t want to give me any pills, telling me that it’s only been 5 hours since the first one, I said I don’t remember how long ago it was, it might be more than 5 hours ( I was saying anything to get something) but she's not listening. She brings me to the osteopath, she thinks it’s going to help me. I’m not a wimp I say, she laughs saying nothing and firmly push me in the room. I spent 30 min ( which I felt at the time was a waste of precious minutes, especially I didn’t feel any better after, especially when she said I would be able to run in the next10 minutes), I didn’t get to run in the next 10 minutes or hours as a matter of fact.After she had done what she's done (asking questions and twisting this and that) I leave the room, not feeling any better. All I wanted was a pill! I am becoming a brat myself. I stink...literally and figuratively too. I am bad company , the night is coming down, and I am still out on the trail. Grrrr, I can't give up,...just until the next checkpoint, and I’ll stop I reach the checkpoint 6 with its nice people, foods and wait...Snorty dude!!!! Oh man it feels so good, he's shocked to see me, has no words to say beside “YOU”. And let me tell you, at this moment, I have this evil pleasure to smile and pass him, yes! I pass snorty dude- who told me the bus was waiting for me- snorty dude and it...feels...good. So good that I “fly” that hill to never see him again. But when I reach the top, I feel bad, the whole point of me not giving up was to inspire people and be humble about it. I wasn’t feeling humble at all in this climb and now I was worried that my 10 min cockiness was going to cost me later on. Mad! Yes I wanted to finish, but I didn’t want to make people feel bad about being past by an injured woman. What about their confidence? Their own limits? Their own dark thoughts? I was not helping there! Stupid! I still have 20 kilometres to go to the finish line.
I decide to stop at each runner who are looking like they are struggling, and pat them on the back, not too hard ( don’t want to patronise them) but enough to hopefully make them feel better. It makes me limp more confidently on the downhill, knowing that I maybe could give something back to the ones that needed the most (or at least looking like). 7 km to the finish line. Mad, I go up the last hill to the last check point,  the doctor who gave me THE pill at kilometre 41.1 is surprised to see me and gives me this huge hug that lift my spirit. I carry on the flat section before the last dreaded downhill and the grote du Hibou. It hurts, I have enough, it's been 19hours, how long is 6 km?!

I hear the microphone dude, announcing the runners in front of me, really? I'm close. I get a last buzz, running down hill with tears and cries but I want to prove that this journey was all worth it.  That it doesn’t matter which DNF you end up getting, as long as you’ve tried what seemed impossible.

Almost there,  I am praying that Mick is at the finish line, I know he finished 5 hours ago with an injury too, but am hoping that he will be there to share the last struggle with me ( how more selfish can you get when you are about to finish heh?) Madness.
I see him, but there are the darn last stairs...arrh finally this struggle ends in19 hours and 40 minutes of madness but feels like it's a victory, a sweet victory over oneself.  In Mick's arms I end, heart so warm of gratitude for the fact that because of him, I'm here. But I exclaim, this was the last run. This was stupid.  He smiles and murmurs comforting words in my ears, not believing a word I say. We've completed our first 100km, we both injured ourselves while at it, but we've done it...and what I take from this is to NEVER EVER GIVE UP, you never know until you try and push the barriers you've set in your mind.  

PS: After the race, I saw the osteopath lady again, and she worked on me for an hour putting back my hips and vertebrates in place and explaining that all of these injuries were due to the twisted left ankle from the 80km of the MontBlanc which never healed and created unbalances. All I need now, is learn to run again with posture and footing. Nice program for the next 3 months, until Country to Capital., heh?  :) can't wait to tackle those miles!

Greensand Marathon : When DNS or DNF are not an option and wine your only escape

Saturday night, I can't sleep, I'm still debating if I'm going to do the Greensand marathon or not,... the Brat is still playing up? Should I start or save myself for the Templiers Ultratrail? Shoud I just DNS?

Sunday morning,7 am, we are getting ready for the race, still unsure if I'll be at the start, I don't talk about it, but my mind is racing!
Sunday, 10 am, I'm at the start...Mick won't be running with me and so tell me to just run to Leigh Hill and see if I make the cut-off time.  Sound reasonable...so I'm doing the race then?

The race starts with...a hill, everyone is running it! Darn...there is not even time to do a gentle warm up. But it's cold and rainy so..at least we'll get warm quite fast! Mental physical check, the Brat feels heavy. The route is nice and familiar, we've done it so many times so I push the leg aside,  taking in all in, the rain, the wind, the autumn leaves, the rain...
"Race strategy" starts to unfold, taking Mick advice about running hard on the Brat and see if it's shakes off, I attempt to do just that. It's hard thou so I take a gel...1 mile in...this is going to be a long day!
No DNS but maybe a DNF?
A long hill comes up, people are still running it, I wonder how and think maybe it's the marathon effect (no walking allowed unless you want to show how untrained, you are...)
But I'm so used to walking the hills ( thanks to Ultras) I automatically stop running and start walking. Oops! A group of 3 musketeers passes me, one of the guy is massive and quiet, the 2 others are not massive and not so quiet. I watch the massive guy 's effort on that hill, smile and wonder if he will be able to hold the pace of the other two. Reaching the top, there is a 3 mile shallow hill section. Gel effect kicks in so I start running too and soon pass the musketeers. Not so quiet runner 1, makes a comment so I tell them not to worry, I'll see them soon again on the next hilly section. We are under trees so it gives a small break from the heavy rain. But check out these puddles, they are huge! Playing with the "smaller" puddles and jumping in the big ones, we soon reach the first checkpoint. The marshals are so lively and cheerful, they don't seem to be bothered by the typical British weather.  Passing The Plough Inn pub, I wonder if I should stop for a mulled wine before climbing that long hill towards Leigh Hill.  The idea of the wine is so tempting...ok if I don't make the cut-off, I can just run back down and wait for Mick there.  I have 20 minutes, if I walk, I might not make it. So..I walk, the 3 musketeers pass me (again) they are cheering each other up, I smile, for sure they are having fun. Flat section with massive puddles, I pass them. We laugh at this cat and mouse game, I wonder who's the cat thou...We reach the top of Leigh Hill, checking my watch I realise that the mouse/cat game got me here before the cut-off..., darn the warm wine is going to have to wait. Although there is the King's Head pub in Holmbury Saint Mary ... I could carry on till there..

Debating which pub to go to

It's a struggle in this bubble, I take another bit of gel, maybe I'm not eating enough. I run the downhill bits, jog the flat and meet up with the banker (Simon) we talk/jog for a while which keeps my mind off the little voice. Steep down hill, Simon is now running, so I do the same. The pub is not far anyway. I pass Simon and the 3 musketeers and reach Holmbury aid station. Marshals are giving jelly babies and jaffa cakes along side warm smiles. I thank them and start walking towards the pub, but the 3 musketeers are running the stupid hill and are actually waiting for me....Gosh, I guess I could get to the half way point and still make it for happy hours?
Massive guy smile and carries on running the long hill, if he only knew that this ascent only just started. I smile back as I know I'll catch them up on that next flat bit...this game keeps me going. Arriving on top of part 1, I pass the massive musketeer and decide to stay with him, it's Tom and we get talking for a while which is cool because it gets me down to Duke of Kent school in "no time". I lost them thou, downhill seems to be my thing today. I cross the first man, Ed, coming back, he's fast and is making it look effortless, I try to do the same but it's not working haha. Half way point must not be too far as more and more people are on their way back. I see the first woman, she looks good too, more people, this is nice, you can cheer and run at the same time. 
Here's Mick with a big smile on his face, he looks so good  and gives me a high five. I'm glad at least he's enjoying himself and not waiting for me. Second Lady, she too looks good. James Adams, looking a bit rough but going strong, and there, ...the others ladies.
Silly me, I just realise that a part of me was actually hoping to make the top 5 women. I'm struggling, it's hard to count, jump roots and puddles while cheering well done to all of the runners at the same time.  It's surreal until the half way point. The marshals are so nice, they joke about getting a ride back to the start/finish line.  For a split second, I find myself thinking seriously about it...nice cosy car, breakfast at arrival, warmth...no mulled wine thou...and Lorry driver runner starts asking me questions. So I turn my head back to him and find my feet running back to Dorking. I wink at the 3 musketeers, happy to see that Tom is still looking good.  I'm so happy to be on the way back that I don't realise that Lorry driver is nowhere to be seen...and that last guy who went by was... the last guy. No more people to cheer up...so I slow down to a walk, as there is need to look good or cheerful anymore. The brat is really playing up and it seems like there is nothing that can distract me from despair. Bloody mood swings, why can't we just stay happy?
I look up,...there, a woman is walking Reynards Hill, my heart skips a bit, I could run with her, take my mind off the Brat, right? So I walk the hill a bit faster, but don't reach her in time, she stops at the top and  talks to a marshal. Darn! I need to find someone else. The trail is going down and up and then down again to the Duke of Kent school. "Come on" says the still so ever cheerful marshal on top of Pitch Hill and " be careful, it's quite wet". I thanked him and not so carefully run down towards King's Head PUB. There, I could stop as I won't be in the top 5 so no rush, warm myself up with a nice pint of mulled wine and then carry on running to the finish if I don't stay there too long. That's plan sound awesome in my head!

I'm almost there, I can see the pub! But what?! another cheerful marshall is waiting for me at the aid station, telling me that's I'm doing great, it's almost over and what's that? A cup of water and jaffa cakes...no way...
I take two and stuff my face. Shoot, I guess I love eating more than I like drinking, heh? With a handful of cakes and another of jelly babies, I'm walking (can't run while face stuffing) up Somerset Hill.
It's another long one, so I can take the time to think about the new plan. King's Head is not far, I could just walk the hill and just fly down there in no time. I smile, this plan sounds good but the hill is never ending, ..its the other face of Leigh Hill...my plan is fading away. After 100 yards, I debate of a new one. I have enough, I could stop at the tower, have a nice cup of tea and wait there with the marshals. I've done good, 20 miles is a good training run right? OK, sounds good. With this is mind, I'm going up a bit faster, faster I say. FASTER! I'm at the top, the tower is looking VERY gloomy, I shiver, the views are nice but the wind and rain mix is making it...unwelcoming. I won't be able to stay there, initial plan sounds much better now. This struggle with the "plans" and the Brat make the whole situation such a drama that I have enough, I want to go home.  There is still 7 miles left, I can just DNF, wait at the pub for the marshals to go back to the finish and attempt to recover for the Templiers Ultra, nothing wrong to DNF if it's for the best, right?  Yeah!I can do this!
So I go down the hill, up another, swim in a big puddle and start running the final stretch to the pub. But something is happening, something familiar, something which happened during the last 16 miles of Trail of Herts. It's that other me, the one who has enough and just want to go....fast...very fast, like a hungry cheetah chasing an antelope, I'm chasing the trail to the finish, survival mode, nooooooooo! This is so going to hurt!
I'm running fast, too fast, fly by the pub, the aid station, some dudes, another aid station where I caught another lady runner, she calls me speedy, I call her awesome. She has the picture of her grandma attached to her bag.
The trail is calling and I know what's coming, it's all down hill till the bridge, I'm running away from the pain, away from the cramps devouring every part of the brat. Aie Aie Aie, I  can't stop nor can I slow down. I'm going to get you trail, watch me.
Last hill to the finish, ...wait! There is a lady half way to the top, she will be gutted if I pass her 500 yards from the finish...but my whole self knows that it's then straight down to the finish. Straight down...
Powerwalking that hill like I never done before, I hammer it down, pass the crowd, the marshal and Rob and only stop at...the carrot! Yeah, a carrot, (Rob likes giving carrots at the finish, it's pretty cool) And so after 4h 47 mins of "British weather blissfulness" and no longer needing to be a cheetah (did get top 5....) I'm walking back to Mick, hoping he's done as well as he wanted to and feeling much better than me. But my walk soon becomes a limp, the brat has given up, the knee is swollen up, the ankle is collapsing and I can't lift any part of my body without a grimace...alala where is the wine?

PS: Best British trail marathon EVER thanks to the marshals and Rob's organisational skills :)

Maudit Greensand Marathon

Last year, I should have done the Greensand Marathon, this super nice hilly marathon in Surrey. I ended up marshaling because of an injury.
This year...it looks like I'm going to have to do the same again! Looks like the ultra universe doesn't want me to do this marathon,. I so want to do it thou! it's been our training ground for the last year and it's such a lovely route and profile!

Third time lucky you think?

That brat!

Little Swirly Dictionary of the Brat : an injury/niggle which unables you to do what you love most: RUN
Description of the Brat: Every time, running is attempted, pain is felt first in the left front hipflexor ( or groin), which then moves to the left side of the knee, down the calf, up the lower back and then back to the hipflexor.
After 1 hour of this pain mixture, running becomes a strange limping (or penguin walk) witnessed by others that can last up to 3 days.

After the Trail of Herts mad run, I knew I had done something to myself that non runner friends said it was because I carried on and didn't stop (you nutter) but any ultra runner would have just said " it's part of the deal, well done for finishing, just need a bit recovery time now!"
It's now been 2 weeks since the race, and that recovery, well is not following "THE PLAN". That left leg is definitely a brat! Running was out of the question last weekend after I had to give up after a few uphills and a painful limping back to the car.

Last weekend disastrous hill repeat

So, all week I wondered if it was really my injury pulling my leg, or if it was my brain not wanting to revive what happened during the race and put physical blocks at every running attempts. Especially since I could walk or cycle (go figure!). Therefore I had masterminded a new plan for this weekend (wahahah), I thought I could use a different "mind strategy" ignore the blocks, keep pushing with a "no pain, no gain" concept and see what happens? I bet this sound familiar to you?
Results:

This weekend disastrous hill repeat

You've guessed right. I'm right now sitting in the car, waiting for Mick to finish “our” long run on the North Downs way.  I hate to admit but I've been defeated by the brat after less than an hour run and a slow limping walk back to the car, ... I ignored the blocks ( 5 mins down the run) and what I gained 50 mins down the run was... more pain so that no pain, no gain concept is utterly rubbish! Some will think “ nah! it's a niggle, you should have push it harder! or "don't worry, you'll be fine in no time, you just need some time”....but with all the niggles I got since I have started running, I had made myself a promise to keep running no matter how bad it felt, as I never wanted to be called a "pussy" for not starting or finishing a race or being a drag to Mick especially during our training runs. Many stories of how one had withstand pain to start and/or finish an endurance event are out there; many comments of others wishing to have that same pain threshold or asking how to train the mind to ignore the pain are omnipresent on social networks. And so,I always thrived to be that one who ignores the pain and just carries on. So is it a niggle? hell no!  As I listened to Stephanie Howe's interview after UROC about her decision to run the race on an injured foot and nursing it to be able to finish the race, I'm thinking I could just do the same, right? I don't want to just give up to that brat, so, any mind tricks? body tricks you would like to share? what would you do with the greensand marathon next weekend, and the Endurance Trail 2 weeks later?