Ultra Magazine article on our very own Trails & Tarmac BYU
Running an ultra marathon in winter is a dark and lonely business, but someone has to do it. It was certainly dark and lonely, not to mention extremely cold, setting off at 5am and driving through the Brecon Beacons to Crickhowell for the Trails and Tarmac Backyard Ultra. For the uninitiated, the rapidly growing ‘backyard ultra’ phenomenon is a race where participants follow a set course of approximately 4.2 miles, on the hour, every hour, until only one person remains. Most people tend to complete each lap in a time of about 45 to 50 minutes, leaving just over 10 minutes to eat and recuperate before a bell rings to signal the imminent start of the next lap. These races are open- ended, but a minimum of eight laps ( 33.33 miles) is usually required to be regarded as having completed an ultra distance and therefore earning a medal.
The race I entered took place on January 20th, and runners set off on the first lap at 7am. There were 49 of us, all wearing head torches as obviously it was pitch dark at that hour. We ran along a mainly flat, straight section of road for about a mile, before turning right and heading uphill into steeply sloping fields. Brief bottlenecks formed at each of the three stiles we encountered, and I knew immediately that, as the race progressed, these stiles would become harder and harder to negotiate. At the top of the slope we turned right onto a narrow track, passed through a few gates, down a steeply sloping field, and back onto a stretch of tarmac road. We were now high above the road we ran out on, heading in the opposite direction. Eventually we turned right again down a series of gullies on uneven hard-packed dirt, covered in loose stones. We ran through several fields separated by gates or stiles and finally came out on the road we started on, where we turned right to get back to base.
For me, lap one proved more difficult than I’d imagined, but I finished in 47:42, allowing me plenty of time to eat and drink. That’s one of the advantages of this type of race, that you don’t have to carry all your supplies with you. By the start of lap two, dawn had broken so people abandoned their head torches and, in some cases, shed a layer of clothing. The three minute warning rang, then the two minute, and we scrambled to be in the starting coral for the start of the next lap. On lap two I felt much better - I was warmed up and getting into my stride. The first signs of the disaster to come became evident about half way into lap three - I noticed some discomfort in the heel of my left foot and so had to run more on the ball of my foot to ease the tenderness. I’d never had this problem before, which I now know to be Plantar Fasciitis, so had no idea what was about to transpire. Starting lap four I could barely put any weight on my left heel and consequently had to run more heavily on my right leg, putting increased strain on my right calf.
Back at base between laps I was getting to know some of the other runners. One of the great aspects of this type of competition is, unlike most long distance races where runners such as me watch the pack disappearing over the horizon never to be seen again, the backyard ultra format brings runners of very differing abilities together. I had a number of friendly conversations with people that I would normally only see briefly at the start line.
As the race progressed the situation with my heel repeated itself on each lap, getting gradually worse. Nevertheless, I was still doing reasonably well until lap seven, when my energy levels plummeted, possibly due partly to the extra effort necessitated by the heel problem. As I came to each of the aforementioned stiles, I took longer to climb over. I wasn’t alone in this- from about lap four I’d noticed runners ahead of me struggling over them and catching a knee or a foot as they failed to lift a leg high enough. During lap seven I looked back and realised that, for the first time in the race, there was nobody behind me. Checking my watch I also saw that in order to make the cut off I was going to have to increase my speed considerably. I made the best time, as with all the previous laps, going down the stone-strewn gully, and managed to get back to base in 55 minutes and 49 seconds. By now I was pretty worn out, and I dragged myself up the steps to where I’d left my chair and slumped into it, with only a few minutes to recover before the bell rang again.
I was more or less convinced that I wouldn’t make the cut-off on this lap, but I couldn’t allow myself to give up - as Samuel Johnson said of his final illness, “I will be conquered; I will not capitulate”! I’d been in similar situations before, and I’d rather be timed-out trying, than give up without a fight. The bell rang for what proved to be my final lap, and I limped out of the starting coral and did my best to stay with the pack. By the time I began climbing up the hill I was on my own - I could see other runners on the path above, but there was no way I was going to catch them. I was exhausted, having to break the route into small sections in my mind , ‘Just get to the next stile, then you can walk a bit’, and so on. As always in these circumstances, Kiplings words came back to me;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
I held on as best I could, but I was inevitably too late crossing the line - 14 minutes over the eight hours since setting off. I was absolutely delighted however, as I approached the finish, to hear the same cheering and cow bells and applause that had greeted runners at the end of all the previous successful laps - it was the warmest reception I’d ever encountered on any of my previous marathons and ultra marathons. Everybody was smiling and shouting congratulations even though, clearly, I was now classified as DNF. To cap it all, I was given a finishers medal! The eventual winner of the race, paradoxically the last one to finish, was Rebecca Hormann, who completed 20 laps and a distance of 83. 34 miles, in 17:28:35, an amazing achievement.
It had turned out then, that this particular ultra marathon was neither dark nor lonely. All in all, it had been a superb experience with the friendliest support crew you could wish for, led by Ellen, the Race Director, who had lots of time for everyone and even gave me a hug as I was leaving. I would highly recommend Limitless Trails events and shall certainly be looking for more to enter. Having said that, I am aware that at 71 years old, time isn’t on my side, but I fully intend to follow the advice of Dylan Thomas, and ‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light’.
