Life is just a training run

My legs have stopped working, but I've got the bug now.

This is the executive summary of a conversation I had with a runner, Sam, as we plodded up Butser Hill at the end of the race. It was his first time running over 30k; his legs were cramping from the hills that seemed pretty new to him. This would, of course, have been the perfect opportunity to tell him that this was "just a training run" for me.

But I'm not that much of an arse.

It was lovely to hear someone speak so enthusiastically at the early stages of their ultra-running journey, and what a fantastic way to do it. This hill was spectacular; the views were amazing. We could see the finish, the massive encampment on the flat grass that lay about a mile away.

More visually engaging than where I was at the same stage when I ran along the A4 from Ealing to Reading all those years ago. But more than anything, I remember that train journey back home, whizzing past the places I'd just run through. Something has just happened here; I like it.

I signed up for this race and was pleased to see that an old friend had, too. Sam Robson was at the sharp end of these events when I was last doing this kind of stuff. Now he is in a similar place to where I am, not nearly as fit as he used to be and wondering whether this running lark was ever a good idea.

The vague plan was to try and get this done in about 6 hours, but neither were that fussed. We had 9 hours to do it and a wonderful day on the South Downs ahead of us, no rush. And, of course, this was just a training run for me.

We ran a 10k loop around Matterley Bowl, apparently the site where Eisenhower addressed 100,000 US troops before the D-Day landings. It's a fantastic place, and I had no idea at the time I was running around in circles. However, a supporter who we seemed to see every mile gave us a clue, or he had access to a teleporter.

We settled into a comfortable pace before heading out on the South Downs Way proper and towards the first picnic station. Inspired by my loop of history, I was pumped up getting there. We will fight them for the peaches.

No peaches, just a fuckload of sandwiches, GU gels and James Elson.

It was lovely catching up with Sam; we spoke a lot about the good old days. The last time Sam was here, we had seen Hokas take over ultra running and the weird race to get taller and taller. I think by then the words "eating" and "drinking" had been replaced by Hydrolising and Nutriating.

However, many things had changed; these orange boxes on our shoulders gave everyone our location to within a Hoka stack height. It's fantastic for safety and crewing and for others to know what's going on from afar. Still, it does remove that comical scenario where you're crewing in the night, and you say, "Here comes Sam, here comes Sam! Here comes, on no, that's a dogger on a bike."

And you don't even need to "check-in" at checkpoints anymore. It's all done by GPS. I guess that's why they now just call them picnics. Try and tell one of the youngsters about "dibbing". Back in the day, you could get disqualified at Cocking if you didn't dib your thing into the little nook. Honestly, tell the kids about that now, and they look at you like some old creep.

But we mostly just spoke about where we are with this whole running thing. Both were very active a decade or more ago and trying to get back into it. There's a lot to this situation: developing a strong sense of identity through running and participating in running events, making it your social life, your escape, and your purpose, and then just putting it all aside for other things.

From personal experience, I know that the other stuff is important, more important than running, but it's easy to put too much emphasis on it and end up worse for it.

I do wonder whether our identities and character are built by things like running long distances or whether it's just the running that reveals them. I know all that stuff sank down a lot when I put this on hold and spiralled down in confidence and self-worth. I know there are loads of others in this situation, a bit older and having lost their way. I have another book in me about this; I'll try to get it out there. Running and Stuff 2 - much more stuff this time. The first one was just a training book.

Blimey that escalated a bit, didn't it? OK, back to the race/training run. I really needed a wee but just could not go because I was always within 50 meters of a female runner, and I could not risk the stage fright.

It was pleasantly warm with a cool breeze. Some nice open bits but then plenty of little woods with cover. I've been experiencing a strange phenomenon recently. If I run in the exposed sun, where the air you breathe is dry, and then head into the woods, where it feels a bit cooler and damper, it's as if you can taste the oxygen. It's a wonderful hippy feeling of being at one with the atoms around you as you draw in this elixir while being surrounded by greenery. But then Jean Michel-Jarre fucking ruins everything! I can't get that Oxygen song out of my head. Duuu, du du du duuuuu. You know the one. Here it is so you know to try and avoid it.

Sam was suffering, and it actually felt good. Another book I got partway through writing was going to be called "I Am Not a Terrible Person and Other Things I learned while running". It's about the various dark places your mind can go when running, such as taking joy in the suffering of others, but arguing that it's normal and even healthy to have a hobby that allows you to explore these places. 

I've known Sam for more than a decade, and I spent a good chunk of that time trying to torture him with events such as the Piece of String race and the Bingo race. The latter, despite my trying to inflict damage on others, ironically ended up with me going to A&E.

Sam was always so annoying OK with all of this torment though. So, it was unusual to see him having a hard time. Having not run more than 10 miles in two years was always going to be hard work. There were a few stoppages for cramp, but Sam's spirits were lifted when we got to the last picnic at about 25 miles as he informed me that we were running on his local routes now and that all we had to do was to bumble along across the tops of these hills and then drop down into the finish.

Sounded lovely. I remembered to take a baby bell from the picnic; stay tuned.

As we got closer to Butser Hill, Sam kept talking about how the finish was way closer than the 50k route suggested. I saw the Strava run from James Elson that looked like 50k and was not convinced we were about to be conned out of a couple of miles. Sam now seemed in excellent spirits, legs working well and bouncing along. All we had to do was to turn right and roll down the hill to the finish.

In the distance, we saw Fiona McNelis in the Centurion Hi-viz. At that point, Sam said something like, "Oh, fucking hell nooooo!"

Now, it was not the sight of Fiona that caused this outburst but the fact that she was pointing left instead of right. Meaning we had to go back down this hill only to go up the big hill. Seemed fair to me.

Seeing Sam get so grumpy at a couple of extra miles at the end of a 50k, yeah, that felt good! Sorry, Sam! Maybe I am a terrible person. 

We chatted with Fiona a bit, speaking about the same themes, harking back to the good old days when we could do things.

And then we began what appeared to be a journey to the centre of the earth. 

It was my least favourite running surface, downhill gully. I always trip over on these things, and true to form, I did. Fell right on my right tit, and probably looked like a right tit. I was convinced something had fallen out of my pack and spent some time looking around, but Sam insisted nothing had been lost other than my dignity.

My right tit was hurting a bit. I've lost some weight recently, so I am not carrying the typical level of protective moobage that I usually do. That may be why you don't see ripped runners on the trails; too dangerous. 

Well, my usual response to this would be to get annoyed with the tree root or rock that deliberately tripped me and then get annoyed at myself for not picking my feet up and being rubbish at running. However, because Sam was still having a shit time, I actually felt pretty good. Sorry again, Sam! New book idea "How jogging turned me into a Nazi"

Down the gully and into some lovely oxygenated woods again. Duuuuu du du du duuuuu.....

It's rare in a race that you just get to see a big hill that you are about to climb; they are usually hidden in trees or the dark or behind other hills. But here, we could just see this massive lump of green sat on its own.

And here we are, back at the start of the blog, speaking to the new Sam on his first ultra. This is a fantastic choice for a first ultra, and I hope new Sam goes on to do lots of exciting things now that he has the bug. However, I'm going to wait for old Sam and get my baby bell out.

It worked better than I thought it would.

Wow, that ended up being more of a write-up than planned, with barely any detail of the race itself! Plenty of existential anguish and hope, cautionary tales about the importance of nurturing the things that feed your soul, the value of staying in touch, and the deliberate effort required to do so. A bit of Jean Michel-fucking-Jarre and the hazards of weight loss. A lovely time with an old friend, and an additional thank-you to Jen and Lottie for kindly hosting me the night before. But, more than anything, I really hope the message you take from these 2000 words is that this was just a training run for me.