If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, because in the words of Elizabeth Day, “learning how to fail is learning how to succeed”.

Two years ago I DNF’d (Did Not Finish) Wendover Woods 100. As I sat wrapped in all my clothes trying to keep warm after calling it quits mid-way through lap eight, I said never, ever again. I had pushed myself to the absolute max & had nothing more to give.

The thing is, I am slightly* (*AKA very) stubborn. I don’t like to be beaten & I don’t like to fail. In my mind, despite giving it everything I had & knowing that the DNF was the right decision, I had failed. 

I had failed to finish a race I had started. And it hurt.

It hurt my pride. 

It hurt my ego. 

It hurt me.

I didn’t race again until Thames Path 100 the following May. Whilst that was far from the perfect race, it showed me that I am capable of overcoming adversities & that I can do hard things. It taught me to believe in myself.

And then at Autumn 100 in October ’22, everything came together in perfect running synergy. I had the race of my life & proved to myself exactly how strong I am.

Two weeks later still overflowing with A100 endorphins, I entered Wendover Woods 100 again.

And so here I am. 

A Friday morning in July 2023. In a field in Wendover with some unfinished business in the woods.

Named after the nearby town of Wendover, Wendover Woods is an area of woodland on the northern edge of the Chiltern Hills managed by Forestry England. With a mixture of coniferous & broad-leaved trees it covers 800 acres – or 1.25 square miles.

Several years ago, Centurion Running created what’s become an iconic ten-mile loop with 2,000ft of elevation gain within the woods. I’ll say that again. A ten-mile loop with 2,000ft of climbing in the space of 1.25 square miles. 

As an aside, Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK is 4,400ft high.

The OG 50-mile race is five laps & 10,000ft of climbs. Or twice up Ben Nevis.

The 100-mile race is ten laps & 20,000ft. Four & a bit times up Ben Nevis.

The route is a constant rollercoaster of a ride & almost impossible to describe in words. Up, down, up, down. Dancing around tree roots & jumping over logs. Scrambling up inclines that practically require hands to ascend. Letting loose on steep downhills, your stride is only broken as you jump over a fallen tree blocking the path before turning a sharp corner.

The five main climbs & several sections between them are named to help distinguish one path from another & one hill from another. Winding & weaving around the woods, crossing paths with runners coming in the opposite direction & running on adjacent paths, separated only by a line of trees. It’s no mean feat to get a ten-mile loop out of space this size!

A week earlier I had swung by for a lap on my way to visit the in-laws in Birmingham. I sold it as an excellent walk opportunity for the dog & then persuaded the husband to walk the dog whilst I went for a run!

Having negotiated 1hr 45 of running time I threw myself at lightning speed around the woods. It had been a year since my last foray in the forest & that was in the dark of the Night 50km. It all came flooding back. Every twist, every turn. The fallen trees to jump over, the roots to avoid. The hidden turns, the steep climbs. I’d loaded the route onto my watch but I barely needed to glance at it as my feet remembered exactly where to go.

I used the loop to visualise the race. To finalise in my mind my race day strategy. To remind myself of my learnings over the past two years. For this one time, I let myself get carried away. I pushed hard. I ran the flats, flung myself down the hills with reckless abandonment & ran up all but the steepest of the hills. I ran my fastest-ever lap. It was out of my system & I’d shown myself I could do it. My ego now had nothing to prove on race day.

That one loop had done its job. I knew, with a week to go, I was ready to do battle with the woods.

At 9:55 am we gathered at the start line. There are only 30 of us. Eight women, 22 men. The small starting field – ten fewer runners than two years ago – is perhaps a testament to the difficulty of the race. Some are old-timers, previous finishers wanting another go. Some, like me, are returning for redemption. A brave few souls are attempting their first 100-mile race.

As it creeps closer to 10 am, I take a deep breath & close my eyes to calm my racing mind & block out those around me. My stomach fizzles with nerves but I am in control. I have no doubts. None. I know I am going to finish this time.

10:00 am Friday morning

One

The starting horn sounds & we surge forward down the trail as one. Cheers of encouragement sending us on our way.

I won’t talk much about the route itself as I describe it in some detail in 2021’s race blog. It’s not changed. The hills have sadly not shrunk in the interim period. Rather, this is about what I did differently to turn 2021’s failure into 2023’s success (so there’s the spoiler, I did finish this time…!).

I keep getting pulled up for calling 75 miles a failure, but it was. I did not finish the race I set out to finish. But that DNF is now part of my story. It’s helped shape & define the past two years & I’m a big believer in the importance of learning when things don’t go right.

Today, from the very start, I walk the gentle hills that two years ago I ran up. No matter how tempting the excitement of the first lap is, I walk the slightest hint of an incline. The majority of the field rush past me on the first climb. Many are running. I silence my ego & keep walking. 

Another runner passes me. And another.

My race strategy is simple. Walk the hills. Run the downs, run the flats, keep my heart rate in check & eat every 30 minutes. 

And ignore what everyone else is doing.

In many ways, this final point is the hardest. Over the last couple of years, my ultra running has improved exponentially & I’ve had some excellent race results. 4th at SDW100, 5th at TP100, 4th at the Night 50km here last year, 2nd at A100 & most recently 5th overall at the Summer Spine Sprint.

I run for the love of it & I don’t do many races. But when I do, I now race. I run to compete, not complete. And when you’re racing you become much more aware of what the people around you are doing.

It’s hard to let go of this. It’s hard to ignore the competition. It’s hard to have another female pass me towards the end of lap one & not drop into race mode. It’s hard to simply let her go because I am competitive, I always have been. This was one of my failings two years ago. I led the women’s race from early on which put me under (self-imposed) pressure. I ran harder than I should have done because I didn’t want to lose that lead. I let my ego run the race rather than my brain.

I finish lap one in 02:03:56 this is 12+ minutes slower than I ran the first lap two years ago. It feels good, it feels comfortable & I run into the Trig Point race HQ with a smile on my face.

12:03 pm Friday afternoon. Lap one cumulative time: 02:03:56 (2021: 01:51:13)

Two

One lap down, nine to go!

I head out on lap two in the heat of the midday sun. It’s warm. Very warm. The sun blazes down from a vast & cloudless blue sky. I thought that in the deep depths of the woods it would be sheltered & cool. But under the dense canopy of leaves, it’s like a furnace. The heat has nowhere to go. It’s oppressive, the air is thick. It swirls around, hugging tightly to my skin. The humidity drenching me more than a rainstorm would.

Sweat is pouring down my face, stinging my eyes. My vest is stuck to my body & I am drinking & drinking but no amount of water is quenching my thirst. My heart rate creeps higher & higher. On lap one it was nicely in zone one throughout. Now, only very easy jogging & walking will keep it that low.

I pull back & adjust my effort accordingly. I think back to NDW100 in 2020 when I walked 20+ miles in the 40-degree heat of the day to conserve energy before finishing strong in the cool of the night. I tell myself I can do that again.

Two years ago, the air temperature wasn’t as high, but the humidity was in the 90s making it feel hotter than it was. I didn’t read the woods. I failed to adjust my effort & pushed too hard in the heat with disastrous results.

I start to find my groove…

…Gruffalo Trail

…Crossroads Loop

…Powerline

…No Name (it will always be No Name)

…Go Ape

…Root Canal

…Hale Lane

…The unofficial Sandwich Hill

…Boulevard of Broken Dreams

…The Snake

…Hill Fort

…Gnarking Around

…Railing In the Years

…Nettle Alley…

Just some of the wonderfully named paths. 

Interspersed with my 30-minute feed alarm, I find my rhythm during lap two.

14:25 pm Friday afternoon. Lap two cumulative time: 04:25:12 (2021: 03:57:52)

Three

With 20 miles done, I feel as if I am managing the heat & the conditions well & I head out on lap three in high spirits. I am comfortable & I feel good. I am still eating & drinking well & leave the checkpoint with another round of peanut butter & jam sandwiches. I now have a buff around my head to stop the sweat from dripping in my eyes & stuff this – and my bra – with ice as I leave.

The ice helps to cool my body temperature & my heart rate drops accordingly. I get back into my groove… Gruffalo trail, sharp left, Crossroads, Powerline & on I go.

As I pass through the Hale Lane checkpoint I am handed an orange ice lolly. Feeling the heat simply standing at the CP, one of the volunteers popped to a nearby shop & bought handfuls of ice lollies. That slightly sticky, melting, icy cold orangey goodness was simply the best thing ever. I walk up Sandwich Hill, this time not eating a sandwich but an ice lolly & suddenly all is right. again

It’s the little things like this where the volunteers shine.

They are the unsung heroes. Many worked double or even triple shifts over the weekend stopping only for short naps here & there. In a crew-less race, they become our crew looking after us every step of the way. Catering to our every need. Run into a checkpoint & they are grabbing & filling our bottles before we’ve even had a chance to say hello. They check that we are eating, make us sandwiches & later in the race cups of coffee.

At the end of lap three, slightly concerned that I hadn’t been taking on enough salt for the amount I was sweating, Zoe Norman swaps the plain water in my bottles for Tailwind as Sarah Cameron feeds me slices of watermelon sprinkled with salt. It is surprisingly delicious!

They send me on my way with the first of my snack bags from my drop bag. I’ve managed solid food for 30 miles but my stomach has had enough. A bit like at A100, this time I don’t try to force it & instead abandon the PB&J sandwiches for easily digestible gels & baby food.

With it being a lapped race, we have access to a drop bag every ten miles. Two years ago I filled my bag with an endless amount of food that went uneaten. Sandwiches, vegan sausage rolls, cakes, nuts & cereal bars… I finished each lap & sat staring at it. I had too many choices but nothing that I wanted. My drop bag this time is carefully organised with a small bag for each lap containing two gels, two baby food sachets & a clean buff. I have nothing to think about. No choices. No decisions to make. Just things that I know, even when at my lowest, my stomach can digest.

Three laps done, I run into the Trig Point race HQ just before 5 pm.

16:53 pm Friday afternoon. Lap three cumulative time: 06:53:15 (2021: 06:20:58)

Four

Early on in the race, I set myself several non-negotiables.

• I walk any hint of an incline.
• I walk if my HR goes above 136/137.
• I run from the car park down the Gruffalo trail until the sharp left turn. 
• I run the majority of the Crossroads loop. 
• I run through the woods from the road & down the gully that crosses the Ridgeway. 
• I run down Powerline & across the field to the stile.
• I run down Steep Hill.
• I run from the top of Go Ape to Hale Lane, including Root Canal (I relent on this bit during the night to reduce the trip hazard!).
• I run the Boulevard of Broken Dreams down to Snake without stopping.
• I run Hill Fort to Gnarking.
• I run from the gate to the Trig Point CP.

My feed alarm sounds every 30 minutes & I eat. As the race progresses & eating becomes harder, I allow myself to miss one, but not two consecutive alarms. I fail this non-negotiable a couple of times when I simply can’t get food down.

Eating, or lack of it, was my biggest failure in 2021 & ultimately my downfall. My stomach was a mess, I couldn’t keep any food down & the worse I felt, the less I tried to eat. I knew I had to do something different this time.

I try to preload fuel during the first three laps. I eat a quarter of a peanut butter & jam sandwich every 30 minutes & top this up with fresh fruit at the aid stations. I drink water & squash. At the end of my third lap, I proudly announce that I have eaten 14 sandwiches!

Many people will try to tell you that you need to eat real food when running long distances in order to fuel properly & I spent many of my early races forcing myself to do this with disastrous results. I struggle with digestion during races, especially when it is hot. I’ve looked into the science behind it. Essentially, when it is hot, the body uses its energy to keep its internal temperature down, diverting energy from other body processes, like digestion.

There comes a point during every race when I simply cannot digest solid food any more. I bite, I chew, I chew, I chew some more but I can’t swallow, I can’t get it down. And if I do, it doesn’t stay down…

I am pleased that I managed 30 miles of solid food, but I know that from lap four onwards it’s just not going to happen. And that is okay. One of my biggest learnings in the past two years is not to make myself eat food my body does not want. I ran an 18:27 100 miler at A100 fuelled entirely on gels, baby food & coke. And I can do that again.

I’m pleased to say that although I suffered a little from nausea during the race, I didn’t leave the contents of my stomach in Wendover Woods this time. I took 2021’s failure, I learnt from it & made positive changes.

19:29 pm Friday evening. Lap four cumulative time: 09:29:49 (2021: 08:42:34)

Five

Lap five is not the one. 

As I leave the trig field sometime before 8pm, it’s still light. My head torches are stuffed in the back of my pack for the rapidly approaching darkness. Lap four passed without incident & I have no reason to think lap five will be any different.

Nothing happens. I don’t fall. I’m not sick. I don’t go the wrong way or get lost. 

My mind, so strong earlier on, falters. I look at how far I have to go rather than how far I have come. I can’t comprehend that I am not even halfway & that I have many, many more hours left in the woods. I dig myself into a mental black hole.

I remember very few specifics about this lap, just the darkness both in my mood & the impending night. Seeing the sunset from the bottom of Snake lifts me slightly before the serpent beast squeezes the joy back out of me. Rachel Fawcett, the leading female, laps me halfway up the climb.

It’s humbling to be lapped by another woman so early on but shows just how good Rachel is. She goes on to break the women’s course record in an astonishing 22:57:13 claiming her victory as I finish my eighth lap. Coming into the trig field a few minutes ahead of her, I am delighted that she doesn’t quite manage to lap me for a second time!

In a funk, I ignore my feed alarms & neglect to take on any fuel during the second half of this lap. My gel & baby food goes untouched. My internal dialogue argues with itself. I know I need to eat but I don’t want to eat. Negativity wins this argument & fully self-imposed, I suffer up Gnarking & Railing with zero energy.

I roll into the Trig Point CP in a piece over 12 hours. Spencer & Stu now on volunteer duty get the full effects of my grumpiness. I’m tired. I feel nauseous, I feel sick. I worry that this is going to become a repeat of 2021 when sickness, not fitness, ruined my race. I feel, to put it politely, shit. And it’s all my own doing. I ignored one of my non-negotiable & I didn’t eat.

Five laps down, five to go. I decide I need to spend a little bit of time in the CP between laps five & six to rest, reset & shift my state of mind.

With Kerry & Windsor Andy on the daytime shift alongside Zoe, Mel & Emma, Spencer & Stu on the nighttime shift, my friends are there throughout & it feels like I have my own personal crew.

Seeing me at my lowest point so far, Spencer & Stu bring me drinks, make me coffee & try to coax me into eating. I honestly can’t think of two better people to look after me during the tough nighttime hours & I know that with them here at the end of every lap, I will be okay.

The simple act of changing my t-shirt, splashing on some deodorant & wiping the grime from my face & arms makes me feel happier. I take off my HR monitor. I am moving so slowly the data is now redundant & it has chaffed my ribcage raw.

I drink a cup of Coke, allowed as I am now passed halfway, and somehow, very slowly, eat a hot cross bun. A small solid food win. I spend 33 minutes at the checkpoint. Two years ago I would have seen these 33 minutes as wasted time. Today, I realise how important those 33 minutes are in changing my mindset ahead of lap six.

I leave the CP in a very different mood from the one I was in when I entered it.

22:25 pm Friday. Lap five cumulative time: 12:25:31 (2021: 11:19:39)

Six

I learned a lesson on lap five. I didn’t eat & I suffered for it. I didn’t eat because I didn’t want to. I felt slightly nauseous but the less I ate, the more nauseous I felt & the more nauseous I felt, the less I wanted to eat… It became a vicious circle.

I start lap six with a boiled sweet. This is a little trick I heard Sports Dietician Renee McGregor talk about on a podcast to help alleviate nausea. Sucking on a sweet can help to trick the brain into thinking it has some energy in the tank but also brings sugar levels back up so you can start to take fuel back on.

All I can say is pure GENIUS, it worked! (even though I discovered after the race that my boiled sweets were sugar-free…). The sweet I pop in my mouth as I leave the trig field lasts me until my first feed alarm of the lap. I then slowly, over the course of five or so minutes consume a gel. Tiny bit by tiny bit, drip-feeding my body the sugary fuel. Another sweet to hold the nausea at bay. A banana baby food just before I climb Go Ape, slowly, slowly…

A cup of Coke at Hale Lane sees me up Sandwich Hill. Another gel on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams takes me up Snake & around Hill Fort. A banana baby food powers me up Gnarking.

I run into the Trig Point CP with a smile on my face. Stu comments that I am a different person to the end of lap five. I reply “It’s amazing what a gel can do…!”

02:00 am Saturday morning. Lap six cumulative time: 15:59:53 (2021: 14:24:08)

Seven

Knowing that there were only 30 runners & anticipating being by myself for most of the race I filled my phone with podcasts & playlists to occupy my mind. I actually end up running in silence until lap seven, quite content with my own company. I share an occasional fleeting word with another runner as our paths cross but I like being alone. I like running solo. In a busy world, I crave the peace & quietness that running by myself gives me.

Aside from thinking about the race itself, I remember very little about my thoughts during those first 16 hours. Running is my time. It’s often when I get some of my best ideas. I ‘wrote’ my first business plan whilst running & I’ve brainstormed many a project out on the trails. But today, I am so focused on what I am doing, I don’t remember any other thought that crossed my mind.

A week later, so void was my mind of thought, I struggle to distinguish one lap from another. Although each lap was different, they all seemed to have merged into one. It’s almost as if out on those trails, my mind emptied of all significant thought.

We started lap one under a cloudless blue sky, the blazing hot sun high in the sky. As the laps progress, the light changes from a cool blue to a warm orange. The shadows on the ground lengthen. Patterns of light dance at my feet as the sun, sinking low in the sky, shimmers through the trees. Dusk comes. The sky is golden as the sun slips silently below the horizon, leaving a pinky hue in its wake.

I leave it as long as possible before putting the head torch on. I don’t remember which lap, or where in the lap I am when the path in front of me becomes illuminated by my torch rather than the sun.

Was it towards the end of lap five? Are laps six & seven my nighttime laps?

A July race brings long hours of daylight & short hours of darkness. The sun sets around 9:20 with darkness enveloping us around ten. It rises again a mere seven or so hours later. The nighttime miles, however, are some of my favourites. I love the silence & solitude of running by myself in the woods at night. I feel completely safe & at ease wrapped up in the Wendover bubble. Occasionally I see another head torch shining in the distance or briefly stumble on someone else – who or when I now cannot tell you – but most of the time, I am completely alone & completely at peace.

Running down the fire trail into Hale Lane on one of my nighttime laps I look up from the spot of light illuminating the path in front of me. The tree line ahead is silhouetted dark against the deep nighttime sky. The moon, a half-crescent, shines brightly. The sky is clear with not a cloud in sight. A blanket of stars sparkles high above my head.

It’s one of those magical moments etched in my memory.

05:27 am Saturday morning. Lap seven cumulative time: 19:27:35 (2021: 17:44:50)

Eight

I have a little moment as I summit No Name on lap eight. This is where I called it quits in 2021. I remember how awful I felt at that point. I was dizzy & light-headed & thought I was going to faint. I’d been unable to keep down any food for 30-odd miles & was quite literally running on empty. There’s a bench a few metres past the top of No Name. I sat on it, leaning on my poles with my head in my hands for several minutes as I battled with the decision I knew I had to make.

Whilst acknowledging that there have been some low moments, as there are in every race, today is a completely different story & I run past the DNF bench (as it is now called) feeling strong, in control & knowing that this time, I am going to finish.

I don’t want to come across as arrogant, but I never once doubted my ability to finish today. I knew from the moment I started that I would finish, I had 100% belief in myself. It wasn’t easy & it wasn’t a smooth ride. It was a roller coaster of emotions & there were some tough & dark moments. The oppressive heat got to me. I couldn’t cool my body temperature. I drank & drank but couldn’t quench my thirst. I felt nauseous, I felt sick. I struggled to eat. I chaffed my torso to smithereens & I spent far too long sitting aimlessly at the checkpoints.

But I never once doubted that I would finish.

08:49 am Saturday morning. Lap eight cumulative time: 22:49:07 (2021: DNF)

Nine

I begin my ninth lap just after 9 am. At 9:30 am the OG 50-mile race starts. From the silence & solitude of the nighttime hours, suddenly the woods come alive with sound. Voices chattering, marshals directing, poles tip-tapping, footsteps beating down the paths & storming up the hills.

I’m running (slowly) down Steep Hill when the race leader passes me. For a few short seconds, I imagine that I am leading the 50-mile race. He hurtles past me leaving words of encouragement trailing behind him. 

As I turn right at the bottom of Steep Hill & head towards No Name I get caught in the melee of the chasing pack. They catch me on a section or narrow single track & I get frustrated at having to repeatedly step off the path to let them pass. Each time I pause it feels harder to get going again. When I’m moving, it’s good, but when I stop my legs freeze, almost as if they suddenly realise the magnitude of what they have already done. Selfishly I think that after 80-odd miles, the 50 runners should be jumping off the path for ME!

I watch the fresh-legged 50 runners bound enthusiastically up No Name as I drag myself up one tiny step at a time. My legs are at that point in a race when they have lost all strength & power. Pole, step, pause… Pole, step, pause… Pole, step, pause… I picked up my poles at the start of lap six & the further into the race I go, the more I use them & the more I appreciate them.

No Name, past DNF bench, down the winding narrow track to the bottom of Go Ape. Up Go Ape.  Pole, step, pause… Pole, step, pause… Pole, step, pause… Pole, step, pause… Top of Go Ape. Non-negotiable, I now run to Hale Lane. 

I start using the poles on the descents – especially those that are uneven – as well as the climbs. Communication between my brain & my feet is floundering. The poles give a little added support & stability in those moments when my feet are a little slow to respond to my brain’s commands.

I silently tick off each landmark as I get closer & closer to the end of my penultimate lap. Sandwich Hill, Boulevard, Snake, Hill Fort… At the top of Gnarking, I turn, as I have done on each lap, to look back down the hill I have just climbed. I see Laura hot on my tail. 

You could say that Laura is the reason I am here. A number of years ago, she ran 50km to celebrate her 50th birthday. Until she did this, I did not even realise that it was possible to run further than a marathon; she introduced me to the enticing world of ultra running. Forever my supporter & my advocate, to run a few steps alongside her as she tackles the 50 miles is one of my race highlights.

My ninth lap is quicker than my eighth.

12 noon Saturday. Lap nine cumulative time: 26:00:52 (2021: DNF)

Ten

I start to choke up as I think this is it, this is my FINAL lap.

As I leave the trig field for the last time it starts to rain. Proper rain. We’ve had a few showers & even some crashes of thunder & flashes of lightning over the past 26 hours, but this is significantly more than a shower. Big fat wet raindrops bounce off of the ground in front of me. I don’t put my waterproofs on, I’m still far too hot for any additional clothing. The rain runs down my head & drips off of the end of my nose. I reason that I am no wetter now than I was in yesterday’s humidity.

As I make my way down the winding path to the road, my stilted shuffle becomes a slow, faltering jog. I start the lap determined to carry on running as much as I can. I run down the Gruffalo trail, waving a silent goodbye to the Gruff as I pass him for the last time. Up the first hill, poles dragging me step by step. In some disbelief, overtake a 50-mile runner on only his second lap. 

Through the woods. Covered by a thick grey raincloud they are almost as dark as they were during the night. A volunteer stands lonely & forlorn at the Crossroads junction. I shout a thank you as I run past & down the now muddy gully. Round the Crossroads Loop, I go. Up towards the Ridgeway. Powerline. The precarious descent is now wet & slippery underfoot. I jog slowly across the field, lift my protesting legs over the stile at the bottom & tip tap my way up the next hill. I shuffle down Steep Hill wondering if I can in all honestly still call what I am doing “running”.

I climb No Name for one last time sticking my fingers up at the b******d as I go. I choke up again in the knowledge that I am doing it. I am f**king doing it. I make it to the top of Go Ape. Two of the five big climbs are done for the final time. As I stumble somewhat haphazardly down the path after Go Ape, my run becomes a jog, a shuffle, a walk…

By now, walking is just as quick as running.

I make the decision to walk the rest of the lap. I will finish. Whether it takes me three hours or three & a half to do my tenth lap is irrelevant. Walking is less painful & therefore more enjoyable & I want to enjoy my last few hours in the woods.

I settle into a new groove. A new pattern. I’m a strong walker, with the poles I am even stronger. I have my favourite playlist, saved especially for my final lap, playing in my ears. The rain, torrential only minutes ago, eases, and I see a glimmer of blue sky peeping out from behind the clouds. I’m smiling.

Hale Lane for the last time. All I can stomach is half a cup of Coke. I thank the volunteers as I set off up Sandwich Hill, sans sandwich… Tip, tap, tip, tap, left, right, left, right. With no pressure & a renewed determination, I hike strongly up the hill faster than I have since lap four.

My non-negotiable is negotiable on this last lap. I don’t run down Boulevard of Broken Dreams. I walk with intent cheerfully singing along to the songs playing in my ears. Apologies to anyone who may have heard my dulcet tones filtering through the trees.

Snake. Hill Fort. I choke up again. A lump in my throat with tears threatening to spill. Although super tough, I am enjoying this lap more than I thought I would but simultaneously am filled with all the emotions.

At the foot of Gnarking, I pause. This is going to take a monumental effort. Just one-tenth of a mile, but with a 29% gradient. I breathe deeply & lean heavily onto my poles. One foot in front of the other, head down I climb. All form & technique has been lost. My only goal is to reach the top. If I hadn’t got my poles, I would be crawling on my hands & knees.

The climb starts gently, lulling you into a false sense of security. I gingerly step over the fallen tree as the ascent sharpens. I move forward step by tiny step. Pole, step, pause… Pole, step, pause… The sound of cheering tumbles down the hill towards me. I look up to see a waving crowd at the top. Their shouts & cheers reel me in, I grab hold of them like a rope & pull myself up, up, up.

I now don’t remember everyone who was at the top & this makes me sad.

Carefully down the gully before the short undulating rollercoaster of a ride to Railing in the Years. The final climb of the final lap. The sun is shining. The wet leaves shimmer in its light shaking the last remnants of the rainstorm over me as I brush past.

I have less than a mile to go. That lump again, those tears threatening to fall. Nettle Alley. A short, sharp climb. The gate. I can see the marque. Race HQ. The finish line. I walk around the perimeter of the field, shielded from view behind the tall trees. The stile into the field proves to be problematic as I slowly lift my legs over one at a time, apologising profoundly to the 50 runner stuck behind me.

Safely over the stile & into the field. I walk the first 10 metres & take several deep breaths before easing into a jog. I turn the corner & see the finish gantry with a crowd gathered around it. I lift my poles from the ground & with an absolute banger in my ears break into a sprint.

Redemption.

15:44 pm Saturday. Lap ten cumulative time: 29:44:57 (2021: DNF)

Reflection

Wendover Woods 100. Quite simply the hardest thing I have ever done. A test of both physical & mental strength.

• 100 miles (actual 105 miles)
• 20,000ft elevation gain
• 29 hours 44 minutes 57 seconds
• 7th overall, 3rd female
• 30 people started the race. Only 13 finished. 
• Of the finishers, 6 were women & 7 were men. 
• 75% of the women who started the race finished. 
• Only 32% of the men finished.

That failure two years ago hurt. The pain followed me around, taunting me.

After the race, I reviewed every step; what worked, what didn’t work, what did I do wrong & what could I do differently. I made mistakes so I made changes. I raced again, and again and again. Learning more each time.

Along with two more years of running experience & many thousands of training miles, I took my learnings to the start line on Friday morning.

I started slowly.

I walked every. single. hill.

I ignored time.

I ignored pace.

I removed the pressure.

I ate every 30 minutes. When I could no longer stomach solid food I drip-fed gels & baby food. Lap five when I failed to fuel properly was a wake-up call. Lap six was different.

I ignored what everyone else was doing.

I ran my own race.

And this time, I beat the woods.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, because in the words of Elizabeth Day, “learning how to fail is learning how to succeed”.

My Wendover Woods 100 2023 on Strava.