The Finish

At the bottom of Box Hill, I pause & look up.

There is just one mile & one final 300-foot climb standing between me & the finish line. 

This. 

This is what I have trained for. 

This is what reps of Box Hill in all weathers was for.

This is what running up & down my local hill at 5 am was for. 

This is what climbing Botley Hill again, and again, and again, was for.

This.

I have visualised this moment so many times over the past few months. Placing my right foot on the bottom step I take a deep breath & let go.

Ignoring the 199+ miles already in my legs, I think only of the 400 metres ahead of me.

I fly. 

With music pounding loudly in my ears, I storm up the 275 steps faster than I thought possible.

I. Do. Not. Stop. until I reach the top.

I pause, breathe deeply to calm my racing heart & carry on. 

Tip, tap, tip, tap. In the silence of the night, my poles rattle loudly across the gravel path.

In the pre-dawn gloom, something catches in the light of my head torch. I startle a small herd of cows gathered on the path. I am not hallucinating now. Their large eyes glint in the glare of my torch as they follow my movement along the path. I ignore them. Nothing is stopping me now.

The view from Salomon’s Memorial is hiding under a thick blanket of misty darkness as the world around me sleeps. Ahead, I spot a pink ribbon fluttering in the breeze. My guiding light to lead me home.

One mile to go. One.

The trees sway in the wind. Moving backwards & forwards, side to side like dancers on a stage. Their branches cast shadowy shapes on the ground. Their leaves rustle in the breeze forming a soundtrack to the show whilst the early morning mist creeps silently around creating an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere.

A pink ribbon in amongst the mist. Flapping like a lonely & forlorn leaf on an otherwise naked branch. An arrow points me on my way but still, I glance at the map on my wrist, just to make sure.

My mind wanders back to when my feet ran excitedly along this same woodland path at the start of the journey. As Broadwood’s Tower looms back into view, an avalanche of memories from the past three days cascade down on me.

I stop. I look.

Below my feet, Juniper Hall is ablaze in a golden glow. The lights are bright. Finish line flags wave their arms in the wind. I see people. Tiny silhouettes standing in front of the building. I feel my heart beat faster as the adrenaline pumps. The allure of the finish line grabs me & pulls me fast down the final steep descent. My feet struggle to keep up.

I wind my way along the woodland trail, the sounds of the finish drawing ever closer. I reflect that my time on the path is coming to an end.

It’s been a constant rollercoaster of a ride with my fluctuating emotions mimicking the undulations of the path under my feet. From the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. 

My feet hit the tarmac & after 200+ miles, I dig deeper than I’ve ever dug & run. 

I run for that finish line.

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Scene Setting

Winter Downs 200 is a 200-mile continuous trail race forming a giant loop around the South of England.

Starting at Juniper Hall, sitting in the shadow of Box Hill in the Surrey Hills, it takes in the North Downs Way (NDW), Vanguard Way (VGW), South Downs Way (SDW), Wayfayer’s Walk (WW) & St Swithun’s Way (SSW) before rejoining the North Downs Way at the trailhead in Farnham & meandering back to Juniper Hall.

2023 was the race’s inaugural year & simply put, this was a race made for me. 

I HAD to be there.

An experienced ultra runner, I had never gone beyond 100 miles / 30 hours but having run the entire length of the NDW & SDW & being one of the few people who not only knew of the Vanguard Way but had run it in its entirety, this was MY race.

As soon as it opened, I put in my application. 

This wasn’t simply a case of hitting enter & paying some money. We had to apply with a running CV to prove our capabilities to cover not only the distance but to deal with the terrain, the weather & the conditions. From the onset, it was clear that this was not a race for the novice,

In May 2023, my application was accepted, the registration fee was paid, entry was confirmed & there was no turning back. 

I had six months to prepare for the adventure of my lifetime.

Centurion Running, the race organisers, say:

“Runners have up to 96 hours to complete the course & are permitted to have a crew to support them. They also have access to a drop bag at the three major aid stations where hot food and sleeping facilities will be on hand. But the clock doesn’t stop, this is a single-stage race. With 16 hours of darkness each day, long stretches between aid stations and the undulating terrain, the race is designed to be an incredible winter running adventure on a phenomenal course.”

The start, the beginning, day one

7:50 Wednesday morning we gather in the shadow of Juniper Hall. The day has broken with little fanfare or ceremony, thick clouds fill the sky. The gloominess of the world around us does little to dampen our collective mood. Spirits are high.

I take a moment. Breathe in & look around me. This race has been my sole focus & obsession for the past three months. Everything, absolutely everything has been geared towards this moment & finally, it is here. I was expecting to feel nervous but all I feel is a sense of calmness & belonging. 

This, surrounded by 93 other gallant souls, is exactly where I am meant to be.

The chatter subsides as James, the RD, gives a 30-second warning. Final good wishes are wished. And with 94 fingers poised over watch start buttons, a collective silence descends.

Ten. I can’t believe this is happening. Nine. Breathe in. Eight. Breathe out. Seven, six, a quick look around. Five, focus. Four, three, two. Deep breathe. One, and go…

We surge as one across the start line to the shouts & cheers of the watching crowd; Centurion staff, volunteers, crew, family & friends. I can’t help but smile. Off the tarmac & onto the winding woodland path. Pink Centurion ribbons flutter in the morning breeze guiding us out of Juniper Hall grounds & onto the main path. The first & last miles are the only marked section of the whole race.

No word other than excited can aptly describe how I am feeling. I wonder at this. I wonder at my calm confidence & lack of nerves.

Doing something *this* big, shouldn’t I be scared, nervous & fearful? I’m not. I know that I have trained hard, trained smart & trained well. I have done everything I can to prepare for this race & I could not be any more ready for the challenge ahead of me.

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How did I prepare to run 200 miles?

I am self-coached. I don’t have someone I can turn to for guidance, someone I can be accountable to or someone who plans my training for me. I do it myself. (As a caveat, I am an England Athletics qualified coach (CiRF) so I have the coaching background & knowledge, however, it is very different coaching yourself from coaching someone else).

Over the years I have grown to learn what works & what doesn’t work for me. But 200 miles was completely new & different & in all honesty, I didn’t know where to start.

I ran the Summer Spine Sprint in June & Wendover Woods 100 in July & then had a month or two of jogging ‘fun’ with no structured training. 

I think downtime is important (and often overlooked) as it is impossible to maintain peak training all the time. But it does mean that sometimes it feels like I am starting at the beginning again. This is what it felt like in mid-August— the beginning.

The first four weeks of training were all about consistency, easy effort & low heart-rate running to (re)build a solid foundation. I then started to bring in training specificity & speed work.

I focused on long, slow runs. When possible, on the WD route. I ran these wearing the kit I planned to race in & carrying the kit I would need to carry. I covered all 200 miles in training & going into the race was confident that I knew the route. I knew where I was going & more importantly, I knew what to expect.

I did some speed work, rarely faster than threshold effort. Threshold, also known as “comfortably hard”, is great for improving endurance. I built this up over time. In August, I started with ten two-minute reps at threshold effort. By November I was running for over an hour at threshold effort.

In preparation for the 20,000ft of elevation, I did endless hill reps. Sometimes I ran them hard. Sometimes easy. Sometimes I hiked them carrying the full mandatory kit. I ran them on my local hill. I did them up & down Box Hill, on Colley Hill, Botley Hill & any hill I could find. With poles, without poles. I worked hard to build my hill strength (notice I say strength & not speed).

I ran at night. I ran at night in the wind & rain. I ran at night on the Winter Downs route. I ran at night, by myself, on the Winer Downs route.

And I ran many, many slow & easy miles with the only focus being on keeping my effort easy & my heart rate super low & I always, always, made sure I had one complete rest day every week.

I also focused on consistent strength training, lifting heavier than I have ever lifted. Standing on that start line, my body was the strongest it had ever been.

David Goggins claims that when you are done, you are only 40% there. I teased my body by doing marathon-paced sessions the day after back-to-back long runs. Trying to mimic that 190-mile feeling. I didn’t think I could do it, but every single time, my body amazed me.

I am asked why I did speed sessions for a 200 miler when I won’t be running fast on race day. The faster I am, the stronger I am. The stronger I am, the faster I am. I knew I needed to be at my strongest if I wanted to perform at Winter Downs.

I worked HARD. Everything that I could prepare for & control, I controlled. There were two uncontrollable that I couldn’t prepare for—the weather & sleep deprivation. 

I had no control over what the weather would do. I had to be prepared for all eventualities. And I didn’t know how I would cope with running through two, three or more nights. As dedicated as I am to my training, I wasn’t going to deprive myself of sleep unnecessarily just to see what happened.

I had no nerves because I knew that I was ready.

I had no nerves because I knew that I was in good shape. 

I had no nerves because I knew that I had put everything I had into preparing for this race.

I had no nerves because I knew that I was in control.

To some, that might sound cocky, arrogant even. To me, that was confidence. I went into this race 100% confident that I was going to finish.

And that is a bloody good feeling.

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My Playground, aka The North Downs Way, Part I

Anyway, back to the race…

The North Downs Way from Dorking to Botley Hill is my playground.

My stomping ground. 

I know the path like the back of my hand with memories marking every mile. Every twist, every turn. Every hill & every descent. Every low-hanging branch & every fallen log. I know when to run when to walk & when to simply let gravity take control. I do not need to look at the watch on my wrist to guide me, I just run. My watch is set to show only the route map, nothing else. No data, no time, no pace, no distance. Just navigation. As with previous races, I choose to run Winter Downs blind to data.

The early miles fly by. I run with Sophie. Our paths first crossed at Wendover Woods 100 last summer & then again volunteering at Autumn 100 in October. A solitary runner at heart, I revel in the company knowing that as the race progresses the miles will become longer & lonelier.

With fresh legs & boundless energy, these early miles are joyful. My smile is wide, my mood is as high as the Colley Hill climb six miles in. The winter weather is mild & conditions on the NDW are excellent for December. With an unseasonable amount of rain in November, the trails a month ago were a muddy quagmire. A few weeks of warmer weather has dried all but the worst of it. I repeatedly find myself uttering the words “I have seen this path in much worse condition”. It probably becomes tiresome to those around me but knowing how bad the NDW can get, I am thankful for every dry & mud-less step.

Juniper through to Reigate is possibly the toughest section of the whole race. I am glad it is at the start. Undulating & often uneven single track with a couple of lung-busting climbs. I run the flats & the downs & walk the hills, conserving energy for the latter miles.

Through Reigate Hill, the first crew location. At only 8 miles in, I’d opted not to have my crew meet me this early in the race. I’d reasoned that I could easily carry all I needed for 20+ miles & seeing them now would simply slow my rhythm. My goal is to make the most of the daylight hours, without exerting too much effort & to cover as much ground as I can during this fresh-faced first day.

Through the second crew location at Merstham & a slight diversion around a newly installed electric fence that cut across the path on the climb up from Rockshaw Road. I berate the farmer as it adds an unnecessary couple of hundred metres.

Looking back, these early miles are some of my favourite of the race. Not simply for the ease of freshness but for the company & conversation. Sophie & I do not stop talking. In the shared experience of those miles, I have made a friend for life.

Just past Caterham, we run through Hanging Wood & as I’m telling Sophie all about the splendour of the wild garlic in the spring, it starts to rain. Proper wet rain. More than the mizzle & drizzle that had accompanied us for the last couple of miles. Off comes the pack & out comes the waterproof. In the mild temperature we are running in, I wouldn’t usually bother with the waterproof, however, there are many miles to come & I don’t want to get wet as wet usually ends up being cold & cold would not be good. 

Control the controllable.

19 miles in & we celebrate leaving the NDW & joining the VGW. Section one is done!

Am I the only person who likes The Vanguard Way?

The Vanguard Way is a path that holds a special place in my heart & is one of the reasons that I had to run the WD200. Starting in Croydon, my hometown, it is the place where I discovered trail running. Before the Vanguard, I was a road runner pounding the streets of Croydon day after day.

One evening in the summer of 2016, the Wednesday night club run took us off the roads & onto the trails around Croydon. I stumbled on a magical new world. I found a part of Croydon – and a kind of running – that I never knew existed; woods, forests, fields, tracks & trails. 

One week, we followed the little blue VGW signs dotted around the woods—the Vanguard Way. Interest piqued, I asked the run leader what this was & a few weeks later, wearing an old pair of road shoes & armed with a map printed off the internet, (I knew nothing of gpx files, apps or watches that told you where to go) I set off on my first solo trail adventure.

Unsurprisingly I got horrendously lost, ran 23 miles rather than the planned 18 & ended up 10-odd miles from where I wanted to be, soaking wet after being caught in a torrential rainstorm (no tapered seems…!) and covered in mud because, well road shoes were not suitable footwear for muddy trails!

But something happened during those 20+ miles. 

I fell in love with the trails.

Undeterred. it took me another two attempts to make it to Edenbridge. My intended destination. I felt an enormous sense of pride. It had taken me over a year to get there but I had done it. I had navigated myself to somewhere I didn’t know. In the interim period, I also ran my first ultra, the North Downs Way 50.

Then, in the summer of 2021, five years after I first stumbled upon it, I ran the entire length of the Vanguard Way in one go & in doing so claimed the women’s Fastest Known time (FKT).

Whilst for many of the Winter Downs runners, the VGW was a new-to-them trail, in a weird & almost possessive way, I think of the Vanguard Way as MY trail filled with memories & good times. I will defend it to the hilt, no matter what it throws at me during the Winter Downs……

And with that, back to the VGW…

We turn off of the North Downs Way & down the steep & rutted Pitchfont Lane. Sophie & I are still chattering away as we cross the first of many fields. It’s slightly damp & saturated. Running is suddenly hard work as our feet catch in the wet & claggy mud. 

A sign of things to come.

Up & over the M25 & before long we are heading into Limpsfield Chart, 22 miles & the third crew stop. A friend – Laura – who is crewing another runner kindly offered to ‘crew’ me here as childcare meant that my crew were not available during the lunchtime period.

She has my bag of snacks & drinks waiting for me. I stop for a couple of minutes whilst filling my flasks. In the simplest of languages, when she asks how I am doing I tell her good. I feel good. I’m keen to keep moving & within a minute or so, I am on my way again. Sophie a few steps behind me.

Through woodland & across more fields, the mud is getting deeper. Choice words are said as feet slip one way & then another, arms flailing to try to balance. The edge of Kent & Surrey golf course is like a swamp, the saturated ground churned up by many passing feet. Running is impossible. Simply staying upright is hard enough.

Passing the airstrip at Haxted & looking across over the Kent countryside, I make a throwaway comment about there not usually being water “down there”…

Ten minutes later I am reminded of those words as I am wading knee-deep in icy cold water. The River Eden has burst its banks & flooded the surrounding farmland.

As I approach the “lake”, I pull out my poles, unfold them & with a deep breath, cautiously step into the water. Lapping just below my knees, it is cold & surprisingly fast-flowing. I place my poles ahead of me, one at a time, firstly for stability & secondly to check how deep the water is before I step into it.

It’s slow going as I err on the side of caution. The child within me wants to splash straight through with reckless abandonment. The sensible adult in me knows that this would not be a wise move.

Emerging from the water, I see a couple of guys ahead of me sitting on a fallen tree, shoes & socks off attempting to dry their feet. I say a quiet word of thanks for the waterproof socks & whilst they feel cold, I marvel at how dry they have kept my feet. As a new convert to waterproof socks, they truly were a game changer during this race.

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I am just going to pause for a moment to give a quick shout-out for the socks I wore. A fairly new brand that I stumbled on called Geckowear. They popped up on my Facebook feed & with everyone’s favourite brand – Dexshell – out of stock in the UK, I took a gamble. I bought two knee-high pairs which I changed mid-race & they both performed superbly. 

With the amount of mud & water I waded through, I could not believe how good a condition my feet were in, both when I changed socks mid-race & at the finish. I am used to peeling off a pair of socks to find half the trail stuck to my feet, mud ingrained between my toes & under my toenails (those that I have). My feet were as clean & dry at the finish as they were at the start. I cannot recommend these socks highly enough. An absolute game-changer & I am now most definitely a waterproof sock convert!

*This is not a sponsored paragraph but credit, where credit is due!

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Anyway, back to the trail…

Or should I say tarmac?

After paddling across farmland, the tarmac country lanes leading towards Forest Row are a welcome respite. Knowing that this is a temporary hiatus from the energy-sapping mud, it feels good to be able to move with some consistency again.

Pleased at how good I feel, I keep reminding myself how early in the race it is. This is the simplest word that needs no embellishment. 

Good. 

The good-ness is boosted by a hug from my friend Hannah in Forest Row & continues through the town, across the soggy golf course & into Ashdown Forest. Sophie & I have drifted away from each other, engrossed in our own races & I am now running with a small group of guys. In comparison, there’s very little chat. The group stays in close proximity for several miles & whilst it’s quiet, I appreciate having others nearby.

The daylight is beginning to fade as we approach Newbridge Mill on the outskirts of the Forest. I take the opportunity of having some firm ground beneath my feet to take my pack off, get my head torch out & set myself up for nighttime* running. (*I say night, it’s almost the shortest day so darkness is descending on us in the middle of the afternoon…)

Whilst doing this, I pick up a message from Brian, my first crew, saying he is stuck in traffic on the M25 & as I am ahead of target (am I…?) he may not make it to our first rendezvous at Gills Lap, a mile or two away.

Whilst I’d not looked at the time, I’d guessed I was slightly ahead of my schedule as I was expecting it to be dark before I reached Forest Row, some three or four miles back.

I am so calm at this point that his message doesn’t phase me. I message back asking him to meet me at the next crew location in High Hurstwood instead, five miles further on. As my fuelling is based on time not distance, I know I have enough food & water to see me through & whilst I am still feeling good, I am quite happy to keep the momentum going, keep moving & push on a little further.

Climbing up towards Gills Lap, I draw out every last lumen of daylight before darkness descends concealing the surrounding countryside from view (the views across the High Weald from Gills Lap in daylight are stunning). I reluctantly turn my head torch on. 

Darkness. 

With tonight being a new moon, this will be my only light for the next 16 hours.

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Crew Life

I see Brian at High Hurstwood. He’s parked up alongside Stu, Spencer’s crew. I stop only for a few moments, topping up my bottles, refilling my pockets with snacks & snaffling a couple of cold roast potatoes. I don’t need much as I will see Brian again in ten miles & the first official checkpoint (CP) is only a few miles away.

My crew are a huge part of this story. I bow down to the 30 runners who started this race without one, reliant only on the four checkpoints for sustenance. I wonder if I could have done it. I know it would have been a very different race experience & result had I not had Brian, Nikki & Rel looking after my every whim.

They are here to look after me. They can meet me at up to 32 pre-designated locations throughout the race to supply me with food, drink, a change of clothes, extra kit, a place to sleep & perhaps most importantly support & encouragement.

The gaps between the checkpoints are big (at 49 miles, 92 miles, 137 miles & 184 miles). With a 96-hour final cut-off, this could easily translate into close to 24 hours between stops. For some, running crew-less is seen as adding to the challenge of the race, or even running it in its purity. For me, I want the security of support. 

I guess it also means that the playing field is not level. Having someone cater to your every need every three to four hours does undeniably give you an advantage over someone who has to carry enough food, water & kit to last them for up to 24 hours between checkpoints.

Going into the race, my goal was to be competitive & I knew that to do so, crew was essential. I couldn’t compete with the front runners if I wasn’t running on the same playing field as them.

Brian was my first crew. He met me at High Hurstwood, somewhere late afternoon/early evening on day one & then crewed overnight & into Thursday morning when he handed over to Nikki. Nikki flew solo during day two before being joined on Thursday evening by Rel. The two of them saw me through to the finish. As an aside, Brian went on to crew another runner & mutual friend, Helen, on day three!

My crew are the unsung heroes of the race & I cannot thank the three of them enough for what they did for me. 

Without them, the story would have had an entirely different ending.

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After seeing Brian, the next ten miles pass by without event. I stop briefly at Check Point one at Blackboys, primarily to use the toilet & wash my hands but as I am heading back out I am tempted by the smell of the vegetable soup on offer & eat two bowls of it whilst wandering around the village hall. I am too hyped to sit down for more than a few seconds!

There are perhaps eight to ten other runners in the CP. Some just briefly popping in like me & others look like they are camped out for a while. Kit bags spread out & full meals in front of them. We all have different race strategies.

When I leave, I am to all intents & purposes running alone. I cross paths with another runner every now & again but it’s an all too brief flirtation. I quickly start to miss the friendly chatter of the early miles. 

It must be early evening & I am starting to feel tired. With tiredness, comes the first flicker of uncertainty. I quietly celebrated reaching 50 miles as I left CP1, but in the same vein, I am *only* a quarter of the way through. When flipped on its head the task in front of me begins to feel unsurmountable. 

I see Brian briefly at the Church in Chiddingley. More for support than supplies. The uncertainty in my mind flickers brighter because I know the path that is to come. I just want someone to tell me that I will be okay.

As I cross the churchyard I remember sheltering with Rel in the Church porch during a wet & windy nighttime run a few weeks back. I look up at the Church & say a quiet prayer of thanks that, although the ground is wet, it’s not raining tonight like it was then. That night was cold, wet & at times, utterly miserable. 

I traipse across the first of many fields between Chiddingley & Berwick, the next crew stop. It leads into a little copse of trees surrounding one of the small streams that crisscross the land. As it was six weeks ago, the stream has burst its banks & flooded almost the whole coppice. The path is submerged underwater & I need to paddle again. TF for waterproof socks!

(As an aside, when I ran the VGW FKT in the summer of 2021, this section was a boggy quagmire then so I am not sure if it is ever dry!).

The swamp opens up into a large field, still overgrown with the remnants of the summer crop. The path, thick with mud, runs straight through the middle of the field. My poles, used for stability wading through the water are now used to beat my way through the jungle. It’s nearly as tall as I am. Coming from a farming family, I should probably know what the crop is (was). I don’t. I just curse it as it tangles with my feet & slows me down.

I lose count of the number of fields I cross, stiles I climb over & puddles I splash through. It is a long slog to Berwick. I run any piece of ground that is firm enough & flat enough to do so, but these runnable patches feel few & far between.

When I hear the distant sound of a train I know I am close to Berwick Station. I smile for the first time in several miles. I am already so, so tired & now I can rest.

Brian has a bowl of tomato pasta ready for me. I tell him I need to sleep. I wasn’t planning on sleeping for another 16 miles. I also wasn’t expecting to feel quite this tired. 

I can’t keep my eyes open.

Brian tells me I can have ten minutes as I wrap myself in my coat, pull my sleeping bag over my head & snuggle down in the back of his van. I don’t even take my shoes off as an all-too-brief sleep quickly descends.

The wrong way along the South Downs Way

Three miles further on, in an unusually silent Alfriston, I leave the VGW behind & turn right onto the South Downs Way.

Running eastwards, I know the second half of the SDW as well as I know the NDW. Running westward, it feels like a completely different trail. Downhills become uphills & uphills become downhills. Landmarks change their order & trees that are usually on my left are on my right.

The usual joyful scamper down into Alfriston becomes a leisurely climb out of town. My poles, now ever-present in my hands, tip-tap their way up the rocky hill. Despite running in this direction several times over the past few months, it still feels so very, very wrong!

Along the ridge at the top, I pause & look around me. I am high up & I can see for miles. Gazing upward, the sky is dark & the night is clear. Hundreds & thousands of stars sparkle above my head. I turn around in a circle taking it all in whilst marvelling at the peaceful tranquillity. There is not another soul in sight. 

At this moment in time, it really is just me, myself & I in this big, wide world. I find this strangely alluring. I know it’s not for everyone, but I quite enjoy the solitude of being by myself out on the trails at night.

Bo-Peep wasn’t originally on my crew list but Brian said he would park up there in case I need anything as I pass. As I approach, he hands me a strong, black & perfectly timed coffee. I didn’t know I needed a caffeine hit until I started drinking! 

I see him a few miles later at Firle Beacon for another caffeine fix. Neither stop is long, just brief interludes as I am keen to push on to Housedean Farm in ten miles for a proper rest & hopefully some sleep.

The coffee has given me a boost & I feel quite spritely! I run past the iconic radio masts standing high on the hilltop, on my left & not my right, before starting the descent into Southease. It’s much easier running down into Southease than the usual easterly climb out!

The next seven or so miles pass by quietly & in the dead of night, I remember very little bar the starry beauty of the nighttime sky.

Navigation is simple (even if it is backward!) with few opportunities for error. I don’t have to think about where I am going, I don’t even look at my watch. I know the path well, I just keep moving forward, occasionally glancing at the signs for affirmation that I am on the right path.

The wind picks up some speed as I run along the ridge between Southease & Housedean. The trees growing on the hillside lean to the east after years of fighting with easterly winds. I am heading west & straight into the strong gusts.

It’s hard work. I have been running the flats & downs (those that aren’t submerged under water or covered in mud that is…) whilst walking the hills. Battling against the full force of the wind I am now walking far more often. I reason that my walk is not much slower than my run but uses a lot less energy for a similar gain.

As my progress falters, my mind dips in correlation with my slowing pace. After the high of reaching the South Downs Way & the anticipation of a good stretch of uninterrupted running, struggling against the wind leaves me feeling frustrated because I can’t move as quickly as I want to. We’re on the SDW for 80-odd miles. I seriously hope that we’re not grappling with wind the whole way. 

With the wind & the slowing pace also comes a drop in temperature. I had the foresight to put on a pair of leggings over my shorts at Berwick, then added a lightweight fleece between my base layer & waterproof at Firle Beacon. Despite this, I’m now cold.

By the time I arrive at the Housedean Farm crew point, it’s the early hours of the morning & I am weatherbeaten, frozen & practically asleep on my feet. I barely say a word to Brian as he helps me take my shoes & socks off & clamber into my sleeping bag. He sets an alarm for 30 minutes & settles into the front seat as I sprawl out across the bed in the back of the van & fall into a restless slumber.

3, 2, 1… Beeeeeeep….. The sleep is all too short.

It takes me a long time to come too. I wake up in a daze. I have no idea where I am or what I am doing. I feel light-headed & slightly faint. I sit back down to try & calm the dizziness spinning around inside my head. I do not feel good. I lay down for another ten minutes.

Brian hands me some orange juice, coffee, a bowl of porridge & a banana. I have no idea of the time, other than it is still dark outside, but I asked for “breakfast” after sleeps!

Eating is the last thing I want to do but I know I must. Bite by tiny bite I make my way through the porridge. However, the sweet orange juice goes down well & I wonder if the dizziness is down to low blood sugars.

After hours of battling the wind high up on the ridge, there is now a battle deep in my mind as I am aware that I am sitting for a lot longer than I had planned. Every minute I sit in the van is a minute I am not on the trail & I start getting anxious about wasted time. Brian reasons with me that I need to make sure that my body is okay before I head back out & I’ll admit, the dizzy spell scared me a little.

Along with “breakfast” I wash my face, clean my teeth & put in a fresh pair of contact lenses. Just like I would when I get up in the morning! I also put on a clean pair of socks banishing the stink of the Vanguard Way mud to a plastic bag.

In the end, I didn’t take much longer than the two-hour break I had scheduled for Housedean Farm. It’s still dark as I leave, but as I climb the first hill, I see the smallest sliver of deep orange on the horizon behind me. 

Daytime is imminent.

Daybreak, a new beginning, aka day two

The anticipation of seeing the sunrise from the top of the next hill is all the incentive I need to get moving. 

As I chase daylight up the hill I feel my mood rising in tandem with the sun. Every few steps I glance over my shoulder at the riot of colours in the sky behind me. Oranges into pinks into purples. There is something quite magical about seeing colour come back into the world after so many hours of darkness.

I stop for a rare couple of photos, only the third time I’ve pulled my phone out of my pocket. As a photographer, I get overly excited by beautiful light & this morning’s sunrise is perfection. I see a picture with every step I take & have to be very restrained. I could quite easily get distracted, lose several hours & end up way off course by chasing the perfect photo…

With a fortunate stroke of luck, as I approach the crew point at Ditchling Beacon, I spot Pierre, one of the official photographers in the distance. Looking around, I know the shot he is looking for – a runner coming up the hill, silhouetted by the sunrise.

I oblige, pose, he shoots, he scores!

After my lightheadedness at Housedean, Brian has thrown an extra crew stop in at Ditchling Beacon to make sure I am okay. When he sees me, I think he agrees that am a different person from the one he waved goodbye to an hour or so ago.

It’s now light enough to turn the head torch off. It is such a joy to see more than a few metres of the path in front of me again. My mood is lighter, my movement is lighter. I’m moving better than I have done for many hours. The magic of daylight!

A little further on is the iconic pond at Ditchling. I get my shot! 👌🏻

It’s a new day & I am moving well. Ditchling along to Clayton Windmills is pretty flat before descending through the golf club at Pyecombe. The ground is dry & firm. I run most of the way. It’s rush hour on the A road at the bottom & annoyingly I have to wait several minutes for a gap in the traffic to cross!

As I start the next climb I strip off several layers, stuffing them into my pack as I go. After the coolness of the slow-moving night, the increased movement of the morning raises my temperature. And alongside it my mood. 

Although an experienced nighttime runner, I still marvel at how much of a difference daylight & simply being able to see where I am going makes to my frame of mind. I also have the upcoming incentive of seeing Nikki for her first crew stop at Summer Down by Devil’s Dyke. Whilst I have been running, all sorts of behind-the-scenes crew action & manoeuvring has been taking place to transfer my kit from Brian at Ditchling to Nikki at Devil’s Dyke.

Summer Down wasn’t originally on my crew list. In the light of day, I planned to get my head down & run from Housedean to Boltophs without stopping. But as he did at Ditchling, Brian asked Nikki to drop in one stop early to check I was okay after my Housedean dizziness. This is one of the many, many reasons why having a crew is invaluable, their ability to change & flex plans around YOU the runner.

As I start the climb up to Devil’s Dyke from Saddlescombe, I see Nikki in her bright red coat standing to the side of the path (An excellent clothing choice as it made her very easy to spot!). She hands me my flask of coffee. I have so much to tell her… But now is not the time for idle chat.

From the quietness of the nighttime miles, the Downs are now alive with people. Mostly dog walkers, with a few cyclists & a couple of runners. Smiling, I say a cheery good morning to everyone I pass as I run towards Truleigh Hill, aka checkpoint two.

Having had a couple of bonus crew stops over the past few miles, I decide not to stop. I am wide awake, feeling pretty good & want to make the most of the daylight hours. And Nikki is only a mile further along the trail at Boltophs Layby. Stopping at Truleigh feels superfluous.

Running DOWN Beeding Hill is joyful in comparison to the up of SDW50 & 100. As I run, I look out over the countryside in front of me, my eyes follow the path ahead to Chanctonbury Ring. I glance down & spot Nikki’s distinctive red coat by the side of the road at the bottom of the hill. A small red dot & my target at every crew stop.

Whilst I am with Nikki, Sophie runs past me. I haven’t seen her since sometime before Forest Row. We share a few quick words but she is keen to keep moving & I still have half a cup of coffee to drink.

I haven’t been paying any attention to time, place or position but I now know that she is in front of me which means I have dropped down a place in the ladies’ race. It plays on my mind. Although I don’t actually know where any of the other ladies in the race are or where I am compared to them so I question what relevance this has. And would it make a difference if I knew?

I wave goodbye to Nikki & trot on. The next time I see her will be at mile 101 in Washington. I run over the River Adur crossing paths with the Downlink & round into Boltophs, the tiniest of tiny villages. If you can call it that, really it’s just a small cluster of houses meandering deceptively upwards along a road.

I smell the iconic South Downs pigs before I see them, their unique stomach-churning whiff tumbles down the hill to greet me. On either side of the path, pigs are snuffling around in the dirt, mama pigs to the left, baby pigs to the right, all digging for scraps of food. With the piggy stench ingrained in the air, the climb drags on.

It’s gentle enough to feel as if I should be running, but steep enough to make running feel hard. I *want* to run. I just can’t run. Every time I try, my legs say no & grind to a halt. I grumble silently into the air in annoyance, frustrated that my body is not doing what I want it to.

My frustration grows as I watch the silhouettes of two tiny people run with grace & ease along the ridge at the top. Spencer & Sophie, I think. I am desperate to catch up with one or both of them, for the company as much as anything. But I just can’t. No matter what I do, I just can’t move fast enough. Doubt flickers across my mind, if I can’t keep up with them now, how am I going to do this?

Comparison is the thief of joy. 

I lose sight of the tiny people who were unknowingly pulling me along & although my feet are slowly climbing towards the top of Chanctonbury, my mood is spiralling in a ring downwards.

Chanctonbury Ring, an icon of the South Downs, is a ring of trees planted on the remains of a prehistoric hill fort. Legend has it that if you run around the clump of trees seven times anti-clockwise, you can summon up the devil. 

I am pretty sure that one of the front runners did this.

As if my mood wasn’t already low enough, it starts to rain. The easterly wind picks the raindrops up, whips them around & blows them straight into my face. It’s bitter. It’s cold. It stings. It isn’t very nice. Gone are the glorious far-reaching views across the countryside & with them, gone is my earlier good mood.

As the hellish* (*I exaggerate…) conditions deteriorate, I start the slow descent down the hill towards Washington. The path is steep, rocky & uneven. The kind of slightly technical terrain I love & usually fly down with reckless abandonment.

But I don’t dare to run as I can’t get any grip on the slippery, wet rock. I couldn’t run the uphill, I couldn’t run the flat & now I can’t run the downhill.

Fuming.

Washington. I see Nikki & burst into tears. The tears mingle with the raindrops. I sniffle, wallowing in my misery as Nikki sits me in the chair & hands me food I don’t want to eat & drinks I don’t want to drink.

I am halfway. I should be celebrating but I am deep in a little pity party for one & barely even acknowledge what I have already achieved, let alone celebrate. The enormity of what still lies ahead came crashing down that hill alongside me, hitting me at full force. All I can focus on is how far I have to go & how utterly miserable I feel right now.

I might be tired & miserable. I might be crying, but at no point do I think of doing anything other than getting up out of that chair & carrying on. 

There is *no* other option.

Ten, fifteen, twenty – I have no concept of time – minutes later Nikki bundles me back up & sends me on my way with words of encouragement from my Mum.

“Keep positive Ally. You CAN do it.  Around halfway, now, and through your happy place. Listen to your crew (and your heart!) Xxx”

Perfectly timed words.

Sunset

Several hours later & heading towards Amberley, the rain eases & the thick misty cloud begins to dissipate. The landscape so long hidden from view, comes back into focus.

It’s like the stage light has been turned on & the stage curtain is being pulled up ahead of a performance. The sun’s rays peep through the thinning cloud as it rises, lighting the surrounding countryside. The river, snaking its way along the valley floor, shimmers in the light and, like on the Vanguard Way, there are vast swaths of water on the valley floor where there is usually no water.

As I gaze around at the stage in front of me, the cloud above my head starts to melt away, rising upwards to meet with the disappearing rain clouds. I feel lighter & fresher. I take a few deep breaths & run down the hill into Amberley.

I cross the River Arun & skirt around the edge of flooded fields. By some miracle & with some ingenious groundwork by the farmers, the path itself is not flooded.

My legs have a second (third, fourth, fifth…?) wind. I don’t know what’s happened or what’s changed, but I climb the hill on the other side of Amberley with renewed vigour. I feel GREAT!

Is it simply the ebb & flow of the race?

After the lowest of lows comes the highest of highs. Mirroring the hills I am running over.

The grey clouds lifted just in time for sunset. As with the sunrise this morning, I chase the sun’s rays up the hill. This time I am not quite quick enough & the golden orb slips silently below the horizon just before I reach the top.

In comparison to the vivid hues of this morning’s sky, this evening the colours are subdued & muted. A wash of pale pink & soft shades of purple lingers in the sky long after the sun has kissed the day goodbye.

Sunset moves into the blue of twilight & onto dusk. With rapidly fading light, I *just* make it to the Bignor Hill crew point before night falls & darkness smothers the South Downs. Nikki greets a different person to the one she waved off from Chantry Post several hours ago.

Bignor Hill to Cocking, my next crew stop, passes by without significant event. I’m cool, calm, collected & moving well. Running when I can, walking when I can’t. The path winds around fields, through enclosed woods & forests. It’s a sharp contrast to the wide open spaces on the earlier sections around Firle Beacon, Ditchling Beacon & up to Chanctonbury Ring.

I see Nikki again at Cocking. I close my eyes for ten minutes in the car. Whether I sleep or not is debatable but I hope the simple art of rest will be enough to refresh me ahead of a big, unsupported stretch. I won’t be seeing Nikki again until Queen Elizabeth Country Park, around 11 miles away. No distance at all in the light of the day, but in the dark of night two…?

A herd of horses & a pack of dogs… aka Night Two on the SDW

As nighttime deepens, times, distances & locations roll into one messy indistinguishable tangle. I have no recollection of what is where or in which order places come. The path that is usually so familiar to my feet starts to feel like a stranger beneath my toes.

As I move along the path (am I running or walking? I don’t remember) I see the shadowy shape of a man standing to the side of the trail, partially hidden by a tree & wonder what anyone is doing out at this time of night. I’m by myself but it doesn’t cross my mind to worry as I carry on, poles tip-tapping on the ground. As I get closer, he disappears, his shape melting into the darkness of the surrounding trees. I realise it was simply the flickering shadows cast by my head torch playing tricks on me.

I shake my head & carry on. Up ahead there is a herd of horses. I marvel at this not even questioning why there are horses on the South Downs Way in the middle of the night. There are hundreds of them all standing in an organised group to the side of the path. Big horses at the back, small horses at the front. They’re nodding their heads in symmetry. I get closer & realise that it’s just the leaves on the trees fluttering in the wind.

I shake my head again.

I see a building looming up ahead & try to work out where I might be. I don’t remember any buildings on this section of the trail. It’s huge with walls towering high up into the sky far beyond my line of sight. It looks derelict, abandoned. I’m always weirdly fascinated by old & abandoned buildings so as I pass, I swing my head torch to the left to get a better look. 

There’s nothing there, just trees swaying in the wind.

Before long the woods are teeming with animals. Herds of horses, packs of dogs. Cats, some so small they could sit in the palm of my hand. An elephant swings its trunk across the path in front of me as a mouse narrowly misses my feet.

My eyes are heavy. I stare widely ahead struggling to keep them open. Tip, tap, tip, tap. My poles are on autopilot, left, right, left, right, their tips scraping across the gravel path as they go.

I realise that none of this is real, my mind playing tricks on me. After 125 miles & however many hours, I’m hallucinating. My mind knows this but my eyes keep on seeing. Nothing stops the hallucinations. Every tree, every branch, every leaf, every stone comes to life in front of my eyes. I feel like I am running through a parallel universe.

Beneath my feet, the rocky path becomes a canvas of exquisitely intricate artwork. Fine pencil drawings of beautifully expressive faces. Hundreds of them swirling & merging into one. I marvel at their beauty & wish I could capture them for prosperity. I close my eyes now, several weeks later, and I still see these pictures.

On the map & in my mind, it is no distance at all between when I saw Nikki last at Cocking & when I see her next at Queen Elizabeth Country Park. In reality, it is hours. I keep moving. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10… We go again, but I cannot stop the hallucinations. 

I’m tired, so tired. 

My eyes droop, my eyelids flutter. I lean heavier & heavier on my poles. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… I lose count. 

Tip, 

Tap, 

Tip… 

Tip…. 

Tip….. 

Tippppp… 

I stumble & my eyes fly open. I’d fallen asleep on my feet & momentarily lost concentration. A micro, not even a second in length sleep. I feel a tiny whisper of fear creeping in. My mind, previously so strong, starts to waiver. I am walking along a secluded dirt track on the approach to QECP, completely alone, in the middle of the night (IRL it’s only around 8pm). I am so tired I am falling asleep on my feet & seeing things that are not there. 

I’m scared.

But I have no choice. I have to keep going. If I stop, I will sleep. With every step, the fear grabs hold of me a little tighter its arms encircling me & squeezing me like an unwanted hug. I am falling into a deeper & darker place & I am not sure I have ever been this scared. I am willing myself to the upcoming crew point. Knowing that Nikki & Rel are waiting for me is the only thing that keeps me moving.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…

The path through QECP is far longer than I remember it to be. Made up of 1,400 acres of open-access woodland & downland, QECP forms part of the East Hampshire Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. And it is beautiful. Tall beach & coniferous trees interspersed with an enticing network of woodland trails reach high into the sky. On a different day, I would pause to take it all in.

Up ahead I see the twinkle of coloured fairy lights. This time, I am not hallucinating. Rel wears a garland of fairy lights around her neck. Worn, she tells me, so that I will always be able to find her. I have never been so glad to see a fairy. Real or otherwise.

I made it. 

I barely say a word as I am wrapped in my coat & sleeping bag & ushered into the back seat of Nikki’s car. Finally, I can sleep.

---

My eyes have only just closed when I am woken up & told I’ve had my 30 minutes sleep. I grumble & emerge from my cocoon, not unlike a grumpy teenager being told it’s time to get up for school.

As I clamber out of the warm car & into the cold nighttime air, I feel light-headed & dizzy. Again. Just like at Housedean Farm, however many hours/days/weeks ago that was. I slump back against the car to try & calm my spinning head. It takes me several attempts & many minutes to stand up properly.

I have fallen well & truly into the deepest & darkest of holes & I remember very little about my time here. Whilst Nikki has been with me since Devils Dyke this morning, QECP is Rel’s first crew point & I dread to think how I come across. 

I am *not* at my best.

As well as light-headed, my stomach isn’t happy & I am cold & can’t stop shivering. Already in four layers, I swap my lightweight fleece for the heavier-weight one in my mandatory kit (and thus lightening the weight of my pack a little) & add my windproof jacket between the Primaloft & waterproof. All three hoods go up.

I am wearing more clothes than I have ever run in before.

I am handed a strong, sugary coffee & some oatmeal & encouraged to eat whilst Rel goes to battle with my socks. After however many miles, I want a fresh pair. Waterproof socks, whilst great at keeping feet dry, are an absolute pain to get off!

I know I have taken far longer at this crew point than I planned to, a bit like at Housedean. But, like back then, I needed the extra rest time. With the world spinning before my eyes, I could not have safely gone back out into the darkness of the night any sooner.

Eventually, my pack is put back on my back, I am handed my poles & ushered back onto the South Downs Way. I slowly walk 20 metres or so. Again, think of that teenager who doesn’t want to go to school, before spotting Spencer emerging from Stu’s van after a little sleep. We leave the crew point together & immediately my mood is lifted. 

I’m not alone!

Spencer may not have known this at the time, but his company leaving QECP pulled me out of my deep hole. By the time we reach the top of Butter Hill – the highest point on the South Downs, I am a different person in a different race. 

After nearly 100 miles solo, just the simple act of conversation with someone who understands helps change my head space. Spencer, I am sorry I then left you at the top of Butser Hill but by the time we reached its summit, my god, I felt GOOD!

Back in the game!

I leave Spencer just past the summit of Butter Hill & push on with a smile. I’m feeling strong & am moving purposely & with intent again.

I ran this part of the trail only a few short weeks ago & so the route is fresh in my mind. I visualise the path ahead, mentally ticking off the key points as I pass them.

Sustainability Centre, aka CP3. I stop briefly, eat a small bowl of vegan lasagna, drink a cup of hot squash & lie on a bunk for 30 minutes trying to sleep. I promised Nikki as I left QECP that I would sleep at the CP. After the state I was in when I arrived at QE, I think she was more than a little worried about me.

But she didn’t see the new me ascend Butser Hill & in reality, I am now far too hyper to sleep. I spend 20 minutes lying – fully dressed – in silence, drifting in that nether region between wakefulness & sleep. I am sure that the simple act of rest, even without sleep, is beneficial but I am eager to get going again. I rise before my alarm call, pop in a fresh pair of contact lenses & ready myself for venturing out into the dark of the night again.

This brief stop was my only real experience of the CPs. This wasn’t necessarily intentional, but with the way my race panned out, the CPs didn’t come at the times I needed or wanted them. And having a crew, in all honesty, I didn’t need them.

However, the volunteers were on point. From the moment I walked in, anything I needed, they did. They helped me take my shoes off (no muddy shoes in CPs), brought me food, drink & anything I asked for. When it came to my non-nap, my bag was carried into a room for me & I was asked when I wanted a wake-up call. When I left, they helped me put my shoes back on (no easy task) & guided me back to the trail (it’s surprising how disorientated an hour inside can make you).

We ran for hours, the volunteers volunteered for hours & it is them who made our races possible. Thank you.

Buoyed by food, rest & the brief company of like-minded souls, I’m happy. I think about that list of upcoming places again. Each becomes a goal, a target, something to aim for. I get there, I tick it off. Another mile, two, three. Another place, another landmark, another step closer to the finish.

Meon Springs with its artisan coffee van, sadly not open in the middle of the night.

Old Winchester Hill. One of the bigger climbs of this section. I’m not phased. Poles out. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10… I feel as if I am flying upwards. I always regret that the SDW doesn’t go over quite the crest of the hill to take in the full 360 views of the surrounding countryside.

Across the Meon Valley where a tiny stream leading into the main river has burst its banks. In September, I ran along the dry river bed as it was less obstructed than the path by its side. By November, the river & path had become one. 

It is still one. 

More knee-deep paddling. By now I am a pro at this & shining my head torch down, I simply wade straight into the fast-flowing water. Thank you waterproof socks.

Through the small village of Exton as dawn is breaking before crossing several fields to climb Beacon Hill. Just like yesterday at Ditchling Beacon, I chase sunrise up a hill. Unlike yesterday, it is not a spectacular riot of colour lighting up the morning sky. I still turn to watch & smile at the joy of seeing a new day begin.

8 am. I have now been running* (*hiking/walking/crawling) for 48 hours.

And finally, Beaconhill Beeches, Nikki, Rel (and Stu who’s waiting for Spence) & breakfast!

I think Nikki & Rel are somewhat surprised at i) how quickly I have arrived at the crew point & ii) the change in me since they waved me off at QECP a few hours ago. I run towards them smiling & bouncing with energy (well, as much as it is possible to bounce after 48 hours & 145 miles…). I turn down the heated car seat, instead opting to sit in the camping chair outside the car. I tell them I am on a roll & I want to be quick!

I inhale a pot of porridge, drink some coffee, eat some chocolate, put in my lunch order for the next crew stop & am quickly off running down the road & towards the end of the SDW & the start of the Wayfarers Walk.

I run all the way. 

Wayfarering to St Swithun, aka day three

The next 32 miles to Farnham & the start of the NDW is the section I know least well. It is the only part that I didn’t know before entering the race. However, I’ve run both the Wayfarers Walk (WW) & St Swithuns Way (SSW) twice over the last few months in preparation, most recently in November. Deliberately close to race day to keep them fresh in my mind.

The Wayfarers Walk in its entirety is a 70-mile long-distance walking path that winds through Berkshire & Hampshire. We are running just 15 or so of its middle miles. Although a minor trail compared to the NDW & SDW, it’s well-marked & super easy to navigate. I barely need to glance at the map on my wrist.

The path crosses several fields, following a small trodden groove in the mud. A messy muddle of footprints showing me the way. I think about those runners ahead of me who’ve left their imprint on the ground & wonder how many pairs of feet have traversed this field in the past 12 hours.

I’d love to describe the next few hours in detail, but in all honesty, I remember very little of it. I cannot tell if many of my memories are from the race, or when I ran it in September or November. I suspect the latter. All my energy is going on keeping moving & staying awake.

In the light of the day, I am generally happy, content & moving well. Whilst submerged in a menagerie of animals in the dead of last night, I genuinely thought I was done with running & mentally prepared myself for a long, slow walk to the finish. My body surprises me with its strength & capabilities as I run most of this section. And I feel comfortable doing so. Don’t get me wrong, I am not running fast, but I am running!

My one frustration is my constant need to pee. Every 20-30 minutes without fail. The stop-start nature of this disrupts the flow & rhythm of my run. Am I that hydrated? Have I drunk too much? Or is this some weird reaction my body is having after being awake & moving for 48+ hours?* (*as a side note, I wasn’t the only person who complained about constantly needing to pee on day three so maybe it was some sort of bodily reaction?)

I run through the National Trust property at Hinton Ampner, passing several dog walkers & young families. One gentleman stops me to curiously ask me what I am doing. I don’t dare tell him the full story so simply say I’m running a race… He wishes me well as he turns to chase after his errant dog. After the loneliness of the nighttime miles, it’s lovely to see & interact with other people.

Leaving the National Trust grounds I strip off several layers. The morning is warm. I realise we have been very lucky with the weather. Bitter cold rain coming into Washington aside, the mild conditions have been excellent for December. It’s winter, it could have been so very different. Layers stowed in my pack, I then need to stop for another pee…

Through the small village of Cheriton & along the River Itchen. It’s full, fast & raging but thankfully still fully contained within its banks! Up & around several more bare & barren winter fields & through a tiny woodland before I find myself standing in the middle of a golf course.

The path on the ground seemingly does not match the path on my watch. I turn in a circle, going backwards & forwards over the same 20 metres again & again. I’m tired & I struggle to orientate myself. I’m not sure where I came from & for a brief few moments I certainly have no idea where I am going. A dog walker seeing me staring aimlessly into thin air points me to a signpost & says “there”.

Somewhere around the outskirts of New Alresford, the WW becomes the St Swithuns Way.

St Swithuns Way is a 34-mile long-distance walk from Winchester to Farnham named after Swithun, a 9th-century Bishop of Winchester. Made up of a combination of field paths & bridleways it roughly follows the Winchester to Farnham stretch of the Pilgrims’ Way (although most of the original Pilgrim’s Way route now lies under the adjacent A31).

The early road section of SSW is a welcome respite from the mud of the WW fields. I know I am close to the next crew stop. I am tired & I am ready for a break.

I run into the village hall car park at Bishop’s Sutton. My huge puffa jacket (aka duvet coat) & chair are ready & waiting for me. My pack is taken off my back & my coat is draped over my shoulders as I slide gratefully into the chair.

Nikki hands me a McDonald’s hash brown & my god, I have never tasted anything so good! Potato is one of my top jogging foods. Correction. Potato is one of my top foods, full stop. The greasy, salty potato-y goodness is absolutely delicious.

I follow the hash browns with a noodle chaser. As I left Beaconhill Beeches I’d requested instant noodles for lunch & have been thinking about them for the past ten miles. The noodles are topped off with coffee & some dark chocolate whilst my pack is refilled with a range of snacks for the next part of the journey.

I regularly struggle to eat in races. I get nauseous followed by an upset stomach. And once my stomach has ‘gone’, psychologically, I just don’t want to eat. 

This was the cause of my DNF at WW100 in 2021 & coming into the Winter Downs, food & fuelling had been one of my biggest concerns. I can just about blag the second half of a hundred on gels & coke, but I knew from the onset that I would need more than that for this race.

Whether it was the cooler temps (most of my issues have been during warm summer races) or the lower intensity, I had ZERO stomach issues.

And I ate SO much!

---

200 miles of snacks

I ate:

• Eight peanut butter & jam wraps. These were all eaten in the first 40 miles or so.
• Three Hot Cross Buns.
• Many (many) bananas.

• 5-6 Graze blueberry & peanut butter flapjacks.
• 4-5 Nakd Berry Bars
• 2-3 Sorren malt loafs
• 8 Fruit & oat biscuits
• Several sachets of banana baby food (this is my fallback when I struggle to eat solids).
• A handful of gels (used only in emergencies & the very lowest of moments).

• Several mini dark chocolate bars.
• A handful of vegan jelly sweets.

• 6 Pimped-up porridge pots… The further into the race it went, the more Nikki pimped them up… We had jam; jam with sugar; peanut butter; and the ultimate; peanut butter, jam AND sugar…!

• Two tomato cup-a-soups with bread.
• Three instant pasta (the kind you add boiling water to in a mug).
• Two packets of sun-dried tomato-flavoured couscous.
• Two packets of instant noodles (these took me back to my teenage years & were a BIG hit!)

• Two (three?) vegan sausage rolls.
• Many Hash browns & roast potatoes (Brian had precooked a load, stored them in his van’s mini-fridge & reheated them when I wanted! Nikki, with no fridge, frequented McDonald’s in the morning…!).

• Two bowls of soup at Blackboys CP1.
• Half a portion of vegan lasagna & a banana at Sustainability Centre CP3.

• A baked potato & beans at Farnham.

• Initially, I drank water & squash. I wanted to stay off of caffeine as long as possible. I succumbed to a coffee in the middle of night one & from then on I was on a caffeine drip…

• I carried one flask of water & one flask of squash. My squash flask switched to coke during the second night. I found slowly sipping Coke helped a little with keeping me awake.

• Nikki didn’t tell me until a few weeks later that as the race progressed they increased the amount of sugar in my coffees. I’m not sure if she was serious when she said it got up to seven sugars in each cup towards the end… She also owned up to putting extra sugars in my Coke when I was struggling with sleep demons. My poor teeth!

• I also drank several small cartons of orange juice, chocolate soy milk & a couple of hot chocolates.

Everything I ate & drank was vegan. I ate proper food at the crew points & then snacked every 40 minutes or so while running. Thanks to Garmin alerts I didn’t have to remember to eat, my watch reminded me!

---

Anyway, all this talk of food is making me hungry! Back to the trail…

Bishops Sutton to Alton.

Eleven uneventful miles.

Run. Walk. Tip-Tap. Pee. Music. Mud. Eat. Repeat.

Fields, woods, tracks & trails. I bump into Pierre, the photographer as I am wading through a foot of mud on the outskirts of Chawton. It’s nice to chat for a while, it distracts me from the pain.

My feet are hurting. The pain radiates up into my lower shins. First the right, then the left, then both. Every step hurts. I worry that I’ve done something bad but with an unexpected rationale, I reason that injuries usually happen to one leg, not both at the same time. 

Looking back, I blame the mud on the Vanguard Way. We had to work so hard to stay upright, engaging every little muscle around the foot & ankle to stay stable, and now, two days later they are letting me know that they are not happy about it. I wasn’t the only runner to suffer from lower leg pain.

As the pain increases, my rollercoaster mood lowers. The crew point at Alton cannot come soon enough. I need a rest. And a painkiller.

Nikki & Rel are parked in a small car park outside the job centre. The glamorous life of an ultra runners crew! Rel has her camping stove out cooking me my requested noodles. It’s mid-afternoon & the main road is busy. We giggle about what a sight the three of us must be to passing commuters!

I leave Alton with a new playlist playing in my ears & a smile on my face.

Fast forward several hours…

The f*cking horses can get in the f*cking bin. aka St Swithuns Way

I tip-tap my way through the arts university in the foulest of moods unable to even notice, let alone appreciate, the sculptures lining the path. I turn away from the uni & onto the road towards Farnham town centre. In the Waitrose car park (because we’re classy), I see Stu’s van & Rel’s colourful fairy lights.

I tip-tap towards the crew point spewing a torrent of explicits at anyone within earshot about how the f**king horse riders can get in the f**king bin.

The last 5 miles (felt like 50) have been horrendous. As the sky darkened mid-way between Alton & Farnham, the trail conditions deteriorated & so did my mood. And it had all started so brightly. I left Alton with Kisstory Classics in my ears, feeling refreshed, revitalised & ready to go.

The first few miles pass without incident. I watch the sun setting behind me & leave it as long as possible before turning on my head torch, enjoying the lingering light of dusk. I remember the path well. It’s only a few weeks since I was last here. Then, in a blaze of autumn colours, it was a joy to run along.

Down country lanes & past village Churches. Through farms, across & around fields. With names like Upper Froyle, there’s a quintessentially British countryside feel in the air.

The further along the trail I traipse, the deeper the mud becomes & the deeper I sink back into my hole. Those quintessentially British farmers have had some fun churning up the fields, leaving small lakes* in the imprints of their tyres (*big puddles). The mud is draining, energy-sapping & never-ending.

The path merges with a shared bridal way & this is where I leave my patience behind. Horses have had a galloping party on the St Swithuns Way. Dancing along the path, leaving a cacophony of deep shoe imprints in the already treacherously deep mud. It makes the claggy ground even more rutted, rough, uneven & impossible to run on.

Partly impossible because of the foot, ankle & lower leg pain I’d first been aware of heading into Alton. Both sides, left & right. Pain radiates from the top of my foot up into my lower shins. Putting my feet up for ten minutes in Alton & taking a couple of paracetamol had masked the pain for a couple of hours. But as I get closer to Farnham & the ground becomes more perilous, the mask slips alongside my mood.

Every. Single. Step. Hurts.

Every lump, bump & uneven patch of ground exasperates the pain. I curse the horses that had churned up the path. I curse the riders of the horses for riding them along the path. I curse the path. For me, this is far worse than anything the Vanguard Way threw at us.

A sign telling me I am four miles from Farnham brings me to tears. How am I only eight miles from Alton? I’ve been on this path for HOURS. Alton’s joyous daylight feels like another world away from these dark nighttime miles. Four miles. Four more miles of THIS.

Fuming. Absolutely fuming.

Already in a stupor, a sharp pain shoots through my right foot. I’m pretty sure it’s a blister. In the dark & mud, there is little I can do about it. It fuels my anger further.

But it’s that anger that keeps me moving. I’m stubborn. I refuse to be defeated. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10… 

We go again. 

And again.

And again. 

Tip, slip, tap, slap…

And then I’m in Farnham, walking towards Fairy Rel’s twinkling lights. 

I want a sit-down. 

I want a sleep. 

I want to cry. 

I just want to be done.

The explicit words fall out of my mouth like a waterfall. I don’t care who hears. Those f**king horse riders can get in the f**king bin.

As I’m ranting, Nikki tells me they have a surprise for me…

Helen!

Now I cry.

Helen is one of my best friends, her parents live in Farnham. She’s left her son with a babysitter, finished work & jumped on a train to come & see me. I don’t think at the time I was able to express how much this meant to me.

Not only that, she’s brought me a homegrown (by her Dad) baked potato, a pot of hot baked beans & vegan butter. My own personal Deliveroo! Baked potato & beans is one of my favourite meals and, oh my god, it tastes SO good!

Pretty quickly I forget about the horse riders & the bin.

I’m bundled into the warmth of the car. I eat potato & chat with Helen. James Warren (met at WW100 in 2021 & a Farnham local) sticks his head in the car door & tells me that I’ve done the worst bit. I cry about the mud. He tells me that the North Downs Way that I am heading towards is in a much better condition.

Nikki strips off my socks, cleans my feet & tapes my toes. The blisters have already burst.

I ask for ten minutes of quiet. I sit in the front seat, close my eyes & let my mind rest. I know that I need to pull myself out of this funk if I am to have any chance of finishing. Anger can only drive me so far. I’m in Farnham for an hour or so. Again, a lot longer than I’d planned. But sometimes, an unplanned break is what your body & mind needs.

Heading into my third night, I am deep in the unknown pushing my body further than it has ever been pushed before. With all my careful pre-race planning, I could not plan for this.

Still somewhat disorientated & a little reluctant to leave the crew party, I’m ushered away. I wave goodbye & with a tip tap of my poles head off towards the NDW. Having sat down for a prolonged period, it takes me a few minutes to get all my limbs working again. Nothing seems coordinated. My legs don’t want to work with my arms & my head is somewhere else altogether.

Somehow though, I’m composed enough to remember the left-right-left of the winding alleyway leading from Waitrose onto Castle Street. I emerge into the bustle of Farnham town centre. It’s a Friday night two weeks before Christmas. It’s busy.

I wonder what I look like tip-tapping my way along the road in three-day-old clothes, mud-splattered legs, three hoods, a buff pulled up over my face & a newly added beanie hat. I peep somewhat longingly through the windows of the fancy bars & restaurants gazing at the smiling people inside.

I draw my eyes away & back to the road. A few minutes later, I’m standing at the trailhead. The start of the NDW.

Next stop, Juniper Hall.

It’s not an axe murderer… aka North Downs Way, part II, night three

If only it was that easy.

James W (too many James’) was right. This early section of the NDW is a joy. It’s like another world. Gone is the mud. Gone is the rutted path & with the help of some paracetamol, gone is the pain.

And gone is my mood.

The NDW with all its memories is pulling me out of my hole. I feel lighter & more buoyed than I have done for many hours. 

If the VGW is where I discovered trail running, the NDW is where I came of age. My ultra-running journey started here at the NDW50. I think back to that May day in 2017, as I innocently stood on the start line with no idea about how profoundly those 50 miles would impact my life.

With music in my ears, I’m now moving along at speed. When I say speed, it’s all relative. I’m walking, but walking with intent & purpose. I trained to walk knowing that I wouldn’t be able to run all 200 miles. I can walk fast & at this point in the race, I am walking as fast as I can run.

These first few miles of the NDW are easygoing. Looking back, perhaps I should have run them but at the time I was quite content to still be moving. And more importantly, to be moving happy.

I’m trundling through the woods in my own little world, poles tip-tapping on the leafy carpet. Suddenly I am aware of a barking dog ahead of me. Loud & angry. Woof, woof WOOF! A bright light sweeps across me momentarily blinding me & I hear someone shout “Who are you, what are you doing”.

“Running, I’m running…”

The person holding the light shines it on themselves illuminating their police uniform, the large, and slightly fierce-looking dog, still barking, strains at its lead in front of him.

Why am I running in the woods?

I’m in a race. There are lots of us.

Have I seen anything? They are on the trail of a burglar. They found the stolen goods discarded nearby & the dog is on his scent. He’s not gone far…

No, nothing.

I ask if am I safe to carry on. The police officer replies it’s a burglar they’re chasing, not an axe murderer.

Not helpful Mr Policeman, not helpful. And no, definitely not a hallucination…

I continue, with my music off & all senses on high alert. If anything, the potential of an axe murderer in the woods makes me move even faster. Soon I am on the road leading to Farnham Golf Club.

The tip-tap of my poles on the tarmac is now the only sound in an otherwise quiet night. I round a corner to see two shadowy figures & another dog walking towards me. I hold my breath as one of the shapes speaks… It’s James & Annabel (and Bailey the dog) from Striders of Croydon, my running club! 

They’d been tracking the race online & decided to spend their Friday night hunting down me & Debra (another Strider running) to cheer us on! I am dazed, somewhat confused, on the lookout for an axe murderer & probably don’t make a lot of sense but this small gesture & brief conversation gives me such a boost.

I’m blown away by the support I receive during the race, not just from my crew but from other people who either popped out to cheer me on or sent messages via Brian, Nikki & Rel. Almost every time I see them, they send me on my way with words of encouragement from friends & family. Knowing people had my back was one of the motivations for keeping me going.

Still smiling, I turn off the road & back onto the trail. 

And here we go again. 

I’ve become somewhat blase about flooded paths & this time, despite my tiredness I just splash straight through. This is by far the worst of the lot. It’s deep, only just below my knee line. It’s also filthy. At Exton, the water was clear & fast-flowing. I could see where I was going. Here it is murky, muddy, full of debris & stagnant.

TF, once again, for waterproof socks!

In my mind, Puttenham isn’t far from Farnham. An hour maximum. And yes, on fresh legs when starting a run in Farnham, Puttenham may only be an hour or so away. My legs are not fresh. I did not start my run in Farnham. It is dark & I am tired. It starts to feel like I will never make it to Puttenham. Every time I think the trail is about to pop out onto The Street (fantastic road name!) it disappoints me & turns instead onto another woodland path I had forgotten about.

When I *finally* make it, Nikki is curled up in the driver’s seat trying to get some sleep. I feel guilty. She & Rel are crewing me throughout another night. I’m not sleeping because I am running. They are not sleeping because they are looking after me.

Rel ushers me into the passenger seat with a coffee & as she makes me a pasta pot, she reminds me to do my Spanish Duolingo lesson. I have a 690-day learning streak & I am determined not to lose it. My crew are under strict instructions to remind me every day to do my Spanish lesson. It is 23:50, just in time… Somehow, even with impaired cognitive ability I manage to complete the five-minute lesson!

I stop briefly at the Puttenham checkpoint. I don’t need anything but the draw of a proper toilet rather than a bush & the opportunity to wash my hands is strong. I’m there for less than five minutes. Just enough time to freshen up & have a quick chat with the volunteers before I head back onto the trail.

We went to the bar for a sambuca

My eyes, heavy with fatigue, flicker & my vision narrows. Tiredness engulfs me wrapping me in a comforting blanket. I’m getting dragged into a deeper & deeper stupor.

I shake my head trying to rouse myself from the slumber. In a half-awake, half-asleep state I stumble haphazardly along the path. It keeps narrowing & disappearing into a mesmerising kaleidoscopic tunnel of patterns & shapes. I can’t work out where I am or where I am going.

I turn the volume of my music up in an attempt to drown out the noise of the hallucinations & start singing at the top of my voice to try & force myself awake. Apologies to anyone who may have heard my out-of-tune tones somewhere between Puttenham & Guildford.

(As an aside, I am listening to Kiss Garage Classics. Sambuca is now forever ingrained in my mind. Hearing it recently, I was transported back to this moment in the race… “When I saw you girl from across the room, You had your eyes on me, I had my eyes on you, We went to the bar for a sambuca, You gave me your number and you took my number”)

The menagerie of animals, last seen in QECP, swarm in to join the NDW dance party. They close in on me. Shaking & nodding their leaf-shaped heads in time to the music. Cats, dogs, horses & animals I don’t recognise.

I look back now with humour, but in reality, I don’t have adequate words to describe the fear that I felt during those miles. I remember so little of the path that I have absolutely no idea how I made it to Newlands Corner.

But somehow I did.

And there are Nikki & Rel. Ready & waiting.

Nikki peels off my pack to replenish drinks & snacks whilst bundling me into the car with a bowl of couscous & the now standard hot sugary coffee.

I am so tired the hole has once again ensnared me.

I fall deeper down when I am told that the fourth lady has been gaining on me. From a few hours advantage earlier in the day, Nikki estimates that the gap is now down to 40 minutes. She tells me in her sternest mother voice that I have to get up, get back out there & keep moving.

I cry. 

Again.

There have been more tears in this one race than I think I have shed all year.

I need sleep. It’s all I can think of.

I know that there are less than 15 miles to go. I know that fourth lady is gaining on me. But tired doesn’t come close to how exhausted I am. I worry that without sleep, I won’t make it back to Juniper Hall. 

I plead. 

Nikki & Rel relent & I’m told I can have a few minutes. The car door is shut on me. I lay my head back on the warmth of the heated seat, pull my coat around me & close my eyes.

Two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes, an hour… I have no concept of time & no idea how long I have been asleep when the car door opens & I am told it’s time to move.

But something happened during those fleeting minutes of sleep.

Something changed.

I feel refreshed.

I got into the car feeling despondent. I climb back out with hope.

My one big unknown going into the race was sleep. How would I manage sleep & could I cope with limited rest? 

Right at the end of the race, a learning. I felt better after this spontaneous & brief, sitting-up, nap than I did after either of my planned & proper lying-down sleeps (at Housedean & QECP). A 10-minute power nap refreshed me as much as a 30-minute sleep. And more importantly, it didn’t leave me feeling faint & dizzy.

I get up & with a renewed vigour, the pack goes straight back on. Gloves on, hoods (plural) up. I’m handed my poles. I switch up my playlist & the earbuds go back in. 

Volume up. 

Let’s go!

I tip-tap my way across the road. Razor focus. Keep moving. Do not get caught. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12… …95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100. We go again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12… 

And again.

And again.

I glance down at the map on my wrist. I never realised quite how straight this section of the NDW is. I don’t even need to think, just move. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12…

My feet & ankles are in agony with every step sending pain shooting up my legs. Despite this, I move with a determination that I didn’t know I processed. I block the pain out. It hurts if I move fast, it hurts if I move slow, so I might as well move fast. I’m singing to my music again, but this time with joy.

Mist rolls down the slope towards me, silently creeping between the trees. It swirls around, encircling me in its haze. In the glare of my head torch visibility is reduced to mere metres. Shadowy trees looming large in the distance suddenly come into focus as I move towards them. 

The surreal atmosphere is heightened by the mess of ongoing forestry work around Ranmore Common. Trees have been felled, logs piled up & branches left scattered on the ground. The removal of so many of the native beech & oak trees is changing the topography & landscape of the area.

In the dark, the path is hard to find in amongst the disarray. Signs are few & far between. It’s almost as if they have been cut down alongside the trees. I question every twist & every turn. Despite running this section only a few weeks ago, I recognise none of it. Nothing.

I see the flicker of light between the trees 20, 30 metres to my left. A head torch. I crossed paths with two other runners just after Newlands Corner. I thought they were in front of me, why is there a light over there?

Have I gone wrong? 

Have they gone wrong? 

Where is the path? I peer at the map on my watch, it looks right… but what if it isn’t…?

I turn around & retrace my footsteps 200m back to the last sign I saw.

It points down the path I was on. 

I retrace my steps, again, climbing over a fallen tree blocking the path for the third time. I need to trust my instinct, it has not let me down yet.

I power on knowing I am not far from the last crew stop. Emerging onto misty Denbies Hillside I can hardly see the path in front of me, let alone the view over Dorking to my right or my crew to my left. 

But there they are. One final time, ready & waiting.

The final five

I am handed a coffee & am told I don’t need to worry. Fourth lady stopped for several hours at St Martha’s, the crew stop I skipped just before Newlands Corner, and is now a couple of hours behind me.

I take a deep breath in & slowly let it out, calming my mind. There are five miles to go. All I need to do now is keep moving.

A crew who understands you & knows what to say & when is invaluable. My crew knew that I didn’t want race information whilst I was running.

I race blind. I hide the data screens on my watch. Anything to do with time, distance or pace is gone. The only information I look at is the map for navigation & my heart rate. My only indication of time during the race came from sunrise, sunset & the occasional glance at a Church clock as I ran past.

I wanted to be competitive but I find that it is all too easy to become a slave to numbers; pace, distance & position or to obsess over how fast or slow I am going & this isn’t always a positive thing. It often becomes the opposite & can negatively impact my race. (See TP100 in 2022 )

I also don’t want to be told how I am doing, what position I am in or what anyone around me is doing. I can only control my race. I can’t control what anyone else is doing.

The caveat is, that I want to be told “race-changing” information. How do you define race changing? Chasing a cut-off is race-changing. Fourth lady gaining on me with 15 miles to go is race-changing!

Brian could have told me at Housedean Farm that Sophie overtook me whilst I was sleeping (I then overtook her whilst she was sleeping before she overtook me again!). He didn’t (for which I am thankful), because at that point in the race, not even halfway, it had little to no relevance. 

Whereas this did & I could do something about it.

To be told that I was at risk of losing a podium finish put a fire in my belly & got me moving quicker than I thought I was capable of 190+ miles into the race. Even with a minor detour in the woods, I made it six miles to Denbies Hillside in less than two hours, faster than I had moved for many hours! I literally flew through those woods.

In what must be my quickest crew stop since the Vanguard Way I gulp down a coffee laced with sugar whilst standing outside Nikki’s car. I have no time for sitting, I have a race to finish!

Within minutes I am back out on the trail. I no longer need to glance at the map on my wrist, I know exactly where I am going.

Adrenaline pumping, I feel my heart beat faster as I tip-tap my way through Denbie’s Vineyard. Whilst the surrounding woodland is no longer alive with a host of braying animals, my mind plays other games with me as the path feels far longer than I remember. Along the superfluous & never-ending A24, over the River Mole & then, there I am, standing at the foot of Box Hill.

I pause & look up.

There is just one 300-foot climb between me & the finish line.

---

A ramble of post-race thoughts…

• 204 miles
• 71 hours, 7 minutes, 43 seconds
• 3rd female 🥉
• 16th overall

• 48 hours of darkness
• 60 hours of running alone
• 3X c.30-minute sleeps
• 4X 5-10 minute power naps
• Several micro trail naps…
• And approximately 20,000 coffees…

It’s now more than two months since I crossed the finish line & this has taken me far longer to write than I expected. In some ways, it feels like it’s ended up a slightly chaotic & disorganised avalanche of words. I mean, how do you condense something like running 200 miles into a tangible read?

200 freaking miles!

My buckle sits on the shelf by my desk where I can see it every day. I still sometimes have to look at it to remind myself that I did that. I look back in awe at how strong my body was to carry me such a distance, and perhaps more importantly, how strong my mind was too.

I said at the beginning of my story that I went into the race 100% confident that I was going to finish. Even through the lowest of moments, that confidence never wavered.

There were some incredibly low moments, but a bit like the hills, after the lowest of the lows came the highest of highs. I *always* came out the other side.

After crashing at Housedean, I saw the most amazing of sunrises on the South Downs. This was my favourite moment of the whole race.

After the tears at Washington, I saw the mist lift (physically & metaphorically) & the sunset at Amberley.

After night two’s hallucinations leading into QECP, I shared a few miles on the other side with Spencer.

After the horses & the bin on the St Swithun’s Way, came Helen & the North Downs Way.

After arriving at Newlands Corner feeling defeated, I left with a fire in my belly.

For me, this race was as much a test of mental strength as physical. I knew that my body could cope with the distance. I didn’t know if my mind could. As someone who likes to be tucked up in bed by 9 pm, how would I cope with the lack of sleep? How would I deal with the hour upon hour of darkness? Loneliness, solitude, the cold…?

It was tough being out there for so long. 72 hours. 48 of them in darkness. 60+ of them alone. In the dead of night, there is no escaping your thoughts. And when you’re ambitious & have goals for the race, those thoughts – both the good & the bad – can become all-consuming.

As always, pre-race I kept my cards close to my chest. Very few people knew my goal.

Firstly, as always, I wanted to run my best & to finish. That goes without saying. But I also wanted to be competitive, I knew I could be. I wanted to podium, I knew I was capable. I wanted to finish on Friday night in 60-64 hours. I’m disappointed I didn’t. (I still think that this is within my capabilities, but no, I am not trying again!).

These ‘wants’ were not frivolous ‘wants’. These ‘wants’ are what I trained for.

When I realised that I was going to have to run through a third night & miss my time goal, I cried. After the sleep demons of night two, I was very, very scared about what might happen during night three.

I cried more tears over those 200 miles than I had done for the previous 200 days. As someone who struggles to express their emotions, put me on a trail & suddenly they all come flooding out. I put everything, and I mean EVERYTHING into this race. The tears show just how much completing it meant to me.

In the cool light of day, some of my disappointment with my finish time dissipated. Right from the first finishers through the field, times were slower than expected. The conditions on the Vanguard Way did it. The mud was draining & energy zapping & I don’t think anyone ever quite recovered from it.

Can I just blame the Vanguard Way though? I wonder if things may have turned out differently if I hadn’t run blind. If I had looked at the time during the race?

I had three times as much elapsed time as Laura & Sophie, the first & second ladies (ie. I spent three times as long *not* running as they did). 

Would I have had less elapsed time had I been checking my watch?

Or, if was obsessing over time, would I have rushed my rests to a detrimental effect?

Maybe.

Whilst I know that at a couple of crew stops I took slightly longer than I needed, overall I chose a more holistic approach. I listened to my body. When it needed a rest, I gave it a rest. When it was feeling good – at Beaconhill Beaches for example – I rested less.

I planned to stop for an hour at QECP. After feeling dizzy & faint, I stopped for over two. Had I realised this at the time, would I have pushed myself to get moving when my body wasn’t ready?

Would this have impacted the next section though to Beaconhill Beaches when I felt strong & moved well? 

Could less rest have made my overall race time longer?

Sleep was the big unknown & I had to learn what worked & didn’t work for me in real-time during the race. Big sleeps didn’t work. They left me feeling faint & dizzy. However, 10-minute power naps in the front of the car did work. Another time, maybe more frequent shorter naps might keep me feeling refreshed for longer.

Whilst a small part of me is slightly disappointed that I didn’t hit my own arbitrary time goal, I in all honestly cannot be disappointed with my overall race. 

My training & hard work paid off. I ran/hiked strongly throughout & was still moving well at the end. Except for swollen feet & ankles (I’m blaming the VGW again…), I had very little muscle soreness. Glutes, quads, hamstrings, all fine. Surely a testament to my increased focus on strength training. My body was the strongest it had ever been, and it showed.

200 miles. OMG. What else can I say?

There is still so much I still haven’t written about. I close my eyes & I see things, remember things, hear things & am transported back to that trail. I wish I could capture every essence of the race so that I never forget any of it. I mainly write for my own memories. If anyone reading made it this far, then thank you.

I freaking ran 200 miles. Even my mind is blown at the absolute absurdity of it!

Thank you

To Centurion for dreaming the dream & turning it into reality. You made this race for me and, as always, it was superb. Forever grateful that I had the opportunity to run the inaugural event.

To the volunteers who gave up their time so that we could do this crazy thing & jog 200 miles around the South East of England in the middle of December… forever indebted to your kindness & willingness to support.

To Brian, Nikki & Rel. Simply put, I could not have done this without you & a simple thank you is not a strong enough gratitude. Ultra running really is a team sport.

---

An addendum (because I didn’t know where else to put it…!): What kit I used & wore

The WD200 mandatory kit list was extensive, as it needed to be for a winter race of this magnitude. My fully loaded pack weighed in at around 5kg, just under 10% of my body weight.

I’m always fascinated by what people wear & use in races & many of my purchases have been influenced by the recommendations of others.

I have been running for many years but in all honestly, I have never given much thought to winter kit. Living in the South East, conditions are rarely bad – even on the trails. I throw on an extra layer, wear two pairs of gloves & deal with it.

But after a couple of horrible runs during Surrey’s pathetic excuse of a snowstorm last winter, my hands & feet got so cold I could barely move them, I knew I needed to carefully consider my kit for Winter Downs. I worried that if conditions were bad, my current kit could scupper my race.

Control the controllable.

After years of making do with low-cost alternatives (I’m a jogger on a budget), this was the time to invest in quality gear that would i) see me through the Winter Downs & ii) last me. I admit it, as a result, I have become a bit of a Montane w*nker. I like their kit. It does the job, it fits, it looks good & it is super comfortable.

So, my standout pieces of kit that I used during the race…

Feet | Hoka Speedgoat 5

With mixed terrain, this was one of those races where there was no one perfect shoe for all 200 miles. With the Hoka Speedgoat, I opted for comfort & sacrificed a little on the grip. They performed way above my expectations in the mud & were comfortable throughout. 100% happy with my shoe choice.

Feet | Geckowear knee-high waterproof socks

I’ve already sung their praises!

Pack | Montane Gecko 20 litre

I love, love, LOVE this pack. It’s been my pack of choice for the past 12 months or so. It just works. It fits perfectly, is super comfortable & carries everything I need for day-long adventures. I love the easily accessible pockets (which means my snacks are always on hand!).

I opted to use the 20-litre bag for WD200 when I thought I might need to be carrying more spare clothing, in hindsight, as much as I love this bag, I wish I’d used a smaller size. With having crew, I did not need 20 litres. 15, or even 12, would have been plenty.

Body | Montane Spine Waterproof Jacket 

I upgraded from the lite version & this jacket is superb. Although it only rained for a short while during the race, I have used it in hours & hours of torrential rain & have stayed bone dry. After putting it on 14 or so miles in, I didn’t take it off again. I kept it on as a warm layer.

I also had Montane waterproof trousers as part of my mandy kit. I didn’t expect to use them & I didn’t.

Body | Montane Fireball Lite Primaloft insulated jacket

This was a treat to myself & I am in love with it. So much prefer it to a down jacket for warmth & versatility. I wore it during the nights & it kept me lovely & toasty!

Body | Montane Women’s Protium Hooded Fleece Jacket & Montane Women’s Protium Lite Hooded Pull-On Fleece

The Protium hooded fleece jacket was part of my mandatory kit. Unlike the emergency base layers, we could use & wear this. I wore the Protium Lite fleece during night one & then switched to the heavier fleece for nights two & three.

By night three I was wearing a Merino base, the Protium hooded fleece jacket, the Montane Fireball Primaloft, a cheap DHB windproof layer AND the Montane Spine Waterproof. 

I had all three hoods up plus a buff & a beanie hat!

Hands | Montane Prism Dry Line Waterproof mitts

How many times can I say game-changer? Like waterproof socks, proper winter, waterproof mitts were an absolute game changer. As someone who suffers from poor circulation & has finished many a winter run with no feeling in her fingers & toes, hands & feet were one of my big worries. If my hands get cold, I lose dexterity & I can’t do things. If I can’t use my hands, simple tasks like eating & drinking become harder because I can’t open a packet or grip a bottle.

Montane Prism Mitts are NOT cheap but they are worth every single penny. My hands were the warmest they have ever been. With a pair of liner gloves underneath, at times my hands were so hot I had to take the mitts off!

I will never again skimp on gloves. And hopefully, now I have these, I will never again suffer from cold hands when jogging!

The basics…

I wore a simple Aldi Merino base layer that cost less than £20 (does the job!) & an Icebreaker Merino t-shirt.

I teamed these with a pair of North Face black shorts (these are about 10 years old but are my favourite) then during night one I put on some Aldi leggings over the top of my shorts, they didn’t come off again until I finished…

Other bits…

Black Diamond Carbon Z trekking/running poles

These first came out to help me across the flooded field on the VGW. By nightfall on night one they were an ever present in my hands. Not usually a fan of poles, I’m glad I had them as they did help, not just on the hills but also helped me to keep a rhythm going on the flats & kept me steady during my micro naps on the trail…

Ultimate Direction Utility Belt.

Worn to hold my poles & phone (to free up a pocket in my pack for snacks!). Almost became redundant once the poles became a permanent feature in my hands.

Garmin Fenix 7X Saphire Solar

A BIG treat to myself when I realised that my Fenix 3 wasn’t quite up to the job. The battery life is superb, it may have lasted the whole race but to be on the safe side, I gave it a couple of short charges when I slept. Recorded all the data I needed (to look at afterwards…!) whilst the mapping made navigation easy.

Ledlenser MH10 headtorch

Worn for 48 of the 71 hours this is a brilliant head torch. Super bright with a long battery life. I carried two torches (thanks Brian for the loan of the second!) with a battery charger in the crew car. Whenever I saw my crew at night, they would pop a new battery in. I put it on at sunset & took it off at sunrise & didn’t have to think about it between the two.

I think this really is the end now…