Sunday morning,7 am, we are getting ready for the race, still unsure if I'll be at the start, I don't talk about it, but my mind is racing!
Sunday, 10 am, I'm at the start...Mick won't be running with me and so tell me to just run to Leigh Hill and see if I make the cut-off time. Sound reasonable...so I'm doing the race then?
The race starts with...a hill, everyone is running it! Darn...there is not even time to do a gentle warm up. But it's cold and rainy so..at least we'll get warm quite fast! Mental physical check, the Brat feels heavy. The route is nice and familiar, we've done it so many times so I push the leg aside, taking in all in, the rain, the wind, the autumn leaves, the rain...
"Race strategy" starts to unfold, taking Mick advice about running hard on the Brat and see if it's shakes off, I attempt to do just that. It's hard thou so I take a gel...1 mile in...this is going to be a long day!
No DNS but maybe a DNF?
A long hill comes up, people are still running it, I wonder how and think maybe it's the marathon effect (no walking allowed unless you want to show how untrained, you are...)
But I'm so used to walking the hills ( thanks to Ultras) I automatically stop running and start walking. Oops! A group of 3 musketeers passes me, one of the guy is massive and quiet, the 2 others are not massive and not so quiet. I watch the massive guy 's effort on that hill, smile and wonder if he will be able to hold the pace of the other two. Reaching the top, there is a 3 mile shallow hill section. Gel effect kicks in so I start running too and soon pass the musketeers. Not so quiet runner 1, makes a comment so I tell them not to worry, I'll see them soon again on the next hilly section. We are under trees so it gives a small break from the heavy rain. But check out these puddles, they are huge! Playing with the "smaller" puddles and jumping in the big ones, we soon reach the first checkpoint. The marshals are so lively and cheerful, they don't seem to be bothered by the typical British weather. Passing The Plough Inn pub, I wonder if I should stop for a mulled wine before climbing that long hill towards Leigh Hill. The idea of the wine is so tempting...ok if I don't make the cut-off, I can just run back down and wait for Mick there. I have 20 minutes, if I walk, I might not make it. So..I walk, the 3 musketeers pass me (again) they are cheering each other up, I smile, for sure they are having fun. Flat section with massive puddles, I pass them. We laugh at this cat and mouse game, I wonder who's the cat thou...We reach the top of Leigh Hill, checking my watch I realise that the mouse/cat game got me here before the cut-off..., darn the warm wine is going to have to wait. Although there is the King's Head pub in Holmbury Saint Mary ... I could carry on till there..
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| Debating which pub to go to |
Massive guy smile and carries on running the long hill, if he only knew that this ascent only just started. I smile back as I know I'll catch them up on that next flat bit...this game keeps me going. Arriving on top of part 1, I pass the massive musketeer and decide to stay with him, it's Tom and we get talking for a while which is cool because it gets me down to Duke of Kent school in "no time". I lost them thou, downhill seems to be my thing today. I cross the first man, Ed, coming back, he's fast and is making it look effortless, I try to do the same but it's not working haha. Half way point must not be too far as more and more people are on their way back. I see the first woman, she looks good too, more people, this is nice, you can cheer and run at the same time.
Here's Mick with a big smile on his face, he looks so good and gives me a high five. I'm glad at least he's enjoying himself and not waiting for me. Second Lady, she too looks good. James Adams, looking a bit rough but going strong, and there, ...the others ladies.
Silly me, I just realise that a part of me was actually hoping to make the top 5 women. I'm struggling, it's hard to count, jump roots and puddles while cheering well done to all of the runners at the same time. It's surreal until the half way point. The marshals are so nice, they joke about getting a ride back to the start/finish line. For a split second, I find myself thinking seriously about it...nice cosy car, breakfast at arrival, warmth...no mulled wine thou...and Lorry driver runner starts asking me questions. So I turn my head back to him and find my feet running back to Dorking. I wink at the 3 musketeers, happy to see that Tom is still looking good. I'm so happy to be on the way back that I don't realise that Lorry driver is nowhere to be seen...and that last guy who went by was... the last guy. No more people to cheer up...so I slow down to a walk, as there is need to look good or cheerful anymore. The brat is really playing up and it seems like there is nothing that can distract me from despair. Bloody mood swings, why can't we just stay happy?
I look up,...there, a woman is walking Reynards Hill, my heart skips a bit, I could run with her, take my mind off the Brat, right? So I walk the hill a bit faster, but don't reach her in time, she stops at the top and talks to a marshal. Darn! I need to find someone else. The trail is going down and up and then down again to the Duke of Kent school. "Come on" says the still so ever cheerful marshal on top of Pitch Hill and " be careful, it's quite wet". I thanked him and not so carefully run down towards King's Head PUB. There, I could stop as I won't be in the top 5 so no rush, warm myself up with a nice pint of mulled wine and then carry on running to the finish if I don't stay there too long. That's plan sound awesome in my head!
I'm almost there, I can see the pub! But what?! another cheerful marshall is waiting for me at the aid station, telling me that's I'm doing great, it's almost over and what's that? A cup of water and jaffa cakes...no way...
I take two and stuff my face. Shoot, I guess I love eating more than I like drinking, heh? With a handful of cakes and another of jelly babies, I'm walking (can't run while face stuffing) up Somerset Hill.
It's another long one, so I can take the time to think about the new plan. King's Head is not far, I could just walk the hill and just fly down there in no time. I smile, this plan sounds good but the hill is never ending, ..its the other face of Leigh Hill...my plan is fading away. After 100 yards, I debate of a new one. I have enough, I could stop at the tower, have a nice cup of tea and wait there with the marshals. I've done good, 20 miles is a good training run right? OK, sounds good. With this is mind, I'm going up a bit faster, faster I say. FASTER! I'm at the top, the tower is looking VERY gloomy, I shiver, the views are nice but the wind and rain mix is making it...unwelcoming. I won't be able to stay there, initial plan sounds much better now. This struggle with the "plans" and the Brat make the whole situation such a drama that I have enough, I want to go home. There is still 7 miles left, I can just DNF, wait at the pub for the marshals to go back to the finish and attempt to recover for the Templiers Ultra, nothing wrong to DNF if it's for the best, right? Yeah!I can do this!
So I go down the hill, up another, swim in a big puddle and start running the final stretch to the pub. But something is happening, something familiar, something which happened during the last 16 miles of Trail of Herts. It's that other me, the one who has enough and just want to go....fast...very fast, like a hungry cheetah chasing an antelope, I'm chasing the trail to the finish, survival mode, nooooooooo! This is so going to hurt!
I'm running fast, too fast, fly by the pub, the aid station, some dudes, another aid station where I caught another lady runner, she calls me speedy, I call her awesome. She has the picture of her grandma attached to her bag.
The trail is calling and I know what's coming, it's all down hill till the bridge, I'm running away from the pain, away from the cramps devouring every part of the brat. Aie Aie Aie, I can't stop nor can I slow down. I'm going to get you trail, watch me.
Last hill to the finish, ...wait! There is a lady half way to the top, she will be gutted if I pass her 500 yards from the finish...but my whole self knows that it's then straight down to the finish. Straight down...
Powerwalking that hill like I never done before, I hammer it down, pass the crowd, the marshal and Rob and only stop at...the carrot! Yeah, a carrot, (Rob likes giving carrots at the finish, it's pretty cool) And so after 4h 47 mins of "British weather blissfulness" and no longer needing to be a cheetah (did get top 5....) I'm walking back to Mick, hoping he's done as well as he wanted to and feeling much better than me. But my walk soon becomes a limp, the brat has given up, the knee is swollen up, the ankle is collapsing and I can't lift any part of my body without a grimace...alala where is the wine?
PS: Best British trail marathon EVER thanks to the marshals and Rob's organisational skills :)
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