Published: 11th January 2025
After completing Race to the Stones in 2021, I was inspired to come back in 2022 with a goal of finishing before the last light disappeared. That would mean taking around 2.5-3 hours off the finishing time, which seemed doable with some experience, better training, and more efficient pit stops. I carefully set out my running calendar, with a few races in there to help with the training. I began a marathon training plan, which ended with two marathon weekends back to back. My covid-year Manchester marathon entry was rescheduled for April 2022, and I entered the Brighton marathon for the weekend after. These two races went well; I set a new marathon PB at Manchester, taking 59 minutes off my previous time and had a really lovely time chatting round Brighton with a friend. The next race was my first Endure24 (see Endure24 2022), which provided some much needed mileage in my legs, and 4-weeks to recover and keep ticking over before Race to the Stones.
I arrived at the start line feeling prepared, but due to putting down a way more realistic predicted finishing time, I was in a starting wave around 1.5 hours later than the previous year, making my goal a little less achievable. No matter, my legs were feeling springy, and I was ready to go! I lined up alone this year because (unsurprisingly) no one wanted to run with me… When I run long distances, I use my Salomon running vest with the two bottles on the front. In one, I like water, and the other I put electrolytes or on this occasion, the energy powder. It had worked well for me on previous occasions, so I put a sachet in my bottle and headed off. What I hadn’t accounted for was the heat. Race to the Stones in 2022 took place on one of the hottest days of the year. I was churning through the liquids at speed in an effort to keep hydrated, including the energy drink. I really want to stress, I had never before had any issues with the energy drink. My stomach is fairly bullet proof, something I credit my teenage years with as I would scoff down a full dinner before heading to track training with only about 40 minutes of digestion time. I could ingest almost anything and happily run soon after. I also would like to apologise for what is to come, and advise you don’t read whilst trying to enjoy your breakfast…
Despite the heat, things were going well. I was feeling warm but not too bad, and my legs were pretty happy. I got through the big hill at around 30km, and was telling anyone near me that looked like they were struggling, just as we had the previous year, that things do get better and the 10km’s before the basecamp at halfway were really beautiful, so to keep pushing on. I arrived at basecamp feeling overall, quite happy. I was starting to get some stomach grumblings, and I put these down to hunger. Alex, James, Emily, and Milo the beagle met me here, and it was nice to chat about how the race was going. I remember sitting in the shade by the course to cool a little, have a rest, and get some calories on board, and that’s when it began… I started eating some food, and felt a sudden and desperate need for the toilet. It happens, nothing too dramatic. I emerged from the portaloo, but my appetite was reduced, so I took my calories and started to head out of basecamp. I kept snacking, but was starting to feel a bit sick. I kept taking on board fluids and was run-walking. The others had left, and were heading to meet me at the next road meeting or pit stop, I can’t remember. It was whilst running alone that I suddenly, and quite desperately needed the toilet again. Walking eased the feeling, but every time I attempted a run, it was accompanied by a rather unpleasant need for the toilet. There wasn’t too far to the next pit stop, and the promise of another portaloo, so I kept plodding onwards, hoping I wouldn’t have a Paula Radcliff moment. I remember a man running past me somewhere along this stretch, farting on every stride. I have never before (or since) been so envious of someone’s ability to fart. I could trust no fart. I was inflating like a balloon.
I reached the next pitstop without disgracing myself, and spent a long while in the portaloo. It was hot in there, the sun was beating down on the plastic roof, but I didn’t care. I was deflating, the stomach pains were easing, and I felt hopeful for the next stretch. I took some more snacks to add to my stash of largely uneaten snacks from basecamp, knowing I needed to keep the calories coming, and headed onwards. I attempted to run again, and was very quickly met with the now all-too-familiar stomach grumblings and need for a danger-fart. It was getting miserable, and I was still so far from the next pitstop. The the km’s passed oh-so-slowly, with every attempt to run being met with the danger-fart urges. I couldn’t risk it. All hell had broken loose in my gut. I couldn’t eat or drink – I had inflated like a balloon again and there was no space for more without something coming out of one (or both) ends. I still had some pride. So I kept walking. Alex, James, Emily, and Milo the beagle popped up somewhere about halfway between pit stops and tried to talk to me. I was so miserable, I could barely grunt a reply. Any attempt to form words and tears welled in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat. At no point did I consider quitting, this was just something to endure, but the others started to have serious doubts about my ability to finish. Mercifully, they left me to go ahead to the next pit stop, and I was left to focus my efforts on one foot in front of the other, and don’t let any danger-farts (and whatever else lurked in the murky depths) out. Basically, move forward and don’t shit myself. Miserable.
I would like to pause the story to explain what (I think) had happened in my gut. The energy drinks, which had never before upset me, were passing through my GI tract incredibly quickly due to the volume I was drinking because of the heat. The energy drink is a slow-release maltose, meaning it requires some digestion before being absorbed, slowing the absorption for longer lasting effects. Because of this and the speed it was passing through, I think it was reaching my intestines without being fully broken down. This leads to the gut bacteria, the good guys who normally do so much for us, having an absolute field day. They were getting so much sugar, digesting it, and releasing gas, leading to my inflation and misery. This is why some runners cannot handle gels, and also why I would now not advise drinking copious amounts of energy drink whilst running, particularly on a hot run. Anyway, on with the story.
The penultimate pitstop is at about 72km. By this point, unable to eat or drink, I was feeling awful. I looked about 6 months pregnant, and I have never been so pleased to see a portaloo in my entire life. I entered the pitstop with Alex by my side. Alex is a very chatty guy, which is normally wonderful. However, on this occasion, I was less grateful for his chatty nature as I entered a portaloo and he began chatting to a marshal stood outside the row of toilets. I could hear them chatting, so no doubt they could hear me too. It also highlighted how long I spent sit on that plastic throne in that stinky sweatbox. I must have been in there for at least 15 minutes. I emerged with flushed cheeks, but feeling ready for a sandwich and something to drink. After refuelling and taking another, slightly shorter trip to the portaloo, I left the pitstop feeling like a new woman. With a stomach full of food, I took some painkillers to deal with my aching feet, and headed out with a spring in my step.
About 3km passed without issue, but then the grumblings began again. Maybe it’s just a fart, I thought. Maybe it was safe. But as I didn’t carry a spare pair of shorts with me, and as we were passing some dense trees, I headed behind some trees and out of sight to deal with the danger-fart in privacy. Fortunately it was just that, immediate relief and deflation. The storm had passed. Farts were just farts from that point forward and the final 25% of the race passed with no more desperate needs for the portaloos.
On the route, there is a wonderful ridge which I had arrived at in the dark the previous year. This year, I arrived at sunset and the view was beautiful. I recommend training hard for the race if it’s only to reach that point before the light is gone. Stunning. However, this ridge is also home to cows… I don’t know if you know this, but cows are the MOST dangerous animal in the UK. They kill more people each year than any other animal. I do not like cows. As we crossed the ridge, the cows appeared. I was with Alex, James, Emily, and Milo the beagle at this point, and the cows were very curious about Milo. Milo did not share this curiosity. He’s a smart dog, he knows about cow danger, and he was trying to escape his lead by twisting in every direction. This only interested the cows further; they came closer. All I could think was there is absolutely no way in hell I would be able to outrun a charging cow. I was going to die. After everything I’d endured with the danger-farts, I was going to die by cow. I declared I would never do Race to the Stones again, and repeated over and over how lethal cows could be.
I didn’t die, much to mine and Milo’s relief, we made it through to the next pit stop. Here, I visited the trusty portaloo again, and sat down for eat something. When I went to stand again, my quads and feet were in a state. Pain. So much pain. I could barely move, and I think Alex was worried and decided to come with me. I took some painkillers and shuffled out to finish the remaining 12km. At this speed, it was going to take hours to finish. Alex was trying to coax me into a jog periodically, and I’d lurch a few steps before returning to my shuffling gait. We continued this way, but as we passed some km markers, I found my final wind. The lurching steps resembled more of a jog, and I started to catch back up to people who had sailed past me earlier. One such chap, a guy named Peter, had raced past me half an hour before and was now stumbling and could barely recall his name. We took him in, kept him with us, encouraged him to run when I ran. He regained some momentum, and was asking our pace. At first, I apologised as I told him we were shuffling along at about 8:30/km. Then he asked again – 8:00/km. Then next time 7:30/km, then 7:00/km. Before long, we were within 5km of the finish and racing along at about 6:00/km. We were flying, pushing each other onwards. In the final km, Peter ran so fast, his belongings started dropping from his pack as if he was laying some weird, ultra version of a breadcrumb trail. Alex was gathering his belongings behind him as he urged us both on. We turned left towards the finish and flew down that final km at 5:00/km pace as if we were simply finishing a parkrun. He was met by his mum, and we parted ways. An incredible finish to an incredibly trying day. I didn’t meet my goal of finishing in daylight, but I was 2 hours faster than the previous year despite my many minutes spent getting well acquainted with the portaloos. The next day, I was inspired to come back for another, less shitty (literally) attempt the following year…
Distinctly Average Ultra Runner 