Lessons Learnt

A week ago today I finally ran my first ultra. All those months of training and planning came together in one glorious day of running. My abiding memories are good ones: perfect weather; a stunning course; running so much of it with my training partner, Emma, and family and friends out supporting along the route. And I finished, which was, after all, the only aim for the day that really mattered.

Sadly, in amongst all the pride and the happy memories, there is a significant chunk of disappointment and frustration, aimed entirely at myself. I got my fuelling very, very wrong.

The frustration is that I knew how to do it. I’d practised it again and again, talked about it endlessly, honed it down to exactly what worked for me. And on the day it really mattered, I stopped listening to myself. That error cost me at least an hour in running time, and gave me (and others) moments of real concern about my health, and my likelihood of finishing. So what actually went wrong?

Problems started before I’d even arrived at registration. The one thing I hadn’t practised was having breakfast at 4:45 a.m., and forgetting my second breakfast that I was going to eat in the car was a big mistake. Through no fault of anyone, the race was over 40 minutes late starting, time in which I should have eaten something but a voice in my brain said ‘don’t eat just before you run’. Hours later I remembered that, whilst having a snack mid run. Whatever voice it was, it was clearly not the voice of reason.

All of which meant that by the time we started running I hadn’t eaten for three hours. Not ideal, but rescuable if I stuck to my fuelling schedule from then on in: first snack at 40-50 minutes, then every half hour after that. It had worked on all my long runs, and no doubt would have worked during the race too. I just didn’t stick to it.

I can find reasons for this: we got out of the sand and were able to run properly just as I should have had the first snack; I got too focused on checkpoints, which weren’t necessarily at the right place in my personal schedule. But what it really boils down to is that most basic of beginner errors – I got swept up in the excitement of the race.

There were plenty of opportunities to get back on track. My husband had a bottle of Tailwind ready for me at 14 miles, something I usually dislike and sip slowly. I downed it in one go, and inhaled a chicken wrap. My body was clearly telling me something. As the day went on, what I thought it was telling me was ‘eat fruit’, so at every available opportunity that’s what I did (my sister’s melon box when I saw her, checkpoints, and a lovely family at Aberthaw who were handing out orange segments). What my body was actually telling me was that, behind the lovely sea breeze, the day had got really hot and that I needed to make adjustments for that (a hat might have saved my sunburnt nose!). Fruit is wonderfully refreshing, but I needed far more calories than it could ever provide, and I’d lost the ability to hear those signals.

By the time I hit the final checkpoint in Barry Docks I knew I was in trouble. I’d managed to stave off cramp in my shin with my last salt tablet, but the crisps I picked up off the table were a struggle to eat. More fruit from one of our wonderful Run Grangetown gang, Colette, tasted wonderful, and at least gave me a little sugar hit if nothing else. Our little group of three runners had started to separate as we went through Barry, coming back together at the checkpoint, but I had to get going again before the others were ready as I knew I was in real danger of not finishing if I stopped for too long.

Those last eight miles were, without a doubt, the toughest of my life. I forced myself to run/walk as I made my way out of Barry and down towards the coast again, keeping it going for another three miles before I finally lost the ability to run. The relief when I saw my sister at mile 36 was incredible, and she walked with me for the next few miles, trying to get some food in me, none of which I could even swallow. I was so close now, and with Nick having joined us she left us to it for the final mile and half, hightailing it off to the finish line. We barely spoke, I’d given up on any idea of trying to eat, all that mattered now was getting to the end. After that, everything would be ok.

As we turned the final corner we were greeted by Chris and Tom, giving the boost I needed to somehow find the energy to run the very last section along the path in Penarth to the finish line. I saw my other Run Grangetown runners, who’d all done such an amazing job; I saw a friend I hadn’t seen for such a long time, who’d come out to see me finish; and I saw my family, waiting for me with smiles on their faces. I’d done it.

Looking back now, I was worryingly close to breaking myself rather seriously. A combination of errors, all of which should have been avoided, left me scaring myself and others in a way that should never have happened. These are lessons that I need to carry with me, and ensure that I never make those mistakes again. But hiding beneath the frustration and the disappointment is a little nugget of pride. I got it very wrong, and I still finished less than an hour outside my target time. Just imagine what I could do if I got it right.

There’s only one way to find out. Looks like I’ll have to do it again.