While I was running this race, and writing my report in my head, I was sure I would be focussing on the heat and little else. It was certainly a hot day, in the high twenties, and I thought of writing about the brutal heat, the unexpected heat, the blazing sun that reflected off the fields, the heat that didn’t diminish as the day wore on (and the sun didn’t go in until after 9pm when I was almost done), the heat that was clearly responsible for my slow pace (because there could be no doubt that I was well trained for this event). But then everyone I spoke to who had run the race before told me how lovely it was and they were right, it was a lovely run on several levels. That’s what I choose to remember.
The organisation was the best I have ever come across, especially the aid stations, which they called pit stops and which had both great food selections and very enthusiastic staff who made me feel I was reaching the finish line every time I arrived at one. Unfortunately I was so delighted by the food available at the second pit stop after 22 kilometres that I ate far too much and had indigestion; for the rest of the race I don’t think I ate enough.
Almost every kilometre was marked and there was a marker at one kilometre before each pit stop. I found these helpful. At each pit stop they had a sign telling how far to the next one and an elevation guide for the whole course. So you didn’t have to memorise everything.
Most of the route was along The Ridgeway, Britain's oldest footpath. It is basically an elevated path alongside farmland, where you can see the very typical English patchwork of fields in all directions, sometimes a rutted wide track, sometimes stony and sometimes single track. From time to time there were villages to pass through or farms to pass, country roads to cross and patches of woodland. Quite a few gates, too, and one stile. There's one famous part where we ran a dead straight line through a field and you could see a line of runners stretching into the distance. Lots of people stopped to take photos here.
My favourite stretch in hindsight was the part alongside the River Thames which took us to Goring, the only town on the route. This part was flat and at the time I found it hard work but the river looked so cooling.
There were few landmarks as we couldn’t see the White Horse and the other famous sights near the path, apart from an amazing crop circle at kilometre 92. And I’m not at all convinced that the race route did justice to the stone circle at Avebury (the stones in the title) because I only saw two stones. But it was unceasingly pretty despite the radiating heat.
At first the race was crowded - we were sent off in waves of about 200 and I was in the third wave - but by the second pit stop I noticed a lot of people were already walking and well before half way I would sometimes not see anyone for several minutes. There were about 900 people in the non-stop version I was doing plus the same in the two day race, and we were all mixed in together. I chatted with a few people but mostly ran alone, and I often found it lonely work. I think I was in quite a bleak place mentally for a long time and I had to do a lot of self talking to keep myself on an even keel. This was undoubtedly caused by the heat.
I had no idea if I was running well or not. My marathon time was about six hours, which sounds slow but I was trying to pace myself, and I think this worked. I never had that feeling of being completely drained, and while I walked a lot I never walked for very long at any one time.
The route was undulating with some distinct hills. I had read several accounts of the race beforehand and the accounts were so different they could have been describing different events so I was not sure what to expect. In the end I found the route less dramatically hilly than I anticipated and the downhills were all very runnable, admittedly I have been practising downhills.
I had my fair share of drama before the race. Once I decided to enter the race I booked a room in a pub which seemed to be handy to the start line at Lewknor, a village near the only stop the London-Oxford bus makes outside the two cities. I booked online in January for the July race and relaxed; two days later I got an email from the owner saying she had double booked the room but could offer me a "very small single"; it sounded like an attic storeroom, cell or such! After I had issues with my booking for another race (the one I’ll be writing about next) I reconfirmed this booking and it sounded ok. Except that I would have to walk almost four kilometres along the A4 from the bus stop to reach the hotel and then back again on race morning to get the shuttle that would take me to the race start. The pub was not quite where I had thought.
The walk turned out ok as there was a pavement along this busy road. But when I reached the hotel the owner, quite a grumpy woman, had no record of my booking and said she had promised the room to a friend. I begged not to be sent away and she said "Yes, your nearest option for tonight would be in London. I’ve had about 50 people call today asking for a room.” She gave me the room when I told her how long ago I had booked it and reconfirmed. It wasn’t a cell at all, it had a nice bed and a view of the garden, an ensuite and coffee. The owner was grumpy because she had once taken a group of runners to the race start but had forgotten one of the women in the group, who had then posted a very unkind review online; she clearly had it in for the race. I heard her muttering to one of the locals hanging around that I was expecting her to take me to the race start, which was not the case at all. But she cooked a very reasonable bangers and mash (and peas) for me, and her husband made me a honey sandwich as takeaway breakfast.
I allowed plenty of time to walk to the shuttle bus stop and I got there exactly when the bus from London (that the shuttle was meeting) arrived, which was ten minutes ahead of schedule. The shuttle loaded up and left for the race, so it was lucky I had got there early or I would have had to walk another two kilometres. I still had 100 kilometres to cover that day.
I remembered all this while I was running, reminding myself I had already done extra. When I came into half way, where people in the two-day race were stopping for the night, I didn’t feel like I wanted to do the same again. I wondered if I was undertrained. The problem is that you cannot run more than 50 kilometres at one go during a training block because you need too much recovery afterwards that would disrupt the training. So I wasn’t undertrained, I was just having to respect the distance. I was revived by eating some pieces of cheese wrapped in plastic and very sweaty due to the heat. Delicious. I had wanted to sit down at my rest breaks and have a proper rest as I had no time pressure but there was never anywhere to sit! The only option was to sit on the ground and I wasn’t going to do that because getting up would be too difficult. So I barely sat except for about a minute on two occasions.
I was pleased I remembered both to drink at the aid stations and to fill my bottle, since I often forget to have a drink at the aid station when I carry a bottle, and I was remembering to drink between the aid stations which were up to 12 kilometres apart. I drank to thirst but I was sure I wasn’t drinking enough, although I went to the toilet twice and I didn’t get the hot face sensation I get when I’m dehydrated.
All day I ate a lot of sweet things, chocolate bars (yay, they had Twixes at one aid station), fruit, Nutella sandwiches and crisps (bliss - two packets). I drank Coke and Ribena and water. I mused on how the race could afford such generous food supplies, and I think it was because the race entry didn’t include any merch: no T shirt, drink bottle or other junk.
I was counting down the kilometres from about the 30 km mark. I thought of other long races, especially the SaintÉlyon 72 km on similar terrain. The kilometres passed slowly. I worked on my mental state. I could see that sometimes I was running when others were walking. I played cat and mouse with one particular pair of guys for hours. You could just tell that everyone was struggling.
There was a wonderful long downhill in the final kilometres as we ran to the Avebury henge, 1500 metres from the finish. I had hoped to finish in daylight for no particular reason except to give myself a challenge, even though I had my head torch in my backpack and I did not actually know what time it would get dark (in my four days in England I had not yet gone to bed after dark). I missed by minutes, so I got to the stones in rapidly fading light, did my circuit and put on my head torch to cross the final field to the finish line.
I loved the finish, with lots of spectators clapping and ringing cowbells. I felt a hero. Then I collapsed into a chair. I only had a rough idea of my time but I knew I would be happy with it. It was not long after 10pm. There was plentiful food at the finish: pizza, hot dogs and chips (both sweet potato and regular).
After eating I wanted to lie down and sleep, as I wasn’t scheduled to leave until the next morning. I was suddenly very cold. They had a big shed with mattresses. I had put on my sweatshirt and raincoat and tights but I was still really cold and I shivered as a I lay there; I think it was because I was still wearing my sweaty race clothes but there was no way I could imagine having the energy to take them off. I went and told the medical staff that I was cold; they had run out of foil blankets but they said I could go and lie in a tent. Amazingly the race had organised about twenty individual tents and they let me have one of them. I was still cold but I managed to sleep for maybe three hours. Later on I sat in the sun (yes, sun again at 5am) to watch the constant stream of finishers and dozed a few times. Also I enjoyed some more food courtesy of the race: breakfast including hash browns, sausages and bacon.
When I looked at the results I found I had finished in 14 hours 21 minutes and I had won my age group by over an hour. So not too shabby really.
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