Fiery Gizzard Run (marathon) - Tennessee, 30 November

Foster Falls

I picked this race for the name. So I didn’t do much research before signing up. I got an alarming email a few days before the race warning me about how easy it is to get lost, how the trail involved lots of scrambling, and a full page of emergency phone numbers. But in the end I was my own undoing rather than the trail itself. I don’t know what was wrong but I felt bad within the first 6 kms and it just got worse from there. It was only at the half way turnaround that I came good.

The marathon was within the Foster Falls Small Wild Area, I’ve also seen it called South Cumberland State Park, near Chattanooga and was an out and back primarily on the Fiery Gizzard Trail. The origin of the name is unclear but the trail is highly rated. There were less than 50 runners. We didn’t do the whole trail, diverting onto the Dog Bowl Trail, correction Dog Hole, and the route was extremely scenic at least half of the time with a mix of plateau running and descents to the bottom. We clambered down into gorges, clambered up out of gorges, passed behind or through waterfalls, had numerous bridges, saw lots more waterfalls and had some spectacular gorge views with vast vertical cliffs. In between were miles of undulating forest running (or unfortunately walking in my case) which were a touch monotonous.

There were only 2 aid stations. It was an odd set up because we passed the first aid station once at 7 miles then passed it again a mile later after an out and back, then had the half way aid station, and then the first one twice again on the return. The out and back was to an amazing gorge overlook and it would have been nicer to have the aid station there so we would have an excuse to stop properly.

So I was feeling awful during the first half. I tried to think positive and tell myself the feelings would pass but I seemed hardly able to run. I banged my knee on a rock and cut my wrist on briars and I once half tripped, jolting my bad hamstring so it ached for a while. At one point I started hyperventilating and in general I had no energy whatsoever. I walked a fair bit. I had no stomach issues and it was neither cold nor hot. I was not in any physical pain. I put it down to the bad diet I’ve had the past month, and maybe dehydration.

I navigated the first gorge ok, the one we had specifically been warned about, and had a horrible climb up onto the ridge on big uneven steps. Meanwhile half marathoners were passing in the opposite direction with apparent ease. Then we had the unusual experience of going behind a waterfall that was in a rock cave, getting a little wet while doing so. I was relieved to get to the first aid station and tried to cram in some food. I didn’t even look at the view at the gorge overlook on this first visit. From here on there were more waterfalls, more tricky ups and downs and a long descent to a creek. 

I didn’t realise at the time but when I crossed the creek I turned the wrong way; I didn’t even notice there was a junction. There were a few daytrippers around and in hindsight I think there was a little boy lying down on the bridge and I was concerned about tripping over him. Most of the route was either flagged or we followed the trail blazes, and I also had the route downloaded on my phone. It was not too hard to follow and I would say it was adequately marked. However I knew that there was a part where the route I’d downloaded was inaccurate because the course had changed but the download had not been amended, and I remembered that I had to check I didn’t go the wrong way. When I finally looked at my phone I saw that I had already gone the wrong way; this didn’t matter too much because it only meant I was going on the wrong side of a loop, doing extra distance of course, but I was going to end up in the right place. The problem was that the aid station was somewhere inside that loop and I didn’t want to miss it.

By absolute chance I found myself running towards another woman whom I thought was ahead of me so I asked her where the aid station was, assuming she had recently left it, and she said she was on her way to it. I followed her, backtracking half a mile, and got back on course. I’d run more than an extra mile, what with going the wrong way around the loop also.

At the aid station I fussed around asking if there were any runners behind me (I hadn’t seen anyone for ages) and if there was a course cutoff. The marshal was absolutely wonderful, saying there were 25 people behind me (an exaggeration) and that I had no reason to worry about cutoffs as I was doing great. He was most concerned about my bleeding wrist (from the briars) which didn’t bother me at all.

From this point on I felt so much better. I began to enjoy the trail and look forward to the various sections. Even the bland forest running was more exciting. I stopped to take a few photos. I was able to run most of the time except in the scrambling sections. When I got back to the bridge where I’d gone wrong I could easily see my mistake. I didn’t even notice the steep section which I had hated on the way out.

I stopped at the gorge overlook to admire the view and chatted with the woman at the nearby aid station. We decided that the forecast rain might hold off. I even passed a couple of runners.

However it wasn’t long until the rain started. At first it was just a few minutes of sprinkles which would clear and then start again. But before 20 miles the rain became heavier and I put on my jacket. The forest felt nicer in the rain which seemed to bring out the autumn colours, but the rocks in the tricky gorges were much more slippery.

In the last miles there was one more surprise, a difficult detour from the outward route. I saw my sub 7 hour finish evaporate. When calculating my possible finish time earlier on I had been horrified at how long this marathon - only a marathon - was going to take me. We had to clamber down into another gorge and move along beneath a huge vertical cliff which is popular with climbers. I didn’t expect to see any climbers because of the rain but I passed a few groups. It was really impressive but slow going on rough rocks. I was close behind a guy and we chatted as we hiked, noticing some distant thunder. Just when it seemed we would be down there forever we heard the sound of a rushing river and came to a huge suspension bridge. To our left was a massive waterfall, Foster Falls, extremely noisy and definitely worth a serious visit on another occasion.

From here we climbed up another set of rocky steps and I zipped on ahead of my companion. The finish line was close and there were a couple of very enthusiastic marshals there bellowing out my arrival. I realised later that nobody had crossed the finish line in this bleak wet place for the previous 20 minutes. I received in quick succession a souvenir mason jar, a quesadilla and an apology that the quesadilla was cold because I had taken so long. Well, not the because.

The rain was heavier by the time I drove back to my hotel and was later torrential accompanied by lots of loud thunder. Runners were still out in these conditions so I had been lucky. I ate a lot of chocolate that evening and little else because I couldn't go outside in that rain and anyway there was nowhere worth going in this uninspiring place. My 7:29 finish was good enough for 5th place overall out of 14 women, a surprise to me.

The next day was sunny and I went back to Foster Falls to get the full experience, and take the nice photo above. There was even a second waterfall that I had not noticed yesterday, next to the main one. It was a wonderful spot with the falls cascading over a circular cliff and a big pool at the base of the falls.

Race Across Durham (marathon) - 17 November

Eno River

This rather obscure race, well, obscure to me but maybe not so obscure to the residents of Durham, North Carolina, turned out to be one of the nicest marathons I have run. It only had 130 runners and there was no pizazz, no promises of BQ. I didn’t go in with high expectations but I did go in injured, so I was delighted with the outcome. I had a reason for selecting this marathon: I had been researching hikes in North Carolina when I stumbled on the Mountains to the Sea Trail, and I liked the sound of it but I was disappointed to see that the trail is not yet complete. When I saw that there was a marathon on the trail this sounded an excellent way to get on the trail without feeling unhappy that I could not thru hike it, while still completing a substantial chunk.

Regarding the injury, all I can say is that I am a slow learner. I have run 3 hundred milers now and after each one I have injured myself the first time I go for a run after the race. This time I strained my hamstring at last Saturday’s Big Bear Marathon. It happened late on in the marathon and didn’t bother me too much at the time but the next day I was in real pain. I could manage to hike so I pretty much hiked the pain away. By Wednesday the pain had all gone, Thursday I was flying all day, so on Friday afternoon I decided to go for a short run. The pain returned in the first few minutes but I persevered for 5 kms anyway, actually in considerable pain. On Saturday I went for a short hike in Umstead State Park, continuing my plan to visit the sites of as many well known ultras as I could, and the pain was tolerable. So I knew I was in for an uncomfortable marathon.

The marathon was a point to point, all on the Mountains to the Sea Trail as promised. I had to drive to the bus pick up, take the bus to the start, then take a bus from the finish line back to my car. There were 2 buses going to the start line and I boarded the second one because it had lots of empty seats. It seemed a very long bus ride. It emerged that the driver did not know the way and had gone a very circuitous route so we got to the start line only 7 minutes before the start. We had to check in at the start line and when I checked in the marshal was pleased to meet the Australian and introduced me to the race director, who wanted to chat; I would have loved to chat but I had to change my clothes and use the bathroom and I didn’t have long, so my chat just involved me asking if I could change my clothes in the bushes (I could see a line at the portaloos). I probably tarnished his nice image of Australians when I rushed into the (not so dense) bushes and took off my clothes. As it was I had to run to the start line and was still moving in the wrong direction when I heard Go!

Going the wrong way!

We started near a lake (I believe the bus driver had tried to drive around it twice) and kept fairly close in the early miles. It was a cloudy day and freezing cold, but not as cold as it had been at the boat ramp start line before I started running. I wore my light jacket, but I had taken off my leggings at the start line and I was very glad of that. (Taking off leggings is tricky when you wear shorts on top of leggings, which is why I had to change in the bushes.)

The entire race was on trail, save a mile or so when we deviated through suburbia to avoid a sewage spill or something like that. There was a stretch just before this that was really muddy. Being totally in the forest is what made it so lovely. Much of the trail was single track, so by the time the faster runners had passed I was almost alone, just seeing other people from time to time. The first half was almost flat with some slight undulations. There was a lot of leaf litter, which covered a few obstacles like tree roots and small rocks so it wasn’t all easy going. I love the wintry deciduous forest.

From half way we followed the Eno River, sometimes crossing from side to side. The trail was very close to the river, which featured a few small rapids, and sometimes we climbed a bluff above it. I was going quite slowly but I was really happy. My hamstring reached maximum pain early on and then maintained that level of discomfort for the duration. Other things started hurting too but it was all tolerable. One of my fears had been stomach issues because the night before I had eaten a meal that comprised a burrito filled with refried beans, an enchilada filled with refried beans, and an accompaniment of refried beans and rice. But my stomach was fine. Around 16 miles I passed the place where I had parked, which confused me as I thought I had parked at the finish line. But no, for some reason we had to park in the middle!

In the last 10 miles I saw few runners, save occasional stragglers. Nobody passed me in the second half. The sun came out for a while but the air was still icy and I never took off my jacket. It was all so pretty, but curiously devoid of the squirrels that usually proliferate in these forests. Right near the end we had a reasonable climb, but it was not as severe as I had been led to believe, and there was a marshal at the top saying The worst is behind you now.

The finish was by a quarry whose hole was filled in with water. The marathon had taken me well over 5 hours, which may explain why I did not feel especially tired. It’s a long time to be out there but I can’t have been going very hard. From the quarry we took a bus back to the parking area where they had a finish line party in progress. Except that there wasn’t much left of it by the time I got there. I had a bowl of soup (no non meat options but I fished out the sausages) and a beer. Then I drove back to my hotel and enjoyed the donut I had saved for the occasion.

In the evening I decided to go to Popeye's, which meant deliberately eating meat for the first time this trip. I wanted to try their chicken sandwich because it has achieved certain notoriety: firstly I've heard that people are prepared to queue for hours to get hold of one and secondly there was recently a murder in a Popeye's car park following an altercation over queueing. At this suburban Durham location there were about 15 cars at the drive-thru, which meant that the cars were blocking a lane of the highway, the seating area was packed and there were plenty of folk who had gotten out of their cars and were lining up to order. I think the secret to the popularity is that the chicken batter is made from the same ingredients as krispy kreem donuts.

I have a few observations about American marathons as opposed to ultras (which even apply to 50 km ultras which in all honesty are not much longer). 1. Nobody walks in marathons until they are reduced to walking through fatigue whereas in all ultras Americans appear to feel obliged to walk as soon as the terrain turns uphill even slightly. 2. Marathon runners are not as friendly as ultra runners. They don’t chat. Ultra runners always chat. 3. There is no food or only engineered food (gels, chews etc) at marathon aid stations. I prefer a pb&j, M&Ms or at least a banana. But the marshals and aid station folk are just as over-the-top enthusiastic, whether it’s a 5km or an ultra.

The next day I did a hike along another stretch of the Eno and saw lots of squirrels. 

Big Bear Marathon - California, 9 November

San Bernardino Mountains 

I didn’t run a step between Rio del Lago and the marathon. I knew when I signed up for the Big Bear Marathon that a fast marathon the week after a hundred miler was not a good idea. But I signed up anyway. I liked the sound of a scenic downhill course and I looked forward to good hiking days after the race. Before my trip I worried more about how I would be feeling in the days leading up to this marathon than about the hundred miler. 

In the intervening week, having come down to Southern California, I did some good hiking in the San Gabriel Mountains and Angeles National Forest. I didn’t realise there were mountains like these just behind LA. 

The first hike I did was up Strawberry Peak. There was no water at the trailhead and I started at midday with less than 500 mls of water under a hot sun. There was no shade on the hike because the hillsides were just low scrubby bushes. Underfoot was virtually sand. It was really pretty and as I got higher there were layer upon layer of mountains in all directions.

The second hike was up Mt Baden Powell. This time I took plenty of water and it was a cooler day. I have had nothing but blue skies in California. This hike is known for the 40 switchbacks on the climb, but what this means is that there are no PUDs (the D part), it is all seriously uphill which I don’t mind at all. This was pine forest with window views on the way up, and at the peak the views were wonderful, again rows and rows of mountains.

Big Bear Lake

On race morning I again had to be up far too early, at 4am, to get the bus to the start line. It was minus 2 degrees as I drove to the bus. Big Bear is at an elevation of about 7000 ft which explains the cold morning. On the bus I sat with a local runner who was doing her first marathon; I told her, when she asked, how many marathons I’ve run but I refrained from telling her what I had done the previous Saturday. Although  it’s called Big Bear Marathon the race is not in Big Bear at all; it starts 15 km south of the place at a forest parking area and finishes in San Bernardino. I went straight from the bus to the toilet queue, which moved very slowly; I emerged from the toilet as the race announcer was calling 1 minute to the start.

It was just on daylight as we headed off. As expected everyone around me went out fast and I was conservative. The course is about 90 % downhill and I was concerned about the toll on my body since sustained downhill running can get uncomfortable. I was going to wait for the second half to speed up, which I did, running it 10 minutes faster than the first half.

We were running in a narrow forest-sided canyon on a slightly winding road. Soon there were views across to the San Bernardino Mountains. I find the mountains here quite distinctive in their mottled appearance, which is due to a lot of sparse bushes on the sandy soils rather than dense tree cover. There were short uphills which I walked as part of my conservative strategy.

Around half way the downhills became steeper and I really enjoyed this part as I let myself go at whatever felt natural. The aid stations were 2 miles apart and I felt I was flying between them. Almost. The problem with downhill running is that it sounds nice but you still have to cover the distance. The terrain opened out and eventually we followed a wide river valley. By now we were in full sunlight and it got warm. I refined a new skill: applying sunblock while running.

As time wore on I started passing people and it was a long time until my legs felt bad. At some point my hamstring got sore (the other one, not the problem side) but I tried to maintain momentum. 20 miles came and went and I knew I was having a good day. 

Along here the road flattened out considerably and there were demoralising straight stretches. At one point several running clubs had set up small tents as aid stations, probably just intended for their members, and I grabbed a delicious piece of donut from one, a cup of coke from another. I was drinking at each aid station but as the day warmed I don’t think I got enough fluid. I’m also not so used to races without food!

We came into the suburbs and ran through Mentone. Not a patch on ours with no beach in sight. I had been concerned about the urban part of the run because San Bernardino had not made a good impression on me when I drove through it; a vast dusty place with a lot of sketchy parts. But we didn’t get into the city proper. We had just one long strip mall section, where I was reduced to walking several times, and then a long mile in dry parkland where we could see the finish line way ahead in the distance. Finally I made it. I guess 4:11 isn't too shabby the week after a hundred miler although I must admit I would have liked to do better. 

The results desk was handing out spoof BOS luggage tags for those of us who had done a Boston qualifier and I received one of those. This made me the envy of many (younger) people who finished around my time as one of the major draw cards of this race is the above average chance of doing a Boston qualifier. (On the bus back to my parked car I had to endure an hour of the guy in the seat behind me trying to come to terms with his failure to run a BQ.) At the finish they had pizza and an alcoholic seltzer and vegan ice cream. At least the pizza was tasty! 

I finished!

After the race I had a couple of days of hiking near Big Bear. The mornings were freezing cold, literally, but the days warmed up to nice temperature. It wasn’t too surprising my motel room was cold: they were making snow for a play slope overnight only 100 metres from my room.

I started with the Cougar Crest Trail which climbed for great views over the Big Bear Lake and the surrounding mountains. The trail was all in pine forest. Then I continued to Mt Bertha and had a chat with some guys from Brisbane at the top. The trail was very busy and lots of people with dogs, which I like as this gives the mountain lions something to eat first.

The next day I took the Pine Knot Trail, a mixture of pine and oak forest, to Grand View Point, where there was a fabulous view across the valley to the San Bernardino Mountains and the valley I had run through. I continued on the Skyline Trail, one of the nicest trails I have ever walked, as it was along a ridge top with unobstructed vistas and also had interesting granite boulder clumps. I saw nobody on this trail apart from 3 mountain bikers. Then I descended on the Plantation Trail through a pine plantation and back to the car in deciduous forest. Everything was so dusty. In the evening I had my best meal so far on this trip. It had taken me 4 days to find the less grotty eating area of town. I had a burger with a portobello mushroom (instead of meat) and grilled zucchini, with sweet potato fries.

Once I left Big Bear I spent some time nearer to LA and went for a very hot hike in Chino Hills State Park. I did an 8 mile loop along ridge tops and into dry canyons. The hillsides were covered with yellow grasses and there were good views along the top.

Rio del Lago 100 miles - California, 2/3 November

No Hands Bridge, American River

My third hundred miler. I had picked this race for several reasons, but primarily because it has a much larger field than the other hundred milers I’ve run and I thought this would alleviate my worries about running for hours and hours on my own, no other runners in sight and not knowing if I was going the right way. Spoiler alert: this did not stop me from going very off course and wasting an hour, causing me great anxiety about being unable  to finish within the 30 hour cutoff. The other reasons were that it follows a chunk of the Western States 100 Miler course, an iconic race I will probably never get to run, and that it was logistically not a headache at all. The worst aspect was that I had to set my alarm for 3.30am on race morning.

So what could go wrong? My stomach, that’s what. I have never suffered like this in any other race before. My one-time experience of having to rush for the toilet at the Narrabeen Allnighter was the closest I had ever come to my horrific race day at Rio del Lago. Let’s get this out of the way quickly: I spent my whole race 1. Looking for toilets 2. Asking aid station staff for toilet paper 3. Going into every toilet I saw that didn’t have a queue (only 2 of these) 4. Heading into the bushes very quickly (8 times). And to be quite clear, my need to pee was never the problem. As the finish drew closer all I could think of was that I would finally be able to go to a real toilet and not have the clock ticking.

The course was an out and back from Folsom with a loop at each end. A dog bone. This was a great layout as it meant that, despite this being an out and back, I saw only the absolute leaders on their return journey rather than running past hundreds of runners on their way back as I was still on my way out.

We had darkness for the first couple of hours as we ran mainly on a bike path by Natoma Lake and it was uneventful apart from the toilets still being locked. It wasn’t cold and I wore shorts and my very light jacket. I had taken off my tights at the last minute and I was glad of this. I tried to keep my pace down, a good strategy, because I moved up 90 places between the first aid station and the finish. Of the 380 starters at least 100 failed to finish but of those only a handful missed the 30 hour cutoff.

By the time I finished the first 18 mile loop it was light and we headed out along Folsom Lake for the long trip up to Auburn Lake Trails. The course was lovely. Although the first part had seemed a little too urban we were now in light forest or crossing open meadows and the views of the lake were great. 

The hardest part early on was the 9.5 mile gap between two of the aid stations; most of the aid stations were between 3 and 5.5 miles apart. I was determined to get my hydration right today but for whatever reason I did not take any water in my bottles for this long stretch and I became quite dehydrated. It was to be a warm day and cloudless. After this I was careful to have enough water as I left the aid stations. The course was undulating and quite bouldery in places (small boulders), with some slippery parts where there was a thin layer of sand over small rocks. My shoes were completely worn out (I was wearing my Bibbulmun / Heysen shoes) so had little traction but I was ok. 

Somewhere along here I managed to hit my head on a low tree branch: I had noticed a branch that I had to duck under but I lifted my head too soon and banged it on a second branch. You know what is really odd: I never saw this double obstacle on my return journey in darkness but they cannot possibly have chopped the branches down.

I fell into step quite by chance with another runner in my age group, Karen. She lived locally and did a lot of hundred milers, in fact she had done one last weekend. I went on ahead and ended up in a long line of runners doing roughly my pace. Everyone was very friendly and we chatted. Someone offered to crew me if I come to run in Oregon and several of my new friends had been to Australia. I felt comfortable. At an aid station I saw a tube of sunblock and put some on. It said Men on the tube but I couldn’t see why it wouldn’t work on me; then I realised it had a strong scent of aftershave! Oh well.

Leaving Rattlesnake aid station (mile 35.5) I suddenly found myself alone. I wasn’t sure if I was going the right way but my stomach came to my rescue: I ducked into the bushes and was pleased when I heard runners going by. We had a long stretch of meadow with some tall dried up plants and for a long time I saw nobody. Then I passed a hiker and asked if he’d seen any other runners; luckily he had and when I answered his question about what race I was doing he said Hats off! 

The next aid station was called Cardiac, which in my experience is a word that American runners link with brutal uphill running. A stiff 3 mile hill followed this aid station. I found myself with Karen again and she said she was on home turf here; so not surprisingly I couldn’t keep up with her. I came to Overlook (mile 44 and 10 hours exactly on the clock) and the start of our jaunt along American River. This was wonderful, not too hilly and great views down towards the river. This is where I hiked when I came here in February after the Salmon Falls 50k. It had been a warm day but I knew things would cool down soon.

No Hands Bridge aid station, at one end  of this curiously named bridge high above the river, was lively. I was distressed to find out that I had 10.5 miles to the next aid station; even though I had made a note of this in advance I had completely forgotten. The aid stations were not all that exciting but they broke up the total distance nicely. It’s all a mental thing; I was running aid station to aid station. 

I was surviving on cheese quesadillas and pb&j sandwiches (freshly made), and drinking mainly coke because the sports drink was the least pleasant I’ve ever experienced: it tasted like cold tea. Ok, I know Americans like iced tea. They also have a thing about ginger settling the stomach. This must be the reason there was ginger ale at every aid station, but unfortunately it’s the ginger that does the trick rather than the flavour.

Not far out of this aid station I saw what at first could have been a mirage: a toilet with its door open waiting to welcome me. When I left this toilet I saw Karen just ahead with her husband (pacer) and I put on a spurt to reach her. I told her excitedly that I had finally been able to use a toilet (she had earlier on kindly given me some toilet paper from her stash) and I think she must have decided I was a bit weird. I went on ahead for a while and then they passed me. We had numerous tiny creek crossings.

I fell into step with a guy and his pacer and we chatted. He called me Australia for the obvious reason and I called him Roseville for the same reason (which incidentally was also where I had stayed before the race). Darkness fell about an hour before I got to Auburn Lake Trails aid station, the start of our return trip back to Folsom. I was pleased my headlight was working well in contrast with my experience in France. From Auburn Lake Trails the course followed the Western States Trail via the Highway 49 crossing which is notorious in US running circles because people have gone wrong there during Western States. 

A race wouldn't be a race without a fall. Somewhere along here I found myself upright one minute and flat on the ground the next. I never saw what my foot hit. I landed hard on my left side, grazing my elbow badly and sustaining an impressive bruise on my thigh which I only looked at two days later. My elbow bled profusely and I hoped that would keep the wound clean. Shortly after Roseville pointed out to me a sign noting Barb's Seat; he explained that Barb was a local runner who had been taken by a mountain lion, the only known occurence in the area.

We had a tough hill after Highway 49 but I managed to power up it and I enjoyed the chance to hike for a while. I came back to No Hands for the nice part along the river, which I did mostly alone, hearing occasional sounds of distant trains, and then to Overlook. I was hearing noises in the bushes sporadically and I hoped this wasn’t mountain lions. I had stiffened up a lot and I didn’t like the awkward creek crossings, sometimes I even lost my balance.

At Overlook I sat down and sorted through my drop bag, changing over to my other headlight because I knew it had fresh batteries and putting on my fleece. I deliberately left behind the light I'd been using until then, thinking I could not possibly need a backup light which probably had low batteries. I will never ever do this again. Never.

As I left Overlook I followed a couple of runners and we headed steeply downhill. One of the guys said he didn’t recall climbing so much to Overlook on the outward trip, but decided it would have felt different anyway for being in daylight. We took comfort from the fact that we were following course markers. We went on, I passed them, I saw a deer, and then after a while I thought the trail looked a bit too familiar. I had been looking more closely than usual at the trail leading into Overlook because I needed to get into the bushes. I waited for the other guys and they agreed it looked familiar but we decided that a lot of the trail around here was similar. We saw more runners approaching us and asked them if we were going the right way. They said yes and we ran on.......straight back into Overlook. I couldn’t believe it! The thing was: those other runners hadn’t been to Overlook yet so they were indeed going the right way, for them but not for us. I was at Overlook exactly one hour and at least 3 miles after I had left.

I raced out of Overlook and soon saw where I had missed a turn. Now I was on track but I was in extreme panic that I would now miss the overall cutoff. This was the only thought that would go through my head, over and over. It was awful. I zipped down Cardiac hill at top speed even while I knew I might be wrecking my whole race. Near the bottom I stopped to walk for a bit and asked another runner if we were ok for time; he thought we were and I took some solace from this as he was clearly confident even though he was going to be doing a lot of walking. Nonetheless I checked at Cardiac aid station about cutoffs.

It seemed a long way back to Rattlesnake, through the meadow. The starry sky was beautiful, and I don’t think I’ve seen a sky like this in America since I cycled across Arizona in 1988. From time to time I would see a bright yellowish light and think that was coming from the aid station where I was headed, before realising it was the moon. I’m going to the moon I said to myself. The night air was pleasantly cool. I felt overdressed in my fleece but I thought I should keep it on.

Just before Rattlesnake a couple of runners (a racer and his pacer) passed me. They had been chatting to each other and I had been enjoying listening. One of them had fallen asleep at the wheel while driving home from a hundred miler. While they were still only a little ahead of me I stumbled slightly and at that exact same moment my light went out. I shrieked, as one does, and the guys asked if I was ok. I said my light had gone and being incredibly stupid (I didn’t say that aloud) I had left my backup at the aid station. They kindly let me stick behind them. My light flickered on and off and must have had a loose connection.

From Rattlesnake to Horseshoe I walked with them as my light came and went. At Horseshoe Pacer lent me a spare light he had brought; not long after this I had a toilet emergency and they waited for me, I was so embarrassed because they must have realised I wasn’t just peeing. We walked the 9.5 miles back to Granite aid station together. Pacer chatted a lot and it was a great help to me. Racer had also taken a wrong turn earlier, out of Highway 49, and reckoned he had done an extra 6 miles. Pacer constantly reassured me that we would make the cutoff. I knew that we had 4 hours once daylight came so for once I was willing the sun not to rise. I was feeling pretty low along here. I thought about giving up but told myself how stupid that would be. In hindsight I would not have walked all of this were it not for my lighting problems.

Sunrise came about a mile before Granite. I was so pleased to be able to take off Pacer's headlight because it bobbed around the whole time and I could not sort it out. Coming into this aid station was torture as we could hear action at the aid station but the trail constantly turned away from where the noise was coming from; all the while I was muttering about how ridiculous this was and Pacer was singing some song. Racer was very quiet the whole way. I ran the last few hundred metres ahead of Racer and Pacer and then left the aid station quickly. Suddenly I worried that they would come into Granite and start looking for me so I ran back to the aid station and asked the helpers to tell my companions that I had gone on. They didn’t, I found out later.

I fully get pacers now and Pacer was especially good at his job. He talked without expecting replies and he pointed out all obstacles and he kept us moving along. I noticed other pacers were sometimes running too far ahead, and some were being far too obsequious.

I ran almost all the last 4.4 miles. It didn’t seem far at all. I remembered how I had felt as I started my last 6 km loop when I did that 80 km training run at home, and knew this was all I had to do. I really felt, from the height of the sun, that it could not yet be close to 11am, the cutoff. (My watch had died before Granite and even though I had my battery pack in my pocket I did not want to waste time stopping to plug in my watch.) 

But I still had time to go the wrong way. About half a mile from the finish line I wasn't seeing the course flags. I stopped and waited for a runner approaching behind me, who was a pacer without his runner. He said that I was going the right way but most people were cutting the course by running across a levee; in fact he was wrong about this but I didn’t know until afterwards. It was confusing because there was one solitary arrow showing where to go from my direction but most people were coming off the levee. I went on my merry way and reached the finish line by lengthening the course.

My reception at the finish was fantastic, the best thing about doing a race with a large field. I saw that I had just beaten 28 hours, running 27 hours 54 minutes. Since my goal had been 26 hours and I had wasted an hour by going wrong I could not complain. The commentator said I had the largest smile ever and there was lots of cheering. After a short pause I went to the food area and sat down. A volunteer brought me a plate of food; I had asked for pancakes and potatoes, and he brought me bacon too. I’m afraid the bacon was delicious and I couldn’t manage the other stuff. I ate a few donut holes and mini kitkats. And I really enjoyed my many visits to the portaloos. It was a lovely sunny morning and I stayed at the finish line until the 30 hour cutoff had gone.

Antelope Island Buffalo Run 100 miles, Utah

My second hundred miler, the Antelope Island Buffalo Run at Antelope Island State Park in the middle of the Great Salt Lake just outside Salt Lake City. I wasn’t so nervous this time but at the same time I remembered the duress of my previous effort very well. I hoped my slightly different training campaign of doing my heavier training some way out from the race would not prove to be a mistake. I knew it would be a long day, or more than a day. I expected bad weather. I planned my drop bags carefully, I reviewed the route map carefully but I did not plan a timing strategy. For me I think this just adds pressure with little other benefit. 

We had two loops of a fifty mile course. Not sure if I’ve done a race on Friday before. It was a curiously late start, 10 am and a small field that seemed to be entirely locals who were acquainted with the course. Afterwards when I checked the race results I saw all their ultra resumes and realised I was very much the novice in the field.

At the very last minute I made the decision to run in just shorts rather than with cropped leggings as well, mainly because I noticed that many of the other runners were only wearing shorts and I know that I overheat more than average, so if shorts were warm enough for some they would be warm enough for me. I put a pair of short leggings in two of my drop bags in case I needed them later on.

From the start we had an immediate climb. Our first job was to visit an aid station, Elephant Head, then run out and back to the rocky outcrop called Elephant Head, where we were supposed to collect a sticker to prove we had been there. But there were no stickers. Luckily I was with another runner who was totally sure this was the correct location so we returned to the aid station stickerless. She was telling everyone heading for the rock as we returned to the aid station that there were no stickers, which I thought was a bit unwise - I recalled the runners in the Kolkata marathon who had noticed how the timing mat at one of the turnarounds was not working so did not bother to visit it on their second lap. I tried to have a conversation with her as we ran but I don’t think she could understand me. 

It was raining lightly off and on. After a lovely long downhill we went through Split Rock, had another climb on a series of switchbacks, and then returned to the same Elephant Head aid station for the third time. Most of the island seemed to be grassy hills, scrub/grassland mix and a few clumps of rock. There was snow on the highest points. It was pretty without being dramatic. The trail was a bit muddy but nothing serious, yet.

I had my first bison encounter shortly after leaving this part of the island. In the early days apparently people thought the huge animals in the island were buffalo but they are actually bison. They are big and fat with curly horns, but I heard they are not dangerous. I rounded a bend and saw two of them, on the trail. One of them ambled off the trail and the other stayed put. They didn’t look like they were about to attack so I took photos.

We then embarked on the part of the route that had seemed the most complicated to me on paper. It proved to be more straightforward than I anticipated. We had to follow a fence where the bison are corralled then do a short out and back. Then we started on a 22 mile out and back to the southern tip of the island. We were paralleling a range of low mountains but their tops were in cloud. In the distance we could feintly make out the ski resort mountain range on the mainland. In good weather this would be a fabulous view.

This part of the course to Lower Frary and then the Ranch was along a narrow and increasingly muddy trail through grassland with low scrub. I fell into step with another runner and discovered that he was Walter whom I had heard on a podcast a while back. He is trying to get the record for the most hundred milers run in a year. He said that two other runners are trying for this record at the same time! We ran together for several hours chatting about races and American ultra runners. We had to run single file and I was ok when he was ahead because his pace was gentle, but I didn’t like it when I ran in front because I felt pressure to make a decent pace. I was very pleased when he said I was going too fast for him. After a while I wanted to be alone and he went on ahead.

I wasn’t at all sure if I was eating enough. There wasn’t much available apart from sweet stuff. I had many pb&j sandwiches and nutella sandwiches, and M&Ms and some nice lemon flavoured cookies. I only drank electrolyte drinks. Then I had some bacon. Wonderful.

As night fell I became concerned about going the right way in the dark for the last section of my initial fifty miles after Bridger Bay so I asked Jeff, who had been cat and mousing with Walter and me and had done the course before, if I could run with him and we ran together. He and his family hold the world record for the largest number of family members (eleven) participating in the same ultramarathon, this race a few years ago. We parted company at the end of the fifty and I went out alone. I started listening to This American Life podcasts. Ira Glass is my new best friend.

There were stickers in a box at the sticker rock on the second lap. Otherwise I would have had no idea where to turn back.  On the switchbacks section I passed another female who was walking and seemed upset. She said she had fallen and banged her head, and I asked if I could help in any way but she said not. As I ran on I heard her moaning.

I thought I knew the route well enough but I was still confounded several times. I caught up with Walter at the Elephant Head aid station on our third visit there for this lap and when we left there he was only a little ahead so I could use his light to reassure me I was on track. But my need to urinate frequently had kicked in after dark and after a few episodes I fell too far behind him and I was all alone again. 

Things had become much more muddy. One time it looked as though the path was completely flooded (it was like a lake) and I went off through the scrub, off trail completely. I don’t know if this was an illusion or not but I was glad to rejoin the trail. 

The night seemed to pass relatively quickly. I don't know what time it got dark and at first my headlamp wasn’t working properly, then suddenly it turned itself on brightly and it was great for the rest of the night. I had no problems with seeing the mud at all. I remember noticing the time on my iPod at 11.15 pm and at 2.11 am. I did see a few odd things. One time I thought some approaching runners were towing an inflatable tent. Another time I thought a group of runners were standing looking at something on the trail and I said to them What’s going on here? These weren’t hallucinations, just shadow plays. 

In the early night the sky was clear and there was a show of stars. The rain was supposed to finish in the night so I hoped it was over. Later it clouded over, the stars were gone, and the rain came back. At one aid station I could hear the rain dripping on the tarp so I said Is it raining? They looked at me oddly and someone said It’s been raining all night. I had become immune to it I guess.

In the darkness there were some strange light effects on the waters around the island. Lots of orange lights and I never worked out what these were.

Late on in the night I fell. It was a complete surprise and I think I got my foot caught in the twiggy part of a small bush. I fell flat on my face and my headlamp took the brunt of the fall, but I banged my head and especially my nose. I worried I had broken my nose but I was able to twitch it. I got a cut between my eyes.

After this I turned to Emmylou for company, and listened to her on high volume.

I was at about 80 miles when daylight came. Saturday started off a very peaceful still day. I caught up with Walter who was standing by the track and asked him what was the matter. He said he was falling asleep on his feet and wanted to run behind me. Almost immediately I felt sleepy too. I had not felt sleepy all night and I made an effort to shake this off. But he stopped at the next aid station for a nap.

The rain came back more heavily. For a brief while there had been great views of the snow capped mountain range behind Salt Lake City but these were disappearing. Although the temperature had not got any lower during the night than it was in the daytime, it suddenly plummeted. I had no tights available where I was so I had to grin and bear it. Luckily I had put on an extra shirt during the night and kept it on even when I felt too warm so my top half was comfortable. But the trail was extra extra muddy and it was impossible to avoid going through standing water so I had cold legs and feet.

My left ankle was giving me some severe grief. Not a muscle pain but a very sharp external pain. It was most odd and I think it was that my compression calf sleeve was too tight over my swollen ankle. I tried shifting the sleeve around and it would help for a while. There was no way I could take it off. I had also developed a blister on my little toe which I had been aware of for hours but was suddenly painful. Somehow I managed to forget about it.

At the 88 mile aid station the volunteer asked what I wanted to eat and offered to make me a quesadilla. I sat down for the first time in the race while he heated it. It was absolutely delicious with real cheese. He only gave me a small piece and I was embarrassed to ask for more, which in hindsight I should have done.

For my last hours the weather almost brightened up. This may have been an illusion but it looked as thought the sun may appear. As 24 hours ticked over I came to the closing sections and again I was confused about the way to go. I was always afraid I had missed a turning but I kept going. I was hardly running, but when I did run I felt ok. It was just that I didn’t feel like doing it. At some point Walter came past me saying You are the hardest person to catch and I saw him race off over the horizon. I was so flattered.

At Bridger Bay I had a gel, a handful of water (literally and much to the amusement of the volunteer, since I had already put away my cup) and turned off the music. I had just rearranged my clothing so my race number would be visible at the finish as they didn’t have chip timing. 

The very last four miles was a loop around a hill which was close to the start/finish; when we went behind the hill we couldn’t see the finish area. I saw a bison here, grazing. I had done this part in the dark the previous time, and with someone who knew the course, so I had not paid much attention to the route. This time I was alone and I became convinced I had missed a turn. There were quite a few day trippers around, unconnected with the race. I asked one of these families if they had seen any racers go by and they said No. Then I asked a man riding a horse if he knew where the runners were running and he said in a rather American way You know, I don’t actually know where the runners are going. I didn’t know whether to turn back, wait for another runner (but we were very spread out by this time so it would be a long wait) or continue. 

I kept agonising that I had come too far to stuff it up now. To make things worse my watch battery had just died, at 97 miles, so I couldn’t check with the GPS to see if I was retracing my previous 50 miles (which I had done once in the night to confirm I was going the right way). I’ve read in accounts of endurance events how people suddenly feel they can’t go a step further when they seem to be extremely close to completing the task, and I've had trouble understanding this; now, in a blinding flash, I understood what happens. Fortunately I continued and, shortly after recognising a junction that my companion the previous time around had commented on, I heard a woman say to a child Here comes another runner and I knew I was ok.

It was a long and tortuous straight road to the finish but I made it. When I finished they told me I had run 26 hours exactly - this was from their hand timing. Had I known, ie had my watch still been going, I might have tried to save a second somewhere! But in wonderful news the official results from the electronic timing show 25:59:55. The reason must be that the race started a little late.

At the finish they had vegetable soup. I took a cup but it was the last thing I wanted and I had to throw it away, opting for a can of root beer instead. Strangely, I had not been having any food fantasies in the closing moments. They had massages going and one masseur walked over to me as I was by the car taking off my calf sleeves and said I want to give you a massage, I really insist. I thought this would be painful but she was so keen. It was fine. Then I saw Jeff had finished. He saw me and said You’re a beast! I think this was a compliment. I picked up my first place age group award and drove to my hotel while I still felt sufficiently awake. 

Although my finish time was a slight disappointment I knew the conditions had not been ideal and my navigational worries had cost time. I was overall very pleased with myself.

So here are some random thoughts on the hundred mile distance. Firstly you are supposed to go to some deep places within yourself that you normally don’t visit. I don’t; for the second time I felt that this was like any other run but longer. Secondly you are supposed to have all these mental battles about wanting to give up the fight, and all this Beware the chair stuff. For me, so far, stopping has not been an option. It’s just not on the table. Thirdly you are supposed to enter a venue commonly called the Pain Cave. Either I go there on every run beyond about 30 kilometres (quite possible) and I just don’t name it, or I haven’t been there. My real fear is the idea of the distance: it is so frigging far! And I’m in no rush to go back there.