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poo

They bet me I couldn’t down a pint of whiskey and still be sober later – I downed the whiskey and next remember being in a police cell being offered sausage and eggs covered in my own vomit and probably my own piss. Needless to say the first thing I did upon my release was to head over to the house of the girl I fancied and ask, ‘what the bollocks happened…’

She told me I should go home and shower.

I did.

I never dated that girl.

That was one of the many anecdotes I told as I bimbled and bumbled around the Silkin Way Ultra this last weekend. It was a funny race and something I was completely unprepared for but it was all good fun in the end. But before we reach the conclusion we need the journey and this is what happened.

It was 2am when my alarm went off, I’d gotten to bed at around 11pm due to having run out of printer ink and needing to handwrite the narrative route instructions, so when I awoke I wasn’t in that great a mood. However, a shower and a thick slathering of Vaseline’s finest around my nuts offered the usual level of excellent preparation. I had to two large coffees and a bowl of Cornflakes before I left the house at 3am and took position behind the wheel of Spusm, my little Toyota Aygo. I wished us both well because a) it was 3am in the morning b) there was heavy rain and c) this was my first significant drive without anyone else in the car with me and I was about to drive 3 and a half hours to Shropshire.

Vroom! Vroom! Thankfully aside from trucks and roadworks the motorways up to Telford were pretty quiet, my only real concern was the rain and I surprised myself when I rolled into Telford Services pre-6am (and pre Burger King being open). This though offered the opportunity for the coffee I’d had earlier to perform its magic and relieve me of my inner poo turmoils and yesterday’s delicious homemade spiced Indian meatballs. With no second breakfast options I headed over to the Village Hall in Coalport and took a wander down by the river as even the race organisers hadn’t arrived.

Denzil and the guys arrived not long after me and began setting up, I did offer to help but they had everything under control and so I returned to the relative comfort of the car and looked out for the other runners coming in. I chatted with several lovely Marathon and ultra regulars – all of whom were new to me, which was one of the benefits of being so far from home at a relatively small and quite new event. I chatted with others mainly about upcoming events and my fears about the Fellsman in four weeks but more immediately – how the hell you drive home after an ultra marathon!! Anyway with all the guff and gubbins done we ambled to the start and with a lovely low key start Denzil sent us on our way.

I ambled up to the Silkin Way and started to pick out my position in the instructions – with no GPX file I’d be reliant on these and the very handy chalk markings (thanks to Jon I believe) on the route. I started out at far too fast a pace and got rather caught up chatting with future ultra star Emily who bounced around the route like the Energiser Bunny but I knew her pace was going to outstrip mine and so about 5km I said adios and watched as she thundered off into the distance. From there I was able to ease off a little as it became clear to me this wasn’t going to a trail race and it’s been a very long time since I’d even tried to run long distance on tarmac and paths like this. Within 7km I could feel my knee, groin and hamstring in my left leg and by 10km I was in pain, however, if I slowed now I knew that I’d be getting back at the top end of the eight hour time limit and I really didn’t want that – so I pressed on.

The route itself was pleasant and we passed through sections of Telford that gave a nice impression of the area and harked back to much of the towns heritage. The route and the Silkin Way had many people out walking, though it was never too busy to be congested and we passed several big lovely parks and open spaces that the locals were using. On a nice morning like this it was lovely to see. I’d only been to Shropshire once previously where I went fruit picking with some old friends (although my hopes had mainly been in the seduction of French girls rather than pulling Gooseberries all day). This trip to Shropshire was for an entirely different kind of loving – my love of running.

However, as much as I love running with only 20km done I was feeling the burning heat of pain in my groin and I was grateful a couple of miles later when I reached the second checkpoint. This wonderful stop was rather handily was in one of the organisers homes – a novel and very friendly way of doing it I thought. I grabbed some cola and a few jelly babies before heading back out.

With the second half of the event now under way I was hoping that given this was effectively an out and back I’d be able to avoid the route mistakes I’d made earlier in the race but sadly no – I was still able to get bits wrong. Thankfully the mistakes were smaller and I wasn’t clocking up large extra miles.

It was a few kilometres further in that I would meet the runners that would define my race – there was no doubt I was struggling but people like Nick, Rob and Karen provided fresh inspiration to keep going at a reasonable pace. There was back and forth with these small pockets of runners but I noticed that when I was on my own or they would go past me that I would immediately slow and give in to the voice that said, ‘you’ve ruined yourself, save it for another day’. However, the jollification and support offered by being alongside other runners outweighed the negative thoughts I was having and so I did my best to keep up.

As the miles were counted down I could feel a sense of relief washing over me and when we were given a little bit of trail respite my hamstrings, knees and groin called out in gratitude – these kilometres were my favourite of the day but there simply hadn’t been enough of them to make much of a difference to the pounding the lower half of my body had taken and so I continued to slowly amble merrily along.

We were however soon back on the pavements and being sent across the mighty Ironbridge, sadly for us this glorious structure is undergoing major renovation and restoration work and was therefore completely covered. That said I can certainly say I crossed it and enjoyed the views across the town and river. From here I started clock watching or to be more accurate GPS watching, converting kilometres to miles and trying to figure out just how far was left, the trouble was I’d gone wrong in direction enough to make this futile and turned my gaze to the river and the fact I was on the side opposite to the finish line. Bugger.

All of the runners I was with had a small wobble about halfway before the actual crossing but it was with renewed vigour that we all pressed on for the final mile. Buoyed by the sight of the final directional arrow I burst forward a little ahead of the others and bounced through the car park to the finish.

There was no fanfare, simply Denzil manning the bacon butty wagon. Perfect.

Key points

  • Distance: Ultra 50km
  • Profile: Nothing too severe
  • Date: March 2018
  • Location: Telford
  • Cost: £50
  • Terrain: Mixed (but mainly tarmac paths)
  • Tough Rating: 1/5 (very accessible ultra)

Route: The route had a number of interesting bits, lots of bridges, lots of heritage and passed along some good scenery but that was tempered by the running through some really rather dull sections. The Silkin Way markers were a really nice touch and being made up of good paths the route lends itself to being fast – if you want it to be. The trail sections for me where the best part (though I believe these were off the Silkin Way) but there weren’t enough of them, however, that’s the trail runner in me talking. Ultimately I think you’ll find that this is neither the best nor the worst route you’ll ever do but has more than enough positives to make this a worthwhile run.

Organisation: This was my first time with ‘How Hard Can it Be’ and the hugely enthusiastic team were incredibly professional and wonderfully supportive. It was a relaxed atmosphere and everything was organised perfectly – just the kind of race organisation I enjoy.

Support: Aid station 1 and 3 were the same one on the out and back with aid 2 being in one of the organisers homes which was very nice and my desire to take a seat was sorely tested. Three aid stations was enough albeit the positioning was probably just a wee bit off as you had the final ten miles with no race support (although there was nothing stopping you nipping into the local shop for a bottle of water and/or a snickers!). The aid stations themselves were suitably stocked for the shorter end of the ultra distances with jelly babies, jaffa cakes, crisps, cola and water in abundance. Nothing wrong with the support.

Awards: The medal was weighty and a lovely memento of a challenging event. I also very much liked the design for the race numbers, made a pleasant change from the black number against white background. There was also the post race photograph to look forward too (or grimace at) – as per usual I look terrible!

Value for money: The route, the medal, the experience, the support and of course the cost all come to mind when I’m looking at value – how does this stack up against its contemporaries?

It comes out pretty well – primarily because of the positive experience you’ll have running the Silkin Way and different people will take away different positives from this. For me I got to run an ultra marathon in a new part of the UK, in a friendly, small field of runners with an ace medal and that means I got excellent value for money.

Conclusion: Is this the best ultra marathon in the UK? No it’s not, but is it a really good early spring shakedown ultra that will set you up for races later in the year? Oh yes!

I’d say this race is especially good for road runners who want to dip their toes into ultra marathons but who want to avoid laps or want to avoid mud. It would be excellent if you were looking for a challenging but fast 50km. Would I do it again? If I were looking for a race at this time of year I would certainly consider running this again (although I’d prepare a bit better for the tarmac) as I enjoyed myself more than the pain in my legs suggest. The fact is that races like this draw out, in my opinion, the ultra runners I want to run with and I’ll continue to support races like this for as long as lovely race directors like Denzil (and the team) put them on. Good work guys – you can check out their races at http://www.codrc.co.uk


Those of you that believe that bodily fluids and especially bowel issues are something that should be neither seen or heard should probably move on from this post because it’s all about poo!

To begin I’ll draw attention to one of my top 10 list of ‘pieces of running advice’ I’ve collected over the years and at number 8 is ‘never trust a fart‘.

Damn fine advice if you ask me.

The expulsion of wind for a runner can lead to stopper being popped and the ‘trail runners supernova’ erupting all over our finest scenery.

Many of us, as trail runners, will have been caught short out on a deserted trail and will have squatted behind the nearest bush to evacuate our insides. As regular readers will know I’ve been caught short a few times, in fact quite a lot of times and therefore feel quite well informed about what causes these problems, the types of problem and the resolution.

However, I’m not all knowing and so in the last two years I’ve been doing a little research and quizzing runners about their terrible poo related tales, you guys are so willing to share! So in the interest of sharing aha furthering knowledge I bring the 10 most popular poo types on the trails.

In the interest of privacy no names (other than my own moniker) will be used.

Scoring*
As a sidebar to this post I’m curious which of the ten you may have encountered yourself, if you recognise up to and including 3 poo types you’re probably still an amateur, 4-6 would suggest you’ve been around a bit and are quite a competent trail pooper and anything beyond this suggests you’ve got rotten guts and may need to seek medical attention.

The Squirter
It was one of my first ultra marathons – Rat Races The Wall that I first encountered the notion that ultra runners shit in the woods. The gentleman I’d be running with for a little while (I say running, we were both hobbling by this point) advised he needed to stop and relieve himself. He told me to go on but we both knew that neither would make it as we were clearly using one another as a crutch to make it to the finish. So he nodded an agreement and headed off into the bushes alongside a quiet road for what I thought was a jimmy riddle.

The next thing I heard was what I believed to be the sound of a car back firing. Sadly no, it was my companion the back fire was followed by a noise that could only be described as ‘fountain like’ and something I wouldn’t encounter again until my 1 year old daughter projectile shat all over the GingaNinja.

Within a few minutes it was all over, I heard the groans of a man wiping himself on dried leaves and hoping his finger didn’t break the brittle natural loo roll. He returned and mumbled an apology to which I replied something along the lines of, ‘better out than in’. 

While I didn’t see the offending release, I did note that his lower back carried the hallmarks of poo splatter that had not been there previously and he was clearly in some distress as it shouldn’t be that yellow.

Just remember if you’re going to squirt – don’t get too close to anything – you do not want bounce back.

The Breach
I’ve recalled, in my race report, the moment on the Mouth to Mouth where I simply had to stop, spiking my arse on the only bush for miles in the process. I’d run several kilometres knowing that I couldn’t squeeze my arse cheeks tightly or there would be messy consequences and there is no feeling worse than having your guts be tumbling around as you’re in desperate need of a quiet spot and yet still trying to race. I ran Mouth to Mouth really quite well but this unfortunate stop cost me a decent time but when you’ve been torpedoed by your own lack of bowel control what can you do?

The Lightning Strike
In the distance I can hear the sound of Brian May playing some awesome guitar solo from Flash Gordon but the lightning attack is when you get an urgent need and an immediate stop is required followed by a single lightning quick unloading of your bowels. If the process from shorts down to concluding your business takes more than 30 seconds chances are this isn’t a Lightning Strike

The Double Ender
I lay baking in the midday sun, around a metre in front of me was a spray of chunky vomit and behind me – about the same distance away was a ‘Dr Octopus’ putrid green and stinking, liquid diahorrea. I genuinely thought I was going to die and was to die having experienced what has been called the double ender. During the experience I had bodily fluids pouring out of every orifice and all at the same time – my muscles didn’t know how to react to the need to lurch one way and then the next.

I should have DNF’d that day but I picked myself up, carefully avoiding the vile radioactive anal and oral offerings and make a decision that I wasn’t going to quit this one!

There are number of lessons you need to learn from my experience, the first is ‘be careful of the water you drink from in Scottish Highland streams’ and secondly ‘remove enough of your clothing that you don’t get them covered in either ends of your distress’. Had I got so much as one iota of nastiness on my race clothing I would have DNF’d there and then.

And the rock cried out, no hiding place
It was during my fail at Haria Extreme that I had a disturbing thought – I need a dump but I knew that the checkpoint was only five minutes away and this section of the course was heavily marshalled – just to guide you through the vineyard and into the loving arms of the volunteers. ‘Is there a toilet?’ I asked hopefully. The volunteers looked at me in a ‘we don’t speak English’ kind of a way – thankfully a young boy at the back piped up and said, ‘next place, 20km’. This made no sense as the next CP was at 25km and there was no checkpoint 20km from this point. I thanked them and set off

My toilet need wasn’t super urgent but it would become that way if I didn’t resolve it. By the time I reached the next checkpoint it had become the main issue and I once again asked if they had toilets but it was another negative response. Bugger.

In the distance I could see large swathes of open landscape and no cover. Bugger. However, with a ridge in the distance I could use that as cover and indeed I did find a small cave that I could perch over the opening. Phew. I positioned myself carefully and despite needing to keep myself upright using all my upper body strength I managed to begin my business. It was just as the first droppings landed that below me I could hear the scurrying of something alive. Bugger.

I felt my face go red in the middle of the movement and my natural survival instinct kicked in and I fired out a rather difficult ‘lightning strike’ and leapt up with my shorts around my ankles. Clear of the pit I peered back and could see the scurrying of some animal(s) I had disturbed.

To add insult to injury I was now half naked in the middle of Lanzarote, balls out and above me, on the ridge, several runners ran past. Regardless of my own predicament I’m sure the sight of my nudey form did nothing to enhance their experience.

Lesson? Check the hole you’re about to deposit in – especially when it might be an animals home.

The Meconium
Meconium is the tough first, very dark poo your child does and when racing I had cause to stop during my first ultra and learn a very valuable lesson. Thankfully this happened at a checkpoint, on a toilet, in a village hall on the White Cliffs 50.

I had clearly not been drinking enough, was hugely dehydrated and when I needed to visit the little boys room but everything was super difficult to deliver, small, tough, dark and poisonous smelling. It didn’t impact my racing that day but it did remind me of the value of food and drink as I race.

The Galloping Trots
The trots are very different from the ‘Lightning Strike’ and ‘The Gift That Keeps on Giving’ in that you’re completely immobile for quite a significant period of time and there is a small tonne of it. I suppose the lesson to learn from the trots is that you need to give your stomach what it needs rather than what it wants and in the run up to CCC I’d been more socially active than normal and had spent the week eating out and eating lovely, sometimes quite rich food.

I wasn’t running very well at the CCC as I’d fallen quite badly coming off the first descent and this was made all the worse but the revenge of my week long holiday food choices. It was somewhere between CP1 and CP2 that I pulled up to tend my wounds properly and also to deal with my groaning, moaning stomach. I journeyed a little way off the route and into deep bushes – taking my pack off and moving all my kit to higher ground. I could feel the grumbling inside myself and it was pure agony as a stream of solid, then less solid, then liquid materials streamed out of me.

Coming in waves as these things invariably do I would think I was finished only to move and hear my stomach turn again. I was lucky that I was elevated from the ground between two big tree branches and therefore protected from splatter but 20 miles of too hot running, a bit of dehydration and a week of holiday eating had not made my bowels a scent sensation you’d enjoy.

I crept away, as you do, having defiled this sacred trail running ground. Feeling so rough I managed another 30km before the inevitable DNF and believe me my stomach felt every metre.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving
The first time I ever needed to stop on a race was during the South Downs Way 50. I remember I’d been struggling for about 2 miles and had to slow down enough that I felt like I was really losing ground. I was running with a buddy in a very casual way, in that we would hurl abuse at each other as we went by one another but at about 10 miles I needed to find a quiet place.

Thankfully a location rocked up quickly and I disposed of the offending item discreetly and set off again but less than 3 miles later I was pain again. I dug a small hole and delivered again but it still wasn’t enough – in a little over 15 miles I needed 5 stops, each worse than the last and my concern about the amount of toilet tissue I was carrying was growing.

At my first stop I’d been quite generous with my loo roll but as the stops became more frequent I had to ration it and as the releases became less solid I felt I needed more paper – this was a no win situation.

My solution was that I stopped eating before the halfway point and I took very small amounts of water fearing that I might end up in a situation where I’d have to use my much loved buff to wipe. I didn’t, I finished and the Buff survived.

Sugar Loaf Mountain
This is a very specific moment in my running career and there will be people who read this and know the incident I’m talking about. It was 2014 and my first time at Country to Capital – in the gents there are two cubicles. It’s fair to say both were incredibly busy but it’s equally fair to say that only one of them was flushing. Upon reaching the front of the queue I was offered the right hand side cubicle – I headed in and looked down, though not far down as the peak of the poo mountain was creeping over the rim. I stepped back, choking slightly on my own vomit and offered the opportunity to the man behind me and risking the other cubicle.

I’m not sure what disgusted me more – the sight of so much poo or the fact that so many runners were happy to give this a go. Nasty.

The Heaver
I was running in a 45 mile race when I met a lovely lady who offered some insight into what I’ve dubbed ‘the heaver’. The lady in question who told me about this was in the middle of a mountain marathon and had gotten caught a little short, ‘I know what it’s like,’ as I was discussing my concerns about needing a toilet break as we raced.

She had decided to stop at a small clump of bushes and then fell into distress – she says she was pushing and pushing with only the smallest of results but knowing that there was a real need to deal with this . I’ll quote her directly as this has never left me, ‘I heaved and I heaved but the house just wouldn’t blow down’.

After some 20 minutes (according to her Garmin) she had managed to fire off a small pile of rabbit like pebbles – which to her seemed inconsistent with the trouble her bowels had been giving her. Still she did complete her mountain marathon but said I shouldn’t worry if I ever need a noisy poo as she was sure every runner who went past her probably heard her trying to push that one out.

Ah the honesty of ultra runners.

My Solution
There’s no magic wand for issues like this, if it happens you simply need to deal with it but my pre-race preparation now at least offers me a chance of getting it all out of the way before I set off.

The Flat White coffee seems to be the trigger for helping me pass the contents of my innards before a race start. It’s not a perfect solution, it doesn’t always work and if I get the timings wrong then it can cause more problems than it solves but since trying this method I’ve had a greater deal of control out on a route – because undoubtedly I suffer from a really shitty problem (sometimes)!

You’ll all have your own magic treatments and pre-race routines and I’d love to hear them because I’ve seen and been involved in some pretty horrendous states and anything we can all do together to reduce this can only be a good thing.

So please feel free to share…

Lessons

  1. Watch for back splash
  2. Always carry enough toilet paper/tissues
  3. Deal with it quickly, don’t wait until it is a serious issue
  4. Beware small furry animals
  5. Ensure you use the facilities before your run/race
  6. Ensure you are suitably secluded if you need to use the trail
  7. Don’t overburden your stomach pre-race
  8. Never trust a fart
  9. Make sure you are finished
  10. Try not to care what other people think

I hope this post hasn’t distressed or disturbed you all too much and I hope that what you take from this is, ‘be prepared’ and ‘it’s not just bears that shit in the woods’

*Thanks to GCJ for suggesting the scoring system


I’ve written twice previously about how awesome the Vigo 10 (Tough Love) Race is. It’s the crazy mix of trail and XC with the hardest, sharpest hill around and the best downhills for miles, a shed load of mud and so yes this is an awesome race. 


This year Vigo Running Club (in conjunction with the Harvel Hash Harriers) dared to amend a near perfect route – the result? an even better albeit slightly slower running experience. I wince at the thought of the mud sat here writing this now but yesterday as I battled across Kent I was in love and once the clarity of memory subsides I’ll be in love again.

I’m not going to go into great depth about the race again there’s a few highlights talked about below and you can read my previous reviews here (2014 review) (2015 review) but be assured that if you loved it before then you’ll love it again. All the best bits have been kept and it’s amazingly gotten even better!

I can honestly say that never have a medal and a mars bar been more keenly earned.


Below therefore is the brief overview of my 2017 Vigo 10 and it goes a little like this;

  • Pre-race 45 minutes on the toilet with epic bowel issues
  • Arriving to catch up with Mr Hrabe, Emma and to meet Chelsea (and husband) in a ‘stood next you and notice each other’ kind of way, ace
  • Wonderfully chilly conditions
  • Wonderfully moist (soaking) underfoot
  • The finest marshalling team
  • Great route directions and amusing signage
  • The best uphills
  • The best downhills
  • Great views 
  • A few minor adjustments to the route to make it even better
  • The nastiest mile 9 climb ever (and I include Como Lupslido on Lanzarote when I’m comparing)
  • Mud everywhere
  • I didn’t lose my shoe as I did in 2015
  • An outrageous and awesome (met him at my first ultra 4 years ago) runner on the PA system calling our names and numbers out, making me hurl myself at the finish!
  • A medal I’ll treasure and a mars bar I delighted in eating
  • Incredibly well organised
  • Wonderful support from the rugby club and the many supporters stood in the cold, a real community affair
  • A great value 10 mile run
  • A post race 45 minutes with hideous bowel issues, thankfully my race was unaffected!

As you may be able to tell this is just one of those races that you a) need to do and b) love doing. I’ll be back again next year because this race gives me joy in my running and I might not have pulled my hamstring dancing like an idiot at a rave the day before when this race next comes round.

My only minor complaint was the lack of the cannon firing to set us off, however, I imagine health and safety might have come into play with this – but I like the cannon and know other runners do too. However, this is a minor gripe in a race made for runners.


Final mentions: my special thanks go out to Mick Hrabe for catching me at the final hill, that gave me the incentive to really push for a fast finish – you weren’t beating me two years in a row! And of course we should all be grateful to both of the running clubs involved – Vigo and Harvel, truly great work.


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Haria Extreme was without doubt one of the most glorious races I’ve ever run in but I did pay a price. The calf that forced my retirement from the event and the bleeding shin that also contributed to it meant I had needed a rest and our trip to Lanzarote had been many things but restful wasn’t one of them.

I had however, several months earlier, entered the inaugural Mouth to Mouth race – a 28 mile trail race across the South Downs and the south coast. The event hosted by Sussex Trail Events had been on my radar for a little while before entering as it would serve as a nice year ender as well as take my mind off the fact I had not returned to the SainteLyon this year (which took place on the same day). The only problem was it was a mere week after returning from holiday and my calf and shin still felt very tender, on the positive side though training had gone very well in the five days leading up to the race so I figured what the heck and rolled up the chilly Shoreham start line ready to run.

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This was one of those races that the phrase, ‘brave hardy souls’ might apply to the people that turned up. Lots of runners had their legs out, me included, but we had clear skies and a crisp day with which to run – it seemed perfect. Therefore, when the race kicked off I drifted quickly from the back to the middle of the pack and happily stayed there for a while. Not being much of a racer these days I had decided that this would be a pleasant stroll through some wonderful English landscapes. Notably as we left Shoreham I could see in the distance all the finery of the south coast awaiting us and I was very pleased to be here – running somewhere new.

I hadn’t really realised until I looked down at my watch that I was running at around 10/11km per hour, much faster than is normal for me on these kind of events and so I slowed up a little not wishing to blow up later in the event but as 15km came knocking on my Suunto I was still making (by my standards) fabulous time. There was a gentle air of confidence that took over and I could see myself overtaking people, not that often but enough to make up for a slow start and part of me wondered if I might run a decent time.
At around the time I was beginning to swagger and enjoy the race but I also took note of a different issue: my stomach was doing cartwheels and I could feel a swelling in my lower regions that indicated I was in need of some ‘facilities’. Thankfully I wasn’t super desperate but it was worrying. Regardless I ploughed on past the 18km mark, 20km fell before my new found prowess and then, all of a sudden I was stopped by a sharp series of pain in my guts. Bent double I rested on the trail for a minute not daring to sit though as pressure on my arse might just have evacuated the contents.

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A few deep breathing exercises and I was moving again but now I was moving more slowly, I was walking and all the progress I had made was being undone.

I called the GingaNinja to see if she was in the region and could perhaps meet me with some tissue but she was over 50 minutes away and in the queue to see Santa with UltraBaby. So I hung up and started considering my situation – 25km to go, hmmm I wasn’t going to make it like this. Ask Twitter? Good idea. Twitter suggested everything from socks to buffs through to wiping my arse on the great green earth.

I kept looking down at my two buffs, one on each wrist, the first was bought in the glow of my finish of the Skye Trail Ultra and with it I carried many happy memories, the other was brand new but was a gift from my daughter. It mattered not anyway there were too many runners around and nowhere to be discreet. At about 26km in though the situation reaching critical mass. One way or another this was coming out whether I chose to or not. I let a group of runners go by me, another dozen or so and I found a single thorny tree to cower behind and give leave behind a deposit.

I shan’t go in to how I resolved the ’tissue issue’ but let’s say it’ll never happen again that I forget my tissues. With the evacuation complete I figured I’d be able to continue untainted by problems – sadly not exactly. Two new problems arose, mild chaffing and I’d managed to stab myself in the arse on the thorns of the single bush large enough to partially disguise me. The fact my stomach was still giving me a good kicking was of little consequence I had to make a decision a) call it a day at the next checkpoint b) hike it c) try and recover some of the lost time over the last 19km and come home strong.

I chose ‘C’.

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The route had largely levelled off which served the purpose of allowing me to pick up my pace a little again and start to make some progress on those ahead of me. I was pretty furious with my idiot body but now I urged it on. I passed through the third of the checkpoints where a large group of runners had congregated, I stopped for some Cola and headed out at pretty much the same time as then but I was still feeling leaden.

Another short stop followed to let stomach griping pass and then onwards. I saw the next piece of tape and followed it into a wooded section but then the GPX file was pointing me a completely different way. I sprinted ahead to try and catch the runners ahead but they weren’t there, after about 400 metres I turned back and headed to where I had turned in – it looked right. I searched for clues but none were forthcoming. I started off again, but now slightly panicked, do I follow the river or do I follow the tape? Thankfully the decision was taken out of my hands when a runner came bounding towards me and growled, ‘THIS WAY’.

I gratefully gave chase.

Here out by the river I thought the route was at its most beautiful. Trees overhanging, the river around us and an uncomplicated trail. Save for my companion, who had now dropped back, I was quite alone and it felt truly wonderful. But tranquility was at a premium when I remembered to keep running and so I pressed on through to the next checkpoint on the far side of a riverside pub – if only that had been there 90 minutes ago I thought!

I thanked the volunteers for their incredible friendliness and then made haste to home. The route had one final delightful surprise for the runners though and that was Arundel – a picture postcard of a town with castles, Market and all the things that say ‘Classic English’. It could have come straight from an Agatha Christie or P G Wodehouse it was a delight. But then the route threw one last challenge at us, with just a couple of kilometres to go the wind started whipping around us – a headwind.

I pulled my buff around my neck and my spare buff went back on my head. Thankfully neither had been used in my earlier evacuation. With the metres counting down I could see the outline of what could be Littlehampton Marina and this was confirmed by a runner who called over to say ‘about a mile to go, keep running’.

I took his advice and then pressed the pursuit mode as a runner who had gotten away from me was in my sights. We arrived at the car park edge together but with something to prove to myself I hurled myself away from him in a feat of sprinting.

In the distance, with my lungs now burning, I could see UltraBaby and I threw her a big wave or three as I then flew past her. BOOM, I crossed the finish line to whoops and cheers as I sprinted beyond the finish.

I lay on the floor and whined. What a day I’d had!

Key points

  • Distance: 28 miles
  • Profile: Rolling hills, couple of climbs, nothing too severe
  • Date: December 2016
  • Location: Sussex
  • Cost: £40
  • Terrain: Trail
  • Tough Rating: 2/5

Route
I’ve never found the South Downs Way a very exciting place to run but this route was excellent and while it wasn’t as tough as say High Weald 50km or as far as the South Downs Way 50 this had a very real charm with a nicely challenging route that took in some majestic views – you will not be disappointed

Organisation
Everything ran smoothly as far as the runners could see and it was a professional but informal approach. Appearing as relaxed as they did takes skill and making the difficult look effortless appeared like it was second nature to the organisers

Support
Aid stations about every 5 miles and lots of good stuff available – the hot cross buns were a revelation, one of the better aid station setups I’ve seen over the last couple of years. I mostly stucj with Cola but if you wanted sweet or savoury there seemed something for you.

Awards
Medal and some hot foot at the end. Keep it simple, medal was nice, formed part of a interlocking series of medals (I just have the one). It was a low key event and this seemed the right level of reward.

Value for money
Top notch, lots of support, lots of goodies at the aid station, a great race, route and organisation – if you paid a few quid more you certainly would have nothing to grumble at.

Conclusion
Did I have a terrible race because of GI distress? No I didn’t, I had a shitty race for about 90 minutes and 5km as I tried in vain to resolve the issues I was facing but the race itself was a stunning year ender and you would hope that it will return in 2017. There was nothing over the top here, it was very much my kind of race ‘by runners for runners’ and in my search for races that have heart this would score incredibly highly.

If you run Mouth to Mouth or any of the other Sussex Trail Events (click this link for their website) I suspect you’ll have a stunningly good time and go back for more – I know I’m going to. Enjoy

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