Back to blighty: Thames humble pie

Managing my mountain comedown

A flash back to my first sports physio appointment several months ago; in recent years, I have suffered from pretty severe achilles tendinitis- not the end of the world but it means I walk like a zombie for the first 25 minutes every morning so probably something that needs attention. During my first session, I explained my fitness “strategy” to the good Doctor - genuinely good and world renowned I believe, working with many professional athletes as well as freeloading Bupa patients and weekend warriors like myself.

He asked me various questions about lifestyle and training load etc and some themes arose pretty quickly.

My “strategy” for running basically entails booking a very big event I am almost completely unprepared for, panicking a few months before the event and subsequently cramming, running my body into the ground for 3-4 months to give me a fighting chance of making it out in one piece. Following said event, in my post-run elation I very quickly sign up for another event way in the future - nowhere close enough for me to be motivated to train but close enough for me to able to dream - I then proceed to sit on my bum for the following 6-7 months feeling guilty for not moving. Run. Rest. Rinse. Repeat.

Now it doesn’t take a world renowned sports doctor to work out that this is not an optimal plan and, as he put it, “you are basically never fit or conditioned enough to do what you do to your body”. He also told me that I have “significantly under-developed calves”, which was a blow to my ego.

Reality hits - from wild adventures to the wilds of office life with zoom marathons and tackling mountains of unread emails. Real life resumes with a house move and a trip to wales with the kids; neither without their challenges. A kids holiday is exceptionally good fun but it also involves significantly more energy than a multi-day ultra marathon and I usually end our trip being more depleted than a week in the Namib desert.

This is a well trodden path for me now; the extreme, endorphin fuelled highs of the adventure running in a beautiful, remote environment is replaced by the less stimulating surrounds of daily life and routine. Not that the daily routine is a bad one and, in fact, it brings contentment in many different ways, however I have boomeranged with seeming regularity and felt an ultra comedown after all three of my multi-day ultra experiences, before settling back into a comfortable rhythm.

True to form, I immediately take my foot off the gas, sitting in work meetings and limiting my movement to a gentle stroll to the kitchen and padding my belly with sugar fuelled snack binges; From feeling like a running rockstar back to the over fed, sofa dwelling sloth in a few short weeks.

So, following my recent excursion to Kyrgyzstan, I endeavoured to keep up a sensible amount of conditioning with a smattering of local events to keep me occupied. Under doctors orders to take a more consistent approach to my training and with my new plan underway, since my return from the Tian Shan mountains in early August, I have been humbled by the mighty heights of the river Thames no less than twice.

Thames humble pie

This started with a “gentle” 54km run from Kingston to Greenwich park. On paper, this was quite straight forwards, however my legs have almost entirely forgotten what it’s like to run on flat ground and concrete so it turned out to be a rather painful, humbling experience ending in a grimaced crawl for the last few kilometres. This was a low profile event with a small field and I was complacent about the “short distance” so there were few runners for company and the time went rather slowly, but fortunately, I settled on a similar pace to another runner called Julie and we jogged in the last 15km’s together, which made a huge difference. An ex-military woman, Julie was good company and we chatted about the benefits of running for mental health and the sense of achievement it brings doing hard things and getting the job done, despite wanting to quit for most of it and wondering why we didn’t stay in bed that morning.

The job did eventually get done and Julie was generous with her support, virtually dragging me to the finish, but I couldn’t help hide my disappointment at my pace and fitness following the finish. Nowadays, my goal is to enjoy the moment and curb my competitive spirit with the quiet satisfaction and gratitude at being able to partake in such an experience but I missed the mark on this one and, I won’t lie, I often wish I was a bit quicker and marvel at the bouncy athletes at the front of the pack who often seem to glide across the course without breaking a sweat.

Sweat box blues

Roll forward a couple of weeks and I signed up to a 100km run from Putney to Henley-on-Thames. I have never done a single stage event at this distance so it was new territory and I felt a little buzz of excitement when I woke early on the Saturday morning, readying for my cross-London commute from Brentford. It was scheduled to be one of the hottest days of the year with 33 degrees touted so I packed light with just my trusted desert hat - a ridiculous look but a life saver for your skin if you are as forgetful as I am with applying sun screen - a running tshirt and shorts plus 2 litres of fluid in my pack.

It turned out to be a very a long day in the office. My heat acclimatisation training consisted of a sweaty night with the kids after they invaded my bed and decamped for the night so it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise when my heart rate spiked at the pace of a little more than a stroll within 45 minutes of the start.

Extreme heat brings lots of interesting consequences and in my experience, this usually stems from an elevated heart rate and an associated, steadily rising core body temperature. This, coupled with dehydration, is a “fun” mix and a combination my body didn’t really fancy that day. In all honesty, I was struggling after 10km’s which was at a snails pace due to my unsuccessful attempts to keep my heart rate low in order to keep the pace sustainable. At the half way mark of 50km I crawled in at a rather underwhelming 6 hours, feeling like I had been basting in an oven for that time. Once again, my ego was bruised and my body felt battered so I sat at the aid station for no less than 45 minutes contemplating whether I should do the sensible thing and call it a day. The idea of going back out there and crawling 50km’s in 33 degree heat - it was at the height of the day at around 1pm and the weather prediction was true to form - was deeply unappealing, however with my recent Summer Spine Challenger DNF, I really didn’t fancy that label against my name again. I also had a small moment of reflection at my frustration at myself for my previous Thames run a couple of weeks ago and reminded myself that I am not, nor ever will be, a professional athlete and that no one other than myself cares what time I get, so I pledged to myself to stop with the pointless, self-flagellation. Besides, no one forced me to do this and, with my first David Goggins quote of the day; “I earned this pain, so I am going to enjoy it”.

I chowed down a distinctly average veggie spaghetti bolognese - I have never been to an event where they understand you can stop boiling pasta before 30-40 minutes - downed 2 cans of coke and, against my better judgement, made my way back onto the Thames footpath back into the blazing heat.

After a few Face Time calls with the kids, my spirits were a little higher and my pace even slower. It didn't really help that the kids were splashing in the paddling pool in the garden and it briefly crossed my mind to hop on a train back to London and join them but that aside, they were a welcome distraction and before I knew it, I had hit 70kms and the distance was ticking down.

Around this time, I bumped into a nice Italian chap called Angelo who was limping along with a despondent look on his face. We chatted for a while and it felt like he was ready to throw in the towel. He hadn’t eaten since the start of the race after struggling to keep food down, which wasn’t ideal and to make matters worse he had pulled a muscle, which resulted in his limp. Despite his obvious pain, we ran together for a short while until the next aid station where he decided to stay and recuperate with the goal of getting some calories down him. Angelo was in bad shape but he was unequivocal that he was going to finish the day, of which I had no doubt due to the steely look in his eye and certain tone in his voice.

Across the table at the aid station, we got chatting to a couple of people including yet another nice Italian chap, this one called Cristian - a larger than life character who broke out in song every few minutes with a passion for music. Unfortunately, his passion for music outweighed his singing ability and it often took me a few moments to work out what song he was actually singing but I soon tuned in to “Cristian radio” with some of the hits including “man in the mirror” by Michael Jackson and “the final countdown” by Europe - the latter song a hint that Christian and I enjoyed each other’s company for a good few kilometres to come.

Cristian has an adult son; “his world” and I know he meant it, speaking with immense pride on our journey together.  Mid/stride, he showed me pictures of he and his son together, reminiscing about times they have been mistaken for brothers.

His hero is George Michael and he is so much of a fan that he had previously visited the uk purely to go to George Michael’s home town and presumably peer into the windows of his old house; each to their own and his positive energy and individuality kept my spirits up for pretty much every step of the event from here on in.

Cristian had travelled over to the uk specifically for this event; aged 47 and looking much younger, he fell into running in his early 40’s, previously finding himself overweight and out of shape following years of family and office life. It’s a familiar story and I often find the discovery of running as a pivotal moment for people and a new North Star for a more healthy lifestyle.

The finish: “power of the pack”

With the final aid station, it left a short 12 kilometres to go and following various casual conversations with fellow runners, I formed a little group with Cristian and another couple of guys called Thomas and Clayton; both top blokes and I really enjoyed their company with my usual reminder that ultra runners really are the most lovely bunch. I didn’t get too much of a chance to get to know Thomas’s story but Clayton and I chatted for some time having overtaken each other several times earlier in the race. Both from south west wales, we had plenty in common and Clayton had a warmth and calmness to him that I really admired. He spoke at length about his wife whom he clearly loved dearly; a fellow runner, which hints at reasons behind her generous nature, not only allowing Clayton the time to do ridiculous things like run 100 kilometres by the Thames but also turning up to cheer him on and even drive him home.

Clayton was also a proud parent, speaking fondly of his teenage son’s athletics and upcoming trip to Jamaica with his running club and his daughter’s abundance of energy, emulating her teenage brother with her own little sprints. Clayton had that rare quality of making parenting sound purely like an easy and joy filled vocation - a feat I can tell you from experience is quite rare; I love my kids with all my heart but, Christ they can test my patience, with simple tasks like getting a response from my son for what he wants for dinner or getting them both out of the house on time for the school-run often feel like lofty, unobtainable ambitions. I am sheepish to say that my feeling of relief and sense of achievement for getting to the school gates before the allotted 8.39 time - any time after 8.40 results in the shame of having to sign them in at the school registration office - is always much greater than I care to admit. Clayton strikes me as the kind of guy who stops off on the way to school to play with his daughter in the park and perhaps go for a leisurely breakfast, gently listening to her stories with the calm and presence of a model parent; Meanwhile, I am shouting like a lunatic asking why Jack hasn’t put his shoes on and where on gods Green earth did Amelie put her socks?!

I digress. Back to the run and our final stage is now under the cover of dark, the heat has receded and we have a beautiful evening ahead with a light fog covering, gently lit by our head torches.

We pick a simple strategy, which ticks down the kilometres: a half kilometre run followed by a half kilometre march. This works a treat and we tick down the miles quickly, leisurely chatting away with the confidence of knowing the end is in sight and the job will be done. Thomas stops with 5km’s to go to see a friend who has come to cheer him on and we're down to three.

We cross the finish line together with a warm welcome from a small but raucous crowd at the finish and it is quite a buzz with endorphins flowing and smiles all around, aided by Christian screaming words of encouragement to the spectators and waving his arms in glee. This man has more energy than a greyhound and the enthusiasm of a puppy and it felt like he had been hired as a finish line hype man so it brought a huge smile to my face seeing his antics, coupled with the slightly bemused but entertained looks of our finish line audience.

Clayton’s family are there to cheer him over the finish line and it’s a heart warming moment as they all embrace. Christian is immediately Face Timing his son, shrieking with joy and bouncing on the spot.

Elated and, ironically, now feeling rather fresh legged, I sat down to my third or fourth meal of the day - I think my 14 hours of “running” was largely taken up with rest breaks and food consumption - I was pleasantly surprised to see Angelo sat with his wife and young daughter. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed with confusion after leaving him in a disheveled heap some 20km’s ago for his refuelling mission. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat and explained that once he got some calories down him, his energy levels surged and he bounced the rest of the race with a new found spring, despite doing having one working leg. This is another trait I admire in runners - there is always hope and Angelo is a perfect example of the warmth and positivity that comes with this community. Ultra runners do not know when to quit, which comes from experiences like this; the chances of Angelo getting over the line in one piece were seemingly next to zero after picking up an injury and suffering from sickness in the heat but he had the experience to know that every run is not about the total distance - it’s about the next step and with every moment of seemingly inevitable defeat, there is a simultaneous step forward; there is hope.

Running is a working, tangible example of hope and the truly indomitable spirit of the mind. I am a big fan of pithy statements, often in danger of sounding like hollow cliches, which is why I love the solid, real demonstration of the power of mindset that running brings. Myself and my fellow Thames ultra participants are not professional athletes and the likes of Courtney Dauwalter, Kilian Journet and Eliod Kipchoge can sleep peacefully at night, safe in the knowledge that their records will remain in tact, however we do share something far more valuable; an understanding that our minds can push our bodies so much further than we think and that grit, resilience and positivity can take us to places we really don’t think are possible.

"When you want to give up, you are only 40% done". Goggins quote number 2 for the day.

Back to the finish line and Thomas finishes shortly after us and we give him a warm welcome. He’s pretty dishevelled at this point so makes a swift exit to reunite with his family.  Myself, Clayton and Cristian milk the event for all its worth getting a quick, free massage and just one more portion of food. In a moment of brilliance, also Cristian provides myself and Clayton with gifts from Italy - mini packs of traditional Parmesan, which are clearly necessities for every ultra marathon in Cristian's world! To cap off the generosity of spirit, Clayton’s ever patient wife drives me all the way back home to London, all the while with Christian chatting away with his trademark energy and enthusiasm whilst I struggle to keep my eyes open.

Running reflections

So, I have completed a couple of events since being home. Looking at my mediocre times, it could be classed as a massive failure and, admittedly, there is a small voice in the back of my head wondering where my fitness went to but this is really just a whisper. When I truly reflect, I feel safe in the knowledge that it really doesn’t matter and my satisfaction has not been dampened by a couple of numbers on a piece of paper that no one is going to read.

Since coming home, broadly speaking, I have managed to fend off the post-adventure blues with just a little mountain comedown and I am pleased - maybe a little proud - to say that in action I have found solace, nudging my sense of balance just a little further into the centre and, perhaps a little ironically, doing silly fitness things has once again pulled me away from ego and competition and closer to family and connection. I’ve met some lovely humans, had a blast with my kids and had lots of little reminders that runners are a bloody good bunch, so it feels like my strategy to balance my sofa dwelling sugar frenzies with a smattering of mini weekend adventures has paid off.

Looking forward, I have a couple of tasty looking events coming up to keep things interesting; on the horizon in January is my nemesis, the Spine Challenger on the beautiful yet brutal Peninne Way. As a reminder, this is the event I failed to finish earlier in the year in June so I will be looking for redemption; Like my new friend Angelo, I don’t know when to quit and this time, let’s do it in the p*ssing rain and dark of the British winter just to make it that bit harder.