50 Miles More Than I Believed Possible

50 miles is a long way. There is no doubt about that. It is one of those distances that when you explain to people that you want to run it, on a trail, in the woods, with a lot of elevation gain, they proceed to look at you with a puzzled look and ask “why?”

To be honest, it is a perfectly good question. The answer has always either been “why not?” or “if you have to ask why I don’t think you’ll get it”, both of which can seem off-handish…but the reason is for me, and me alone.

The phrase “A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step” pops into my mind right now. Granted, it was only 50 miles at the end of the journey, but it was 42 weeks of brutal training to get there. That is brutal by my terms, not anyone else’s. I peaked at around 100 km per week with a few swims and 4 sessions on the bike in this training block, and I would have done nothing different. After all, the results speak for themselves in my eyes.

THE RACE

Wendover 50 Miler is characterised in a few ways. It is a race that consists of five 10-mile loops sprinkled with some very good runnable sections, and some brutally steep climbs and descents. The type that will come back and bite you in the ass if you miss-pace yourself early on.

I always like having goals. No doubt about it. For once though, a goal was not based on time…but rather on position. A few days before the race I decided that a top-40 finish in my ultra debut would be a fantastic result, and something I would be really happy with… and then promptly tacked on a goal of sub-10 hours as an extra kicker to complicate my potential happiness.

I knew I would be ok for the first 3 loops. I have done 3 loops there before. Loops 4 and 5? That was uncharted territory for me, and something that both filled me with excitement and a healthy dose of nerves. Would my legs disintegrate? Would my stomach give out? What would I actually do when everything got hard? And yet, there was only one way to find out…to go run the damn thing.

The weather the previous week had been dreadful. Rain, thunderstorms, wind. You name it, we may have had it. The ground was not amazing, but not too bad at the start, and the temperature was damn near perfect (I think it was around 5c at midday). Of course, I took this as perfectly suitable weather for short-shorts…

I slammed myself at the front of the group of 270 odd runners who came out for this race in the hopes of not getting caught up in a death march on the first lap. I knew my legs were going to blow. I just wanted to make sure that I had covered as much ground as I could before the inevitable happened. Well, that and a combination of tiredness, deteriorating trail conditions and darkness, all of which would compound to slow me down regardless.

Anyway, my plan was to try and even pace it if possible…somewhere around 1:45 / 1:50 a lap and hold on for dear life. Yet, when the gun goes the gun goes and off we run into the distance.

The first part of the course has a slightly different start to the rest of the loops, but the running was good and the Altra Superior 4.0 was holding on alright actually! Considering I had only put 12km on them prior to this race I was a tad surprised that they felt so comfortable…guess I found my trail shoe?

I am fortunate enough to have put some time on the course before the race so I knew where the climbs could be run up, and the descents run down. Yet, I pretty much power hiked EVERY DAMN CLIMB for fear of blowing up. The first loop went down a treat, the goal of 1:45 sitting there and I thought I was slap bang on pace for the most part…after all, I had walked the hills.

First Lap: 1:35:47

OH BOY HERE WE GO GUYS!!! I came into the aid station to Sam looking at me thinking “bit fast Max?” to which I responded “No, no, legs feel great and it’s all going to be fine…I will ease back this next loop”.

Lap 2: 1:42:17

OH FFS MAX WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Right about now my toe started THROBBING and my left knee which had been bothering me all week came out to play. Shock. But those loops felt good, but I was running alone, without music, without friends, and very much still in the front leading group to everyone’s surprise…including my own. Yet, I was doing ok. I was eating well, hydrating well, layers were good, life was good, everything hurt but it was going to be OK because it was only another 30 miles! What a relief.

My goal for Loop 3 was to get in and out before the 13:30 cut off for carrying head torches…as if the extra weight would make any difference, but it was more about having one less thing to worry about while walking through the aid station and Sam force feeding my food and telling me it was all going really well and I should be really happy. Yet, he wasn’t wrong. It was going well. I ended up going through the half way mark in around 4:24. You read that right….4:24 for a trail marathon as a mid way point…at which point I had nearly covered 1600m of elevation as well. Oh deary me, when were the wheels going to come flying off the wagon?

LAP 3: 1:49:52

I got in before the 13:30 cut off. Slammed some jerky, and to my surprise my parents were there. “You are doing really well, Max” came out of my dad’s mouth followed by “are you sure you want to carry on?” coming out of my mum’s. Mums will be mums (not helpful, mum).

The goal now was to ride it out to a top 15 finish, have fun, not die, and try not to get injured. The toe was bad, the knee was worse, and once the light started to fade and my headtorch did the flashes of “low battery” the falls started coming in. Those last 2 loops were some of the harder pieces of running I have ever done. Ever. I fell over, rolled ankles, stubbed toes, got lost. You name it, it happened.

LAP 4: 2:07:30

I cannot explain the emotions that I felt. It was an intense rollercoaster of everything that I could have possible imagined. Everything from “Why am I here?”, “Who came up with this damn course?!”, “I can’t believe I am doing this”, and “Wow, I am lucky to be ABLE to do this”. None of those feelings were wrong or invalid. However,it all came to a tipping point at mile 48.

I was pulling myself up the “railing in the years segment” of the course and that is when it dawned on me. I am done. This is it. This is 40+ weeks of training. Hours of dedication, sacrifice, ups and downs, one weird goal in my head. This is it all realised in one single day. It is done. I just started sobbing uncontrollably. Legitimately, I have no idea why. I wasn’t even sad, or happy, or actually anything. I felt numb, and tired, and just emotionally vulnerable in that moment. I am sure if my dad was there he would have been confused. In fact, I was confused. I cried, and ran, and sniffled, and ran, and next thing I know I am crossing the finish line. Done. Finito. No Mas.

LAP 5: 2:12:20

I finished 11th Male, and 13th Overall in my ultra debut. I clocked in a time of 9:28:46

Me. That’s me right there. The guy that at 17 was bed bound. The one who basically didn’t go to school in his A-Level year. The one who had to leave sport behind. The one who had start from scratch and rebuild EVERYTHING sport wise. The one who had no one my age to turn to. The guy who was an angry, bitter, young man for so long.

So, while I say this was 40+ weeks in the making. It was 7 years in reality, and I think that is why I cried.

A HUGE thank you to Sam for crewing me this weekend. He gave up his time to stand in a field and watch me eat and run away from him 5 separate times.

Also, thank you Mum and Dad for feeding me these last 11 months. I’ll pay back the food bill one day. I promise.