It was back in March 2014 when I first made a foray into the world of endurance racing beyond single marathons. The previous Autumn, after making the decision to 'give up marathon running', I had made the impulsive decision to sign up for VoTwo's Jurassic Coast Challenge - three days of running roughly marathon distance each day along the dramatic Dorset coast from Charmouth to Studland Bay. Lord only knows why I suddenly thought it seemed like a good idea, and I certainly didn't know the incredible impact it would have on my future running but that is sometimes the way fate chisels our path... With the enormity of the challenge that I had set myself, I knew that I was going to have to push my training to whole new levels through the winter of 2013/14. I researched as much as I could about the sort of training needed for an event of this type and set about creating a new, harder, tougher, off-road-running me. The winter was spectacular in its ferocity, with weeks of seriously icy and windy and wet weather through which I pushed myself out of the door for back-to-back-to-back mid-week runs, long runs, and long, muddy hill repeats of up to 20 miles at a time. By the time I set off for Dorset, I knew I was the strongest I had ever been at that time of the year and hoped it would be enough to see me through. When I got to the pre-race briefing on day 1, however, my confidence melted. Looking around me, I could see more than a hundred individuals, each of them with the look of seasoned ultra-runners. They had all of the right kit, and it looked like it had all been used in anger a few times at least... unlike most of my kit which had been used only on a couple of training runs before that first fearful day. I was petrified. What on earth was I doing here? I certainly didn't belong amongst the ranks of wiry racers by whom I seemed to be surrounded. This was a totally new feeling for me. As a road runner, I always knew my pace, and my place within the group. With personal bests of 44 minutes for 10km and 3 hours 44 mins for marathon, I was comfortably mid-pack and positioned myself accordingly at the start of races. I would generally start about one third of the way back in the pack, and finish about one third of the way down the results. As such, I was always surrounded by runners of my own ability/experience. With the exception of my first ever (looped) road marathon, I had never been challenged by checkpoint cut-offs, or the risk of not actually finishing what I had started. Bundled into the race minibus that first day in Dorset, heading to the start, my nerves didn't diminish. With absolutely nothing to compare my pace with, I was seriously doubting my ability to hit each of the days checkpoint cut-off times. In the back of my mind, I was also hoping that I wouldn't get left behind as I wasn't confident in my navigational skills either (although for the most part, it just involved keeping the sea on my right!!). Too much uncertainty! I really needn't have worried. I was certainly behind the first third of the runners that day, but I wasn't at the back, and I didn't get left behind. My legs ached by the end of it, but I think my facial muscles probably ached more, from all the smiles I had had along the way. I truly loved the feeling of being out there in some of the best scenery the UK can offer... I was hooked already! By the start of day 2, my confidence was a little higher, although I was now into the totally unknown territory of back-to-back marathons, with the second day being tougher, and actually a couple of miles longer than marathon distance. I didn't feel too stiff or sore, however, and despite the tough terrain of the previous day, my footwear choice had proven right and my feet were blister free. Looking round at everyone lined up for Day 2, I drew strength from the fact that I was actually faring better than some of my fellow runners, many of whom had had to pay a visit to the medic prior to the briefing. I could do this! Again, I finished the day in good time and in pretty good shape. My muscles were sore, but I was still both blister free and injury free. The views of the day had been stunning. Glorious sunshine and clear visibility meant that when we finished the section at Lulworth Cove, we had enjoyed spectacular views all the way back round the coast to Portland, and to Weymouth where we had started the day. By the start of day three, and despite it being the toughest day of the three, I knew that provided I took it steady, I was certainly going to finish. I learned a lot about myself over those three days. What I didn't realise is how much more there was still to learn. Fast forward then to September 2014, and I toed the line for my first ever 24 hour race. In many ways, despite the enormity of the challenge of running for 24 hours, I was more comfortable with myself. I had set myself the challenge of running at least double marathon distance and decided to take it as it came beyond that point. Despite my feet shredding in the early hours of the morning (due to a sun-baked cattle-trodden couple of fields in the middle of each lap), leading me to have to take a couple of hours rest, I managed 78 miles. I was thrilled. I was an ultra-runner! Or was I?
Of course, technically, I had run an ultra-distance and therefore was an ultra-runner. But nobody actually told my psyche that. For the following 18 months I turned up at ultra-distance events with that same feeling of being the 'outsider'. Not that anyone ever made me feel like that, quite the contrary in fact. The ultrarunning scene is an exceptionally friendly one and it is very easy to bond with fellow runners when you are sharing your pain. Coming forward to 2016, this year alone I have competed at 3 24-hour races and numerous 50km and beyond runs. I have run a lot! Yet, I remain in awe of most of the individuals with whom I toe the line. Many of these individuals I now have the honour to class as friends, or at least as running acquaintances. But I am still slightly star struck by their abilities. They have dedication and perseverance and an ability to perform at levels so far beyond anything I can ever dream of. Many of them have done, or are currently doing, incredible things. At my last 24-hour race of this year, last month, I threw everything at the course and squeezed 94 miles out of a rather muddy circuit. It pretty much broke me and I was totally spent immediately after the race. I was thrilled at the result, but more than anything else, I was stunned to find that I finally felt like I had earned the title of ultrarunner. I felt like I belonged! I am still, and forever will be, in awe of the results of those right out at the front of the pack but I can now say that, at last, I feel like a (humble) ultrarunner. I think I have found my feet!
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