English
Wednesday 19th August 2009. I am standing in the kitchen, listen to Heart radio, getting my running kit ready and still contemplating what I am going to do. I had taken 3 days off work and had it in mind to “go running”. I had nothing planned at all; the only thing I did know is that I wanted to do something a little different.
My race number and course map for London to Brighton had come through the post the previous morning. I was flicking through the map and thinking about reccying part of the course when I heard Jamie Theakston invite Heart listeners to call in and talk about what they were going to do for the day. I grabbed the phone and dialled up.
Amazingly I got through straight away. I still had no clear idea on what I was going to do, but I was really excited now and couldn’t hold back my enthusiasm, blurting out to the researcher that I was going to “run all day” and yes, I was well aware that it was going to be the hottest day of the year. What I said obviously appealed in some way and we arranged that I would be live on air in 5 minutes. It was 8:30 am.
I didn’t have time to call any of friends and family before I was on air talking about my plans for the day. It was all a bit of a blur to be honest, I seem to remember quoting Forrest Gump and talking about running around London all day until I dropped. I must have sounded like a complete fruitcake. Jamie found the whole thing pretty amusing but kindly asked any listeners who spotted me to give me a wave or friendly toot; I was wearing my bright orange Wiggle vest and would be easy to spot.
By 9:00 am I was heading out the door and ready to start my adventure. I had no route planned, just a vague idea of running a semi circuit around London for as long as my body would hold out.
I hadn’t headed 200 yards down the road before I got my first toot and wave, one of at least a hundred on the day. I guess that the notion of a guy running around in 30 degree heat caught the imagination of the good people of London, most whom would be heading to work or going about their normal daily lives. I headed out onto my familiar route, the A20 into London. Whenever I am working in town I do this same route 4 or 5 times a week and the familiarity was a comfort. What struck me within the first few miles was how hot it was already at 9am in the morning. I had drunk 750ml in just 40 minutes. I would need to be very disciplined to keep up a sensible drinks routine throughout the day.
This may sound easy enough, but I know from experience that six or seven hours into a run, your body starts playing tricks on you. There comes a point when you can no longer rely on hunger and thirst to dictate when you should eat or drink. There will even be times when the thought of either makes you feel queasy. Basically, it’s then that you have to rely on the basic principles, that your engine needs continual fuel and hydration to keep cool. About seven miles in I deviated off my usual course and it was at this point that it felt like the adventure was really beginning. I made a promise to myself that I would use the voice recorder on my phone to keep track of my route, calling out the names of the major junctions I passed on the way. Again, this kind of promise is easy to keep when your body and mind is under little or no pressure. However, apply just a little of either and the prospect of pulling out the phone, locating the program, hitting the record button, talking for a few seconds and stowing the phone away safely becomes really (REALLY!) irksome.
71 Miles to Portsmouth and Wiggle central. An idea for another day…?
Heading through New Cross, Peckham, Camberwell and into Richmond, I was really enjoying the morning sunshine. I planned to stop and eat in Richmond and found myself a plot at the foot of a memorial / fountain on Richmond Green. I stuffed down half my pre made pasta carbonara, glugged down a litre of Viper and fought off an urge to crash out and soak up some rays with the rest of those enjoy the sunshine.
It was around the Twickenham area that the lack of structure and route began to really get to me. I had gone down a few roads but then had to turn right round and go back on myself. This might seem trivial but it was really bothering me. I had an overwhelming urge to set myself a goal and target that I could work towards. I recognised that this was part of my character coming through and I could either go with it or fight against it. Whilst contemplating what was best, I stumbled across the Capital Ring for the first time that day.
I had heard about the Capital Ring and had even considered running this over the course of a few days. I knew that it was basically a route around London, totalling 120km or so that would eventually take me back home if I followed it for long enough. This was exactly the kind of goal that I needed and I felt energised and enthused as I set off towards Brentford.
After a few hours of meandering through Osterley, Greenford and Kenton, I remembered that despite searching for it the night before, I was unable to find my head torch. This meant I would need to stay on well lit roads during the night hours. Much of the Capital Ring seemed to be off road / on tow path so I would need to start thinking about an alternative plan.
A towpath on the Grand Union Canal. Despite looking I deeply depressed, I was actually feeling pretty upbeat!
I needn’t have worried as I neared Harrow on the Hill I lost the Capital Ring Route. I thought the most sensible thing would be to stay on the roads and head in towards Wembley. I ran on down past Sudbury Golf Club onto Bridgwater Road.
I never take salt on my food but I think the toils of the day had depleted my salt levels to the extent that I really craved it. As I passed a McDonalds I got the craving got just too much and I had to dive in for a LARGE coke and LARGE fries with lots of SALT. I got a few funny looks as I ran into the store with my water bottle, open money in hand and face covered in crusty white sweat but it was worth it. A few minutes later and I was back outside with a full belly and my water bottle topped with water, ice and another 3 sachets of salt; ultra runners milkshake!
A few miles down the road I passed over the canal route again and decided to hop back onto it and follow the Grand Union tow path into town. I started to pass signs for Paddington and I know my fellow ultra runner Mat Browne lives in this neck of the woods so I called him up to see if he was up for putting in a few miles with me.
Mat did join me and it was great to have his company. I wanted to appear as positive as possible but at this stage of the day, around 10 hours in, I was starting to feel pretty beat up. I was really conscious of my slower pace but I had neither the will nor ability to keep up with Mat. We deviated off the canal for a while to take in Regents Park but then got back on and ran right through Camden and in towards the city.
Around 21:30 Mat called it a day and headed back home. I felt a little sad at the departure of my companion but in another way it helped me to solely focus on what lay ahead. I thought that if I could get through to sun up, there was a real chance that I could make it through 24 hours, which was my ultimate goal if the truth be told.
I reached the City of London around 11. It always amazes me how this part of the city is so quiet, with everything pretty much shutting up around 9pm. I crossed over London Bridge and headed towards the Elephant and Castle and into Kennington.
It was around Clapham Common that I realised that there was no way I was going to make it the full 24 hours. It wasn’t that I felt sore or unable to continue; I was just exhausted and had no desire to prolong things any longer than I had to. I felt happy as I turned back towards Brixton, knowing that I had a good 2 hours of running before I reached home.
Outside the Bank of England, some time around 11pm
It wasn’t too long before I was back in New Cross and on my normal commuter route home. The last hour or so of the “run” had become pretty much slow jogging interspersed with fast walking. I was never unhappy though, just comfortably numb as Pink Floyd would put it; very tired, but already planning a shower, what food I would eat and what film I would fall asleep to on the settee.
A mile or so from home the scene from Ice Cold in Alice jumped into my head. It’s the one with John Mills, Sylvia Syms and Anthony Quayle staring at cold glasses of Carlsberg beer on the bar, watching the droplets of condensation edging down the side of the glass whilst licking their lips and savouring the prospect of what was to come.
I knew the fridge at home was empty but was hoping that one of the two 24 hour petrol garages en route would be able to help me out. Alas, it wasn’t to be, with one of them being dry and the other closing at 11pm. I would have to wait for my celebratory pint.
I turned the corner of my street at 2:07 am, having been on the go for 17 hours and 7 minutes. I really do not know how far I had run and to be honest, this distance does not bother me. The emotions I felt were very different to previous ultra distance runs I had done. Maybe it was the time of the night, with the streets being so dark, the roads so quiet, with only my breathing and footfall for company. This time I felt very calm, very happy and at peace with the world. I knew right away that this would be a day I would remember for the rest of my life and as I write this only a week later, I only realise this more.