You've gone to far this time, has been said to me on more than one occasion, and likewise, sometimes you chomp off more than you can chew, and I think that this weekend was one of those occasions.
Back in the winter, when it was dark and grey and I had a few spare minutes, (alright I was supposed to be working), one of my endless searches for new adventures threw up the Warwickshire ring canal race. 111 miles of scenic (and not so) canal running, through the heart of the Midlands. Handily, being a ring, it also started and finished from Coventry, meaning logistically for a long race, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. So, before you could say "Bob's your uncle" or "isn't that a stupid idea?" I'd added my name to the start list. Fast forward 6 months and I'm sat in the van in Coventry on Friday night, thinking "What the hell am I doing here", not only has most of my training been on the bike this year, with just a bit of running thrown in to keep the legs going, but I hate running on Canals. They're too flat, too hard on the feet, and apart from the odd scenic bit, tend to be a bit like running down a tunnel, enclosed by either trees or buildings, meaning there's not even anything to look at. Oh' well, too late to back out now.
And so it was, that I found myself stood in Coventry Canal Basin, slap bang in the heart of the city, on what looked like a pleasant morning, (with a forecast of rain later, how does that work, that's 2 weekends on the trot when it's been gorgeous all week and then rained on Saturday!), with 70 or so other like minded idiots, getting ready for what was undoubtable going to be a long day out.
Bang on 08:00, the nice man from the Canal and River Trust, who was acting as honorary starter, said go, and we were off. Ok, what actually happened is he said "ready, steady" and then had to start again as the photographer had accidently closed his phone down. And when he did finally say "Go" we all did that strange thing that only seems to happen at the start of long races and Audax's, where everyone just stands looking at each other, waiting for someone else to go first. Eventually though we got going, heading out of the city, along the Coventry Canal Towpath, past the remnants of this once industrial city. Now, like so much of the UK, turned over to flats, coffee shops and wasteland. The tarmacked path, led to a faster pace than I would have liked considering the distance to be covered, but once the front runners disappeared into the distance, never to be seen again, I settled into what felt like an easy, and manageable pace, although considering the distance, still probably rather too fast.
Plodding effortlessly along on the pan flat, smooth tarmac, made a real change from my normal route choices, and the first few miles passed amicably enough, sociably chatting to those around me and generally taking in what there was to see. The Coventry Canal, and indeed all of the canals that make up the ring, are significantly different to my normal haunt on the Basingstoke Canal, being far more built up, industrialised and open, and whilst I may be somewhat biased, in my opinion nowhere near as picturesque.
There was still more than enough to keep things interesting though. The pretty canal boats that now act as pleasure craft, their original purpose and important role in the industrial revolution long lost in the mists of time. A Heron stood patiently waiting for it's breakfast to arrive in the shallows, the odd fisherman, eagerly watching the float in front of him, just like the Heron, and a plethora of other little things that catch your attention as you move silently through the landscape.
A touch over 4 hours since setting off, and just in time to enjoy the full force of a heavy rain shower, I arrived at the first checkpoint at 26.5 miles. As I said, way to fast for what was planned to be the first of 4 marathons today, and a time that most people would be over the moon with if they could achieve it just once. Oh well, no point dwelling, I was still feeling good and felt the the pace was easy enough on the flat, hard, ground, so I wasn't too worried.
A quick stop for water, a brief chat with the marvellous marshals, and off again, bound for Birmingham, or the Venice of the North as I've often heard it referred to due to the number of canals that run through it. By now the sun was shining and the temperatures had steadily risen throughout the morning, despite the rain shower earlier doing it's best to put a dampener on proceedings, and I was conscious of making sure to be getting enough water on board to stave of the dreaded cramp, which seems to be the first sign of dehydration in my case.
Eat, drink, plod, became the mantra for the next couple of hours as I made my way steadily towards Birmingham. The tower blocks and old gasometers, visible on the skyline for many miles, providing an indication of progress. Typically, having said drinking needs to be a priority in the heat, I'd not seen a tap for a while to refill my bottles and just as I reached the outskirts of Birmingham my water ran out. Not to worry though, there's bound to be a tap at the next set of locks or a canal side shop to solve that problem.
Wrong! No taps and no shops, just mile after mile of enclosed concrete pathway, with industrial units to either side, all adorned with graffiti (although I must admit that some of it is very good, and a group of youths working on a wall as I passed looked to be doing an admirable job, and said a very polite hello!). With cramp twinging in my calves and a mouth like a camels backside (dry) I was starting to wonder how much longer I could hold out, when wonder of wonders, I spotted a shop on the other side of the railings. A quick bit of mountaineering later to get off the towpath and my problem was solved, at least for the time being. Which brings me neatly on to the next issue, constantly throwing water down your throat to avoid dehydration, pretty soon starts to make you feel sick. Or it does me anyway, and by this time I must have got through at least 4 or 5 litres. The majority of which had sloshed around in my belly for a while, before disappearing back out again as sweat, leaving a nice salty crust on my face and shirt. On a long hot day it becomes quite a game of drinking as much as I can to avoid the dreaded cramps, without making myself sick. Not the best game ever, I will admit, but if nothing else it helps to pass the time. It's not all sunshine and flowers this running lark I can tell you!
Onward though, through the 40 mile mark and heading steadily towards 50 and the next checkpoint, which arrived before the 10 hour mark. This certainly wasn't going to plan, 2 marathons through the heat of the day in under 10 hours, possibly not the best move on my part, but I still felt pretty good, considering the distance covered.
Another quick stop (only the second time I'd actually stopped all day, if you don't include running into the shop in Birmingham, which hardly counts). A clean pair of socks, refill the water bottles again, replenish my snack supply and scoff a slice of Quiche with beans, which had prepared to near fine dining standards, whilst I did other stuff, by the lovely marshals who couldn't have been more helpful and waited on my every need. And then off again, heading out into the evening sun less than 20 minutes later, for the start of the 3rd marathon of the day
Unsurprisingly, by now my pace was dropping off significantly. The first 10 miles of this leg, managed at a steady jog, didn't seem to bad, but coming to a long downhill flight of locks was a different matter and muscles, unused for most of the day, instantly started screaming in protest. Slow to a walk and struggle down the hill, then back on the flat sections resume the slow jog.
Another mile and I'm back to walking pace for a couple of meters, just to give the legs a break. Then back to the slow jog again, but as the miles slowly increase so do the frequency of the walking breaks. Until by mile 67, I'm just walking and just maintaining 3 MPH. It's not a problem as I'm well ahead of the cut off times, with plenty of time in hand, but walking's hard, it uses different muscles to running and my legs don't like it. Whilst I'm walking, I take the opportunity to get the last of the snacks I'm carrying down me. I've got to be into a significant calorie deficit by now and as the miles slowly increase, so does my fatigue levels, probably not helped by last weekends 400Km Audax, and those of the weekends before! By mile 70 I'm really struggling, I'm down to 2 MPH now, I feel sick and dizzy and my right Quadricep (that muscle at the top of your leg) is really hurting and I'm starting to limp. Hobbling on, I'm in a bad way, I should have been at the next checkpoint before 22:00 at the pace I was going so I didn't pick up my torch, and now it's starting to get dark too. I stop a few times and try to stretch my legs off, but it's to no avail, I'm done, totally spent and barely functioning. Eventually, a couple of runners catch up from behind. The first I've seen for most of the day, and it's taken them a while, so there must have been quite a gap. A few quick words as they pass and I'm back wallowing in my own misery and self doubt. At mile 73 the tow path is closed and we have to divert off onto the road for a mile or so. At this point I'm totally broken as I hobble up the short incline to gain the road and start along the tarmac. It's dark now and I'm conscious of being on the road with no lights, but luckily it's a deserted county road. I say luckily as I'm struggling to walk in a straight line, having to stop and take a knee a couple of time before I fall down, too tired, fatigued and weak to stay upright. I know I'm done, I know I won't be getting to the end today, but I've got to cover those last couple of miles to the next checkpoint before I can stop, and I push slowly, ever so slowly, on. The clock in the village is striking 23:00 as I stand dry retching by the roadside as my body tries ot get rid of the invisible toxins that it thinks it's been poisoned with. So tired, so Hungry, so Fatigued. Push on. Those last 2 miles take an eternity (I'm guessing 40+ minutes) but eventually I arrive at the checkpoint where the same volunteer crew, sit me down, cover me with a blanket, grab my bag and get me some food, whilst trying to convince me that once I've eaten I'll be good to go again. And there probably right, but deep down my hearts not in it, I know that if I push on it will be 35 miles at walking pace and that's likely to lead to some serious injuries, injuries that I can't afford right now, with a packed running and cycling schedule and this isn't a priority race for me this year, there's bigger things still to come. They're right too, by the time I've sat down for 30 minutes, had a couple of cups of tea with extra sugar and a bacon sandwich, I feel considerably better. But I still know that my hearts not in it now, and stopping here is a better option than injury or having to stop out on the course, so I make the sensible decision and join the other 22 retirements from the day.
With some warm, dry clothes on, and some food inside me, I felt considerably better and sat watching the dawn slowly break, as those still out running come and go, whilst I waited for the checkpoint to close, so I could get a lift back to the start with a couple of other retirees.
Back at the van for 06:00, after my second Saturday in a row without sleep, I had a brew and reflected on the day. I felt awful, and still do, as I sit here writing this on Sunday afternoon, having had some sleep, multiple brews, at least 3 breakfasts and 2 lunches. I've done a 600, 300 and 400 Km Audax's on consecutive weekends, and I just think that this one was one step to far. I ran well until 65'ish miles, but when it started to fall apart, it fell apart fast, and it fell apart big time, and my body just couldn't cope with that. Likewise my legs suffered on the hard, flat, unforgiving tarmac, for mile after mile. I also know that I went out too fast, 4 and 5 hour marathons aren't the way to cover 100 miles and I know that, but for those first 50 miles it felt good, the pace felt easy and I didn't feel like I was working particularly hard. In fact before my watch died and I couldn't get it to charge again I'd covered 54.85 miles in 9:44 (including the two checkpoint stops) which to be honest is just stupid! For those last few miles (and on plenty of other occasions throughout the day) I swore that I was never going to try this distance, over this type of route again. But, you know how it is, in the cold light of day, having had some sleep. There's unfinished business here. It's not going to be any time soon, that's for sure, as most of this year is already full. But maybe I'll get some good miles in along the Basingstoke canal over the winter, take what I learned Saturday (which was a lot) and come back next year for another go. Who knows? Oh, and as a postscript, 22 of the original 68 starters failed to finish. That's nearly a third, which I would think is a pretty high drop out rate, so maybe I don't feel quite so bad about my performance after all!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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