This isn't a race report or anything technically interesting. It's just a bit of musing. Mainly articulated for me I suppose but writing things down is sometimes necessary to understand one's feelings a bit better. And I needed to do it with a clear head but soon enough after the events that prompted them for the thoughts to be still real in my mind and not just one of a collection of favourably massaged memories.
Early yesterday morning I pulled out of the Hardmoors 110 race at the Clay Bank checkpoint, which comes after about 80 miles. It wasn't a decision, it was an inevitability by that stage. After a good 53 mile run up the coast from Filey to Saltburn I was right on my planned schedule. I had created a 2 hour buffer over the cut-off time and was good to go on the section of the course I knew best, the remaining half to Helmsley. Yet over the next 15 miles things went wrong. I got progressively more tired and found the final uphill of the the stage to Captain Cook's monument, absolutely draining. Worse, I had slowed so badly that I got to Kildale , the only place on the last 90 miles of the course where you can get inside and regroup a bit, an hour and a half late. I had planned that if I arrived at this point needing some R&R then there would be plenty of time for a good recovery, but I had barely half an hour. I slept for maybe 15 minutes, had some pizza and a few cups of tea, then got out on the course again. On the long but fairly gentle climb back up onto the moors I was continually falling asleep though by now it was daylight. In spite of eating a steady stream of haribos and ginger biscuits I couldn't get going at anything better than a slow walk. Runners caught and passed me at regular intervals. By the time I got to Bloworth Crossing, a lonely but strangely captivating spot and a real landmark on this particular course, the writing was on the wall. At this pace I wasn't going to reach the next cut-off point in time and I couldn't find any way to speed up. I shambled the remaining miles down to civilisation at Clay Bank and called it a day. The remaining runner on the course and the sweeper arrived soon afterwards.
My initial reaction was that this event was now too big for me. I should stay away from 100-milers these days and stick to the 50's that I know I can finish. Time and tide, and all that. But I thought back to a reflective post by a friend, Ian, a few weeks ago, and I hope he'll forgive me for quoting a passage of it here.
" I’m left a bit frustrated that my performances overall are getting worse and I’m finding it harder to do these events. I trained well for this one but found it a tough slog at many points, especially hiking up the big hills which took me a bit by surprise. Biological and running age is definitely catching up with me, and I can’t do the times or performances I used to be able to do. That I suppose is inevitable, but still frustrating. I’m 53 now, and have been doing a lot of endurance running for almost 30 years. Of course I am going to be slower, my head tells me. My heart doesn’t though, and still expects me to go out there and perform the way I did 20 years ago."
For me the numbers are different but the sentiments are exactly the same. My overwhelming reaction to my recent Hardmoors experience was frustration at an event which 10 or even 5 years ago I could have completed without question.
We have to re-adjust our sights. But how far?
Ian went on to explore this a bit but I think has not yet come to a conclusion. If we lower the bar far enough so that we can always succeed, is there any satisfaction in that beyond a few nice days out in the country. On the other side, if failures to complete our chosen project become too frequent does the frustration of what might have been a few years ago become just too much to make the activity worthwhile?
Why anyway do we choose to indulge in such a time consuming, frequently painful and occasionally disappointing game as long distance running? Well let's leave aside for now the health benefits of physical exercise and the social and aesthetic rewards of travelling through the countryside with like-minded people, and we are left with what you get out of participating in organised events. Would any of us carry on if there were no races? Well maybe, but then it would be an entirely different activity. So what do we get out of competing?
Sometimes I will go to an event, run as well as I can without getting too stressed, finish somewhere in the middle of the pack and go home feeling that I've had a great day out. It's fun and rewarding but somehow not memorable, a bit like skiing on the piste or mountain biking a prepared trail. It's good for the bread and butter, but sometimes you need more to provide the jam. At whatever level we take it, for most people this is a sport, and that means we need to be seriously challenged, by others, by ourselves, or by the course.
We can compete against others, to win the race, to be on the podium, to win our age group. We can try produce our best possible time, maybe do better than we did on the same course last year, to get the satisfaction of improvement and the approval of our friends. And for many ultra runners, this defines their game. It's a conventional athletic activity albeit in maybe an unusual overall environment. But I wrote a piece on my former blog "Running Late" back in March 2012 entitled "The Toughest Race in the World" in which I tried to tease out exactly what makes a race "tough". I came to the conclusion that while one course may be intrinsically more difficult than another in terms of length, height gain, ground underfoot, navigational requirements and so on, the factor that eventually defines just how hard an event is to complete is the time that its Race Director sets as the maximum allowable. To take an obvious example, the Tour du Mont Blanc trail is completed by thousands of "ordinary" people every year; most of them take between 10 and 14 days for the circuit. Now run a race round the same course with a maximum time allowance of 46 hours and half of the trained ultra-runners who set out won't make the finish.
And here I think, for those of us with modest and/or declining abilities, is the key. We can enjoy events which we know we can finish, but we will get our best rewards from those which we know at the outset are near our limit, and for which the outcome is in doubt.
I thought again about my Hardmoors 110 experience. Was failure inevitable from the start, which was my initial reaction after pulling out, or could I have done things differently to tip the odds a bit more my way? If I had slowed down closer to the cut-offs over the first half would I maybe not have been hit by the overwhelming tiredness later ? If I had chosen to go with a support crew, would the extra flexibility with food, gear, the ability to sit in a warm car for a few minutes occasionally and to have carried a significantly lighter pack for most of the way have made a difference? I don't know, but there's enough doubt there to suggest to me that this year, this event was not unarguably beyond me but in the balance, and that's a tantalising thought. A challenge right on the limit.
But although the satisfaction of a successful finish is huge when attempting something you know is at your boundaries, there will inevitably be more DNF's. I can live with that. I grew up in the West Midlands Engineering culture of "the bloke who never made a mistake never made anything". I would never criticize the runners who proudly claim that they've never had a DNF, but can't help feeling that they might be missing out somewhere along the line.
My next two events are the GB Ultras "Pennine Barrier" 50 in four weeks time, then the Lakeland 100 five weeks after that. The former is a race I have never run in an interesting area that I only really half know. Barring accidents I'm expecting to complete and thoroughly enjoy it, unspectacularly but within the time allowed. The Lakeland however is an event that I have started six times and finished three. The last completion was three years ago and I'm becoming increasingly aware that a week off 71 is significantly different from a week off 68. So is the outcome in doubt? Absolutely. Will this prevent my starting and giving it my best? Not a chance.
You miss 100% of the shots you don't take.
No comments:
Post a Comment