The 23rd of September 2016 had arrived and I made my way to the school that was to be the start for the King Offas Dyke 185 mile run,the route of which ran south to north from Chepstow to Prestatyn along the old England / Wales border. I got there early and joined the other runners who were laying around in the shade of a tree near the entrance to the school. Finally we were told that the hall was free and we could go in.
We entered the gym hall, the floor of which had just been washed, everyone spread themselves around the edges of the hall and started preparing for the upcoming run. As we settled down a lady came in and told us that we shouldn't be there while the floor was wet as it was a health and safety issue. I'm not sure if I was the only one there who recognised the irony of a wet floor being a hazard to a group of people who were about to spend the next two to four days running through some really remote areas, up some steep hills and down some equally steep and very tricky trails the other side, at all times of night and day on minimal, if any sleep. She was a clever lady though, sensing the lack of movement in response to her statement she made the compromise that if any of us did injure ourselves on the wet floor we wouldn't sue. Thankfully no one slipped and injured themselves so the school did not have reset their '174 injury free days' board.
It had just got dark as we set off. The lead group missed a turn within the first mile or two but fortunately for them there were some kind hearted people in the chase group that called them back rather than laughing amongst themeselves as the leaders disappeared into the darkness. Then within the next two miles there was some more discussion about which route to take, some people went straight, some went left, both ended up meeting again but those that had gone left had travelled slightly longer ... guess which group I was in! Overall though I was not getting a good feeling about navigating the remaining 181 miles.
I reached the first checkpoint at Monmouth and didn't spend too long there. By now it was about 00:30 and I headed out on the route which passed through Monmouth town center. Not sure that I was on the correct route I stopped a group of young men. As I got closer the smell of alcohol warned me that maybe I should have chosen another group. One of them managed to focus on what I was saying and after much conversation they agreed on a route for me to follow. They enunciated it to me in that way that only drunk people who don't think they're drunk can do. Considering the hour of morning Monmouth was a very busy town.
At one of the aid stations I took them up on their offer of a baked potato with beans. Trust me when I tell you that eating a baked potato covered with beans floating in a load of sauce using a flimsy plastic fork and knife off of a thin paper plate on your lap is not an easy task. But I am proud to say I did it! In fact it is probably my second proudest moment of that weekend after finishing the race itself :-)
There was a point along the route where we went through some really hilly territory. I started to think that the Grand Old Duke of York had been unfairly accused, it should have been King Offa in that rhyme. Anyway, with nothing else to do as I trudged up the side of yet another hill I came up with a modern version of the rhyme.
An RD called Richard.
He got one hundred men.
He ran them up the side of a hill
and he ran them down again.
And when they were up they were up.
And when they were down they were down.
And when they were only halfway up
their tears fell to the ground.
At some stage we passed through the flattest part if the course. Apparently it's a 10 mile section. It was very flat. The thing is, it was sooooooo very boring. Field after field after yet another bloody field. I think it is fair to say that I would have preferred some hills and their associated variety of scenery than those level fields. By now I was starting to hallucinate. It was amazing the images my mind was conjuring up out of bushes, clumps of grass, in fact it seemed that anything was fair game for my mind to transform into something amazing. I suspect, from the amount of dragon and wierd monster animal type hallucinations I had, that my recent Game of Thrones movie marathon is still fressh in my mind. I found it absolutely amazing that even once I knew I was hallucinating I would still hallucinate. In fact I still find it amazing.
One of the aid stations was at a National Trust Castle. I was craving hot food so I went into the small 'restaurant' and after waiting ten minutes for some old dears to finally decide that they did in fact want the scone and jam with their tea I ordered a baked potato, beans and cheese only to be told that they only started serving hot food after 12:00 (45 minutes away). I let my hallucinations play out my urge to smack the guy round the head in frustration while in the real world I ordered a cup of tea and a chicken salad sandwich instead. I'm guessing I looked and smelled bad because as people came in and sat down at free tables I couldn't help but notice that there was at least one row of tables being left clear around me.
I need to go off on a tangent here but bear with me as it is relevant to the whole story. I had booked a hotel room near the finish. I won't mention the hotel chains name (but there may be a hint somewhere below). When I first entered this race I did the maths using my 50 and 100 mile race times and worked out that I could, potentially, finish in three days (plan A). But I also knew from past experience with ultras that my plan A's fail more often than not, at which stage I revert to plan B (crawl to the finish within the cutoff time). So, bottom line, I could finish any time between 20:00 on Monday and 20:00 on Tuesday. I needed a room on standby between those times as the last thing I wanted was, for example, to finish at 08:00 on Tuesday morning to then have to wait for a room because check in was only at 15:00.
Before making the reservation I phoned the hotel and explained the situation to a lovely woman who told me it was no problem. Book a room for two nights and if I was not going to be there the Monday night, just phone them and they'd make a note next to my reservation and the room would be available whenever I arrived. So I made my reservation. I paid the 'super saver' rate (it still cost a small fortune for what is basically just a room with a tv with very limited channels but it did save me some money). I was happy, I was sorted out for the finish. I would catch a train back home the following day.
Anyhoo, on the Monday morning reality had whacked me over the head a number of times by then and I knew that plan A was a total pipe dream and there was no way I would finish that day. So I called the hotel. A lady (not the same friendly lady I'd spoken to a few months back), let's call her Gemma, answered. I explained the story. She asked me if my booking was a super saver one. I replied yes at which stage she seemed to switch over to a different customer procedure manual where apparently every flowchart ends in the response 'no' or 'we can't do that, no'. I explained to her what the nice lady had told me when I'd originally phoned, but that didn't seem to help ... obviously the nice lady hadn't been reading the correct manual. We agreed that she'd speak to the manager and get back to me. I then explained that I would have intermittent signal so may not receive her call but to please leave a message in such a case. Her response didn't fill me with hope.
I reassured myself that if worst came to worst I had my credit card and could book another hotel should Gemma have decided to stick to the 'just say no' manual. And so I continued my run.
On Monday night I arrived at aid station number eight and was given some beef stew to eat. It was the best beef stew I had ever eaten. I loved it. I was offered a second helping and happily accepted it. I set my alarm for two hours time and went to sleep. By now I was having no trouble falling asleep, even if I was sleeping on a concrete floor in an open sided barn with a cold wind blowing through it. I was woken some time later by having a bright torch shone in my face. Thinking it was the guy I was planning to run the next stage with I got up (cursing him for waking me up 30 minutes earlier than our original plan). I went to the aid tent to get something to drink and expecting to find my running partner ...who wasn't there. I returned to the row of sleeping runners to find my partner just getting out of his sleeping bag. I assume that what happened was that some runner was looking for his partner by shining his torch in everyones faces until he found the right guy, safe in the knowledge that those he woke up would be so blinded that they would not be able to recognise him should they catch up to him later.
Anyway we set off on our last night of running. It was on this second last section that I got two blisters that made running painful. At the last aid station I asked the medics to look at my feet and got some tape put on my feet. After some egg and beans on toast I left the aid station ready to finish the last 12 miles. By now I knew that I was safe in terms of meeting the cut off but even so, I paid careful attention to my navigation as the last thing I wanted was to make a silly mistake and get hopelessly lost.
About eight miles from the end of the race we started coming across hikers who had started the KOD at what we were considering the end of the route. They'd obviously seen the finish banners and asked what was happening and so I started to get a lot of 'well dones', some good natured 'you're crazy' and a lot of 'almost there's' thrown my way as people saw me approaching.
I reached a style at the same time as an old couple approaching from the other side. The man said 'Ahh, you're one of those racing people, we'll let you go first.'. I smiled and thanked him. It took me a good few seconds to climb over the style (remember I had completed almost 180 miles at this point) and as I struggled over the lady said 'You do know that the chap who won this finished two days ago!'. I'm thinking she might have been related to Gemma.
Now, the thing about the KOD is that a few miles from the end the route takes you to the edge of the cliff, you can actually see the finish, and then it does a 180 degree turn and takes you back inland, away from the finish!. It was here that my sense of humour left me and I last saw it throwing itself off that cliff. I stomped along the single track, okay, I shuffled along with an angry look on face as stomping my feet would have just been too painful until eventually the route turned and ran parallel to the cliff. Finally there was the downhill into the town and I knew the end was near. I checked when I got home and was shocked to see that Prestatyn is not in the Guiness Book of records as having the longest high street in the world! It seemed to go on forever.
Finally the finish was in sight. I managed my 'Ha! Look at me! This whole zombie shuffle thing I had going for the last 100 miles was just an act' run to the finish where I patted the stone and was congratulated by Richard. It had taken me 90 hours and 11 minutes, I had had 6 and a half hours sleep and according to my GPS, I had covered 192 miles (I really need to stop getting lost so often). I had a shower at the finish and called a taxi to go to my hotel... all the while wondering if I still had a reservation.
I got to the hotel and found that Gemma had obviously spoken to the manager, and had been told to do as I had requested (and as I had been told by the nice lady could be done) and my room was ready. I was handed the key and Gemmas revenge at my forcing her to ignore the 'just say no' manual was revealed. If you were to draw a top view of the hotel, the room I had been allocated was in the corner that was the absolute furthest away from reception, on the top floor of a hotel with no lifts. Well played Gemma, well played. Lenny Henry would be proud of your humour.
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