Goring village hall acts as HQ for the duration of the race.

Arriving in the twinned villages of Goring and Streatley, it would have been obvious to all, something unusual was going on. Cars line the streets, from all directions men and women were walking with duffel bags. People were stopping in the bridge, which separated the two villages, to take scenic photos and selfies. Most of these people had nervous, even awe struck looks on their faces. This is because, we were only about an hour from the start, of Centurions annual Autumn 100. Men and women had travelled from across the country, further in some cases. So they could attempt to run 100 miles!

James Elson delivers his race briefing. (Official race photo from https://www.centurionrunning.com)

Registration is always an efficient process at Centurion races. Walk in, get your number, get your GPS tracker, hand in your drop bag, walk out. From there, there was time to grab as coffee and croissant, on a leisurely stroll to the starting area. Here, around 250 competitors, along with supporting friends and family, waited anxiously for the race briefing. This came at around 8.40, when James Elson - Centurions big boss and a highly respected ultra runner himself, climbed high and grabbed a megaphone to make himself heard. Shoutouts to some of the most inspirational members of the field, accompanied jokes, anecdotes, important information, words of wisdom and well wishes followed. Then, at 9am sharp, we were set in our way!

A visual representation of the four legs, or spurs. (Image from centurionrunning.com)

Sort of… what followed was a huge traffic jam, as runners were met by an immediate bottleneck. An 8.55 opening kilometre wasn’t what I’d planned, but it doesn’t really matter when you’ve still got 162 more to go! If anything it was a good thing, it stopped me getting carried away and flying out too fast. That’s the kind of mistake you know you shouldn’t make, but nerves can make us do daft things sometimes! At this point, it’d be worth me mentioning the unique nature of this course. The route is split into four different, 25 mile (ish) out and back legs. You run 12.5 miles (ish), then turn around and run back. You then repeat three more times, in different trails. It sounds so easy when you put it like that!

Much of leg one was spent running alongside the Thames.

Crossing the bridge between Streatley and Goring

The first leg follows the Thames Path, so it’s flat as a pancake! The morning was perfect in terms of weather. However, it had rained heavily in the days leading up to the race. This, combined with the heavy foot traffic this section receives, meant the ground had gotten very muddy and slippery. In parts, I had to walk, just to ensure I kept my balance! As with the start though, being forced to slow down occasionally, isn’t a bad thing. Aside from the annoying road diversion, around a closed section of the path, this was a very pretty leg. The river weaves through rural farmland and sleepy hamlets. Rowers we’re training in the water as birds sung in the trees. Dog walkers, whom I imagine were shocked to find 250 runners invading their usual route. Were largely supportive, offering words of encouragement as they cleared space for us to pass (I can only imagine how annoying this was for them!) At the third aid station, I was called for a random kit check. I’d never known one of these carried out in course before, and thought they were a bit of a myth. It’s a bit annoying having to open your bag up, partway through a race, although not as annoying as when I had to do it again in leg two! Personally I much prefer the process of a full kit check at registration, rather than being asked for random items in course. It is what it is though, I passed and was on my way. I’d eventually finish the first leg with around 4 hours 20 mins in the clock.

Woodland trails are where I’m most at home (photo from centurionrunning.com)

At some point towards the end of leg one, I had a revelation.. 100 miles is a really long way! (Duhhh!) A strange thing happens when you start to run longer distances. Shorter distances, which are still long, become short in your head. When I trained for my first marathon, 10 miles ceased to be a distance I considered to be long. I guess it’s all relative in your mind. In the build up to this race, I started to think of it as being just 25 miles, four times. I’m running 100 miles, which is long. 25 miles is only a quarter of ling, so it must be short! At some point towards the end of that first leg I though, “25 miles is almost a marathon, a marathon is a fucking long way!” The brain (maybe it’s just my brain?) is a strange thing!

Daylight would soon be a thing of the past

Following a longer than planned stop at the Goring changeover point, it was onto leg two, and into the Ridgeway. Described as “Britains oldest road”, the Ridgeway is an 86 mile national trail. It stretches from Avebury, to Ivinghoe Beacon. These are the types of trails I’m at home on, undulating chalk tracks. I thought I’d enjoy this leg, I was wrong! I started well, but as I reached 30-35 miles, I started to struggle. I could feel blisters flaring on my feet, and my legs were aching. Feeling this, and knowing I was only around a third of the way round, wasn’t what I needed flooding my brain. This was the point I reached for my headphones, That Peter Crouch Podcast could keep me company as I trudged uphill. This helped, but what I really needed was the turnaround point. The end of the podcast, thankfully coincided with running alongside people who were happy to chat. At this point I just needed something to think about, that wasn’t running! Lucky for me, the turnaround point arrived. And with it, another highly unwelcome kit check. Digging through my big to find the same kit I’d had cracked earlier, wasn’t what I needed at this point. Not just because it took time. Mainly because it meant leaving the aid station after the people I’d been chatting too, leaving my alone with my thoughts, once again. The first few miles of my return, weren’t much better than the last few of the journey out.

After a few miles though, as if by magic, I snapped out of it! The bluster pain was still real, but I was able to block it out, and gather some momentum. I’d got my groove back! Skipping along the trails, regaining lost time, I was feeling good. After a quick water top up at the North Stoke aid station, I knew I was on the final stretch to the halfway point. Now it was a race against the sun! As light faded fast, I wasn’t sure I’d make it back without having to stop and retrieve my head torch from my bag. Fortunately though, as I got closer to Goring. There were street lights and security lights, to guide me to the village hall, and the halfway mark. I hit halfway with just under 10 hours on the clock.

Hitting halfway is always a boost in an ultra. No matter how much that first half hurt, you know you only have to repeat something you’ve already proved you can do. So I was in good spirits in the aid station, as I prepared to head out it into the darkness. Goring village hall was a huge of activity. The temperature outside was plummeting, and it was going to be dark for the next 13 hours. Everyone knew a simple mistake, like not layering up enough, could end their race. fully stocked, I hit the road. After a brief holdup, due to a minor wrong turn, I quickly found my stride. This leg was back on the Ridgeway, and the first 5k was almost entirely uphill. This didn’t stop me though. I was in a good place, I had very much found a second wind. These trails were super runnable, I felt like I was flying as I skipped past people I’d lost touch with on leg 2. The first 10k of this leg went by in a flash, but things would get tough after the aid station.

Pictures don’t begin to do justice to how beautiful the nights sky was.

I was atop the ridge by this point, so the climbing was at an end. The trails however, turned from runnable, to highly frustrating! Narrow channels, like deep tyre tracks in the chalk, guided the way. Just too narrow to place your feet side by side. So run between/beside them.. then the ground is uneven and just as hard to find a rhythm on, especially in the dark. It doesn’t take long, on this ground, in tired legs, in the dark, for moral to start to drop. I’m a much faster runner, than I am a walker. When I find myself walking in races, I always lose ground on others walking around me. This race was no different. As my moral dropped and my drive to run went with it. I quickly started losing places I’d gained during my cheetah spell. By the time I’d trudged to the turnaround point, I needed a break. By this point, I was 100k into the race, further than I’d ever run before. It crossed my mind that this was something to celebrate, that each step was breaking new ground. It didn’t matter tough, in reality, I still had almost 40 miles left to run. An impressive distance in its own right. After taking some time to collect my thoughts, and drink some coffee. I was off again, retracing my steps towards Goring. The return leg picked up where I’d left off. I was having to work now, staring up at the stars to distract from the pain. I knew though, once I reached the next aid station, it was all downhill to the end of leg 3. Downhill on tired legs hurts, much more than flats and uphills. I made it work though, trying to focus on letting gravity do the work, I made it back to Goring in one piece. Walking into HQ at some time after 1am, I was exhausted. My instincts me to go to sleep, why go out and run in the middle of the night? AGAIN?! I was focused now though, my goal was in site. 75miles down, 25miles to go!

By the time I’d had some hot food and coffee, then spent some time contemplating my life’s choices. I spent too long sitting in Goring. My legs made no secret of this when I tried to start running again!

The most misleading sign in the world. At this point, the Reading aid station was still about 5 miles away!

This final leg would take me back on the Thames path, I’d follow it to Reading and back. It would feel like I’d follow it to Runcorn and back! My legs were stiff, they were happy to stop at 75 miles! I pushed on though, and after a couple of miles, started to find some kind of rhythm. This section of the Thames path has a few hills, and stairs.. what kind of sadist puts stairs at this point in a 100 mile race! The climbs hurts, but like leg 3, the descents hurt more! Soon I found myself at the first aid station (and I need to climb stairs to get in!). This is where I got things VERY wrong! I’ll preface my cock up, by letting you know something about my mind when I do long runs. I do maths in my head, constantly. Converting miles to kilometres and vice versa, working out my pace and the pace I need to achieve to reach certain milestones. Endless maths keeps my brain occupied. Leaving this aid station I got my maths wrong, and I’d pay for it later on. I convinced myself I was about halfway to the Reading turnaround, in reality I was closer to a third. This meant, when I thought I was about 3 miles from the turning point, I was actually about 5-6 miles from it, when I thought I was a mile away, it was more like 3-4. This may not seem like a huge deal, but when you’ve been running for 18, 29, 20 hours. Every centimetre counts! Those last few miles dragged on like nothing I’ve ever experienced!

By the time I turned around, I’d all but given up on reaching my sub 24hour target. My legs and brain were done, and id resigned myself to walking the rest of the way. My, now not so trustworthy maths, told me id finish somewhere between 25 and 26 hours. I walked on. Hobbled would be a more accurate description. I had blisters on my feet, which had consumed my mind. My quads screamed and pleaded with me to stop. To lay down on a bench, or the floor, and just let it end. After what felt like years. Walking through the darkness, powerless to stop the people overtaking me. The sun began to rise. At first, this did nothing to boost my spirits. It’s amazing how powerful something like a sunrise can be though. As the sky brightened, so did my belief. I realised the aid station, which had felt like light years from Reading, wasn’t too far away. Then I realised my maths had been wrong earlier. This leg wasn’t extra long, the aid station had just come earlier than I’d realised. That meant.. I was closer to the end than I thought! Just like that, I was back from the dead! Sub 24 was back on! I just needed to stop walking, to will myself to run. That’s exactly what I did! When I got to the aid station, I checked with the Marshalls outside, and ran straight past. I didn’t need anymore food or water now, I was almost done. And I had a cloak to beat! I wasn’t flying like I was at the start of leg 3. But I’d found something inside me, to just keep pushing. I had in my head, I could get my sub 24, if I could just run 50% of the remaining miles. I think I ran closer to 90%! I could say the pain disappeared for these final miles, but I’d be lying. These miles hurt, but knowing how close I was pushed me along. The had risen and a crisp morning had awoken. The scenery was beautiful, and I knew I only had to push for a few more minutes.

Crisp trails lead my way to the finish line.

This final stretch of Thames was a chance to reflect, how many times had I been down and out? How many times had I bounced back? I never would have entered this race, had I not fallen short at Lakeland. This wasn’t the ending I’d dreamt of, but maybe it was the ending I needed. Going into the Lakeland 100, I’d imagined the rapturous applause, the festival finish in Coniston. I’d focused on the triumph, but failed to complete the journey. In Goring, there were a few people clapping on the bridge, a handful at the finish line, and another handful handing out medals and taking photos inside. There was very little external glory, this was all about the internal journey. This was a journey which lasted 23 hours and 42 minutes, that’s after the 13 months of training. It was a journey which took me to hell and back, one which would take weeks to recover from (maybe more if my knee doesn’t sort itself out!) it’s also a journey I’ll remember forever, a journey I miss with every atom of my being, I journey I’d do again in a heartbeat.

See this run on Strava