August 2021: A few hours after finishing Oslofjorden Rundt 100 mile race I was checking my phone to make sure no alarms were set to go off early in the morning. That’s when I saw that a race organiser had messaged me, inviting me to their 100 mile race in Rondane the following weekend. I told them thanks, but too soon. Maybe next year, if they designed a cool 100 mile buckle… (for some reason not all Norwegian 100 mile races give out buckles).
Les videre
When I started running, or more accurately, when I started taking part in races in 2011, my goal was to run a marathon. Because I was scared of failing I first signed up for a half marathon, intending to use that as a test run before the full marathon distance. However, at this half marathon event I discovered that there is something called ultrarunning, and so my first marathon the year after became merely a stepping stone to ultras. I have run several marathons since, but they have all been training for ultras on trails or tough, hilly courses, without specific training or tapering. After winning Suleskar Maraton, which calls itself Norway’s toughest road marathon, in 2013, the coach in my running club said that in his opinion my time of 3.32 (which I have since improved on to 3.21 on the same course) was equivalent to a sub 3 hour marathon on a flat course. Since then I have been curious, do I have what it takes to run a marathon in sub 3 hours?
This year, for the first time since 2013, I was not going to take part in a Centurion 100 mile event. Or any other 100 mile events. At least, so I thought…
This winter and spring I have been trying to reach the qualifying distance for the 24h running world championships. My personal best is 218,5 km from Bislett in 2017, set when I was having a really bad day. The qualifying distance is 220km. On a good day it should be doable, right?
I had a suspicion this race would be tough, having had only three weeks to recover after my collapse at the Tooting Bec 24 hour race. I expected I would have to walk most of it and probably settle for a much slower time than usual. Tough it was, though not in the way I had anticipated.
The fact that it was on the North Downs Way 100 I earned my very first finisher buckle means that this race will always hold a special place in my heart. I was therefore delighted when I recovered from the the Western States 100 in June a lot quicker than expected and could take part in this years edition, which was three weeks ago on August 4th.
Sara, my sister, usually comes with me to my 100 mile races, and paces me in the last 20-30 miles. However this year she has been a magnet for bugs and viruses which has interrupted her training, and I sensed that she was a little reluctant with regards to pacing duties. I therefore posted in the Centurion Community facebook group, asking if there was anyone who wasn’t racing themselves who would be interested in pacing. The response was overwhelming, I thought I would have to have some sort of try outs or auditions to select one. In the end I decided to use pacers for the whole of the second half of the race, something I have never done before. Rafal Tkaczyk was to run with me from Knockholt Pound after 50 miles, then Stephen Mitchell was to take over from Ranscombe Farm Reserve at mile 70, and finally I would meet up with Ian Hammett at Detling for the final 20 miles. I already knew all these guys, and was confident both that I would have a good time running with them, and that they could push me to do my very best. In fact, I wanted to try to set a new female course record of 18.00 hours.
When the race was a about a week away I suddenly realized that both the UK and Norway was in the midst of a heat wave. Having worked all summer I had not really noticed. I just had to hope that a few last minute sauna sessions would get me ready for the heat, and cross my fingers that the effects of the heat training before the WSER still lingered. This also meant that the goal I had set would maybe prove to be unrealistic, however I had a goal B,C and D.
As usual when I’m racing abroad I travelled over a couple of days before, leaving me a buffer in case of delays, and allowing me to focus on relaxing and fuelling. Fuelling turned out to be even easier than usual in Farnham as our favourite hang out from last year, Krema, had added a vegan marzipan and cherry cake to their menu, and just a few doors away there is now a fully vegan cafe, Okomoko.
Since Sara had less to do during the race than usual I had asked her to help me with my pre-race prep. We went through my nutrition plan for the race Friday morning, which relied heavily on vegan cake at various aid stations, baked by the lovely volunteers. After the half way mark I would fuel mainly with smoothies brought to me by my pacers, which I had double checked was within the rules. I would send out soya strawberry milk and chocolate pudding in the drop bags, and miso soup and mint cakes in case of stomach issues. Energy bars and similar were thrown out, as I usually don’t eat them any way.
My plan was to pack all my bags Friday afternoon, before we went to eat and register. This should allow me to relax for an hour or two before getting to bed early. You would think I would be fairly efficient at this stuff by now, but fast forward to ten o’clock at night, and my bed was covered with stuff, sweat was pouring down my back, I couldn’t remember what was going in which drop bag, and I was panicking as I couldn’t find various items – because I had already packed them. I had brought two race vests with me, but ended up buying a brand new one at registration, after discovering that one was too small for all the gear, and that the other was simply worn out, so I was packing for the third time.
I was still feeling stressed out when I went to bed, worried about oversleeping and missing the start, and, as it had been the hottest day of the year our non-air conditioned hotel room was like an oven. The heat didn’t seem to interfere with Sara’s sleep though, which annoyed me. As it turned out I needn’t have worried about oversleeping as I did not sleep at all.
Standing on the start line a few minutes before 6 am I felt surprisingly good. Race director James Elson did a very short briefing, warning about the heat and urging us to take it easy and conserve energy for the second half of the course. My plan was to push the pace a little in the first few hours, while the temperature was still relatively comfortable, slow down in the middle of the day, and then increase the speed again as the temperature dropped. However, I did make one concession to the heat by walking every single hill from the start, I have previously run up the hills in the first 10 miles.
I often run past the first aid station in a 100 mile race, but when arriving at Puttenham at 6,8 miles I already needed to top up my water bottles. I surveyed the foods on offer, but as it was only fruit and non vegan items I decided to continue with gels and dates I had brought with me until the next one.
St Martha’s church at 12,5 miles is one of the highlights for me. It’s the first big climb, but you also get nice runnable downhill section, which, untypically for the NDW, has no steps, stiles, or gates to negotiate halfway down. At the top of the hill I also met a cheerleader with pompoms, just like back in 2015, and she confirmed she was the same one. Thank you for cheering!
Just after St Martha’s was another climb, fantastic views, and then, after literally crawling through a huge thicket of bramble bushes, me and another runner arrived hot, bloodied and dishevelled at aid station 2, Newlands Corner at mile 14,7. The first thing I did was to head for a bucket with ice water and sponges and make sure my clothes were soaked through. We had really worked for the goodies on offer, so I decided to dig in. I had some coke, watermelon and banana, and then grabbed a peanut butter and jam sandwich to go.
The next section seemed to go on for ever. I was convinced that Box Hill and the next aid station was around mile 20, just after running through a vineyard, but the trail just kept going and going. That’s because Box Hill is located at mile 25. People familiar with the North Downs Way might find my eagerness to get to Box Hill strange, as it marks the start of maybe the toughest part of the course with two of the steepest and longest climbs in quick succession, as well as the infamous Box Hill steps. But it has also got the best views, and just before you start climbing there are the stepping stones across the river.The main reason I was keen to get there, however, was that I had been so conscientious with my fuelling that I had nearly run out of everything, and I knew that there would be vegan brownies at that aid station. I had two pieces, some coke, topped up my bottles, pocketed a gel, and over the river and up the steps I went. Sadly, I arrived at the stepping stones before Stuart March, the race photographer, so despite running the NDW100 three times now there still isn’t a photo of me on these stones.
I was prepared for the the pace to drop between Box Hill and Reigate, however, I have never struggled as much here as I did this year. I didn’t cramp, there was no burning in my calves or quads, no aching in my hamstrings or glutes, it was just as if I became drained of energy every time I had to climb a hill. Indeed, the climbs felt even tougher than those in the WSER! Arriving at the Reigate Hill aid station I was hot and probably red faced, so again I headed straight for the bucket with ice water and sponges before hitting the buffet. Ian, who was going to pace me later, was aid station captain here. (He was also going to help out at the finish after pacing me, so he had a very busy weekend.) He had at my request made avocado wraps. Due to the heat I just wanted watermelon and coke, but since Ian had slaved away in the kitchen for me I felt obliged to have a few pieces. Besides, real food should decrease the risk of stomach problems. The wraps didn’t go down very easily, but I hoped that was just because my mouth and throat was a little dry.
It wasn’t… Running downhill just after the aid station I could feel my stomach convulsing, however I decided I would not give in easily, so I ended up having what I would call a minipuke. I didn’t even stop running, I just turned my head to avoid splashing my shoes and regurgitated one of the wraps and some watermelon into the bushes. I have never started vomiting that early in a race before. After the WSER I had concluded that eating too little in the second quarter was to blame. This time this was definitely not the cause as I had eaten like a champion in an effort to avoid another pukefest. Luckily, most of what I had just eaten seemed to stay down, I did not feel unwell or nauseous, and I managed to eat and keep down a gel about 10 minutes later. Maybe I had eaten too much at Reigate, combined with running fast downhill just after?
I had left Reigate, at mile 32, at almost exactly 5 hours of race time. If I could cover the next 18 miles in three hours I would arrive at the halfway point after 8 hours, just a few minutes behind my original schedule. It thought it would be doable as the worst climbs were now over and done with, and as I had covered 6,3-6,5 miles per hour in the first 3 hours of the race. However, whenever I looked at my watch it told me that I was running slower than I thought I was. It was now noticeably hotter, both because it was later in the day, and because the trail now was going along or across open fields, and therefore there was much less tree cover and shade than before. I kept an eye on my heart rate, but I needn’t have worried, it seemed as if I didn’t have the energy to run fast enough for it to get very high.
Arriving at the Botley Hill aid station at mile 42 I felt hot and low in energy, but otherwise ok. I had some watermelon and coke, and was delighted to discover vegan brownies that I hadn’t known would be there. A lot of the volunteers had posted about their cakemaking in the Centurion Community group on facebook, but I hadn’t seen any posts about this aid station. It was very nice brownies too, made with grated squash, which makes cakes extra moist and easy to gobble up during ultra races. (Just a little tip in case you need to bake cakes for ultra races in the future). I was having a lovely post cake chat with Cat Simpson when suddenly my stomach decided to try to turn itself inside out. Luckily I realized what was happening about two seconds before and thus avoided splashing Cat’s shoes. This time it was no minipuke, it was a proper purging of all stomach contents. The brownie was still in a square piece when it came back up again (TMI?).
While continuing towards Knockholt Pound after some watered out coke I was fantasising about there being a huge paddling pool there. I was envisioning myself and other runners wallowing in it while the volunteers served us cold drinks. Getting to Knockholt seemed to take forever, an the GPS on my watch was playing tricks on me. The aid station was supposed to be at exactly 50 miles, but at 49 miles I was still in the middle of a field with no sign of houses or village halls. This was also the situation at mile 50 and 51. I was 10 minutes behind schedule, then 20, then 30, then 40, before finally I saw the Centurion flags and Rafa waiting for me.Afterwards I have realized that actually I was just a few minutes behind my splits from last year, and more or less exactly matching Debbie Martin-Consani’s half way split from when she set the course record in 2016. However, as Debbie had run the last half very fast, my opinion was that to break her record I needed to be considerably faster in the first half than she was, to allow for the usual slowing own in the second half.
Going inside the aid station I was wondering about what to eat. My original plan had been to have several slices of ginger cake, and maybe a coffee. However, since Botley Hill I had only managed a few sips of energy drink, and didn’t feel like anything solid. I had a popsicle, some coke, a carton of soya strawberry milk, got the volunteers to stuff my bra and buff with ice cubes, and changed socks and reapplied sun screen while I pondered what to eat. I decided to go with a semi liquid strategy – chocolate pudding. Rafa didn’t approve and kept handing me slices of cake as he wanted me to eat something solid, and I finally gave in. It was delicious, with proper frosting on it too.
I felt like my brain was working really slowly, it took me forever to get my stuff out of the drop bag and decide what to eat and drink. Rafa was impatient and kept saying we needed to get going. One of the tasks I had given my pacers was to make sure I didn’t waste time at aid stations, so he was doing exactly what I had asked, and he was right. While I was faffing about Ingrid Lid, another Norwegian, and Laura Swanton, who was 3rd last year, and who has podium finishes from both the Thames Path and South Downs Way this year, arrived, so the whole women’s top three was sitting side by side. I had had a hunch that Laura wasn’t far behind as I kept meeting her boyfriend Jean at every crew access point.
Rafa and I left Knockholt before Ingrid and Laura, so I was still in the lead. Rafa kept looking over his shoulder, urging me to run every time I wanted to take a walking break and to keep drinking the 50/50 coke and water mixture I had put in one of my bottles. He was also very conscientious about closing gates, which I suspect was more due to a desire to delay Ingrid and Laura than a concern for any livestock escaping from the fields. After about 5 miles we were caught by another runner, and I wasn’t very surprised to see that it was Ingrid. I had suspected she would be strong in the second half as she had a very strong finish at Bislett 24 hours last year. I had also heard her say that she wasn’t bothered by the heat, which by now was 30+ degrees, as it had been really hot all summer where she lived. Rafa kept pushing the pace, keen on keeping the gap between me and Ingrid as small as possible. He was obviously more bothered about being caught than I was. I think I had given up on my A goal by then and moved on to goal B, which for me was a sub 20 finish. My pacers had probably also realized that a course record was out of reach, but I think their B goal was different from mine, their B goal was winning.
Rafa’s pushing worked, we arrived at the Wrotham aid station at mile 60 just 30 seconds after Ingrid. After Knockholt we had developed a routine where Rafa at regular intervals would exclaim «drink!», «electrolytes!» or «gel!». At first I resisted, as he started about 10 minute after Knockholt and I thought I had taken onboard enough fluids and calories to last a while, but then I started to take a sip of energy drink or pop an s-cap or a gel whenever I was told. However, I had not eaten anything solid since Knockholt, so Rafa insisted that I should have something from the buffet. I reluctantly picked up a wrap with strawberry jam, but as I had a premonition it would not go down well I went outside the cricket club house, where the aid station was, to eat it. My premonition was spot on, the wrap came back up immediately. As I was bent over double on the steps I heard a voice that I recognized ask me if I wanted someone to wet my buff and and put it on my neck. It was one of the volunteers from the aid station at Reading during this year’s Thames Path, where I spent a long time battling with stomach issues before dropping just a few miles later, so she knew exactly what to do. I decided it was time to implement a fluids only strategy, so I asked Rafa for the bottle of smoothie he was carrying and managed to drink most of it. Before we left the aid station I had a couple of the volunteers pour water over me to cool me down.
The smoothie stayed down, and once we got going again I was running quite well for several miles at a time. We also chatted more and more, covering topics like races past and present, our pets and their unique personalities, favourite smoothie flavours (Rafa had obviously done his homework, this was on the list of suggested topics that I had sent out a couple of days before), and how many times I had had a wee that day and why it was good I had to have a wee really often. For the record, that last topic was brought up by me, it wasn’t Rafa who insisted on knowing. I also insisted on giving these stats to Stephen and Ian when they were running with me.
It was really nice to have someone to chat with as I had been running on my own for most of the day. It therefore had nothing to do with being sick of Rafa’s company when I some time later started wondering out loud where Stephen was. We were going to meet him at the crew access point at Ranscombe Farm Reserve after 70,2 miles, our watches said we had covered more than 20 miles since leaving Knockholt, and we had long since passed a sign welcoming us to Ranscombe Farm Reserve. We were also 1,5 hours behind my original schedule. Rafa was worried that we had missed each other, but I remembered that crew access point was just off a major road, and we had definitely not missed that. It turned out that either our watches or the Centurion website showed the wrong mileage, because we finally found Stephen and lots of crews in a parking lot. Stephen had ice cold water, watermelon and a strong smoothie game. I emptied my bottles and refilled them with some of the water, poured the rest of it over my head, rejected the watermelon, and chose a smoothie with coconut milk and soya protein. Before leaving Rafa I asked him to message Ian and ask him to buy me some ice cold drinks and have them ready for me at Detling. Anything but coke, as I was sick of that flavour by then.
Upon hearing that I had been vomiting and was now starting to feel nauseous Stephen stuffed his pockets with peppermint candy and allowed me to walk for a couple of minutes. The first few miles we shared are probably the least scenic along the route, following major roads, then the gigantic Medway Bridge, and then roads again until Nashenden Farm. I struggled a little with navigation here last year, but this year I remembered where to turn off. One of the reasons why I wanted to use pacers was to make sure I didn’t get lost, but either Centurion used more marking tape than usual this year, or I actually remembered the course this time. I now even know which hill Phil Bradburn is referring to when he talks about the nasty hill starting near a petrol station, and I know why I haven’t remembered it before. It’s not that nasty Phil, it is actually quite small and forgettable. Stephen also had impressive recall of the trail from recceing and running it a couple of years ago. Even if I hadn’t remembered anything or if there had been markers missing I’m sure he would have gotten me to Detling without a single bonus meter.
Stephen kept giving me mints to keep my energy up. They took quite a long time to dissolve, so after a while I started turning down his offers of more mints as I started to feel like a hamster, and because I wanted to try and eat something at Bluebell Hill aid station. Upon arriving there I sat down on the grass and admired the view while Stephen tried to find me something to eat. I rejected most of the things on offer, but I heard the words «iced coffee» my ears pricked up. They only had regular milk, but offered to make me a cold black coffee with sugar in it. I had some fruit along with the coffee, and then I vomited violently in the bushes just as Jean arrived. He probably told Laura that I was really sick, because she later said she didn’t understand how I could continue to run as fast as I did when being unwell.
I did run well – when I did run. My legs felt good, and I felt just as tired and hot if I took a walking break as I did when I was running, so there really was no point in walking. I just forgot this every time I walked up a hill or stopped at an aid station, so it was always a mental battle to get back to running again.
It was nearing sunset and getting dark, especially when the trail went through wooded sections. Coming to the last downhill leading down to Detling it was almost completely dark, but I didn’t bother with my headtorch, I just went flying past Stephen and ran down it as fast as I could. The ground was quite uneven and rocky, and I was crossing my fingers I wouldn’t stumble. Behind me Stephen was struggling to keep up, and I felt a bit bad as he had several ankle injuries last year and was worried about twisting his ankle again. However, he managed to hang on and we were both unharmed when we arrived Detling.
Inside Detling village hall someone had located the switch to the disco ball and put on some music, but all i wanted to do was lie down on the floor for a few minutes. Despite running well just moments before it was as if someone flipped a switch when I stopped, and I suddenly had no energy again. I was not the only one feeling crap, Norbert Mihalik, last year’s male winner was sitting on a chair and declared that he would not go on.
After a few minutes I started to feel ready to leave. Since I had spent hours fantasising about cold non-coke drinks, and sent Ian out to get them for me, I felt I should at least drink one of them. So I had a ginger ale, and then promptly vomited it back up again on the pavement outside.
The hill after Detling was just as bad, if not worse, as I remembered it. Last year I got dizzy spells climbing it, this year I had to stop several times to catch my breath. Several times I was tricked into believing that we were done with the climbing as we came to a short downhill section, only for the trail to suddenly go uphill again. The downhill bits were also tricky as there not only were steps to negotiate in the dark, but steps that were completely hidden by shrubs and low hanging branches. Finally both the uphills and steps were done with, and we ran through a field full of cows with big horns. They might have been bulls – it was dark. Poor beasts, it must have been so annoying for them when 200 runners went past them in the middle of the night shining their headtorches into their eyes.
In one of the fields after Detling Ian was telling me to turn right and remarking that it was easy to run the wrong way here just as we saw a headtorch in front of us. It was Ingrid who had missed the turn. For a couple of minutes we ran together as a trio, then Ian suggested we drop back and let Ingrid pull away instead of us navigating and setting the pace for her. I suggested a smoothie break which lead to a vomit break shortly after, as I gulped down too much at once. When we got going again a very powerful headtorch suddenly appeared behind us. Laura? It turned out to be Mihalik, who hadn’t dropped out after all. We arrived at the Lenham aid station together, exactly one minute after Ingrid. Mihalik was feeling rough again, so Ian gave him a pep talk while I was eating melon and drinking coke.
Just after leaving the aid station Ian discovered he had left his bottle, so he told me to go ahead while he ran back to retrieve it. I vomited in the bushes instead. A little later I had to vomit again, and this time the liquid coming up was bright red. Some s-caps that I had taken around halfway also reappeared, still completely intact. Ian asked, a bit hopeful, if the red stuff could be watermelon, but we both could see it wasn’t.
I had hoped that my stomach issues would resolve and that I would get a second wind in the last 10 miles, but after vomiting blood that extra gear that I sometimes find towards the end of a race just wasn’t there. I was still running quite well, and we nearly caught Ingrid several times, but my body kept flipping the switch, shutting down energy production temporarily. I kept sipping orange squash which Ian had found for me at Lenham, and taking short walking breaks until I could muster the energy for another short burst of running. Ian was really good at positive reinforcement, telling me I was doing great, that when we were running the pace was really good. Sometimes he just reminded me to breathe, and that I now needed to keep running to keep warm as the temperature was dropping and my clothes were still wet.
When we were running we also chatted a lot, which helped me keep going for longer. I think I have nearly been persuaded me to put Spartathlon in my race calendar for next year, despite it being a hot race. We completely forgot to discuss our favourite cakes though, one of my suggestions for topics as I had deduced from Ian’s Instagram feed that he is a bit of a cake monster.
The last aid station, Dunn Street, seemed a long way away, but we finally got there. It’s situated a little way off the NDW, down a dark country lane with speed bumps. I discovered the speed bumps by tripping over one and falling flat on my face, which I had also done on the trail just before. When we got to the final road section after what seemed like very many very slow miles Ian therefore made sure he ran in front and gave a running commentary on every bump and kerb. If I had been blind I would still probably have found my way to the finish without tripping over, such was his level of detail. Just like last year this section seemed to go on forever. My watch showed several miles too much, despite the fact that I had not gotten lost once or taken a single wrong turn. Actually, according to Ian we did run on the wrong side of a fence once for a couple of meters, but I spotted it and got us back on the trail.
We didn’t catch Ingrid like we had planned, and I also wondered if my B goal was slipping away as race time had passed 19,5 hours. I asked Ian if a sub 20 still was possible. Sure, he said and speeded up a little. After 102,6 miles all that was left was 0,2 miles on the athletics track at Julie Rose Stadium in Ashford. Ian told me to run as if I was trying to set a Norwegian 200m record, and I did. Not set a record, but I did do a proper sprint to the finish as I was still worried about missing the 20 hour mark. It turned out I had a little bit of time to spare, as I crossed the line in 19 hours 48 minutes. I was 9 minutes behind Ingrid, who ensured another Centurion trophy found it’s way to Norway, and 3 minutes behind Mihalik. My overall placement was 8th, same as last year. Actually, Laura became 3rd female and 9th overall, while Ingrid was 6th overall, which meant all top 3 women were in the overall top 10. I might be wrong, but I think that is the first time that has happened in a Centurion 100 mile event.
After having my finish line photos taken by Stuart March and doing my usual post 100 mile puke in a bin bag I went to get showered. As I sat down on a bench in the changing room a couple of ants crawled out of my shorts. They had probably been there since Bluebell Hill. Stephen had said to me I shouldn’t be sitting on the grass, and he was right.
I just missed seeing Laura cross the finish line about an hour after me, as I had asked Sara to phone for a taxi to take us to our hotel, and it appeared a few minutes before her. After a few hours of sleep I was back again though, retrieving my final drop bag and catching up with Ingrid and Neil Dryland, who had finished just outside 24 hours. I had also hoped to catch Tone, another Norwegian who I had helped train and prepare for the race. I knew she had finished, and I heard rumours of massive blisters on her feet, but didn’t see her. I did get a short chat with Tim Lambert, but not the long WSER discussion we had planned, and I spoke with several who, like me, have signed up for the Arc of Attrition next year. We all agreed that proper winter weather was something to look forward to after the heat of the NDW. Ian was still going strong, having reported for finish line duties just a few minutes after pacing me to the finish. He had volunteered to help from 2 am, which had been extra motivation for pushing the pace.
Just after the race I was happy just to have finished, but a little later some disappointment at not having managed to catch Ingrid set in. However, you can’t really be unhappy with a sub 20 finish in a 100 mile race, or being 2nd female after battling stomach issues for most of the day, can you? My main motivation for returning this year was also just to enjoy the day and the course, which I did. Centurion races are always well organized, the aid stations always fantastic, and it’s so nice to see so many runners and volunteers return for race after race. The best thing about this year’s NDW100 though, was running with Rafa, Stephen and Ian. They were just so helpful, supportive and positive. I could not have had a better team. Thank you guys! And thank you Sara, for always coming with me and supporting me. When you run your first 100 miler I will be there, giving you whatever support you need.
PS! A big thanks to my sponsor, Hoka OneOne Norway, too. The Challenger ATRs were perfect for the course and conditions.
It was 04.37 the morning of the race. Lisa, who had flown out from Massachusetts to crew for me was buzzing with excitement, a huge grin on her face. My sister Sara, who had come over from Norway with me, asked if I wanted coffee. My current mood: meh!
I think it was only in these last few minutes before the start it was starting to feel real that I was running the Western States 100, the oldest and most prestigious 100 mile race in the world. I was thinking back to Thursday before the race, when I was interviewed by irun4ultra. Nathan, the photographer, asked me to say a little about myself and the challenges I had faced while preparing for the race. I started taking about the heat, forecast to be in the 40s on race day, and how I was naturally more used to cold since I live in Norway. Once I got started on the subject of challenges they suddenly seemed to multiply like toadstools. There was the fact that I got in from the waitlist only 3 weeks before the race. Although I knew the likelihood of getting a place was nearly 100 % I still found it hard to fully commit myself to the work I needed to do to prepare. And the fact that I live at sea level, with only tiny, tiny mountains to train on, and therefore could find the 2000m+ of altitude in the first half of the course challenging. Not to mention my achilles problems, that had meant that I had done almost no hill training whatsoever for the last 9 months before this race, which had 28 000 feet of elevation gain. After rattling off all this I felt rather stupid for saying at the beginning of the interview that I was hoping to be in the women’s top 20, but that my coach had hopes for a top 10 finish.
Friday night a couple of weeks ago I was packing for my 4th attempt at the Thames Path 100 mile race. I think I was the most relaxed I had ever been before a 100 miler. I knew I was familiar with the course, that even though I had finished in a very respectable 16.55 last year I could probably run even faster on a good day, and although I have struggled with an Achilles injury for most of the winter I had had a really good training period in March and April, so worries about my fitness had also settled. Tough interval sessions on the treadmill had started to feel comfortable, and in a half marathon a month before the Thames Path I improved on my time from last year and ran under the old course record. (Unfortunately someone else ran even faster.)
The morning before the race I ran the first few miles of the course with my sister, who as usual traveled with me as crew. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and I was running with a huge grin on my face, pointing out how lush and green it was along the path, and doing my best to persuade Sara to sign up for next year’s race. My legs felt fantastic, and I did not want to turn around after just over two miles, I wanted to run the whole distance to Oxford at once instead.
The morning of the race was even warmer and sunnier – no need for a jacket or trousers as we walked from our hotel to the start. The registration process was smooth as usual, and the last hour before the race spent chatting with other runners and crew. Some I got to know during last year’s grand slam, some I had met at other races, and some were people I am friends with on Facebook but had never met in real life.
Initially when I signed up for this year’s Thames Path my plan was to work on achieving a marathon PB this year, and the TP was meant to be my only ultra, a fun run to stay in touch with the Centurion community and run one of my favourite courses. Then, as I ended up signing up for the whole grand slam again, my ambition became to rectify all the mistakes I made last year- such going off course and racking up bonus miles in the TP. I thought that if I could run just as strongly as last year and stay on course I should be able to finish in around 16,5 hours, which I hoped would be good enough for a podium place. With a women’s field this year including course record holder Samantha Amend, GUCR record holder Cat Simpson, Norwegian 24 hour record holder Therese Falk that was not to be taken for granted.
During the first few miles my main preoccupation was to do with my race vest. I have used it lots of times before, but suddenly realized that as I bought it last autumn I had only used it in combination with long sleeved tops and jackets. Now that I was wearing a sleeveless top with quite thin straps I became aware that it was jumping around quite a lot, chafing my collar bones and neck. After lots of attempts at adjusting it I ended up stuffing my arm warmers, which due to the heat I did not need, under the straps of my sports bra. Chafing problem nearly solved (I still ended up with a huge sore on my right collar bone) I started paying more attention to my pace.
In the first and second hour I covered 12 km/h. I was worried this was a little too fast, but if felt comfortable. I also kept a much closer than normal eye on my heart rate, making sure it stayed well below threshold. I made no attempts at catching runners in front of me or match the pace of runners passing me. The rising temperature, stops at aid stations to take on food and fluids, and increasing traffic both on the roads and the footpath as the day progressed meant that my pace started to drop a little in the next two hours, as expected. The first 26,2 miles was covered in 3h 43 min – exactly the same as last year. It looked as though my goal time was achievable, and I expected to be at the half way point at Henley after around 7,5 hours.
Another thing I was conscious of was my eating. I know that eating both early and regularly decreases the chances of stomach problems later in a race, so I made a conscious effort at doing both, letting no more than 60 minutes pass without taking something either from my own supplies or the aid stations. Using a combination of gels, raisins, jelly sweets, fruit and sports drink I estimated that I was getting close to 200 Kcal an hour, which is what I was aiming for. I was also conscientious with regards to electrolytes, popping electrolyte tabs into one bottle, and energy drink powder with both carbs and electrolytes into the other.
Usually the sections of the Thames Path that goes through the towns along the river are among my favourites as the stretches of road mean you can increase your pace, however this time the heat reflecting off the tarmac and buildings made it very hot and uncomfortable. I talked to one runner after the race who had a thermometer attached to his backpack, and he said he had recorded a high of 36 º C! I watched dogs swimming in the river enviously. If we had been running along the coast, or if I hadn’t noticed the warnings on Centurion’s website about the dangers of Weil’s disease, I definitely would have dived in. (The people living near the river seemed to either not care or know about Weil’s, as I met several in swimming costumes who definitely looked as though they intended to go for a swim). Luckily the guys at the aid station at Dorney after 30,5 miles had adapted to the weather an offered suncream and ice lollies. I wanted to stay there and eat them all (the ice lollies, that is), but settled for one and hoped it had enough calories to get me to the next check point as the heat now was so intense that I did not feel like eating anything. I also filled my bottles with Tailwind as my own supplies of electrolyte and energy drink had run out at this point.
Running through Marlow I had a little detour as I lost sight of both the Centurion markers and the official Thames Path acorn signs. However, after crossing the river I found them again (I think someone might have removed the markers on the other side of the bridge, Centurion usually puts up lots of signs and arrows at bridge crossings), and also saw Cat Simpson on the path in front of me. I had been told I was in second place after Samantha, but Cat was probably only a few minutes behind and caught me while I was on my little detour. I made no efforts to catch up with her, I just tried to maintain an even pace and keep my heart rate at a sustainable intensity. However, running along a road some miles after I saw that I was closing the gap and that Cat was slowing down. Some people walking along the road noticed it to and starting cheering. «Ooh, you’re going to catch her! Go, go, go!». Suddenly the heat felt extra intense, and I had to stop and drink before being able to continue. Rounding a corner I saw Cat again, she was walking and obviously in discomfort. I asked her if she was ok, and she replied she had a foot injury that was bothering her. Soon after she stopped to meet with her crew who was waiting for her along the road. I continued on, and half a mile or so later flopped down into a chair at the Hurley aid station at 44 miles.
At Hurley I intended to guzzle down as many cups of coke as the volunteers were willing to give me, as I was feeling low in energy and very aware that I had not managed to eat anything since the previous aid station (where I think I only had some coke and water melon). However, after the first cup I suddenly felt unwell, and soon after what seemed like all the foods and fluids I had taken in during the whole day found their way up again. I had sweated a lot, but there was still a huge volume of fluids coming up.
During last year’s grand slam I experienced stomach problems (vomiting) in three of the four races, and when running the Bislett 24 hour race in November I had also been sick. At Bislett I discovered that a cup of really salty vegetable broth removed the nausea and made me able to keep down foods. I had therefore put loads sachets of instant miso and vegetable soup in my drop bag for Henley. As vomiting has always occured around 70 miles or later in a race I had not really considered that this could occur before the half way mark, but luckily I had still slipped a miso soup sachet in amongst the supplies I was carrying from the start too, just in case.
The volunteers at Henley were wonderful. Nici positioned herself between me and the path while I was vomiting to give me a little privacy. I was then placed in a chair with cold compresses on my neck. Nici had to leave shortly after, but I heard her give the others strict orders that I had to sit for at least five minutes before being allowed to leave. At the A100 last year Nici told me off for taking too long breaks and kicked me out every time I was at the race HQ in Goring, so I must have looked pretty rough at Hurley.
My sister was supposed to meet me with food and soup at the crew access point after Wallingford (77,5 miles), so I sent her a status update while sipping my miso soup to let her know that her services might be required earlier than anticipated. As an afterthought I also sent the same message to Sondre Amdahl. He used to be my coach, but this year is acting more as a mentor/advisor with regards to my likely participation in WSER, and I had promised to let him know how the Thames Path went.
When my five minutes were up and I had managed to keep down both the miso soup and some fruit I decided to continue on my way. I hoped that the soup had settled my stomach, and that if I could manage to eat properly at Henley there was a chance that I could still finish quite strong.
I had only been running for a few minutes when a runner that looked familiar came bounding towards me from the opposite direction. It was Sondre! No, he had not disapparated Harry Potter style from Norway upon receiving my message, he was already in the area and roaming the course together with Elisabeth Barnes looking for his coached athletes. He gave me some ginger for the nausea, told me that I looked better than some of the other runners he had met, and then turned around saying he would run ahead of me to Henley.
I was still feeling sick as I plodded along and I did not manage to eat anything or drink much, but at least the soup and fruit I had at Hurley stayed down. When I arrived at Henley I had not been sick again, but was feeling as if it might happen an any moment. I therefore asked for coke and somewhere to be sick when the aid station marshalls inquired what I needed. Sondre was waiting for me as he said he would, and fetched me a plastic bin liner to be sick in and my drop bag. Usually I have pasta at Henley, but this time I was not offered any hot food. I don’t know if it was because they did not have this kind of catering this year, or because they thought it would be no point in giving me any as I kept saying I was going to be sick.
As I sat there forcing down some of my vegetable soup, coke and coffee (anything to get my energy levels back up) it was actually the heat more than nausea that bothered me. I therefore laid down on the ground, hoping this would help to both cool me down and increase the likelihood of the soup staying in my stomach, and this is where I was when Therese arrived and exited. I got up and decided to push on to Reading too, sticking my head under a tap on my way out of the check point to cool off.
Just after leaving Henley I met Sondre again, who pointed out that my now restocked race vest was bouncing around a lot and adjusted it for me. I myself used all my energy willing myself not to be sick again, I could not care less about a bouncy race vest, something which I would punished for later in the evening.
Between Henley and Reading I managed to drink some Tailwind (or whatever it was I had in my bottles), but did not manage to eat at all. On the plus side I did not vomit again, but when Sarah Sawyer, who was waiting to pace her husband Tom from Reading, asked me how I felt all I managed to say was «not good». After making my way up the stairs to the check point in the rowing club I bumped into Samantha, who should have been way ahead by then, but had been forced to drop due to heat illness and stomach issues. Cat had also dropped due to her foot injury, so Therese was now in the lead, and I was still second female, as I had been most of the day. Samantha pointed out my bleeding armpits (I kept meaning to ask for some Body Glide or similar at aid stations, but somehow forgot every single time) and adviced me to drop out as well, saying it wasn’t worth sacrificing your health just for a race. I was feeling low in energy rather than nauseous then, so I decided to have some miso soup as a preemptive measure, hopefully followed by some of what was on offer at the aid station buffet. A lovely American girl (or possibly Canadian) brought me my soup, some fruit, and a glass of ice water. The ice water was lovely and I gulped it down. Maybe the volume of fluids was too large for my stomach to handle just then, maybe it would have happened regardless, but immediately afterwards I had to dash to the toilet to be sick again, bringing up all food and fluids taken aboard since Hurley. I tried again with the miso soup and some fruit, and this time it seemed to go better. I don’t know how long I spent at Reading, but it was probably more rather than less than half an hour.
While at Reading I phoned my sister and asked her to come meet me at the next crew access point at Pangbourne, just half a mile down the road from the Whitchurch aid station. I wasn’t sure exactly what I needed her for, food, morale support, pacing, or getting me to our b&b in Oxford after my retiring from the race. I still hoped that things could turn around, that maybe the combination of food and the temperature dropping could get my body to stop revolting and pick up the pace again. Even after all the vomiting I was able to run at a decent pace, and was catching runners who had left the aid station ahead of me. However, a voice in my head had started saying that dropping out would be the most sensible thing to do. Running almost 60 miles without food or fluids, especially after such a hot day, would mean a high risk of kidney problems or rabdo, and certainly a very long recovery period. I have pushed myself to finish races before while having a really bad day, vomiting blood at the Isle of Wight in 2014, and dragging myself to the finish after hardly being able to stand up after the first kilometer in Hornindal Rundt in 2016. In both those cases it took many months before I was able to resume normal training again.
On my way out of Reading the bottles in my race vest seemed to bounce a lot more than previously, and now it was not just annoying but also very painful. Later when I undressed for the shower I would find that my stomach was covered in bruises caused by my race vest, which from now on will be used in autumn and winter only. I started taking things out of the front pockets and carrying them in my hands to make it more comfortable. I tried eating one of the smoothie pouches I had stocked up on at Henley, but this just made me retch. I also soon ran out of energy, and had to implement a run/walk strategy, which is something I have never done before. Then when I stopped to turn on my head lamp I started vomiting again, and I knew it was over. My head said no, my heart said no. At that point I wanted to go to a pub and buy all their soft drinks much more than I wanted another buckle. So I met my sister, after getting lost in the housing estate at Pangbourne as usual (not that I cared about wasting a few minutes by then), and we walked up to the Whitchurch aid station at mile 65 where I declared that I wanted to drop.
Of course I had to argue for quite a few minutes with the guys there – no one is allowed to drop out without a fight at a Centurion event.
At first they pointed out that if I dropped I would no longer be in the grand slam. I was OK with that. I think I accepted that the grand slam probably would not happen back in December, as I learnt I was on the wait list for WSER just hours after signing up for the A100. Two days after that I was told I had made the Norwegian team for the European 24 hour Championships, which would come into conflict with the SW100. (And which I ended up declining due to my Achilles injury, as I had doubts over my fitness and was still semi injured as the deadline for accepting my place approached.) I had also noticed during the winter that my drive to go out and train for the grand slam was not as strong as the year before. I had not really intended to do back to back grand slams, but as the registration opened up for each of the Centurion 100 milers I got carried away and ended up signing up, afraid to miss out on the fun. However, my heart was probably not really in it.
When the grand slam argument did not work they changed tactics, pointing out that I could walk the rest of the way to Oxford and still make all the cut offs. I might even make it under 24 hours. I agreed that I could probably make it to the finish, but by doing so I would face a very lengthy recovery period at best.
Finally they pointed out that it was just 4 miles to the next aid station at Streatley. Surely I could manage four more miles, and then I could pick up my final drop bag too before dropping out. In other words: If you are going to drop, please do it at someone else’s aid station. However, there was noting I wanted or needed in that drop bag at that point, and since we were staying in a b&b just across the road from the finish in Oxford it would be even easier to retrieve it the next morning. Upon realizing I had made up my mind their attitude changed, suddenly they were worried that the 10 minute walk to the train station would be too much, and offered us a lift. We managed the little walk just fine.
I don’t regret my decision to drop. With my stomach problems starting that early in the race and not going away it was the sensible thing to do. Even though I had to drop out I still had a lovely day along the river. Best of all, I ran 65 miles without feeling any pain or stiffness in my Achilles tendons, during or after. Maybe I can finally trust that my Achilles tendons have healed and stop worrying about them?
In the week following the Thames Path there was a lot of action on the WSER wait list, and it seems like I can soon book a flight to California. Sondre have also helped me come up with a plan to get ready for the hills and heat of WSER, and hopefully avoid a recurrence of my stomach issues too. The Thames Path served to highlight some of my weaknesses – such as heat. Hopefully working on those weaknesses in the coming month will help me ensure success in the WSER. And then there is always the Arc of Attrition next year to look forward to, where heat definitely will not be an issue!
…is what I said many, many, many times, right up until the day before I signed up for this race. I had long wanted to try a 24 hour race, preferably in beautiful surroundings, during a time of the year or a place where the temperature would be pleasant, running on trails – but not very technical trails, I wanted a course where I could get a good distance. Problem was, I could not find such a race that would fit in with my schedule. So Bislett it was, an indoor track underneath Bislett Olympic Stadium, running on concrete, and surrounded by white walls.
Bislett was perhaps at a perfect time, 5 weeks after the last race of the Centurion 100 mile grand slam, meaning I could probably coast on all the training I had done for the grand slam. It could also mean that my body would be broken or worn out from running four 100 mile races in six months, giving me a convenient excuse to pull out. However, my body held up well during the grand slam, so with no convenient excuses at hand I started preparing for my 24 hour debut. My preparations consisted of three stages:
One of the blogs I turned to was the Centurion blog. After all, RD James Elson’s had provided me with the framework for my grand slam training, could he also tell me how to be successful at 24 hour racing? Alas, the answer was no. Debbie Martin-Consani, North Downs Way 100 course record holder and a very accomplished 24 hour runner, did have a lot of useful tips. However, it struck me that she does not seem to enjoy these races very much. I therefore posted in a facebook group for ultra runners, asking for race reports from runners with positive experiences from such races. What I got were tales of suffering and woe; blisters, vomiting and diarrhoea. If this was considered fun, what would constitute a bad experience?
In the last couple of days before an important race my focus is usually on resting and fuelling. Before Bislett 24 I did the opposite (not by choice) – working long days, skipping meals, and not getting enough sleep. This went on up untill and including the night before the race. I was staying with family and a misunderstanding, and an overdose of politeness on my part, meant that I did not eat any proper meals at all between lunch and bedtime. Which is why I ended up sitting in bed eating dry bread in an attempt to take the edge of the hunger pains and get to sleep.
With this kind of race preparation it was perhaps no wonder that I kept making silly mistakes on race day. At Bislett I got my start number, went to the dressing room to get changed, and then wandered off to the runners’ depot to grab a table and set up my personal buffet. Race day mistake number one – I should have done all this in reverse order. All the tables nearest the track had already been taken, so I had to make do with a table in the second row, meaning every time I needed something I had to leave the track and run through the depot, adding a few bonus metres each time. Race day mistake number two was only bringing one waterbottle, so I would have to refill it with electrolyte drink every hour, and since I didn’t have a crew (race day mistake number three?) I had to do this myself .
To pass the time the final hour before the start I checked out the nutrition strategies of the other runners, the guy next to me had simply brought 24 chocolate muffins, and chatted with people I knew. Which were lots, since most of the Norwegian ultra running community were running, crewing for runners, or marshalling. There were also many Swedes, some Germans, a couple of Mexicans, a sprinkling of other nationalities, and Craig Holgate, the course record holder for Thames Path 100, from Team Centurion Running.
I did not really have a race strategy, but wanted to stay close to Therese Falk, the current Norwegian record holder and reigning champion, Ninette Banoun, a former Norwegian record holder who has represented Norway internationally, and Guro Skjeggerud, who was best Norwegian female at the world championships in Belfast during the summer. I have met Therese and Ninette at several races before, Guro was one of the runners I had stalked on instagram. In addition there was Kirsti, who has beaten me regularly in local half marathons, but who had never run further than 65km prior to Bislett.
Ninette and Therese set off at a blistering pace from the start, both clearly wanting to win. Actually, I did not even see Therese until several hours into the race, even though by then she had lapped me several times. With 160 runners and just two lanes the track was quite crowded, which could be why I didn’t see her. Or maybe she just happened to lap me every time I was having a toilet break?
I was running with Guro and Kirsti for the first few laps, chatting a little bit and being entertained by speaker and DJ Henning. To get us in the right mood he was playing songs about shoes, pain and suffering, and the Swedish Eurovision classic «Främling» by Carola. This song seemed to have an invigorating effect the first time it was played, but after the 10th time, sometime in he middle of the night, vocal protests could be heard and all the Swedish runners threatened to quit the race. Henning had also given out his email adress so that family and friends could send greetings and messages to the runners, which Henning read out loud. Not all the runners got greetings, so the single, unloved, friendless runners was therefore encouraged to write an S on their calf so that they could meet another single, unloved, friendless runner during the race. At regular intervals thereafter we were entertained with stories of all the couples that had formed. We were also informed that all ultrarunners are divorced and/or single, followed by songs about heartache and breakups, so mixed messages…
After a couple of laps my calves and neck started feeling achy, it seemed like these muscle groups were absorbing most of the impact from the hard surface. I hoped these niggles would go away after a while, as often happens during ultra races. (Spoiler alert – they didn’t.) More worrying, my stomach also started cramping, and I felt like running to the toilet. I remembered Debbie M-C’s advice about waiting as long as possible between toilet breaks, so I waited, but after an hour or so it felt really urgent, and I gave in and dashed to a toilet. …where nothing happened. However, I did feel a little better when returning to the track. After a short while my stomach started cramping again, and for the next six hours my running was punctuated by futile toilet breaks at regular intervals.
We changed direction of running after six hours, and the second quarter of the race was much better for me. After about 7,5 hours of running the real cause of my stomach cramps revealed itself, and then the cramps and the related urge to go to the toilet seemed to go away. However, the stomach issues had taken my attention away from the need to eat and drink. I had eatn regularly, but after six hours I still had not refilled my waterbottle even once, and I was getting dehydrated. I am bad at drinking enough even during 100 mile races where I carry fluids with my at all times, when I had to stop every time I needed a drink I was absolutely terrible. So I carried my bottle with me for about an hour, until I had emptied it a couple of times, and also started drinking my calories in the form of soya chocolate milk and smoothies during pit stops. This seemed to work really well both for removing hunger, rehydrating and topping up on energy.
Every hour the speaker read out the women’s and men’s top 10. Since I did not have a crew this was more or less the only information I got during the race about how I was doing. There was a screen just after the timing mats that displayed the number of laps, lap time, distance etc, but so many runners crossed the mats at all times that it was difficult to pick out your own name as you ran past. Despite all my problems and mistakes in the first quarter I had been as high as second among the ladies, and then slipped to fourth or fifth as the toilet breaks became more frequent. When I felt better I was able to pick up my pace again and climbed back up to third.
One of the runners out on the track was the clown Melvin Tix (I can’t remember his real name), who was running in full costume and make up to raise money for charity. (We had been made aware of this before the start so that we would not think we were hallucinating when we saw him.) Another runner became a great grandmother during the race, her family sent her a greeting via the speaker to inform her. We were therefore reminded at regular intervals that if we quit now, we would be beaten by a clown and a great grandmother. Not many runners quit, however lots of runners availed themselves of the massages and treatments offered by a local clinic. I spotted Craig from Centurion on one of the benches, and his knee was heavily taped up when he finally reemerged onto the track. Lots of runners also seemed to be getting treatments on their necks and calves, so I was clearly not the only one getting grief from these muscles.
After the twelfth hour people hobbling away from the arena became a more frequent sight. I was still feeling good, and lapping Guro every now and then. Ninette and Therese was still ahead, taking turns being in the lead. Kirsti I had not seen for a long time, she had also been complaining of stomach issues, and then she had spent a long time being sick into one of the rubbish bins before disappearing. Suddenly, after 13,5 hours, my stomach problems returned as well, and this time the stomach cramps were not a false alarm. I decided to nip it in the bud and stopped by the first aiders to hear if they had something I could take. Their attitude was that stomach problems is part of the ultra running experience, MTFU! So I continued to the runners’ area where I stopped and asked Bjørn Tore Taranger’s crew for help. Bjørn Tore, who was in the top 5 in the men’s race all day, is one of Norway’s most accomplished ultra runners and also a really nice guy. Luckily, his crew was just as nice as him. (Maybe it also helped that one of them, Håvard, belongs to the same running club as me?) Of course they could help me. Unfortunately, the stuff they gave me did not help, or maybe it jut took a really long time to kick in, my stomach problems just kept getting worse for the next hour.
After 15 hours I was sitting in one of the toilets, crying with pain and frustration. I was having an argument with myself about whether or not to quit the race. I decided to go back to my table and take a timeout. So I stopped for about 10 minutes while weighing up the pros and cons of continuing. In the end I decided that it would be a huge shame to end such a great season with quitting a race, so I decided to keep going at least until I reached the 100 mile mark, which meant another 10 km. I changed shoes, putting on a pair with a greater heel-toe differential to give my calves some relief, and after downing some food and drink I hit the track again.
After a couple of slow rounds my legs started loosening up. Then a wave of nausea hit me and the food and drink I had just had ended up in a rubbish bin. Thank goodness there were lots of them around the track! I walked over to the food station hoping for some vegetable soup, but ended up with something even better, vegetable broth. This removed the nausea instantly, and after walking a lap I was able to refuel and then start running again.
Vomiting aside, the 10 km from 150 km to 100 miles went pretty smoothly, so I decided to continue until I had reached 200 km. I promised myself that when I hit that target I would leave the track. Or maybe stay on the track, but walk out the time on the clock. So I continued running, albeit at a slow pace, getting encouragement from the fact that I was still running, and greetings from my dad, sister, Lisa in the US, and from other runners, their crews, and the race marshalls.
Upper GI problems seemed to replace my lower GI ones, and I continued to throw up every few hours. I was OK with that, as I now had a strategy that was very effective for dealing with this: walk a lap, have a cup of salty broth followed by some water, then some high energy food (boiled rice, vanilla pudding, coke, energy drink), then run! The girls at the food station were great, after the first vomiting episode I just had to tell them as I ran/walked past if I was feeling sick again, and then they would have a cup of broth ready for me the next time I went past, at just the right temperature so I could drink it straight away. Or they would pull out a chair and bring me some rice.
I was not the only one with stomach issues. Didrik Hermansen, who has several podium finishes from the UTWT and who had been in the lead for quite a long while, pulled out after 16 or 17 hours due to severe vomiting. I spotted Ninette sitting at the food station a couple of times, looking rather ashen, and on the track she started walking more and more. Therese was nowhere to be seen on the track for a while, and rumours had it she was outside, vomiting. However Kirsti reappeared after a 4,5 hour break, determined not to quit until the final signal sounded. Tough lady! Guro was also struggling, but with painful blisters rather than the nearly endemic GI issues.
When I reached my goal of 200 km it was still over 2 hours left and the runners still on the track seemed to be speeding up rather than slowing down. Guys who I had lapped regularly throughout the day now started lapping me. I broke my promise to myself to stop and instead set myself a new goal of 211 km, why I chose that number I can no longer remember, and wondered if I could reach 400 laps. One lap was approximately 550 m, so how far would I have to run to reach 400? I had no chance at doing the maths at that point, but it kept me occupied for about 20 minutes or so.
As my legs did not seem to have much left in them I continued at a slow pace in the second last hour, hoping to become reenergised for a speed burst in the very last hour. With about 90 minutes to go I was lapped by another female, who at the last announcement of the top 10 had been one place and 4 laps behind me. Bjørn Tore’s team screamed at me to follow, but I could not maintain her speed. However I managed to speed up a little, swearing to myself that she would not lap me again. I had just had a greeting over the loudspeakers saying I was in silver medal position in the Norwegian Championships and encouraging me to keep going. I was sure the message was wrong, I was in third position in the race, and although Ninette was now behind me a runner called Anna had now climbed into second place. However, until then I had not given much thought to the fact that Bislett also was the national championships. Now that I had been reminded I was determined not to be pushed off the podium, so I did my best to keep up every time a speedier runner overtook me, and to overtake a many runners as possible.
With about 10 minutes to go I passed the timing mats where the speaker stood. He shouted at me that it was just three more laps to go. I thought «I can do that», and finally found that extra gear I had been looking for. I completed the three laps with about 20 seconds to spare, and sprinted all I could until the final signal finally sounded. Twentyfour hours of more or less continuous movement were followed by having to keep completely still while the final measurements were made. My 24 hour debut ended after 218,5 km, and I did indeed reach 400 laps. I was third in the women’s race, but second in the Norwegian Championships as it turned out Anna, who went on to win the entire race, was Swedish. Therese claimed gold and Ninette bronze. Bjørn Tore won the men’s race and claimed his fifth Norwegian Championship, while Craig Holgate ran the second furthest of all.
As soon as I tried to get up from the floor to reclaim my stuff and get to the medal ceremony I knew that at least one of my Achilles tendons were shot. However, I was still ecstatic to have finished the year and my 24 hour debut with such a great result, despite the shoddy preparations, no support, and all the problems I experienced on the day. Will I do it again? Well, I will definitely do another 24 hour race again, and if Bislett taught me anything it was to never say never. Besides, speaker Henning has promised me 50 % more Depeche Mode songs next year…
What revealed itself when I removed my shoes and clothes: a hematoma on my shin and a quite deep sore on my foot where the shoelaces had rubbed off the skin underneath.
UltraMari 