No Damn Whinging 50
Posted by Ed on July 25, 2020
Edit: Whilst this was never intended to be a fundraising run, in light of the ongoing Yemen crisis I have opted to emulate the ‘Run 5, donate 5’ movement and donate £50 to Save the Children. Up to 11.5 million children are in need of humanitarian aid to survive what officials are calling a ‘perfect storm’ of natural and man-made disasters, which Covid-19 has only amplified. Please consider donating – even £5 can go a very long way.
My first 50 miler on the North Downs, just south of London, was postponed with four weeks’ notice from July 4th to the end of November. Luckily, I’d seen it coming.
I’d already drafted up a couple of options for alternative adventures, including an FKT attempt on the Hertsmere Way, an as-yet-unrun 46 mile route around my borough. But it was whilst listening to Rickey Gates discuss his 2017 run across the USA on a podcast that I realised I had been handed an opportunity to spend my hard-earned fitness however I saw fit.
“I call it ‘running beyond the bib’,” Rickey told Rich Roll. “I’d like to provide people with the inspiration to do a trail that’s not necessarily a race, and to give them a goal that isn’t necessarily an FKT or a record, but something that they can look at and feel like they can accomplish.”
Rickey Gates
I decided to run the 50 miles I had trained for, solo, on a route of my own design.
Where do you run when you can run anywhere?
Plotting a self-directed 50 mile run is challenging, but as a habitual route-doodler, the prospect of coming up with something which, for once, I was actually going to run was enormously enticing.
My route choice was constrained in a couple of ways which streamlined the process. I knew I wanted it to be a point-to-point run, finishing on my local trails in Merry Hill, Bushey, which meant finding a starting point somewhere in a 20-40 mile radius, in order to account for the additional mileage incurred by bends in the route. Not owning a car, and wanting to be as self-reliant as possible, this meant finding an easily accessible train station, close enough to a trail, and from which I could create a route that had all the logistical and aesthetic qualities necessary to feel ‘right’.
With these limitations in mind, it quickly became clear that there was only one choice – Tring Station. An easy 20 minute train journey from Bushey Station meant access was no problem. Its position on the far eastern end of The Ridgeway, one of 16 National Trails in England and Wales, gave me miles of uninterrupted off-road running right from the start.
The rest of the route, which I christened the No Damn Whinging 50 to match the abbreviation of the North Downs Way, almost plotted itself – after following The Ridgeway westwards for 16 miles, I would head south, across Buckinghamshire, to eventually join the Chiltern Way at the 27 mile mark, now bearing east. Around 13 miles later, in the delightfully named hamlet of Sarrat Bottom, I would cross over the M25 motorway which circumnavigates London and return to Merry Hill via the Grand Union Canal and Ebury Way bike path.
It seems so simple, compressed into a paragraph or a line on a map, but if there’s one thing running has taught me, it’s that I can’t expect to grasp the scale of a new challenge until it’s done. The first time I ran 11 miles I burst through the front door, staggered to the kitchen, and drained a carton of pineapple juice, dazed and confused at the enormity of my accomplishment. At that time, the idea of running even another 9 miles – let alone 39 – was so far beyond the scope of possibility that it may as well have been fantasy.
The same process has reiterated itself with each step-up in distance – half-marathon, marathon, 50k – such that I now understand it to be a necessary illusion. The next step only seems impossible because you haven’t yet travelled far enough to bring it into view. The only reason I found myself standing outside Tring Station on the morning of July 4th was that all the running I had ever done had brought the distance – 50 miles, 80 kilometres – into that mental and physical sweet spot between yin and yang, chaos and order – between what I understood and what I didn’t. Once you’re in that place, the only thing to do is to advance faithfully forwards.
The Run
I started at a conservative pace, knowing that much of the 1400+ metres of climbing covered by the route was compressed into the first half. I wanted to be able to run the reasonably flat final 10km at a decent pace, and whilst I had initially entertained the notion of finishing in around nine hours, that quickly fell apart as I watched my average pace drop with all the hills. One hour in, I found myself skirting around the edge of the famously steep Wendover Woods with around eight kilometres on my watch.
After a quick refill from a tap around the back of St Mary’s church in Wendover, I continued to follow the Ridgeway onto the high street, where strange lines of men were sat in cheerful contemplation. After four months of lockdown, July 4th was the first day that hairdressers and pubs around the country could open their doors. I passed one mop-haired gentlemen bounding his way towards a salon as if he was off to claim the winning lottery ticket.
Leaving Wendover, I began the long slog up to the summit of Coombe Hill, the highest point on the course.
Looking back down towards Wendover from the climb up Coombe Hill 
My face
I took a moment to enjoy the views, which included a giant ‘NHS’ mown into a farmer’s field – another reminder of the historic period in which I was completing this adventure.
By this point, over two hours in, the day was growing humid, but high winds more or less cancelled this out, leading to pretty optimal running conditions. I passed a couple of older runners and a kid who couldn’t have been more than 11 going the opposite way – I later deduced from Strava flybys that they had completed the 80+km Outer Aylesbury Ring! An incredible achievement for anyone, let alone a child.
After more up and down, taking in the lovely Whiteleaf and Brush hills, I experienced my first rough patch in the form of mild stomach cramps, the likes of which had plagued me on a couple of long runs in training. Deducing that they were probably a combination of dehydration and indigestion, I slowed to a walk on the modest climb up the Wycombe Road leading out of Princes Risborough.
Pleasingly enough, within a few minutes the cramps faded, and I was able to run again quite comfortably, though I made sure to keep my water levels up. After leaving the Ridgeway, I began to feel increasingly like I was balancing on a knife edge in terms of my nutrition. At one point, I went from almost bonking to feeling bloated and full in the space of a few minutes.
Thankfully a couple of classic Chiltern views helped keep me distracted, but this balancing act continued for the rest of the run – sometimes I would overeat, which would lead to me avoiding eating at all, which would lead to me almost bonking. It’s a vicious cycle, but one I managed to get a handle on somewhat and avoid any proper disasters beyond mild discomfort.
It’s around this point that I started to lose the taste for Tailwind, which I had opted to rely on as my sole calorie source after having success with it in training. The supply of refill baggies I had stashed in my pack felt like a deadweight. Gels were still fine, but I was losing the taste for sweet foods, something I am keen to prepare for in my next race.
I meandered through some woods and briefly entered a pretty dangerous headspace, one characterised not by motivation or struggle but by indifference. I started to question the point of running this far, which is not a good thought to have if you want to actually finish.
Thankfully, a few miles later I made it to the grounds of Hughenden Manor, where my friend Spencer (he of solo 100 mile fame) was waiting for me. He’d actually misread my map and thought I was heading the opposite direction, but Hughenden Manor being more or less the halfway point of my run meant this made little difference. Seeing Spencer gave me a significant psychological boost, and after downing some Coke and watermelon, refilling my bottles, and leaving my Tailwind baggies in his car, I felt pretty refreshed.
I have to make clear how grateful I am for Spencer’s support on this run – I was under the impression that I would be seeing him just the once (I’d planned water resupplies at shops or churches en route), so when he quite cheerfully said he’d see me in six miles or so, I could have hugged him, were it not for social distancing and the fact that I probably stank. From around mile 24 to the end, Spencer popped up every six miles with water, fruit, Coke, and encouragement, and I am certain I would have been over an hour slower overall without his help, and in significantly poorer shape.
Leaving Hughenden Manor I climbed up an unexpectedly steep, long hill and headed around the outskirts of High Wycombe. For a few miles the route became quite suburban, which felt appropriate as the roots of my trail running experience lie in suburban trails and footpaths like the London LOOP. But it did lack the distracting splendour of the Ridgeway.
I passed the halfway point at around the 4:58 mark, which might seem like cutting it fine for a 10 hour finish, but as I said, most of my climbing was at this point behind me, and I felt like I could make up plenty of time in the second half if I held it together.
Despite the boost from seeing Spencer, I struggled in this section, I think because I was entering the dreaded ‘endless middle’ of the run. I no longer had the halfway point to run towards, but the finish line was not in sight. I’ve heard countless times that you have to go through massive lows in ultras, and whilst I had no disastrous blow-ups or weepy moments, I definitely had difficult patches. I slowed down a bit, but fell back on the age old strategy of carrying on regardless.
After seeing Spencer for the second time at Winchmore Hill, around the 50k mark, I finally joined the Chiltern Way. Subtle changes in the landscape signified that I was getting closer to the gentler topography characteristic of Bushey and other towns south of the Chilterns. My mood began to lift, and I found myself running at a decent pace again and feeling back on track. Perhaps it was the caffeine in the Coke (once I started drinking the Coke it was all I wanted), or perhaps it was knowing that I only had around 20 miles to go, a distance I was used to running. Either way, I felt good, and made up plenty of time in the next 10 kilometres or so.
By this point, pubs were beginning to open, again for the first time in months. I ran past a number of inviting establishments with people sat outside enjoying the warm weather. Reaching Chorleywood, I was again met by Spencer. The finish felt within my grasp, and I tentatively picked up the pace for a while before reminding myself that the remaining 20km was still, by any classification, a long run. I cleared the last proper hill of the run, climbing out of the Chess Valley, and soon found myself crossing the M25. My exhilaration soon turned to frustration, though, as I found myself struggling for the first and only time with navigation.
According to multiple maps, the trail I was following was supposed to join Sarratt Road, but when I got to the junction a fence blocked my way. I followed the fence left for a hundred metres or so to no avail, so I retraced my steps and headed in the other direction, which eventually took me the road.
Annoyed, but keen to not let the hindrance ruin all that I’d accomplished so far, I pressed on, following my route down what was clearly marked as a private road, closed to trespassers. I debated trying to find a way around, but opted to go light and fast, content in the knowledge that if I was stopped I would be able to forthrightly and slightly manically declare that I’m running fifty miles, sir, and I need to pass through here.
After getting momentarily stuck behind some walkers on a particularly overgrown, narrow trail, I turned a corner and finally found myself on familiar terrain. I recognised the field I was in as the one directly west of Whippendell Woods, themselves next to Cassiobury Park in Watford. The Grand Union Canal was just around the corner! Even a temporary light drizzle couldn’t dampen my spirits.
What followed was the usual descent into a kind of semi-delirium that always characterises the end of long efforts for me. I met Spencer a final time on the canal, stopping only to sip some coke and water. Then I pressed on, making the most of the flat towpath which, I must admit, felt like it was never going to end. It was only a mile or so, but moving at 10 minute mile pace in that kind of state with nothing to break it up, I really felt exposed to the full brunt of what I had asked of my body thus far. A 10 hour finish was safe, but only if I kept moving well – it was not a case of being able to ‘walk it in.’ After, I would guess, seventeen years, I finally made it to Croxley Common Moor and joined the Ebury Way which, also being flat, felt again like it was never going to end.
I spent the last few miles avoiding the temptation to push and risk blowing up. I reached Oxhey Park, passed through Bushey Station (where I had started my day all those hours before) and jogged through Villiers before finally entering Attenborough Fields – very much my home turf. Looking at my watch, I’d already completed 50 miles, in around 9:43, but the purist in me wasn’t going to take that as any kind of validation – this wasn’t a race, but it was a route, and only in completing that route could I honestly say I was done.
I called Emily as I strode up the hill, hoping she would meet me at the finish. As it turns out, she’d been unable to see my location on Google Maps for hours, I think because my phone was on battery saving mode and so wasn’t updating automatically. Somehow, though, she’d predicted my time, and was already waiting for me at the bottom of ‘gravel grind’, the final hill on the Merry Hill Challenge course. We power-hiked it together, and turned the corner to complete ‘one last push’, the final, deceptively long uphill slope which signifies the end of the Merry Hill Challenge and the end of my 50 miler.
Breaking into a run, I was surprised not to be overcome by emotion, as I so often am at finish lines. Having pretty much failed to eat or drink anything besides plain water in the last few miles, I was on the ragged edge a bit, but overall I felt really strong. Spencer and his wife Claire were there to cheer me in; I touched the gate in 9:51:32, with 81.6km/50.7 miles on my watch.
The Aftermath
Overall, I was really proud of how this run came together. It had definitely been a challenge at times, but not ever really a battle or a struggle. I had slowed down when I needed to, which enabled me to avoid ever being forced to stop. I ate and drank as well as I could, and whilst I had a few ups and downs, it never felt like the finish line was ever in any doubt.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I felt great afterwards. It’s amazing how the body can keep going for so long, only to seize up and stiffen the moment you accomplish your goal. Even the 400 metre walk home with Emily was a struggle. I knew that if I wasn’t careful I would pay the price for it, so despite not feeling motivated to eat or drink at all, I made sure to down plenty of water and eat a takeaway pizza.
For the next few days I was pretty much tired all the time, and whilst no specific muscles were in pain, my whole body bristled with a kind of internal ache that wouldn’t go away, even lying down. Just like the run itself, though, I knew this was simply something I had to go through, and I focused on eating, sleeping, and walking. The run took place on a Saturday, and by Wednesday I felt well enough to go for a jog with some friends around Merry Hill, though that was very much my ‘run of the week’.
The following weekend, Emily and I completed a three day hike along the South Downs Way, which went pretty smoothly. Two weeks post-run I gave the legs a test and ran a half marathon distance in 1:33. It’s now been three weeks, and having run up and down a hill all week for Centurion’s One Up virtual event, I feel pretty confident in saying I am back to normal.
Overall, my main takeaway from this effort has been the value of a well-structured training schedule, including regular strength work, which I plan to do much more of in future. It’s nice to feel your body working during a long effort the way you hoped it would, not giving out on you or throwing up unexpected aches and pains. I said to Spencer when I finished that I couldn’t imagine turning around at the finish line and doing it all again in the form of a 100 miler, but as before, I know that, if I continue to follow the path and put the work in, I’ll one day come to a place where a longer distance makes sense.
For now, I’m really looking forward to some more non-race efforts later this summer followed by, finally, the North Downs Way 50 in November. I don’t want to set any goals for that race other than to finish, as it being in late November means conditions may be quite challenging.
Next year, I’m hoping to tackle all four of Centurion’s fifty milers in the Grand Slam. Having conquered the distance in this stripped back, solo format, I’m confident that I can thrive in a race environment, and hopefully put in the groundwork to start considering the really long stuff…
Gear
Hat – Ciele ALZCap
Top – The North Face
Pack – Salomon Ultra Set
Jacket – Inov-8 Stormshell
Shorts – Salomon
Underwear – Saxx Kinetic
Shoes – Hoka One One Speedgoat 3s
Socks – Stance
