Wendover Woods 50
Posted by Ed on December 11, 2021
The Wendover Woods 50 took place on the 6th of November 2021. Consisting of five very hilly loops of Wendover Woods in Buckinghamshire, the race took in around 10,000 feet or 3000 metres of elevation gain. I finished in 11:35:02, 56th male, 50th overall, and 14th in my age caetgory.
This was a particularly special race, for a few reasons. It was the last race in the 2021 50-mile Grand Slam, and indeed the last race in the Centurion Running 2021 calendar overall. Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, it was also the last race in the 2020 50-mile Grand Slam, meaning there were some runners on the start line who had waited almost two years to be there.
I went into this race with very few goals beside finishing. Knowing that the significant elevation involved would render my previous 50-mile times useless as a basis for prediction, I opted to adopt the same strategy that served me well at both the North Downs Way 50 and the Chiltern Wonderland 50 – that of not focusing on outcomes, but on the process of running the race itself.
Whilst the race passed with relatively little drama, the last loop made for a spectacular and challenging end to the Grand Slam. Read on to find out how!
The race
After spending the night at my buddy Chris’s place in nearby Stoke Mandeville, we rocked up to the start line in the famous ‘trig point field’ early on Saturday morning.
The community feel surrounding Centurion events is always incredible, but at Wendover it was truly special. Everything about the race lends itself to a celebratory atmosphere – its calendar position making it a ‘sign-off’ for the year; the Grand Slammers looking to finally wield the infamous giant medal; the looped course which meant you saw the same volunteers time and time again.
At the start line, I chatted to a number of excellent runners I’m lucky enough to call my friends, many of whom I only met in the last 12 months or so. There was Darryl, who I met during the North Downs Way 50 (and whose excellent running cap company you should definitely check out); Caitlin and Tim, the rightful queen and prince, respectively, of Runaway; Adam, who four years ago rocked up at my own miniature trail running event in Bushey and ended up running his first 50k; there was Ilona, Jamie, and the rest of the Grand Slamming Danson Runners; and so many more familiar faces with whom I’d shared a mile or two over the course of the year.
After collecting our bibs and making our way to the start line, we waited in the cold for about fifteen minutes for 9:30 to roll around, at which point we were treated to the first (and last) Centurion mass start of the Grand Slam.
I took it out deliberately slow, knowing the scale of the course that was to come. I later realised that, of all the Centurion races, Wendover is perhaps the only one in which a relatively fast start is advisable, as after a few miles the wide forest road gives way to a narrow single track climb, which inevitably leads to a queue forming. I wasn’t too bothered to wait and take it slow, but I did almost certainly lose a few minutes here and there on the first loop to queuing.
We soon reached the first point of the twisty, turny course at which you can see runners further ahead. I came face to face with Charlie Harpur, who had managed to cover about 2 miles in the 20 minutes it had taken to run 1.1. A couple of other runners were hot on his heels, but he looked comfortable with his lead.
After picking our way down a leaf-covered descent criss-crossed with gnarled roots, we eventually reached the point where I had seen Harpur before turning off to approach the Ridgeway section of the course. This was also a tricky descent, down not so much a trail as a log flume of leaves, rocks, and roots. I made a mental note that this section would potentially be a bit of a hobble-fest on loops four and five.
The course then climbs briefly before the famous power line descent takes you into open fields. Though the weather had been very friendly leading up to the race, the steep, grassy descent was still tricky, and require a bit of careful foot placement. We then crossed an open field before heading back into the woods, up a long, gradual climb that was the first of the course’s many ‘long walks’.
By now the course had started to thin out a little bit, such that I was able to pretty much run at my own pace without feeling like I had to negotiate with the pace of those around me. There is a lovely rhythm to the Wendover course – immediately after the long climb we began a nice runnable descent, which took us to within grasping distance of the course’s halfway point aid station.
A major piece of advice I would give to anyone looking to run this race is the following – don’t think you’re anywhere close to the aid station the first time you see it! Whilst you only have about three kilometres or two miles to go from this point until you reach the aid station properly, these two miles contain two of the course’s biggest climbs – Hell Road leading to Chiltern Scree-ming, and Go Ape.
Despite its name, I found Hell Road to be one of my favourite parts of the course. It’s a long, gradual ascent, very runnable in places, and on a gorgeous stretch of pine-enclosed single track. The Go Ape climb was less lovely, its difficulty compounded by the laughs of the Go Ape participants overhead, swinging and hooting through the forest, wondering what the hell those lycra-clad fools are doing huffing their way up a ridiculous incline.
But it was Chiltern Scree-ming, in between the two climbs above, that was the first true ‘ball-buster’ of the race, to quote Lazarus Lake. One of Wendover’s famous ‘hands-out-and-touch-the-ground-in-front-of-you’ climbs. No pace is ‘easy pace’ on a climb like this. There’s no option but to huff and puff your way to the top.
Another difficult part of the course came between Chiltern Scree-ming and Go Ape – a sudden descent over technical terrain which, try as I might, I could not ever run at a decent pace. On every loop I lost ground to those behind me on this descent, who seemed more comfortable with the slippery, steep trail. The descent from Go Ape, too, then leads to an extremely root-covered trail that I could never master. It required more of a bit of light Morris dancing than a jog to traverse effectively.
Eventually, I pulled into the first aid station, where I spent a minute or two grabbing water and food. The aid station is followed by a long gradual climb, the course’s longest at about half a mile, which makes for a nice opportunity each loop to ‘get it together’ before ploughing ahead with the course’s second half.
After hitting the top of the climb, I began the Boulevard of Broken Dreams descent. It’s a wide forest road, over a mile long – a great place to make up time. Early on in the race its name seems like a non sequitur, but it starts to make sense towards the end…!
The second half of the course has arguably the two most famous climbs – the Snake and Gnarking Around. The Snake, appropriately enough, is the longest ‘monster climb’ on the course at around 400m (in which distance it packs 70m of climbing). This year the runners were aided by the addition of a rope handrail, though in truth it did not make things much easier. My buddy Jason, who spent much of the day popping up all over the course, was waiting at the top to snap a quick pic.
After a loop of the hill fort we then hit Gnarking, which is perhaps the hardest climb given that it’s not even an official footpath, but more of a Barkley-style off-trail 30% incline. Whilst challenging – there really is no way to manage a climb like Gnarking without ‘red-zoning’ a little bit – it wasn’t as soul-destroying as I had anticipated. I just got my head down and waited it out, and sure enough, you eventually reach the top.
From there, a quick descent followed by one final climb up ‘Railing in the Years’ brings you back to within audible range of the start/finish area. A quick jaunt along the edge of Trig Point field, and you’re home.
Time on the clock: 2:02:31.
One down, five to go
Elevated by having gotten the first loop over and done with, I headed out onto loop two in good spirits. I knew to expect each loop to get a little bit slower, but I actually reached the aid station about two minutes faster than the previous loop. I put this down to not having to queue in the second loop.
Knowing the sheer timescale involved in completing this race – likely longer than I’d ever run – I made a conscious effort to eat a lot during it. This necessitated a slightly slower pace on the runnable sections, but I think it paid off massively. I never went through any ‘wobbles’ or dark patches in which I thought it wasn’t achievable. It’s as if all I had to contend with was the psychological and physical challenge, which is plenty to be contending with without having to worry about dampened spirits due to poor nutrition.
I passed through the finish line for the second time in 4:10, meaning my second loop had only been six minutes slower than my first over all. Not a bad attrition rate.
On the third loop, I was lapped by Charlie Harpur, who eventually went onto win the race. I spotted him on Chiltern Scree-ming, and was quietly pleased to note that his climbing pace was not much faster than mine. I guess there’s only so fast you can go up a climb like that.
But when we hit the runnable section at the top of the climb, it became clear how he had gained a full ten miles on me over the preceding four-and-a-half hours or so. As it happens, he passed me at the exact spot I had been struggling with all race – the dodgy descent after Go Ape. I stood to the side and let him go, picking my way down sheepishly as he vanished into the woods.
Loop three was psychologically the hardest of the bunch, stuck in the dreaded middle of the race. None of the fire of starting in your belly, the draw of the finish line still so far away. All you can do in this zone is focus on the process – run where you can, walk where you have to, eat, drink, keep it up.
Coming into the finish line to round off loop three, I had 6:27 on my watch, meaning the third loop had taken me around 2:17 – again, not a bad attrition rate given we were now firmly into ultramarathon terrain at around 50k. Knowing that the sun was to set on the next loop, I took a few minutes to change into a dry, long-sleeve top, and popped both my my main and my back-up head torches on.
I left in a state of open anticipation, knowing that the next two loops – run almost entirely in the dark on a moonless night – were to be completely new terrain for me.
Into the night
There was enough daylight for the first half of loop four that I didn’t need my head torch to see, though I did still use it for the odd section of particularly enclosed trail. As the loop progressed and the day drew to a close, the dog walkers and the families out for a stroll left, and the woods became solely the dominion of runners. Here, the race took on a different flavour.
I don’t recall much about loop four, except a handful of images – of leaves falling in the spotlight of my head torch, of the odd hallucinatory glimpse of some strange animal in my peripheries. I know that I felt tired, and keen to get the race over and done with. But mostly I was just focused on not thinking too much about anything at all.
On loop five, that was to change.
On the first half of loop five, now entirely in the dark, I made the mistake of using both my primary and backup head torch – the former on my head, the latter around my waist. The combination of light sources helps eliminate the strange shadow patterns that can occur when relying on a single head torch, which meant I was able to move much faster on technical terrain.
Unfortunately (and I can only blame mental fatigue for this oversight), it didn’t occur to me that using both light sources put me in an extremely vulnerable position. If one failed, I had no back up. Simple as that.
That only occurred to me on the forest road heading into the aid station, when my back up head torch around my waist blinked to let me know the battery was low. I turned it off and cursed myself for being so foolish. Checking the battery on my main head torch, I realised that that, too, was low. With five long, hilly miles to come on a moonless night, I knew that I was in serious trouble if I lost both my light sources,
Some of the aid station volunteers were on hand to help me with some spare batteries (which I know to carry in future), but unfortunately those batteries were even more drained than the ones I already had. Eventually I resigned myself to powering through the final loop with my back up head torch off, and my primary head torch on the dimmest setting possible, keeping my fingers crossed that it would be okay.
Suddenly, all the fatigue and pain in my legs vanished, as my mind enveloped around the singular goal of finishing before my light sources gave up. My world was reduced to the single dim spotlit patch of ground ahead of me, and I flew down any runnable section of trail – relatively speaking.
According to Centurion’s official results, I overtook nine people on loop five, the bulk of whom I can only assume were during this final section. The steeper climbs were a conga line of zombies, with one runner even sat on the ground retching halfway up Gnarking.
When I reached Railing in the Years, I experienced an overwhelming sense of euphoria, knowing that I was going to finish safely – even if my primary head torch failed at this point, my back up surely had enough juice to see me through. I eventually crossed the finish line 11:35:02, where I got my photo taken and collapsed into a chair. I got very, very cold at this point – partly because it was quite chilly, but partly, I think, because of how hard I had pushed my body in the final five miles. All the pain that I had avoided feeling came flooding back, and it was all I could do to throw on as many layers as possible and stop my legs from cramping themselves into oblivion.
I later learned that Chris, with whom I had stayed the night before, and who I had been chasing all race, was in fact at that final aid station on loop five. He was feeling dejected and broken, resigned to walking the final five miles in, when he saw me having a faff with my batteries. There is a friendly but genuine competitiveness between us, and him seeing me come so close to overtaking him spurred him on to run as fast possible to the finish line. In the end, we finished within five minutes of each other, with only one runner between us – our mutual friend Darryl!
Closing thoughts
Despite my final frantic miles, I think I ran Wendover quite well. I was 171st coming through the first aid station, and 56th by the end. I never lost any places between check points, and was able to run strong until the very end.
All in all, I think Wendover Woods was my favourite race of the Grand Slam. The looped course gives it such a unique atmosphere, and the mix of steady, runnable sections with genuinely challenging climbs means it never gets dull. Despite the repetition, no loop was the same, and of the four races it’s the one I’d be most excited to try again.
