Running 100 miles is a bit like paying someone to beat you up whilst you get to eat lots of sweets, vomit a bit and take craps in the bushes. - Robbie Britton
You might want to get some popcorn ready, this is a long one!
The course. Image
The Autumn 100 is a 100 mile continuous trail race based in the twined villages of Goring & Streatley on the river Thames. The course reflects the shape of a cross and takes runners on a series of four different 25 mile out and back spurs using sections of both the Ridgeway and Thames Path National Trails.
I entered this race on a bit of a whim. I had a massive come down after the South Downs Way 100 and the only way out seemed to be to sign up to another.
Compared to the miles on the South Downs Way, these were a lot tougher. It is without doubt the hardest thing I have ever done. For the whole duration of the last 9 hours of the race, I was unsure whether I could beat the sweeper and that was extremely stressful. I was constantly wasting energy on calculating remaining distance against time. Could I actually do this? Again? So soon after the last one?
May the course be with me
I woke up at 6am, had a shower, made some porridge in the hotel room and packed my vest and drop bag. My stomach was all over the place as my period had started the day before, but I knew it was out of my control, so I tried my best to not worry about it. It was painful, and I was nauseous, which made me nervous about how the race would go in terms of nutrition, but there was nothing I could do to change things, so I decided to just go with the flow... quite literally.
Just before 8am, I made my way over to Goring Village Hall, where I was collecting my bib and dropping off my bag with the other 233 runners. We would come back to this very place every 25 miles and whilst it was small, it was warm and there were toilets. Not normally something I worry about as I love a wild wee, but having somewhat regular access to toilets at that time of the month, was a nice addition! Fewer race logistics to think about.
At 8.30am, we walked across to the Morrell Rooms, where the race brief would take place. The Australian was there and I bumped into Deborah, whom I had been chatting to on Instagram in the weeks leading up to the race. I also got chatting to a chap called Tim. Little did I know that I would end up running nearly 3 legs of the race with him.
Having run just over 25 hours at the South Downs Way, I really wanted the Autumn 100 to be sub 24 hours. It did not seem impossible and I knew I was capable. A lot can happen during 100 miles though...
Leg 1 | Goring — Little Wittenham — Goring
Mile 0 to 25.
At 9am sharp, we were off. The sun was shining on us whilst we meandered our way towards the river. We had 25 pancake flat miles ahead of us. It was a beautiful day and no rain was forecasted, but it would be rather windy later on, James Elson, RD of Centurion, warned. ’’Wrap up warm for leg three!’’ we were told.
The beginning of the trail was quite narrow, so there were a few bottlenecks — but those were rather welcome this early on, as they meant I would slow down and not start out too fast. It was going to be a long day after all.
A couple of kilometres in, I got chatting to Karen and Anne from Holland. We talked about how privileged we were being on the start line of a race of this calibre, and about races we had done in the past and ones we would like to do in the future. Karen had recently run the Transalpine Run, an 8-day stage race in the Alps covering a total of 250 km. A race I have had on my list for a while!
One of the things I love about these feats is that you meet so many wonderful people. Ultra running might be the only thing you have in common, but it can bond you more than anything else.
I had to wee quite early on, so as soon as the trail became less exposed, I saw my chance and dug into some bushes. I did my thing and whilst pulling up my shorts, a bloke came running past and we locked eyes. I am not usually one to get embarrassed, but I still caught up with him when I got back on course and apologised for what he had just seen. He just laughed and said it was not a problem. His name was Patrick and we would leapfrog each other until the start of leg three.
I then ran a mile or so with a lovely lady called Rachel, who offered me to run in one of her spare tee shirts, as the weather was pretty mild and I was in a long sleeve. I was quite comfortable so I kindly declined the offer, but how nice was that? There is so much kindness in this sport.
I was progressing along nicely and then bumped into Nigel, a chap that from memory was yet to complete a 100 miler. He was hoping today would be the day, and so was I. He deserved that buckle!
Just before the turnaround point at Little Wittenham, we got some rain. I was not overly worried as the forecast had looked pretty dry, so I quite relished the short-lived shower. I got into the aid station and grabbed some chocolate-covered pretzels, not normally something I would go for, but I fancied them and they were delicious! Just the right amount of sweet and salty. They made my stomach settle, which set me up nicely for the remainder of the race in terms of nutrition.
Back to Goring we go! I usually drink a lot of water and today was no exception. Nature was calling yet again. I found a brilliant bush with a view over the river, but with no peepholes, so Patrick would not accidentally see me again. I did my thing and all of a sudden a swan swam past and spotted me. It started swimming towards me and I said hello and asked it to keep its distance. I still had 85 miles to run! Next stop: Wallingford.
Roughly 3 hours into the race I bumped into Tim, who was at Wallingford aid station as well. I had picked up some peanut butter sandwiches and was walking whilst eating them. He was eating too, so we ended up walking together. Once the sandwiches were demolished, we ran at a very similar pace and so naturally we stuck together until we got back to Goring.
I topped up my water, grabbed the pre-packed bag with nutrition for the second leg from my drop bag and got underway, leaving Tim behind. Sorry buddy, but I had promised myself to run my own race!
Time: 4 hours, 31 minutes and 11 seconds. Roughly 10 minutes ahead of my planned schedule.
Leg 2 | Goring — Swyncombe — Goring
Mile 25 to 50.
See you later, Thames Path. It was time for the Ridgeway! I absolutely loved this part of the course. It took a good hour, but I eventually got to North Stoke and what would be the beginning of some nice switchback trails. I think this was Grim’s Ditch? Lovely, lovely trails.
I was lost in conversation with a guy who worked as a mountain guide and was off to Everest Base Camp in just two weeks when Tim suddenly appeared. He had somehow managed to catch me up! I felt really bad for having left him now, but that was in the past and I wanted to stay in the present for the whole duration of the race.
I remember looking at my watch when we got to the marathon distance and thinking just over 5 hours maybe was a little too quick taking into consideration that you nearly run 4 of them back to back during a 100 miler, and I was not here to run a sub 20. Oh, well. I was feeling great and I would rather bag some time now, as I would likely get slower and slower the further I went.
Tim and I plodded on and took turns running in front of each other, leading the way. We arrived at the Field of Dreams where a photographer was at the ready, the one and only Pierre! He snapped a quick photo of us before we ran on towards Swyncombe.
We arrived at the turnaround point & aid station, and Tim studied the hot spots on his feet. He had quite a few really bad-looking blisters and was unsure how to handle them. I, having never had to deal with blisters, was not too much help. He put a blister plaster over the bigger ones, smothered something equivalent to Squirrel’s Nut Butter on the others and back towards Goring we went.
Sometimes you just do things.
Back through Grim’s Ditch, we were running at a really good pace. We barely walked. It was so nice and I felt as good as I probably ever did in the whole race here! At North Stoke aid station we bumped into Patrick who had slowed to a walking pace, so we told him to tag along as running with others can help. Before leaving the aid station, we put our head torches on, as the sun would set soon.
It was a magical sunset. Another bloke joined us. We were bimbling along the trails at a relatively good pace and before we knew it, we were back at Goring Village Hall. 50 miles done. Halfway now.
Accumulated time: 10 hours, 25 minutes and 34 seconds — only 5 minutes longer than my PB from the North Downs Way 50 last year. Perhaps a little too fast and I knew this would very likely mean my a** would be handed to me later on.
Leg 3 | Goring — Chain Hill — Goring
Mile 50 to 75.
The Ridgeway, level 2.
I am unsure exactly how much time we spent in the hall, but I think around 20 minutes. We ate some warm food, topped up our bottles, grabbed extra nutrition for the next 25 miles, re-applied Squirrel’s Nut Butter in the critical places, changed out of our sweaty tops and wrapped up warm. I wore my down jacket and had also grabbed my poles. Patrick was unsure he could go on, but Tim and I got him going.
We all left together. Brett was waiting for us outside the hall, wanting to wish me a good third leg. It was 8pm now, and the next time I would be back in Goring would be well after midnight and he would be fast asleep then.
We started running across the bridge and quickly got warm. We were not up on the Ridgeway yet and I knew, from a recent recce, that we were quite a while away from the exposed parts — so we got rid of our jackets before moving on.
Tim and I were keen to keep on running, but Patrick had to wee, so we slowed to a walk so he had a chance at catching us up. He never did though, nor did he try. We were not quite sure what happened, but he got on the phone right after his visit to the bush and we decided to go on without him. I have a feeling he might have gone back to Goring rather than giving the third leg a go. He was not on the results page when I checked the next day, unfortunately.
Once we got up on the Ridgeway, Tim started to have some stomach problems. It was super windy and a slog to get to Chain Hill, to say the least, but I did not want to leave him. He was also very tired at this point and I would have hated to be left had it been me.
I tried to keep him entertained by teaching him some Danish, reminding him that the pronunciation was easier if he pretended he was talking with a potato in his mouth. I am sure whatever I said would have sounded double the amount of silly to the ears of a Brit that had run nearly 56 miles.
An hour or so later, we passed the monument and I knew we were close now. Shortly after, we arrived at Chain Hill. Tim sat down in a chair, looking really sleepy. I told him he could have 5 minutes and then we were heading back. I stuffed my face with some food, made a cup of tea with 3 spoons of sugar and then sat down next to him.
It felt amazing to get my feet off the ground. Oh, and we had now covered 100 kilometres! Is there anything better to do on a Saturday night?
He really did not want to go on. The thought of the sweeper bus being only 10 minutes away persuaded him to stop, as that meant he could end the pain then and there and get warm almost instantly. I tried to talk him into coming with me, as I knew he would likely be home before the cut-off and I can only imagine how heartbreaking that would be. He politely declined and insisted that I should go, so I gave him a hug and then got on my way.
Having just had something warm to eat and drink, I ran on at a decent pace. The headwind had turned into a tailwind, and it was nice to be running again. I kept leap-frogging a chap called John, he too had some stomach problems and had pretty much walked all of leg three. He was not stopping though, a man on a mission. He wanted that buckle. I liked his style.
I wasted a lot of time taking my jacket off when I got too warm from running and putting it back on when I got too cold from walking.
My head torch was dimming but luckily East Ilsey Down, the aid station between Goring and Chain Hill, came soon enough. I had some watermelon and carrot cake and got on my way. 70 miles in, 5 miles to the village hall, and 30 miles until I got my buckle. I was still feeling relatively chirpy, but somewhere between now and mile 75, I got into a dark place and wanted nothing more than to stop. I did not want that buckle anyway, did I? John overtook me.
Sensations that seem permanent are actually constantly changing. Do not give up for the sake of short-lived comfort, there is a song inside you no one else can sing.
A lot of walking was going on now. A lot of runners had overtaken me in the past few miles. There was nothing but darkness behind me and whilst I usually enjoy the solitude of running in the dark on my own, I wanted company. I could see John up ahead, walking so fast that I had to run to catch him. Damn.
I made the little legs run and was with John when the chalky downhill turned into tarmac. I knew we were close. It was hard to get the legs to tick over, but I had to. I wanted this spur to end so badly. I wanted food and to sit down. Even just for 5 minutes.
Many are anchored to comfort in their day-to-day lives, and here we are, voluntarily seeking the opposite. Screw comfort, we were here for the pain cave. I did not bring my metaphoric chisel for nothing! Let’s dig.
We started running and turned the last corner before the straight-ish road leading us to the village hall. My pacer, Julia, was waiting by the bridge and ran the last 200 metres with me to the end of leg three. I somehow managed to run a negative split on that one!
Accumulated time: 18 hours, 23 minutes and 34 seconds. This leg took me nearly 8 hours to complete! A long time all things considered. How on earth was I going to be running for another 9 hours? I was not even sure I could do the next leg within the cut-off. I wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a cosy bed, but Jules had driven close to two hours to get here for 2am, so I could not drop now. That would have been rude!
Jules and I went into the hall, got me some instant potato mash, topped up the bottles and popped some spare nutrition into my running pack. 15 minutes later we were on our way to lovely, lovely Reading. Can you tell I am sarcastic?
Leg 4 | Goring — Reading — Goring
Mile 75 to 100.
The extra mile is never crowded.
Back on the Thames Path. Jules and I were off at a decent pace, overtaking quite a few people, all of whom would overtake me again before the end. We were chatting away and having a good time.
After the hillier part of the trail that runs along the river, my pace slowed dramatically. I had entered a dark place and wanted to drop at the next aid station: Pangbourne. Reading seemed SO far away and I could not bear to think about getting there, let alone getting back to Goring again. I had run 79 miles and the thought of running another 21 was not something I even wanted to consider.
We got into Pangbourne and I was met by the friendly face of my dear Daniella. She was volunteering. It was so nice to see her, I got super emotional. Tried my best to hold the tears back. She had run this race twice before and assured me that Reading was not too far away now. Lies. There were still 37589352 miles to go! Jules grabbed some peanut butter sandwiches for the journey and we plodded on. Despite the pain and discomfort, I had decided to continue.
It was getting very tough now, very tough indeed. We stopped just outside the aid station, as I got really cold all of a sudden. We were now down by the river and I had just sat down for 5 minutes at the aid station, so my body temperature had dropped. I put on my waterproof trousers and my beanie. I was already wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a down jacket and gloves.
Now I needed to wee. Of course. How convenient. Especially with over 80 miles in the legs. Getting off the trail to do my business was not even considered, but it was dark so it did not really matter. There was no way I was going to be able to squat down as I had done previously, and that did result in some of it sneaking inside my trousers. Great. Nice. Nothing I could do though. Apart from keep on moving and wash them when I eventually got home!
This leads me to the next part quite nicely. My four rules of failure: A serious injury, being caught by the sweeper, unconsciousness or death. I would not stop if I got cold, tired, hungry, frustrated, peed in my pants, whatever feeling I was feeling. I could wrap up, have caffeine, eat and get myself together. Embrace the suck. I am incredibly privileged that I get to go so deep in the pain cave ever so often — a place most people will never get to go. Wet trousers or not. It is a glamorous sport really!
My head torch decided to die and we stopped to get my spare out. It was not as powerful, but we also had Jules’ torch, so we were okay. The sun would rise in an hour or so. She offered me a jelly baby, but the thought of eating more sweets made me want to be sick. I declined and we plodded on.
Jules kept me moving and I was very thankful for her being there. I would never have completed that last leg on my own. I paid her back with regular, loud moans. I have never moaned so much in my life! But I mean, what more could a girl want?
Reading was supposedly up next but it still seemed lightyears away. How far could it be? Plod, plod, plod. Eat, moan, drink, moan, repeat. ’’When are we there?’’ Moan. ’’Are we there soon?’’ Moan. Poor Jules. Not only were we moving at a snail’s pace, but she also had to put up with 80-something-miles-Maria.
We plodded along by the river and suddenly saw this woman standing on a boat to the left pointing a gun at us. Huh? I thought I was hallucinating but Jules saw the same. After inspecting her with our torches we established that she was a mannequin. She looked like Lara Croft from Tomb Raider! What an odd encounter.
For some reason, I now wanted a jelly baby and asked Jules for one. I fancied one of the green ones. It was delicious! Over the next few miles, I ate all the green ones before devouring the white ones. I even think I had a purple one! Thanks, Jules.
The sun was rising and the birds were waking up. Some were swimming and looked so chilled. I wanted to be a bird at that very moment. Not a human who still had to run another 20 miles.
Runners were now coming past from up ahead and I asked every single one of them how far we were from Reading. One said 3 miles and I nearly died by the thought of walking another 3 miles. Oh my god, that was 3 miles too far. The next runner said 2 miles and the next few runners added distance to that. How on earth could it be further away than 5 minutes ago, was I walking backwards?
Eventually, I had enough. I started running without giving Jules a heads-up. You would have thought something was chasing me. I ran faster than I had in the last 11 miles, up and over a bridge, all the way to Reading aid station. There was a volunteer standing by the river showing us the way, up the stairs. I welled up. Not because of the steps, but because we were there! Finally. Up I went and now there were only 13 miles to go. I had been on the move for close to 24 hours.
I had been running in all the gear I put on just after Pangbourne and naturally, I was super hot. I stripped down to my long sleeve and shorts, packed the jacket, beanie and gloves away and sat down. Jules sorted my water bottles and grabbed me some peanut butter and cheese & marmite sandwiches. A volunteer, who I did not get the name of, made me a cup of hot chocolate with 3 spoons of sugar. She was just incredible. Little did I know it was going to be my rocket fuel!
We left the aid station and I started running. I just wanted to get my hands on that buckle now. If you had told teenager me what I would be doing on a Saturday night in my 30s, I would have had a hard time believing you.
The next few kilometres were covered quickly, I even ran back up and over that same bridge. We bumped into Deborah on the way, but I was on a mission, so I barely noticed. Sorry Debs!
Down by the river again, we ran from one bench to another, walked to the next bench, and then did the same again. It was nice to set little goals like that. The sun was now out in full force and it was warm. Long gone were the cold hours in the darkness, a new day was here and I was ready to end this run.
Bonk. Who put up a wall here? We were back to the previous slow pace. Walking. Dragging my sore body along the trails with the use of my poles. Pangbourne seemed ages away, let alone Goring. I kept thinking I was not sure I could beat the sweeper, it seemed tight covering 10 miles in just over 3 hours.
Taking on 100 miles can be such a rollercoaster. ’’Why can I not just run?!’’ I kept asking out loud in frustration. We went through some meadows and I decided to stop and sat down in the grass. No warning for Jules. Literally 10 seconds later, Deborah came into view some 100 meters behind us and I was told I could not let her run on her own, so up I got and on we went. Brilliant timing really, I could have sat there forever.
We got into Pangbourne and they had kindly moved the aid station outside, which saved my legs a walk up and down the stairs. Thanks guys! I started sobbing and could now barely breathe. I was so emotional. I have covered 95 miles.
A volunteer popped Pepsi into one of my bottles and Jules made me eat a peanut butter sandwich. I also grabbed some watermelon. It felt like there was no energy left in the tank though. And we still had 5 miles to go!
Wanting to stop and needing to stop are two very different things. Bad patches are an ultra-runner's worst enemy, but most constant companion.
We continued, albeit rather slowly. ’’Come on, Maria. PLEASE!’’ — words that came from my mouth, not Jules’. Although I would have understood if they had come from her! My back was super tight from having used and relied on my poles for 45 miles now, but I could not stop until I got to Goring. I had to keep going. Jules made sure of that.
All of a sudden, it started to look familiar and I thought we had to be close now. We passed some dog walkers who said they had walked from Goring and that it was roughly 25 minutes away, and well done to me for enduring this kind of distance. Hold on, 25 minutes? That was 25 minutes too many! I started running again.
The path curved to the right, following the river. It went on and on. Were we just running around in circles? Was this some kind of evil joke? Finally, the last gate came into sight and I could see boats. We were here. I picked up the pace and overtook Jules and sprinted — my story, my verbs — up the path and through the gates, overtaking a lady a mere 50 meters from the end. Sorry, Katy!
It was over. I was done! Quite literally. 25 minutes ahead of the sweeper, thankfully. Finisher number 146 of 150! Nearly 40% of the people who started the race never made it to the end. That only goes to show that it was a tough day, despite the good weather.
Accumulated time: 27 hours, 35 minutes and 1 second. 2 hours, 29 minutes and 11 seconds slower than the 100 miles on the South Downs Way four months prior, but who cares? I had covered 100 miles. Again!
Happiness is paying to run for almost
28 hours and receive a belt
buckle in return.
Thanks for yet another wonderfully painful
adventure to the team at Centurion! x
I am now a double hundred miler...
...in just over 4 months! I really struggle to comprehend that.
I am so incredibly grateful for my mind and body, my legs in particular, for taking me on these mind-blowing adventures. I do not know many women who have completed a 100 miler, let alone two, and I am so proud to be one of them!
It is complicated to rationalise an irrational act like running for almost 28 hours along the trails with an intense focus on preventing yourself from throwing up on your shoes.
Still chasing that sweet sub-24-hour miler, so I guess I will have to sign up for another one! I am quite obviously a dream to pace, so if anyone wants to voluntarily sign up for that, please enquire within... :p
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