North Downs Way 100

One hundred somewhat hilly miles spanning from Farnham in Surrey to Ashford in Kent. For the journey along the North Downs Way, I had decided to abandon all expectations. I was not chasing a particular time. I just wanted to get from A to B in under 30 hours.

The course. Image by Owen Delaney Art

According to Centurion, the North Downs Way 100 is their toughest regular season 100 miler, with the slowest on-paper finish times, course records and lowest finish rates.

Between yesterday and tomorrow, there is more, there is more than a day. Between day and night, between black and white, there is more, there is more than grey. - Bergman & Legrand

I remember being worried about the weekend being extremely hot weather, much like the previous year, or even 2020. Instead, we got the complete opposite. It was not too cold, but it was very, very wet. And very, very windy.

With a battered body and a tired mind, it became a race against time to not get hyperthermia every time I stopped for more than a few minutes once the sun had set.

From zero to four

Two years ago, I ran 50 miles along this very trail. It was such a great day, but I never thought I would ever attempt to run double the distance. Oh, the naivety of a newbie ultra-runner.

Fast forward one year, and bam! I ran 100 miles on the South Downs Way in June. Just a few moons later, in October, I did it again at the Autumn 100 — because apparently, I did not know the meaning of ’one and done’. Also, I had a bad case of the post-ultra blues, so I needed to sign up for something of a similar calibre to get myself out of the bubble.

Once A100 was done and dusted, Paul slid into my DMs with a dare...

It would be rude not to, right?

Then came the audacious decision to tackle 100 miles along the Thames Path in May. A very wet and muddy affair. And guess where that led me? Yep, you got it. To an even wetter Saturday, taking on 100 muddy miles on the North Downs Way in August, accompanied by none other than Storm Antoni. Apocalyptic conditions, maybe, but not even the rain could dampen my spirit.

Oh, and I beat Paul to it! Not that it was a competition...

Choose happy

I was never nervous in the lead-up to this race. I was very unbothered. It was just there. In the diary. A mere entry in my schedule. A certainty. Doubt never crept in regarding my arrival at the Julie Rose Stadium on that Sunday. A rather cocky approach to something that for so many is an absolutely bonkers undertaking and a stark contrast to the overwhelming challenge it posed. Where did the humble Dane go?

In our Western culture, we have an archetype of desire that builds upon the notion of happiness as an obtainable good that one can have or lose. We are driven towards the idea that happiness is gained through luxury, comfort and ease. But comfort is deceptive. Luxury is a trap. And our tendency to take the path of least resistance creates a void.

I believe happiness is a state of mind that transcends external circumstances. It is the ability to let go of all the beautiful ways life could be better and be at complete peace despite what is going on around us. It is understanding our true desires and values beyond material possessions.

And that led me to my mantra for this race: to continuously choose happy. If ever my mind slipped into a negative spiral, I would remind myself that no one forced me to do this. The power to determine my emotional state was mine alone and I aspired to embrace happiness throughout. Even, and perhaps especially, when the going got tough.

Leaving Farnham at 0700 hours. One of

the only people not in a waterproof jacket.

Image by Pierre Papet

Splish, splash, splosh

I toed the start line with my newly made friend, Emily. We had agreed to begin the journey to Ashford together, but to let each other go if one of us felt we needed to push on or take the foot off the gas.

It was raining quite a bit now and the tree we had to climb over on the way to the start line was a big testament to how the trail would treat us over the next many, many hours. We were racing in a storm after all.

Fuel well.

Drink enough.

Be patient.

Be brave.

And do not get lost... saved

by the photographer, Pierre Papet

I always start my long runs with Tailwind in one of my soft flasks. Easy calories to consume without thinking too much. Emily and I were lost in conversation for a good 5 miles before we separated. We ended up leap-frogging each other for the next 6 or so miles.

We got to the first aid station at Puttenham at about 8.20am. I grabbed a piece of banana but did not stop otherwise, just thanked the volunteers and plodded on. Some 3 miles later, we ran through Shalford where a bunch of crews had set up in the rain. Emily stopped there to see her crew.

With very little shelter, the rain getting heavier, and the wind picking up, I had not anticipated being cheered on at all that day. But little did I know that a lot of familiar faces would pop up many times before I got to see my own crew at Otford, 54 miles into the race. Frank, Jess, Dave and Alice — thank you so much!

It was just before we got to Shalford, that I decided to testament the journey by taking a photo of myself every 10 miles. If nothing else, it would be quite fun to look back at after the race.

8.57am. 10 miles and all the smiles.

1 hour & 57 minutes on the feet

Up and over St Martha’s Hill, I paused briefly at the second aid station at Newlands Corner, topping up the soft flasks with water and grabbing some snacks for the road ahead. From recent recces, I knew the section coming up would be long and boring.

I was chatting to various people on and off, whilst also enjoying the solitude this hobby brings me. At about 20 miles, I started running with Katie. Michael and Peter joined us. My legs were already quite sore, which was worrisome as there were still 80 miles to go.

I noticed my mind slip.

Choose happy, Maria. Choose happy.

11.02am. 20 miles and still happy.

4 hours & 2 minutes on the feet

Riding the waves of a torrential downpour

Water had now been slushing around my shoes for about 5 hours. Trench foot was on my mind, but there was no point in changing socks or shoes because they would get just as soaked within minutes. It was not an option for me regardless, as I would not be seeing my crew for another 7 hours.

I bumped into Brian, a chap I happened to have quite a few mutual friends with. We found this out because Andy had tagged both of us in an Instagram story, virtually cheering us on, and Brian put two and two together.

At this point, we were both feeling really good and promised each other to bottle up the feeling for when we undoubtedly would feel worse later on. Ahead of us were Denbies Wine Estate and a long downhill section, all the way to Westhumble and the third aid station. I decided to take advantage of the free speed — thanks to gravity — whilst trying to also save the quads for later on. Brian pushed on and I let him go.

Restocked with water, Tailwind and an abundance of snacks, I plodded on towards Box Hill. Emily caught up to me and we ran together until we got to the steps. I started climbing and began chatting with an American lad called Cody. He had signed up very last minute as the 100-mile race he was meant to run back home in Vermont had been cancelled. I bet he did not anticipate this kind of weather in England this time of year!

Halfway up the steps, a familiar face appeared. It was Natalia! I was deep in conversation with Cody and concentrating on climbing upwards whilst not sliding sideways in the mud, so I did not properly recognise her until the moment had been and gone. I was going up, she was going down.

Choose happy.

My crew chatting in our group chat

At the top of Box Hill, Cody stopped to see his crew. I plodded on and caught up to a guy called John. We chatted and ran side by side for a bit before he power-hiked up what felt like a long and slow climb. I was left in the dust. Climbing has never been my strong point. I am a much better downhiller.

Back down on the other side, I noticed a weird pain in the arch of my right foot. I stopped and assessed the sensation but decided to ignore it and plod on. After all, pain is just a cortical phenomenon and I knew I was not badly injured.

Choose happy.

1.20pm. 30 miles and you

guessed it - still happy.

6 hours & 20 minutes on the feet

The quest for the infamous Centurion sandwich squares

As I approached Reigate Hill, I spotted a familiar silhouette a couple of hundred meters ahead of me. I caught up to him and it was Brian. We climbed the hill together, and I remember being very excited for the aid station at the top, as I was almost out of water and would love a cheese sandwich.

We got to the top and there was no aid station. I asked a runner coming up behind us if we had missed it as I was sure it was meant to be right there but he said it was still a while away. So Brian and I continued in the quest for the infamous Centurion sandwich squares.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

It was time to decent. Suddenly, we spotted the aid station. It was at the bottom of the hill, across a bridge, in a car park. That made more sense. I did a water & Tailwind topper-upper, and grabbed some watermelon, banana and a cheese wrap!

Tell me you love cheese wraps without

telling me you love cheese wraps.

Image by Pierre Papet

Brian and I continued together, and shortly after we bumped into Dan. He was looking very jolly in his yellow shorts! There had been a small pause in the rain, but now heaven opened again. It was yet another torrential downpour, but we were already soaked, so we just plodded on. Laughing. Because if we did not laugh at this point, we would cry. I stuck my cheese wrap in the pocket of my vest.

As the rain poured and the winds howled, we found ourselves in the midst of what felt like an apocalyptic challenge. The North Downs Way, known for its beautiful landscapes and rugged terrain, was transformed into a battleground of endurance against the elements. A battle against the raw power of nature, if you will. Still, all I could think about was the wrap. On a scale from 1 to 10, how soggy would it be in 10 minutes?

We were moving at a decent pace coming into Merstham where crews were lined up the street. We saw Frank, Jess, Dave, Alice and Stu. I stole a hug from Frank in the passing.

I was feeling really good at this point. Strong. I separated from Brian and Dan, put on some music for the first time that day and 4 miles later, the aid station at Caterham appeared. I saw Jay and was met with a ’’How do you do these all the time, Maria?!’’ question. ’’I do not!’’ I heard myself reply. Actually, hold my Tailwind. Four 100-mile races in thirteen months kind of qualifies as doing them ’all the time’. How on earth do I do that?

When life gives you a rainy day, play in the puddles.

I went on to stuff my face at the aid station buffet and Jay said she would carry on. I let her go and topped up my soft flasks for the fifth time that day. 38 miles in, 62-ish to go.

I got going again and caught up to Jay not long after. Her stomach was giving her grief, she had struggled a lot with keeping food down for the past many hours. I felt for her and tried to cheer her up by pretending to throw some magic at her. We did not know this at the time, but we would remain very close to each other all the way till the end.

The next part of the trail saw me weave along a narrow path on top of a hill which was very uneven. My feet were sore running along the slanted path as they were sliding to one side in my shoes. I was praying that the friction would not create any blisters, as both feet, socks and shoes were also very wet. But at least the sun was now shining!

I overtook a lady who was worried about the cut-off, but at this time of day, we were many hours ahead. Sadly, I do not recall her name, so I cannot look her up to see whether she made it to Ashford. My gut feeling says she did though!

Only 36 ladies toed the start line this year, which is a lot less than the other 100 milers I have run. It takes a lot of courage to get there and pin on a number. Women are powerful beings.

3.43pm. 40 miles and happily

plodding along with Jay.

8 hours & 43 minutes on the feet

I spy with my little eye - my nemesis!

Next up: Botley Hill.

I bet you are wondering what happened to that cheese wrap. It took me a long time to eat it but it never got proper soggy. Not sure how with all that rain. Dairy settles my stomach in long races, so after each gel I consumed, I would have a bite of the wrap and continue that pretty much all the way to Ashford.

Botley was not as bad as I remembered from previous training runs and North Downs Way 50. Once I got to the top of the hill, I was met by the lovely Dimi and her infectious smile. Another volunteer kindly topped up my water, whilst I went straight in for a hug. She truly gives the best of hugs! That recharged the batteries a little. I was told Ken Fancett was just ahead of me.

Ken is a 70-something-year-old legend who has run the 100-mile distance 98 times. The 100 miles along the North Downs Way would be his number 99. Let that sink in. I have been told that he only started running later in life, meaning he would have had to do something like twelve 100-milers a year, continuously... I was in awe. I knew of him and his legend but had never met him. Is it weird to say I was excited?

I left the aid station and plodded on. The following part of the trail was quite nice. I quickly caught up to Ken who stepped to one side to let me pass. I wanted to congratulate him but had heard that he was not big on fuss, so instead I said ’’Thank you!’’ and gave him my biggest smile as I passed.

About half a mile later, I caught up to a guy called Ronald. We stuck together for a few miles. I really liked Ronald, he had a nice energy about him. Very calm and collected. It was his fourth 100 miler, and mine too. He was based in Windsor, I had just landed a new job in Windsor. His son was currently living in Peru, my dad is from Peru. In some strange way, it was like we were destined to meet.

You know how you know something is going on when kids are a little too quiet? Well... the sun was still shining. It was a little too dry. I looked over at Ronald and said: ’’My legs are more sore than I was hoping they would be at this point, but at least it is not raining.’’

Two minutes later, heaven opened up just as we entered a part of the trail that had no shelter in sight whatsoever. Yep. That one was on me. I totally jinxed it... sorry, Ronald!

Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It is about learning to dance in the rain.

The relentless rain had now soaked through my clothes for the third time and the wind had left its mark on my skin, but they were badges of honour, symbols of my unwavering commitment to the race. Storm Antoni had become part of my journey, an unexpected companion that had forged an unbreakable bond between me and the trail.

We then entered the fields before Knockholt. I found them extremely tedious in the 50-mile race back in 2021 because they seemed neverending. Field on field on field. I recently did a recce of this very part of the trail and counted ELEVEN fields back-to-back before the halfway point in the 100-miler that is Knockholt Village Hall.

I stuck with Ronald as best as I could through the fields, but they did take a little part of my soul, so I let him go in the fifth field. However, the thought of my wonderful Sarah waiting for me at Knockholt spurred me on.

’’Choose happy, Maria.’’ I thought to myself.

We were allowed to have pacers for the remainder of the race from there and I was looking forward to her company.

6.09pm. 50 miles. My mantra works!

11 hours & 9 minutes on the feet

Halfway, baby!

50 miles down, 50 miles to go. And the next 26 in the company of Yankee Panky, my favourite American. Sarah brought the sun. I was so happy running towards her, my pace increasing with every step.

We did not spend long in the aid station. My soft flasks were topped up with Tailwind and water, I grabbed a cheese sandwich and said hello to a volunteering friend who I cannot recall who was as I write this... sorry! With the two mandatory head torches added to the pack, we were on our way.

We started running and Sarah told me I had been in the top 20 women from the start some 11 hours earlier, and currently was in the top 10 women and had a good chance of finishing in the top 10. I teared up because I felt that I had no business being this far ahead in the field. I also knew it was too soon to tell, despite me still moving well, as the race only truly begins at halfway. There were another 50 miles to cover and they would inevitably be harder than the previous 50.

There were 4 miles from Knockholt to Otford, where I would see my crew for the first time. I was trying to weigh up whether to eat at Otford, or the next crew stop at Wrotham, about 6 miles further. I was not overly hungry and had been fuelling well since the start, so I decided to wait. Dinner will be served in T minus 10 miles!

We got into Otford and soon spotted Brett and Dai up near the station. More familiar faces appeared, Frank and Jess and Ally! I cannot remember exactly what was exchanged here, a fresh bottle of water and some gels and chews, I think. We did not stay long.

On the move again, Sarah asked if she could borrow some Squirrel’s Nut Butter. I got it out from one of the front pockets in my vest and handed it to her, quickly deciding to pop some on my inner thighs as well, as I had not been reapplying at all today. With all the rain and the fact that I usually chafe a lot in even the driest of conditions, how was my skin not broken?

We stopped to wack some magic on the sore areas. It happened on the pavement just past the station and cars were whizzing past, one after the other. Sarah and I looked at each other smirking, there we were, rubbing SNB on our inner thighs with an audience. I stepped it up a notch, turned towards the road and started locking eyes with the drivers. Ultra running is so glamorous.

Just after Otford, there was a big climb out and back onto the trails towards Wrotham. I was dreading those steps with a passion. But something just clicked and they turned out to actually be okay. I put my head down, my hands on my thighs and chose happy.

Up.

Up.

Up.

We got to the top and started running again. Sarah set the pace and I would just follow. In past races where she has paced me and suggested a run this far in, almost 100 kilometres, I have always thought ’’Nah...’’ but corporated nevertheless. This time both my mind and legs responded ’’Yep!’’ :)))

A positive mindset is everything.

It was somewhere between Knockholt and Wrotham that we put on our head torches. It was not quite dark yet but when we covered ground in the dense woods, it was hard to see.

8.51pm. 60 miles in and heading

into the darkness.

13 hours & 51 minutes on the feet

Before we knew it, we arrived at Wrotham Cricket Club. A volunteer was standing in the dark guiding runners towards the aid station and we asked if we had to go in or whether we could just see the crew at the car. The latter was absolutely okay.

Sarah had sent a voice note ahead, asking Brett & Dai to have a fresh sports bra and a long-sleeved top ready for me. When we got to the car, I went straight for the back seat as that seemed like the optimal place to get changed. I cannot remember if it was raining or not, but I am pretty sure it was.

Dai nudged me to go inside the aid station and change in the toilets instead. It would be warmer and much easier there. Good point. I stepped into the cricket club and was met by a familiar face — Hezel! I had not seen him since our equally wet night training run back in... I want to say March? It was almost as if the weather Gods knew back then what was in store for us runners today.

I was offered a plate of hot chip shop chips but that was the last thing I wanted. The boys knew and had prepared one of my staple ultra foods: hot tomato soup. But not just any soup, Heinz Cream of Tomato Soup. A very different texture to a cup-a-soup. Once changed, I inhaled the Heinz goodness. It was delicious! Energy restored.

After dinner, I wanted to brush my teeth. I walked towards the bathroom and realised that I had indeed got changed in the gent’s earlier. Whoops. There was only one ladies’ toilet, which was currently occupied, so I popped into the gent’s again. This part is a little blurry, but I do remember saying hi to a guy and asking whether he would mind me brushing my teeth in there to save some time.

It was such a good feeling to brush all the sugar off. The sides of my tongue had been sore from all the gels and chews I had consumed throughout the day. My toothbrush was the magical wand that made the pain go away.

Before leaving the aid station, I got my gloves out and put my watch on charge. It had lasted a lot longer than in previous races and I had done nothing different. I could probably get away with just the one charge which was nice.

Into the wild

Or should I say, the abyss?

9.30pm ish. Sarah and I got going again and it was COLD now. I was shaking like crazy, but knew that as soon as I got moving, I would heat up. At least I was wearing a dry long-sleeved top now as opposed to a wet tee shirt like when we arrived. We started jogging and the familiar warmth began spreading across my body.

The next stop would be Holly Hill aid station, some 5 miles later. That would probably take us 90 minutes. Between Wrotham and Holly Hill, I struggle to recall what happened. It pains me that I cannot remember this race as vividly as the others.

One thing I do remember is that we bumped into Ken again. He overtook us climbing a hill in the dark and told us that we would have to climb this hill twice. It was somewhere in Trosley Country Park.

We arrived at Holly Hill to a party of an aid station. There were fairy lights and the infamous Beware the Chäir skeleton was chilling in the corner. The volunteers were in great spirits which helped lift the mood of any runner who was not having a good time. I was still happy, being with Sarah made the pain fade away. Apart from the pain in my feet. They were still really sore!

Mr Skeleton, Sarah and I.

11-ish at night at Holly Hill aid station

It was somewhere between the Holly Hill aid station and Holbourne crew point that we came upon an incredibly steep descent. It was part of the diversion of the race this year. The Medway Bridge was closed, so we were taken a different way across the river.

Let me try and paint you a picture. Imagine you are 68 miles into a 100-mile race. It has been raining pretty much nonstop since you started at 7am and it is now approaching midnight. Your legs are sore, your feet hurt a lot from having been wet for 17 hours and there it is: the steep, muddy, slippy downhill path. There is no way around it. The only way is down.

I used a mixture of holding onto Sarah, holding onto nearby trees and getting down on all fours to get to the bottom of that bastard. With muddy hands, we carried on. In a couple of miles, we would arrive at Holbourne, which was right next to a McDonald’s! If you know me well, you know how much I love a burger in an ultra.

We arrived and were told by Brett & Dai that the McDonald’s was closed. Their tills did not work, or something like that. Technical issues. I wonder how many hearts were broken that night. Oh, well. Pre-order for a table for one with tomato soup as a main, please boss — as Dai would put it. I was so grateful to have crew.

I sat in the backseat of the car, all snug in my dry robe and with my feet sticking out the side whilst I drank the soup. It was heavenly. Warm soup, warm body and feet off the ground for a minute. Shortly after, it was time to get going.

I was still with Sarah, and because I was cold, Dai walked with us to the start of the bridge crossing the Medway River, as I was wearing the dry robe. It was a couple of minutes at best. I savoured each and every one of them. Brett could not find the car keys so he had to stay with the car, looking for them. Sad times. And nervous times too. Mainly because the car was borrowed from my workplace. The boys were crewing me in the Barebells mobile!

We got to the bridge and I had to take off the dry robe. I did not really fancy running but I was cold so I did. I needed to be warm. Great incentive to keep on moving actually. I did wonder what the race would have been like in 30 degrees plus. I think I would take Storm Antoni over a heatwave any day.

Enter the diversion

We went through a small sleepy town, then onto a long climb on tarmac. Was this the hill Ken had referred to earlier, were we climbing back up it now? I used music to keep me moving on this stretch. Sarah was very good, she knew when I needed solitude and was happy plodding along next to me listening to my loud tunes.

At the top, the trails reappeared and we hit 70 miles. Time for a photo!

11.56pm. 70 miles deep.

Me looking properly loopy,

Sarah looking really cute.

16 hours & 56 minutes on the feet

We plodded on, I was still listening to music. It increased my pace by at least 2 minutes per kilometre — which I appreciate sounds like a lot, but with over 70 miles in the legs, my pace was not super fast to begin with.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

’’SNAKE!!!’’ I stopped in my tracks. Was I hallucinating? I turned off my music and called Sarah over. Well, I assume she had already heard my squeal... she laughed at me, but I was in fact not hallucinating as she saw it too. But said it was a slow worm. Oh.

After Googling the creature when I got home, I found it was indeed a slow worm. And the funniest part is that it apparently neither qualifies as a snake or a worm. It is a legless lizard! No images, sorry team.

Music was back on and we were running again. At a decent pace might I add. Bluebell Hill was just around the corner now and that meant the end to our shenanigans. Dai would take over the pacer stint and run me to Ashford. He did this race back in 2020, one of the hottest years. I was really quite grateful we had a storm to deal with over a heatwave.

Bluebell Hill. The small incline up to the aid station was super muddy and I had to watch my step going up. This was a crew location as well. I dropped into a chair and was brought my dry robe, some soup and a can of NOCCO. It was now 1.30 in the morning and I had not yet had any caffeine. It was needed at this point. All 180 mg of it!

Sarah’s pacer stint had ended and Brett had to drop her back to her car in Knockholt. A round trip that would take around 80 minutes. Dai and I had 6 miles to the next crew point and we were not sure Brett would manage to get back in time to meet us there. Which was okay, as there was also an aid station at Detling. But it would be great to have him there, as he gives really good hugs and he could then feed me more tomato soup!

The remainder of my NOCCO was poured into a soft flask, old gel wrappers disposed off and snacks forced into whatever space I had in the vest. See you in Detling!

Home straight

Not really. But we were closer than ever now. 76 miles in, 24 to go. Or, 27, but I did not know that yet. Thankfully.

We had arrived at the point in a 100-miler where letting loose on the downhills was okay, as the quads were trashed anyway. It never always gets worse, right? Dai and I were moving at a really good pace, catching up about the race and just life in general.

Before we knew it, my watch clocked 80 miles. Woooooooo! Better get the phone out.

3.15am. 80 miles deep. Hap-hap-happy!

20 hours & 15 minutes on the feet

I was certainly slowing down now. I ran the initial 10 miles in 1 hour and 57 minutes. The second round of 10 miles in 2 hours and 5 minutes. The third round in 2 hours and 18 minutes. Then 2 hours and 23 minutes, 02:26, 02:42, 03:05, and then 3 hours and 21 minutes — which is what took me to mile 80.

It was now 3.15am and Detling was about 10 minutes away. I was in great spirits. I probably owe that to the NOCCO. Caffeine in the middle of the night when you never usually have caffeine was just something else.

We hit Detling and I was wondering whether Brett got back in time. Would he be there? Dai and I were mid-conversation about something relatively deep when we walked through the doors and I saw Brett’s face. ’’HIII!’’ I said with a big fat smile. A volunteer asked what I fancied and I really wanted soup, but I knew we had some in the car, so I told her not to bother. ’’Better save it for the other runners.’’

Brett went to the car to get the soup but came back empty-handed. Awww. Aid station soup it was then. I sat down on the stage inside the village hall with my cup of tomato-flavoured water. It felt nice to have the legs dangling. My soup was too hot, so Dai filled it with cold water. Now it was way too watery... it was quite curious how fussy I was. Or, annoying rather.

I turned my head to the left just as Jay entered the aid station. ’’Jaaaaaaaaay!’’ I squealed. She looked absolutely delirious. It was hilarious. I was nearly ready to go, but I needed to make up my mind about whether I wanted to change my socks and shoes. It was my last chance before the finish. I had worn the same pair of both socks and shoes since the previous day at 7am. My feet had been wet for many, many hours and covered over 82 miles. Naturally, they were extremely sore. It was worse every time I stopped and had to get going again. Then the pain kind of just stayed the same, a somewhat tolerable level.

I decided against touching my feet. They felt okay all things considered, and there were only 20 or so miles to Ashford now. Another 7-ish hours. I also decided against taking my poles. I had not used them at all that day and the trails were in a good enough nick for me to not need them. I also never trained with them and remembered from previous 100-milers that my back and neck were usually more sore than my legs the day following a race due to the use of poles. Bonkers. Must condition the upper body ahead of next year.

I asked for a NOCCO to be put into my pack for later, stocked up on gels and chews, and Dai and I were off. The next time we would see Brett would be at the Julie Rose Stadium in Ashford.

Beware the Deathling steps

See what I did there? Many NDW100 runners fear those steps. Not because they are terribly long or steep but because we would get to them with about 84 miles in the legs. I had only done this section once before with my friend Krysia a few months prior and did not remember them as being that bad. But I was on fresh legs then I suppose.

Full of warm soup and restored energy, we started running. We were moving at a decent pace and I was still in great spirits. ’’Do you remember this section from your race?’’ I asked Dai. He replied: ’’Yeah. Vaguely.’’ only to look at his watch and realise we were in fact going the wrong way. Daiii. Oh, well. It was only 600 meters extra. Luckily, I was hap-hap-happy!

We backtracked and found our way onto the field we had missed. Shortly after, we started climbing. Was this where the Detling steps were? I had no idea.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Choose happy.

All of a sudden we heard some weird sounds. Dai probably recognised the sound sooner, being Welsh and all, but to my tired ears, I was really struggling to pinpoint where it came from. What it was.

’’Baa...’’

’’Baaaa...’’

’’BAAAAAAAAAA!’’

Ahh. It was sheep. It sounded quite funny. Weird they had such a strong reaction, a lot of runners would have passed here already. Must be annoying being kept up all night by intruders hobbling along with lights on their foreheads. Sorry, sheepies!

We carried on and I cannot remember exactly where the steps were but there were more than one set up and one set down. I needed solitude again and told Dai I would put on some music. He knew exactly how I felt, having done various 100-milers himself, and kept me moving in silence.

I had a missed call on my phone. How odd. It was just past 4am. Who was up at this hour? I later found out it would have been one of the Centurion guys calling to tell me that I had gone off-route. Bless them.

The sun started to rise and we could see more and more through the trees. It was still hard to make out which way the trail went in the denser parts of the woods, but annoyingly my head torch battery died and left me no choice.

Dai, on the other hand, could see — or maybe he was just being his awfully nice self, as always? He took off his head torch and pointed it backwards, lighting up the trail in front of me. Very kind. Even though he did occasionally point too high, blinding me.

We plodded on and were eventually spit out near the Dirty Habit pub in Hollingbourne. I remembered this spot from the night recce I had done with Krysia a couple of months back. We ran 40 km from Halling to Charing and were banking on being able to refill our soft flasks there, but the pub was closed for refurbishments and so were the taps.

The next 6 or so miles would be pretty straight with some occasional undulating terrain. I thought. It was so hard to run there. My feet were in pieces and we still had over 10 miles to go. Probably closer to 13 miles. Seven half marathons down, one to go.

’’You can do this, Maria. Choose happy!’’ I whispered to myself.

I had promised a colleague of mine, John, to send him a little birthday message from the pain cave. His birthday was on the Sunday, the sun was now up and it seemed like a good time to do just that. I filmed a little video and watching it back today, three weeks later, I look absolutely exhausted. But for some reason, I look fine in photos.

Here comes the sun

’’Doo-doo-doo-doo. Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s alright...’’ — anyone else?

It was hot now. The sun was warm, but I was still wearing my waterproof jacket. We were only moving at walking pace at that point, so I kept it on. For now. The path was mostly shaded anyway. Before we knew it, mile 90 arrived.

7.25am. One tired Dane

and her Welsh pacer.

24 hours and 25 minutes on the feet

’’Okay, 10-ish miles to go. I can do that. I think.’’

It might have been prior to popping out at Hollingbourne, but suddenly, Dai and I heard someone swearing loudly from behind us. We could not see anyone. I recognised her voice though. It was Emily! She was cursing the trail, cursing her poles and cursing her feet out loud. Shortly after, she and her pacer came past us and continued at a really decent pace. Go girl! Did I mention that women are powerful?

My feet were really, really painful now. It felt like the skin was attached to the sock which was then attached to the shoe. I was quite curious to see what state my feet would be in once we reached Ashford. It was impossible to run, but it was not impossible to walk, albeit slowly, so step by step we got closer and closer.

Then Lenham appeared. The second last aid station. I went to sit in a chair whilst a volunteer filled my soft flasks, one with blackcurrant squash and one with plain water. I also grabbed a marshmallow bar and some popcorn. My mouth was sore but I had to keep fuelling.

A guy somehow recognised me from this very blog. He said he loved reading them! It made me really happy. I mainly write them for me but also for my family, so my mum and sister can follow my crazy adventures. I thanked him and said: ’’I am not sure how I am going to write this one. Box Hill seems like two weeks ago already.’’

I opened my bag of popcorn and threw some in the grocery hole. They were really dry, but it was a flavour and texture I had not had all day, so I kept on munching.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

I dropped one on the ground in front of me. Looked at a volunteer. ’’Does the 5-second rule also apply here?’’ He started laughing. It was time to get going. The quicker we covered ground, the quicker I could take off my shoes.

Two guys came walking past us and I was in awe of their pace. I decided to try and keep up. We got talking and I realised I knew one of them. It was Lee! We had met at Botolphs aid station during the South Downs Way 100 the previous year. I also follow his fiancee on Instagram, she is really quite inspiring!

Lee was walking with another guy, sadly I have forgotten his name. Compared to mine, their legs were much longer and could therefore walk much faster. I really had to put in a shift to keep up. We were moving at a much quicker pace than I had been in the previous couple of hours and it helped to share the road with two others who had also been through the storm. It felt good to be in the pain cave together.

I asked Dai to grab my second NOCCO from my pack as we were walking anyway, I might as well see if there was any magic to be found in that can too.

We calculated that if we kept up this pace, we would get to the finish in just under 3 hours. It seemed a long time away. I was ready to take off my shoes much sooner, but also knew that realistically, that was not going to happen.

Buckle up, buttercup.

I was determined to not drop Lee and his trail mate. But I had to wee. Which meant I had to stop. And would probably be at least 3 minutes behind by the time I got going again. How many times can one wee in 25 hours? A lot, it turns out.

I was still fuelling okay and drinking well, the latter more so than the former. I had to stop for a wee every 30 minutes. I did wonder whether that was a way for my body to make the pain subside for a brief moment but decided against it as I made it squat down even on 90-mile legs. Besides, it was a proper wee every time. Too much information?

I did my thing and once the skirt was back in place, I decided to catch up to the boys by running. Soon after, I saw Dai. I kept running. He joined. Then we went past Lee + trail mate. I was still running. It must have been the caffeine — rocket fuel that. I do not consume caffeine in my everyday life, I even steer free of Coke Zero and Pepsi Max, unless it is the caffeine-free version. The same goes for tea. So when I need it to work, it works.

’’See you in Ashford!’’

We kept on running and deemed there were about 7 miles to go. All the pain in my legs had subsided. My feet were still hurting, but less so when I ran. Caffeine is a wonderful thing. I was not sure I could run the full 7 miles, but if I did not try, how would I ever know?

Quack quack bang

As mentioned previously, this path was quite undulating. No major hills or anything, but even the slightest incline felt like a mountain on 95-mile legs. I wondered what running 100 miles in the actual mountains would feel like.

Then, we saw a runner and his pacer in the distance. Sarah had told me at mile 50 that once I got to 90 miles, I was to dig deep. Keep going. Overtake people. I normally bounce back quite quickly from these races and that, she said, was a testament to the fact that I did not race hard enough. She had a point. I looked at Dai and we started running again. As we passed the runner, Dai looked at me laughing and said: ’’Quack quack bang!’’ — LOL.

That became the go-to phrase every time we passed someone. I was on a mission now. I did not want to get overtaken again between there and the finish line. A tough ask when there were still 6 miles to go, but not impossible.

Another runner in the distance. Target locked. Legs firing. Run activated... ’’Quack quack bang!’’ Dai said as we passed them. I giggled. This was fun! The theme continued until we got to Dunn Street, the last aid station on the course. It was inside this little farm with chickens. We ran in and two runners were sitting in the chairs. Dai and I looked at each other and we both knew what was about to happen; we were overtaking them as well.

I asked the volunteers if they had any blackcurrant squash because that had worked a treat at Lenham. Negative. No worries. ’’Got Pepsi?’’ — ’’Yep!’’ I decided to fill my soft flask with Pepsi instead. A little more caffeine could not hurt, could it?

We continued the streak and overtook a few more people on the last stretch of the straight-ish path. Between Detling aid station at mile 82 and the finish, we ended up overtaking a total of 12 runners. So, probably 24 people if every runner had a pacer. Not bad in the latter stages of a 100-miler!

I remember saying to Dai somewhere around Dunn Street that if we were close to the distance from the Thames Path earlier in the year, which was just over 103 miles, I would keep on running after the finish so this could be my longest run ever. South Downs Way 100 was 99 miles. Autumn was 102 miles. Thames Path was 103 miles. So it would be ’fun’ if this was 104 miles!

We had one last field to navigate before we would spit out into Ashford town. It would then be about 3 miles weaving around the streets before the stadium would appear. I looked back and could see two runners in the distance. They better not ’quack quack bang’ us! A good incentive to keep on moving.

I needed music. Something really loud to quiet the rational thoughts in my mind telling me to stop because I was hurting. I got my phone out, put on some tunes and started plodding along again. I had been wearing my Shokz headphones since the start, as that meant putting music on and turning it off again was super easy.

We got to the outskirts of Ashford town. No more trail. Now it was time to run along the tarmac. Wow! That felt weird. Oddly nice. We saw Katie in the distance with her pacer, they were walking. An easy target, I thought. Although I remembered our conversation from earlier where she said she was very competitive. Luckily I am competitive too. Sometimes. When I want to be.

We approached them slowly, quietly. I felt really sneaky. Hehehe. As we overtook them, Dai made the ’’Quack quack bang’’ sound, but subtly, and I whispered ’’Katie!!! Hi! Sorry!’’ and looked at her with my biggest puppy eyes. She smiled and waved us on. I wanted to slow down but I did not want to show weakness, so we kept on running until we turned a corner.

We were definitely in Ashford now. There could only be about 2 miles left. We kept on plodding, running where the mind allowed and walking where necessary. We spotted another runner and I decided to run. Fast. We overtook him and now we were REALLY close. Ooooooooh. ’’Quack quack bang’’ — another one left in the dust. I am being dramatic now, we were not running that fast.

We crossed a roundabout and there it was. The home straight. I could smell the buckles.

But obviously, I had to wee AGAIN. Where was all this coming from?! I guess I had been drinking a lot of water. I saw a bush, but it was right next to the road and it was just past 10am on a busy Sunday morning. However, my bladder gave me no choice. I peeled off my skirt and squatted down, surprised I was still able to do that, then spotted a runner coming towards me — running! Oh, no. I did not want to be overtaken that close to the finish line.

As soon as I was done, I pulled my skirt back up and started running towards Dai. I was sure the runner would catch me but I did my best for him to not stand a chance. There was a slight incline in sight but I knew the stadium would be on the other side so ignored my mind when it tried to tell me when I should walk because my feet were hurting so bad.

Choose happy.

Dai and I ran all the way to the track. Up and over the hill. Along the road. Took a left into the Julie Rose Stadium. Overtook another guy on the way in, sorry bud... quack quack... Then entered the track to loud applause from friends and strangers alike and started sprinting. We were running very fast and I was unsure whether I would be able to keep it up for the remaining 300 meters.

Dai looked at me and asked if I was okay. Haha. Yep. Now that you said that, I am. We are almost done!!!

200 meters.

100 meters.

BUCKLE!

My fourth 100-miler in thirteen months.

10th female. And my second-fastest

time at this distance:

27 hours 17 minutes 27 seconds

I was so relieved. The guy who saw me wee at 103 miles did not overtake me. I beat him by several minutes. It is so stupid, but beating men as a woman feels better than it should. We are often thought of as the weaker gender, so the fact that I can cover 100 miles quicker than many of the opposite sex sits a little too well with me.

Remember how the times between every 10 miles slowly increased the further into the race we got? Whilst miles 80 to 90 took me 4 hours and 10 minutes, miles 90 to 104 only took 2 hours and 52 minutes — almost on par with my performance 50 miles earlier! One day I will crack the code on how to run a sub-24-hour miler.

For now, I am very happy with how things played out. My fourth 100-miler in thirteen months. My second-fastest time. 10th female. I will take that.

Aaand relax

I was sitting in a chair in the sun, all relaxed when Katie crossed the finish line. I was cheering loudly and it was really nice seeing her finish. She had timed out at mile 70 the year prior.

About 4 minutes after Katie, Brian and pacer Ally came through. 1 minute later, Jay did her lap of victory and cracked open a can of beer as she crossed under the arch. Of course. Classic Jay! Her first crack at the distance. Epic performance by a true warrior.

About an hour and a half later, Dani crossed the finish line with Dan crossing shortly after. It was very emotional seeing Dani come in, I wanted to get up and clap her in, but my legs did not work. My left knee had locked itself, despite not having had any knee problems in the race or... ever?! So I sat in my chair screaming ’’WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’’ as she hobbled underneath the arch and received her buckle.

Kudos to everyone who stood at the start line that day, a very wet and windy day in the office.

Buckle number four

As I write this blog, it has been three weeks since Race Day. And I am still in complete disbelief about what happened that weekend, despite being pretty happy throughout.

My journey through the stormy North Downs will forever stand as a symbol of my strongest race and a testament to the power that lies within when I refuse to back down.

However...

I feel like a fraud. It is silly really, because I know I have accomplished those races. I have four buckles that stand as tangible proof of my achievements and my name is displayed on various results pages.

Yet everything still seems so surreal.

It is like there is a whisper of doubt that questions whether I truly belong in the ranks of those remarkable people who conquer these immense challenges. All the sweat and pain and relentless determination seem to blur into a tapestry of disbelief in my mind.

It would be the quiet moments — those introspective interludes when doubt creeps in — that remind me of my humanity, the mere mortal within me who once marvelled at the audacity of attempting such feats now stands with evidence of accomplishment.

Yet there is a lingering humility that keeps me grounded.

Maybe this very vulnerability makes the triumphs more meaningful; the recognition that each step and each mile was an earnest endeavour, and not a feat effortlessly accomplished; the feeling of being an imperfect participant in an extraordinary journey.

Does anyone else ever struggle to fully comprehend their accomplishments? Asking for a friend.