Imagine running 100 miles. If you are a mere mortal like me, you will be on the move for a full day, witness the sunset, run through the night, witness the sunrise, and then do some more running. Or jogging. Or hiking. Or simply walking. You name it, I probably did it. A lot can happen during the time it takes to cover such a distance.
Now, imagine running 100 miles, but with the weather being typically British: picture a light drizzle that turns into pouring rain, no sunset, hours of darkness, no sunrise, and endless miles of peanut butter-esque mud... fun, right? In some sadistic way, it actually is.
If you are here for the full story of my day along the river, please read on. If you just want to know how long it took me to get to Oxford, check out my Strava stats here. Remember to leave some kudos :p
Was the lurgy going to keep me from running to Oxford?
The week leading up to the race had me questioning whether I would be able to be toeing the start line at all. I had spent the last 7 days being very poorly and at this point, 5 days before the big dance, I was still living my best snot life.
Without exaggeration, I had to blow my nose every 5 minutes and had headaches from mouth breathing for well over a week. Nothing helped. I tried VapoRub, nasal spray, eating all the colours of the rainbow, sleeping lots, and of course, keeping hydrated. No change. In fact, it kind of got worse. I also had an annoying cough I could not seem to shake.
An incredible amount of hours spent at work did of course not help the recovery, clocking 80-hour weeks is not a pleasant experience even without a long run on the horizon.
However, being equally stubborn and curious, I wanted to know if I could get to Oxford within the 28-hour time limit despite feeling so rough. Probably not the best move but how would I ever know if I did not at least try?
Photo by Pierre Papet. Rainy Richmond
Fast forward to Friday.
My friend Tim, whom I met during the Autumn 100 in October last year, was staying with us the night before the race as we only live 30 minutes from the start line in Richmond, London. He lives in Exeter. Oh, and he was running the race too. We had a mountain of chip shop chips for dinner before trying to get some shut-eye before the big day.
Come 7am on Saturday, race day, Tim and I caught the tube to Richmond. It would only be a 30-minute journey door to door. Brett would meet us there to see us off just before 9am. Never have getting to a start line been so easy. Getting the train back home after the race on the Sunday would be a different story.
We arrived at the Old Town Hall and went upstairs to collect our bib numbers and trackers. I spotted the incredibly inspiring Anna Brown, who had recently completed the MdS, at the registration. She somehow knew my name and I remember being very flattered!
Lucky number 391. Here we go!
Just inside the building, I bumped into Ilona and Dani, both of whom were also running to Oxford that day. I then popped by the Centurion Store on the ground floor to collect a new waterproof running jacket they had put aside for me. Thanks for organising, Lisa!
I also crossed paths with Nigel again, a guy I shared a few miles with during the A100 last year. He was wearing a bib with purple dots, and I was quite intrigued. Apparently, those bibs are reserved for runners who are under the wing of one of Centurion’s coaches. Pretty cool!
It was now time to visit the facilities for, probably, the last time in a little while. During races, the bushes tend to be an ultra runner’s best friend. I then sorted my finish line bag and brushed up on my goals for the day.
Firstly, I wanted to manage my state and energy as best as I could. Eat enough and stay hydrated. Secondly, I wanted to focus on the present moment throughout and not get caught up in what was yet to come. One mile at a time, as I would only ever be able to control the mile I was currently in any way. Lastly, I wanted to make sure I dealt with problems as and when they popped up. At the end of the day, ultra running is, in a somewhat complex way, quite simple: perpetual problem-solving on your feet when you are very tired.
We live in a culture that is driving everybody towards the idea that happiness is obtained through luxury, comfort, and ease. I beg to differ.
It was time to head to the start line.
Richmond Waterfront
James Elson, RD of Centurion, had just rounded off the race brief and there was an exciting buzz in the air. It was 8.56am. 4 minutes until 339 other brave souls and I were on our way towards Oxford, along the Thames Path. One last blow... of my nose, you dirty animal. And a quick demolition of a peanut butter sandwich.
Photo by Pierre Papet. Can you spot
Tim, Brett and I behind James?
8.59am. I started counting down: 10... 5... 3, 2, 1... the klaxon hooted and everyone around me started their watches simultaneously. Ahead of us were 100 seemingly wet riverside miles. It pretty much rained from the get-go. A drizzle that slowly evolved into heavy rain. It would continue for the next 7 hours straight. Oh, well. It is highly unlikely there were any fair-weather runners amongst us anyway.
My plan was to spend the first hour warming up by running at a comfortable pace and then apply a 9:1 strategy from there onwards, for as long as I could. 9 minutes of running followed by 1 minute of walking. With only 500m of elevation gain over 100 miles, this was my opportunity to use different leg muscles throughout.
About 7 km into the race, I spotted Krysia and her son, running the Kingston Park Run. I got a big squeeze in the passing, and they cheered me on from a path alongside ours. It was so nice with friendly faces. Krysia would be pacing me for 30 miles later on, from the halfway mark at Henley.
Not long after, I noticed that I was absolutely starving. I could feel it in my soul. Luckily, I was well-equipped. I always start a race with a flask of Tailwind, an easy 200 calories in the tank. I also had some Supernatural pouches, Spring Energy gels and Veloforte chews. I was looking forward to the little sandwich squares you can always find at Centurion’s aid stations: peanut butter, cheese, and marmite. I am not normally a Marmite fan, but during ultras I love them.
Up ahead of me, I could see Jessica running. We had talked a fair bit on Instagram in the lead-up to the race but never met in person. I decided to change that. She was running with a friend and their pace was a little faster than mine, so after we had said hiii and how are you?!, I dropped back. There was no need to fire up the engine and heart rate just yet.
A few moments after Kingston, Ilona caught up with me. We got talking and kept leapfrogging each other for a good few miles. It was nice with some company.
Photo by Pierre Papet. It looks dry and
sunny, but do not be fooled. I
was soaked to the bone in this image
I strolled into CP1 at Walton On Thames at 11am. The spread was on point. A very kind volunteer filled my two soft flasks with water, and I grabbed some fresh mango before I was on my way. Ilona was already up ahead, but as we were running at a similar pace and to a similar strategy, I expected to see her again at some point.
I think it was somewhere between Walton and Wraysbury where I bumped into Luc from Canada. He had travelled across the Atlantic to explore London and the surrounding cities with his wife and had somehow managed to squeeze in this 100-mile race. I admired him for that. We shared a few miles together before arriving at CP2 at Wraysbury at 1.18pm.
Ilona was inside the aid station on the phone with her husband. I went to town in terms of food: salted pretzels, fresh mango, cucumber, and sandwich squares. Yep, plural. Soft flasks were topped up again too. I was keen to get going, so I said bye to Ilona who replied that she would be with me in a tick.
Just outside the aid station, I got chatting with a chap. He had friends not too far from the trail who were currently gathered for food and drinks to celebrate the coronation, and he mentioned he was planning to swing by on the way. I warned him that sitting down in the warmth and under shelter from the rain might lower his chances of wanting to continue to Oxford. Sadly, I did not get his name so I cannot fact-check, but my gut feeling says he made it.
Photo by Pierre Papet. Puddles galore
It was raining quite heavily still. I walked whilst I was eating, but quickly had to speed up to keep warm. I had been soaked to the bone for over 4 hours now, so any time spent standing still or moving slowly cooled my body down very rapidly.
Keep calm and carry on
Dimi popped up everywhere along the trail. She had her beautiful dog with her and seeing them could only make me smile. Not many were out there cheering that day, but with the rain gradually getting worse and worse, it was hard to blame them.
I got chatting with a really sweet soul called Alice. We had been leapfrogging each other for quite a few of the earlier miles but as we got closer to Dorney, my mind asked for peace, and I told her I was in need of some solitude.
About 30 minutes later, I turned on my headphones. I wanted music. It really, really lifted my spirits. I was practically dancing down the trail, forget about running. First up was Lux Æterna by Metallica.
Photo by Pierre Papet
Windsor Castle made an appearance in the distance, and I was curious to see how many people were out and about on this special day in this treacherous weather. It was pouring down now. It was weird to think the country now had a king and it actually disgusts me how much money was spent on the coronation, taking the current state of affairs into account. Some people struggle to pay their bills and cannot afford food and yet here we are spending £100m that I believe would have been better spent elsewhere. Anyway, that is a story for another day.
I bumped into a lady named Jo somewhere between Windsor and Dorney. We were moving at a similar pace, so we stuck alongside one another. We talked a little here and there but were also just alone together at times. It was really nice. Her shoelace had come undone, but with the next aid station close by, she decided to leave it until we got there. We were surrounded by puddles anyway.
At 3.07pm, we strolled into CP3 at Dorney and I was greeted by a familiar voice: ’’Mariaaa!’’ — it was Jorge, a friend of mine who had chosen to spend his weekend feeding and watering us needy runners. Hero. It was pissing down, but every single volunteer still seemed in high spirits. Jorge said he would see me again in 65 miles, at the 95-mile aid station. I promised I would be there.
With 30 miles in the legs, the 9:1 strategy no longer did the job. It was too tough going with the weather and flat terrain. I decided to do 8:2, but in a 4:1 format instead, meaning I got walking breaks more often by breaking the intervals in half.
A few hours later, at 5.06pm, I arrived at CP4 at Cookham. 38 miles. I cannot remember much from this part of the race, but I do remember that I snapped a photo of myself shortly after and decided to upload it to my Instagram stories. Something I never usually do.
’’63 km in. 100 km to go.’’ The joke was on me. There was still 103 km to go, and that extra 3 km would come to feel very far after the preceding 163 km.
Seemingly still happy
An hour and a half later, at 6.31pm, I got into CP5 at Hurley at 44 miles. I adjusted the intervals to 3:2 here. It seemed too early to slow down, but having been poorly for the two weeks prior, I was amazed that I was still moving at all. I cannot remember, but I am sure I filled my soft flasks again here and grabbed some more food.
Between Hurley and Henley, I got chatting with two guys who had run the race together since Richmond. One wanted to drop at Henley, the halfway mark, the other was keen to keep going. We were leapfrogging each other for a good few miles and before we knew it, we arrived at the aid station and the first crew stop in the race. To say I was excited to see my top-notch crew and pacers was an understatement.
Some friendships are measured in miles.
Halfway
It was now 8.12pm. I had been running for just over 11 hours. I was halfway! I sat down in a chair, took off my pack, found my portable charger and started charging my watch. It drains very quickly, even with all the fancy features turned off and no route loaded. But I have come to appreciate that is just how it is and charging on-the-go is not a huge challenge.
I had voice noted my crew with requests for this pit stop and one of these was a clean long sleeve, as I was soaked through. 7 hours of rain + sweat meant my pack had been chafing me, which was rather painful. I only really realised at Henley; I think. I smothered Squirrel’s Nut Butter everywhere and tucked my long sleeve into my shorts, looking like a dork, but my skin felt much better for it. Problem solved. For now.
Krysia was ready to pace, and I was ready for some company. The last few miles into CP6 at Henley had been tough. We stocked up my pack with fresh supplies, put our head torches on and got going. I think I spent max 10 minutes there. Next time we would see Brett and Jonny would be at Reading, in just 7 miles.
Running long distances transcends psychological boundaries and the further we reach inwardly, the farther we can run outwardly.
Photo by Pierre Papet
The sun had started to set, but with the cloud cover having been heavy all day, there was nothing to see. No sunset. It just got darker. It was weird not seeing the sun disappear behind the horizon, especially as we were travelling west along the river.
There was still some daylight lingering and we spotted a massive yellow plastic duck on the Thames just after the aid station. I still wonder what the purpose of having him there was.
A couple of hours after Henley, we arrived at CP7 in Reading. It was now 10.19pm and we were met by Jules as well as the boys. They had picked her up from Reading train station to drop her off at Benson, from where she would pace Dani. She put a blue glow stick in my pack which could only mean one thing — it was time for a trail rave! Jules had paced me on this very path during the A100 last year.
I was also handed my requested hamburger, a request I had voice noted to the crew pre-Henley, with no pickles and extra tomato sauce. Excited was an understatement. I never eat at McDonald’s, but their burgers works a treat in ultras.
Krysia and I went up the stairs to the aid station and someone said: ’’Maria?’’ — it was Katy, a lady I had met during the A100. It was awesome seeing her again! Another volunteer kit checked me, making sure I was carrying all the mandatory gear such as a waterproof jacket, whistle, spare head torch, emergency blanket and so on.
We went back down the stairs, I hugged the boys and into the night we went. It was never cold, but we did have to run to stay warm. We made up little games, like running from one Centurion marker to another, walking to the next, running again, walking again, etc.
I believe there is something deep and metaphorical about the idea of running through pain like the endurance of discomfort contains meaning beyond angry nerve endings.
Welcome to Reading
Before we knew it, we were by the bridge at Tilehurst and the infamous Welcome to Reading sign. It did not bother me today, but I remember seeing it on the last leg of A100 last year, and back then it was an entirely different story.
Welcome to Reading
Walking up and over the bridge was a welcome change in elevation, even if only a few meters were gained. I was getting quite excited for the hills just before Goring, it was tiresome moving across the flat ground all the time.
CP8 at Pangbourne was not too far away now and rightly so, after a few fields, we arrived. It was 12.50am but I had no concept of time. It turns into this abstract illusion in 100 milers. You run, walk, eat, wee in a bush, repeat, and at some point, you are bound to lose track of it.
Just outside the aid station was a familiar silhouette, it was Frank! It was great seeing a friendly face there. Krysia and I climbed the stairs to the aid station and saw Natty, who was also there volunteering. The Centurion Army of volunteers are the real heroes.
I sat down for a while. Krysia had some chocolate, and I had some... more of my burger, maybe? Before leaving, I stole a hug from both Natty and Frank, went to the loo and towards Goring we went.
Krysia and I at Pangbourne. 66 miles deep
Just before the fields leading into the town, are a bunch of rolling hills. The only hills on this trail, I believe. They were very welcome. We hiked up, ran along the top and all the way down, and it felt amazing!
We met a guy along the hills whose pacer had run the Thames Ring 250 miles race the weekend before. And I think he won? Incomprehensible. Here we were, doing just 100. It really does put things into perspective and is a sport that keeps you grounded for sure.
Along the aforementioned fields, we were overtaken by two ladies who were on a mission. I slowed to a walk. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, they were well ahead of us and their reflective jackets combined with their dark hair made them look like 2 x Scream characters who were running towards us, but backwards on a treadmill. It was very peculiar, but I checked in with Krysia who saw the same, so I was not even hallucinating. A very odd encounter and one I can probably never unsee.
Some friendships are measured in miles
Just under 80 minutes after leaving Pangbourne, we arrived at CP9 at Goring. It was now 2.08am. I had covered 71 miles, Krysia 20. Being back at Goring Village Hall so soon after A100 was odd.
Photo by Pierre Papet. Hartley Steps,
a couple of miles before Goring. Krysia
and I passed here in the dark
I went inside to get some food and saw Tim sitting down. I did not expect to catch him and before I even got to say anything, he told me he had pulled from the race. I told him: ’’No. You are coming with us; I just need to grab some food and then we get going. Only 30 miles to go. We have not come this far to only come this far.’’
Sadly, he had made up his mind some 20 minutes before we arrived and had already had his tracker removed, which meant game over. I was really sad, but ultimately it was his decision. I shed a tear, shovelled some baked beans in the grocery hole and tried to eat a caffeinated gel as well but with no luck. I was getting pretty tired now and desperately needed a kick. I could not stomach the gel though, so music was going to have to do the trick. Did you notice that rhymed? I gave Tim a big hug and Krysia and I got going. Next stop: CP10 at Wallingford.
Fast forward to 4.49am. It had taken us 2 hours and 40 minutes to move just under 7 miles, mainly walking, minus the break in the village hall. Getting to Wallingford was tough going with all the mud. There had been a few toddler moments too. I had moved quite far back in the field now which meant lots of feet had battled their way through this part of the trail already, the mud getting churned over more and more the later in the day, or night, it got.
On this stretch, we were overtaken by many. I moaned a lot. Swore at the mud, my feet, the world. Fuck this shit. I was sliding all over the place and it was hard to stand upright let alone move forward. Let me present to you: Maria, 3 years old. Sorry, Krysia!
All the mud in the past 20 hours had zapped the energy from my legs. It was like running through peanut butter, one step forward, two steps back.
I have four rules of failure when I race. One of them is getting caught by the sweeper. If I can go on even though there is a chance of missing the cut-off, I might as well give it a go. No point in giving up unless I am somehow hindered by an injury, hypothermia or the like.
Finally, we turned off the trail onto the road and I kept thinking that the aid station had to appear soon. The road sections felt endless. When it suddenly came into view, I thought it was closed and was worried I had missed the cut-off. To my surprise, it was still open for business. I did not fancy any of the food there, but Krysia got me eating anyway. Two more miles until the next crew stop.
Somewhere in a field between Wallingford and Benson, we heard someone violently vomiting in the distance. We never caught up with them despite constantly moving forward. Not at a very fast pace, mind. I hope they were okay and went on to finish the race.
For England’s next trick
No sunrise either. Just a gloomy light that got brighter, little by little. It was forecasted to be a nice day though; no more rain and the sun did eventually come out to play. If only...
Benson was one of two detours of the course and the way there genuinely felt never-ending. Krysia had to put up with yet another bout of Maria moaning. She was trying to break my negative frame of mind by suggesting I smiled when seeing the crew shortly after, but I was having none of it.
’’No.’’
’’Yes.’’
’’No.’’
’’Yes!’’
’’NO!’’
Another toddler moment. I am a dream to pace really.
Slowly, but surely, we got there. Benson was cold. Jonny put a clean long sleeve top on me and I put on my waterproof jacket for the first time in the race. He then wrapped me in his dry robe. Toasty times. I took a seat at a nearby bench and Brett brought over some hot tomato soup. I could have stayed there forever.
Brett and I at Benson. 79 miles deep
A can of NOCCO was cracked for me and I was handed another burger too, before being told to be on my way, this time with poles. Krysia’s pacer stint had come to an end and next up was 12 miles for Jonny. Only 6 miles to the next aid station though. Thanks for the company, K x
Caffeine is your best friend
Just before 8am, at 7.56am, we arrived at CP11 at Clifton Hampden. It was slightly off the trail which made for much annoyance for the remaining runners, including myself. We were all officially chasing the cut-offs now.
Jonny waited out the front whilst I went in to use the loo, grab a coffee and get some more food. I was told I was 50 minutes ahead of the sweeper. Fuck. I could not believe I was chasing the cut-offs again. Best get going then.
Back on the trail, Jonny randomly asked: ’’What is your favourite cake?’’ — I had a think. It had to be Drømmekage. Obviously. But after he mentioned carrot cake and cheesecake, I struggled to make up my mind.
4 miles later, Culham appeared. Yet another crew stop. I was spoon-fed mashed potato from a Tupperware and the rest of the NOCCO from Benson had been poured into a bottle for Jonny to carry. Had I been demoted from toddler to baby now?
Jonny and I just before Culham. 89 miles deep
Speaking of babies. Sarah was at Culham too, after having driven through the early morning hours to pace me for the last 12 miles of the race. She recently had little Tadgh, born in February, so her still wanting to do this for me was just amazing and I will be forever grateful. In 2 miles, she would take over from Jonny.
Jonny and I actually managed to run parts of this stretch. I could see Abingdon in the distance, it is such a nice little town. We were unsure exactly where to meet the guys, but we soon saw them on the river path. Frank was there too. Thanks, buddy! And I think Jules?
My bottles were filled, snacks were restocked, and Sarah was ready. I could tell she was going to be mean. 91 miles in, roughly 12 to go. We were on the home stretch now.
So close yet so far
We started trotting and came upon a lock we had to cross. Shortly after, we meandered down a VERY muddy path. Again, I could barely stand up straight let alone move forward, but I now had my poles which helped a lot.
We ran the sections with less mud. I had no choice. Sarah would pick up the pace and I would follow, focusing on her heels. It was hard going but at some point, between here and mile 95, running was actually easier and less painful than walking. Who would have thought?
Around mile 93, Louise came flying past us. I was in awe of her. Apparently, she had struggled with some stomach problems earlier in the race, so seeing her coming back so strong was really inspiring.
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining and kept us nice and warm. A huge change from the downpour yesterday.
At 11.18am, just over 26 hours into the race, we arrived at CP12 at Lower Radley, the last aid station. As promised, Jorge was there and cheered me in. We were now only 32 minutes ahead of the sweeper and there was no time to waste. Sarah grabbed my bottles, asked what I fancied eating and instructed me to keep going. She would catch me up. Bye, Jorge!
I continued trotting along the trail, overtaking two guys. Running on 95-mile legs. Me? Woooooo. It had taken me just over 3 hours to cover the 10 miles between Clifton Hampden and Lower Radley, not too bad on battered legs!
A few minutes later, Sarah appeared and forced me to have a caffeinated gel. Mountain Fuel’s naked flavour. One I cannot stomach at the best of times. My tactic was to take a sip of the gel followed by two sips of water without breathing in between the sips. That way I would be unable to taste it. I managed just about half and coach was happy.
You are strong. You are powerful. And remember, wanting to stop and needing to stop are two very different things.
My watch ticked over 100 miles. From past aid stations and crew points being a few miles off, I knew I probably had another 3 miles to go. My feet really hurt. Relentless forward commotion. But all was well because Sarah had my back. I was safe in her hands. She had made me run on 95-mile legs so now, nothing seemed impossible. Head down, chisel out, dig, dig, dig. Make that pain cave bigger.
Sarah and I at Abingdon. 91 miles deep
Sarah told everyone we passed on the path into Oxford that I had run over 100 miles from London since yesterday morning. The kind strangers struggled to comprehend the distance, and I was equally embarrassed and proud of my effort when they congratulated me. It absolutely baffled me that I had covered that distance three times now and in the short space of 11 months.
For this race, I had four goals.
» A goal: sub 24 hours
» B goal: beat my SDW100 time of 25 hours & 5 minutes
» C goal: beat my A100 time of 27 hours & 35 minutes
» D goal: get to Oxford before the cut-off at 28 hours
It appeared there was indeed light at the end of the tunnel
All of a sudden, I saw the finish line through some hedges. It was 12.29pm and I had 6 minutes to cash in on my C goal and 31 minutes until the cut-off. We were a mere 400m away now. No matter what happened, I knew I would finish.
I asked Sarah where the entrance to the field was, as I wanted to run it in. She pointed out where we were turning and I broke into a pathetic plod. It was okay though, no one could see us yet and I needed the legs to warm up before I was able to run. I had very little energy left but mustered up just enough to get trotting.
We turned left into the field; I spotted the Centurion arch and could smell the buckles. A lot of friendly faces were there, but I saw nothing but grass and the metal structure until we crossed the timing mat. I was ready to make it end now. To take the pressure off my feet, my legs, my back, and my mind.
12.31pm. We crossed under the arch and I stopped my watch. 27 hours & 31 minutes. We were done. I was well done. My watch lets me know it has 8% battery left, I was pretty sure I was closer to zero.
The weather was so nice. I sat down in the sun on the grass and forgot about anything but the feeling of the warmth on my skin for a moment. Krysia brought me a bowl of pasta. It felt good to sit down. It felt even better to take off my shoes... I was curious about the state of my feet.
Despite having had wet feet pretty much since Richmond at 9am the previous day, my feet looked and felt surprisingly good. With no sock or shoe change, I was expecting trench feet, but all I found was one blister on the bottom of my left foot, just behind the big toe. My nails were very dirty from all the mud though and that stuff always seems to hang around for months. Anyone else?!
Grateful. 4 minutes quicker than in
October, on a course that was
slightly longer
Whilst I have been dreaming about running a sub-24-hour 100 miler ever since the fascination of these longer adventures started, I cannot be mad about my time of 27 hours & 31 minutes. I had hoped this one would be the one as training had gone to plan, and everything indicated that it was well within my capabilities... until I got poorly. But it was also my third 100 miler in less than 11 months and I beat my C goal by 4 minutes and on a course that was slightly longer. One day, in the, hopefully, not-so-distant future, I aim to crack that code.
Conclusion: It appears you CAN run 100 miles with the lurgy. I blew my nose maybe twice in the whole race but the cough remained somewhat persistent. When needed, I coughed into my sleeve and used hand sanitiser consistently throughout.
Next up — the North Downs Way 100.
From the bottom of my heart
It is actually quite a weird saying when you think about it. What I mean is, I am so incredibly grateful.
Thank you, Sarah. My friend, my coach, my hero. When it comes to ultra running, you are my rock. You are there for me through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, and your belief in me is beyond measure. I am so grateful our paths in life crossed.
Thank you, Krysia, for sharing so many miles with me and for looking after the toddler I sometimes turn into when I run 100 miles. You are a great friend and I am so happy we met.
Thank you, Jonny, for jumping in to help crew and pace me that weekend when another friend had to cancel last minute due to other commitments. Where do I even begin? A few months prior to this race, we barely knew each other. Not all heroes wear capes. Excited for future adventures together!
Thank you, Brett, for being an awesome partner in crime and for sharing the driving & crewing duties with Jonny. It was so nice seeing your face and getting squeezes at various points throughout the evening and night. Love you lots!
Thank you, mind and body, for carrying me through and letting me experience yet another 100 miler. I am in absolute awe of you and hope we get to share many more adventures on the trails together.
And last but not least, thank you to Centurion Running for putting on some fantastic 100-miler races. Your army of volunteers are all a bunch of absolute heroes, and I cannot wait to give back to the community at the South Downs Way 100 event in a few weeks.
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