South Coast Ultra Challenge 100km

My Second Attempt at a Continuous 100km

After my previous 100k attempt along the Jurassic Coast, where things had gone spectacularly wrong at 82km, due to nutrition or lack of it, I was determined to learn from the experience. This time, my training had gone to plan and I had changed what I ate and when I ate.

I felt fit, strong and in good shape, with no injuries to speak of. Well, apart from my back, which decided to go into spasm five days before the race while I was trying on a pair of trousers in Decathlon. Yes, trousers. Not a 30km training run or some ridiculous hill session. Trousers.

For four days, I could barely walk straight. I spent my time massaging it, smothering myself in Deep Heat and worrying that all my training was about to go out of the window. Thankfully, the day before the race, I could walk properly again. Result!

Having learnt a few things from the Jurassic Coast, I gave my support crew some very strict instructions. This time, I was going to make much better use of them. Every time I saw them, they had to tell me, not ask me, tell me to put on lip balm, sun lotion, Deep Heat, chafing balm for my waist and back — the list went on. They were basically going to be my mobile pharmacy, personal assistants and emotional support team. No pressure, then!

At the start I bumped into Martin, a guy I’d joined forces with during the final three hours of my previous 100k attempt, before he'd rather sensibly been forced to ditch me when I ended up in the medic tent. It was great to see a familiar face at the start, and a nice way to begin the day.

Running the South Downs Way: Seven Sisters to Brighton

The race started north of Eastbourne, and we were straight into a climb. Nothing like a gentle warm-up to ease you into a 100km adventure! As the sun came up, the sea began to glisten in the distance, and I was reminded why I love running along the coast so much.

We reached the spectacular white cliffs of the Seven Sisters, with their steep descents and equally steep ascents. The cliffs are famous for their dramatic appearance, although when you're actually running along the top of them, you don't get quite the same spectacular view you see in photographs taken from the sea. You do, however, get a very good view of the next hill you're about to climb!

One of the biggest differences between this course and the Jurassic Coast was the climbing. On the Jurassic Coast, much of the hard work seemed to come in the first half. Here, the hills just kept coming, right across the course. Apparently, the South Downs had decided that nobody was getting an easy ride.

The conditions were glorious. Sunshine, a slight breeze and beautiful views. I felt good and settled into my routine, with my timer going off every 20 minutes to remind me to eat. OGT flapjacks, banana, Cheesy Cheddars and water or electrolytes were on the menu. At the first stop, I had a bit of pain au chocolate, a banana and yoghurt. Living the dream!

My walking poles were already proving their worth, helping me tackle the hills without completely destroying my legs. At the end of the Seven Sisters, I spotted my support crew — and Lola promptly ran up and knocked me over. Clearly, she was delighted to see me. Either that or she was trying to end the race early.

Heading inland, we reached what I think was the only genuinely flat stretch of the entire course, with about 7km of scenic meadow, following a river. There were lots of geese, ducks and a white chalk horse up on the hill in the distance. I almost forget that I was going to be on my feet into the early hours.

One thing that always amazes me about these events is how many people can be taking part, yet you spend so much of the time completely on your own. You might see runners ahead and when you look behind, but there are long stretches when it's just you, your thoughts and the next hill. Thankfully, my support crew kept popping up at the roadside, cheering me on. You really don't appreciate how much those little moments lift your spirits until you're out there doing it.

By the lunch stop, around 42km, I was still feeling good. I managed a chicken salad sandwich, a few bites of muffin and some flapjack. There was also a very welcome, completely random water and loo stop in the middle of nowhere before the descent into Brighton. Sometimes it's the little things that make your day!

Even when we were on the South Downs Way, you could often see the sea in the distance. The rolling countryside seemed to go on forever, with views stretching as far as the eye could see. It really was beautiful, although a fairly strong headwind was doing its best to slow us down.

Then we began heading towards Brighton, and I knew I was going to get emotional. An old school friend who lives in Hove was planning to meet me on the promenade with her husband and my beautiful goddaughter. I'd been looking forward to seeing them all day.

The downhill run towards Brighton gave me a real boost. I picked up a good pace, excited that I was approaching the halfway point and, even better, about to see my friend. After so many hours of hills and open countryside, I was ready for a familiar face and a big hug.

The downhill seemed to go on forever, though, and by the time I reached the sea, I was starting to feel tired and a little queasy. After the peace and quiet of the Downs, the general craziness of Brighton came as quite a shock. One minute you're surrounded by rolling countryside, the next you're running past the pier and along the promenade with crowds of people, looking for a warm friendly face.

And then, suddenly, there she was.

There were hugs, tears and some wonderful words of encouragement. By this point, the hills had well and truly battered me, and seeing a familiar face meant more than I can explain. We walked along the promenade together and had a lovely catch-up before I continued towards Hove.

From there, it was another uphill slog to the halfway point, around 57km. There were crowds and a live concert in the park, and I spotted Martin leaving. We had a hug and a chat, and he reminded me of something rather important. Eat!

So, meatballs and pasta it was, helped down with swigs of water. I also had a complete change of clothes, which felt absolutely glorious, and a sit down before heading back out. It was a proper reset, and I felt ready to tackle the next section.

Except, of course, there were more hills.

Ultra Running Nutrition: When Your Stomach Stages a Rebellion

After several more kilometres of climbing, I knew I'd see my support crew again up on the golf course. By the time I reached them, though, I was beginning to feel nauseous and was having gastro issues. It was starting to feel horribly familiar. Only this time, it had hit around 15km earlier than it had on the Jurassic Coast. Bugger!

I could feel the mood changing. I'd trained well, I'd been eating regularly and I'd made a real effort to get my fuelling right. Yet here I was again, facing the prospect of a very long night with a stomach that clearly had other plans. I remember telling my support crew that I was in survival mode now.

Watching the sun begin to set was beautiful, but it was also isolating. Nightfall was approaching, and I still had around 40km to go. With Devil's Dyke looming, things weren't exactly looking up. Well, they were literally looking up, because there was another hill.

At one point, a cyclist offered me some water, which felt like a gift from the heavens. I got my headtorch on, pulled on my mittens and prepared for the darkness.

The night was clear, and the stars ahead seemed to be guiding me onwards. From this point, I was living for the next kilometre marker and the glow sticks that marked the course. Every little marker became a target. Just get to the next one. Then the next.

My support crew had now split up, but every so often they'd appear out of the darkness, with Lola and some much needed encouragement. Lola's enthusiasm was slightly less convincing when I emerged from the darkness looking like a walking headtorch with legs. I suspect I wasn't quite the exciting spectacle she'd been hoping for.

At around 82km, we reached the dinner stop. Support crew members were allowed into the rest area to help, change water, fetch food and generally keep their runners functioning. By this point, I was struggling, but I knew I needed to eat something.

I tried a smoothie drink that my crew had been carrying, and thankfully that went down well. Nachos with cheese? No. A baked potato with beans and cheese? Sort of. Every mouthful seemed to require a mouthful of water to get it down. I even tried some porridge.

And then, without the slightest warning, I threw up all over the floor. And, It just kept coming.

My first thought was, Oh no, how embarrassing! and I apologised to everyone and asked my support crew to clean it up, LOL. My second thought was is this it? Surely I couldn't carry on now?

I put my head between my knees for about ten minutes, then sat up and began to feel a little better. Someone suggested an anti-nausea tablet, but that meant going to the medic. Having already experienced the medic tent on my previous attempt, I was not keen to repeat the experience. Especially as someone else was throwing up down the side of the tent.

I thought there is literally no point sticking around here. I have a mission to complete. So I stood up and announced that I was heading off, feeling like one of the walking dead.

Running an Ultra at Night: Keep Moving Forward

Fortunately, I'd learnt one important lesson from the Jurassic Coast. Keep warm. I'd put on my fleece lined running trousers and borrowed a thick coat at the rest stop and I was grateful for every single layer. Being cold, exhausted and nauseous in the middle of the night was not something I fancied adding to the experience.

I headed back out into the darkness, repeating what my daughter had said to me before leaving, Keep moving forward, just put one foot in front of the other!

My headtorch which was now on full beam, as apparently I hadn’t put it on the correct setting lit up a small circle of ground in front of me, with the occasional moth fluttering around the beam. In the distance, another kilometre marker glowed in the darkness. Food was no longer an option, so I took small sips of water and rationed the six Polo mints I had left. It wasn't exactly a balanced diet, but at that point, I was doing the best I could.

Every so often, another runner would overtake me. I'd watch their torch move further away until I was alone again. Then, once again, there was just me and the darkness.

I remember looking up at the stars and thinking what a beautifully clear night it was. There was something quite special about being out there, even when I felt utterly dreadful. I didn’t feel scared of the dark, or of being in the middle of nowhere on my own, which I thought I would. I had put my music on at the half way point which was a huge bonus, so I’m sure that helped.

I was exhausted, my stomach had staged a full-scale mutiny, and I was reduced to surviving one kilometre at a time. But I was still moving.

At one point, I took off one of my waterproof mittens to get some food and must have dropped it. When I realised, I retraced my steps for about 100 metres, searching for it in the dark. Halfway through this rather ridiculous decision, I realised that I was struggling enough already without adding unnecessary kilometres to the course. I couldn't find the mitten, so I turned around and carried on.

Anyone tracking me on my iPhone — and I knew my mum would be glued to it — must have wondered what on earth I was doing. I could just imagine the concerned messages: Why is she walking backwards? Has she started to go delirious?

Then I had another moment that made me question my sanity. I looked to my left and saw about 40 pairs of eyes shining back at me from the darkness. For a split second, I wondered whether I really was losing it. Thankfully, it was just a field of sheep, their eyes reflecting my headtorch like little cats' eyes. Phew. No hallucinations. Just sheep.

Not long afterwards, I'd managed to find a very small bush to disappear behind when a voice suddenly announced, "It's not far now, only 1km to the last rest stop!" I nearly jumped out of my skin. A lady was sitting on a chair in the darkness, directing runners. I apologised and said, "I'm so sorry, you must have seen me having a wee!"

She laughed and reassured me that she hadn't been looking. A slightly awkward moment, but at least I'd provided some entertainment.

The Final Rest Stop: 93km and Still Going

Seeing my support crew at the 93km rest stop was wonderful. The lights, flags blowing in the breeze, warm welcome and incredible volunteers offering words of encouragement made such a difference. After so many hours alone in the dark, it felt like the best place in the world.

They changed the water in my hydration jacket and gave me a much needed hug. My youngest looked at me and said, "Mum, you stink." Thanks, darling. Just the motivational speech I'd been waiting for!

The Polos had run out, so I grabbed some Refreshers and prepared to tackle the final stretch. Food was still out of the question, but I was determined to get to that finish line.

The last section wound its way around Arundel. By now, it was the early hours of the morning, and yet there was a tiny spring in my step because the end was finally in sight.

The world was asleep. Everyone else was tucked up in their warm beds, while I was wandering through quiet streets and along winding paths, going up and down in the darkness. Life choices? It was surreal. But I was going to do this.

When I spotted the 99km marker, I got ridiculously excited. I could see the castle in the distance and knew I was nearly there. Then I reached the 100km marker and realised I still wasn't at the finish line.

Of course. It was a 101km event. One. More. Kilometre.

I looked behind me and, after being alone for so long, could see a torch in the distance. I thought, Absolutely no way are you overtaking me now! I may have been exhausted, but I wasn't about to let anyone steal my finish line moment. The things we think!

4am Finish: I Did It!

The route seemed to weave around in circles just when I wanted it to take me directly to the finish. But then I spotted my youngest, who gave me a hug and told me I was nearly there.

And suddenly, there were the bright lights of the finish line.

Something switched on inside me. I started running, past one family who were cheering me on and towards mine who were yelling and jumping up and down and across the beautiful finish line with my arms in the air, shouting, "I did it! I did it!"

I was so happy I could hardly believe it. There was a medal, a T-shirt and a wonderful welcome, and I felt as though I might burst with happiness. It was 4am.

I'd spent eight hours in the dark, battled hills across the entire course, watched my stomach reject pretty much everything I'd put into it and wondered more than once whether I could possibly carry on. Yet somehow, I'd made it. 137,000 steps.

I was incredibly proud of my refusal to quit, my stubborn determination and the sheer grit it had taken to keep moving when everything felt as though it was going wrong. I'd been convinced at various points that the finish line was out of reach, and yet there I was, standing beneath it.

There's something quite different about finishing an ultra in the middle of the night. An Ironman finish line has crowds, noise and an incredible buzz. For an ultra finish, the world is mostly asleep. But the feeling of achievement is just as huge. Maybe even bigger, because you know exactly what it took to get there.

Life After a 100km Ultra: A Hot Bath, a Bacon Butty and One Big Question

We headed back to our Airbnb, where I had a hot bath for a full hour before finally crawling into bed at 5.30am. Naturally, check-out was at 10am. Because why would you want a decent night's sleep after running 101km?

We didn't get much rest, but the following morning we managed a leisurely stroll along the beach in the sunshine, followed by a hot chocolate and a bacon butty. Honestly, it tasted like the finest meal on earth. Then it was time to head home.

Would I do another one?

That's the million-pound question. My fitness had been good, my training had gone brilliantly, and I'd made a real effort to eat every 20 minutes. This time, it wasn't a lack of fuelling that had brought me to my knees. It was my stomach, which had apparently decided that enough was enough.

I still don't know exactly why it happened, and that's frustrating. You can train your legs, build your endurance, practise your nutrition and prepare yourself mentally, but you can't always predict what your body will decide to do when you push it for 21 hours.

I'm not sure I want to put myself — or my stomach — through that again just yet. But I do know this: I didn't give up. Even when I was sick, exhausted and convinced I had nothing left, I kept going.

Sometimes being strong isn't about feeling amazing, powering up hills or having everything go to plan. Sometimes it's about putting one foot in front of the other when you're cold, tired, nauseous and would quite happily be tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle.

And sometimes, being stubborn really is a gift.

Stronger Every Mile