My First 100K Ultra Marathon: When the Finish Line Didn’t Quite Go to Plan

From 50K to 100K in Four Weeks

There are some ideas that seem perfectly reasonable when you first have them. Signing up for a 50km ultra and a 100km ultra at the same time was apparently one of mine. I had successfully completed an Ironman and loved it, But, I had wanted to try something new. I had the fitness so thought it be a waste not to make the most of it.

I’d recently discovered trail running and loved the freedom, the scenery and the sense of adventure. So, in a moment of enthusiasm, I entered my first 50km ultra in the South Downs and just four weeks later, a 100km ultra along the Jurassic Coast. Because obviously easing yourself gently into a new sport is overrated.

The 50km had gone well, although I’d finished with a sore knee after all the descents. So after a handful of physio sessions and lots of exercises, four weeks later, tape was applied to give my knee some support and off I went to the Jurassic Coast Ultra Challenge.

I was nervous, but I was also excited. This was a part of the world I absolutely loved. Lulworth Cove, Durdle Door, Chesil Beach, the sea, the cliffs and those enormous views. If I was going to attempt to cover 100km on foot, I couldn’t think of many places I’d rather do it.

I knew it would be hard, just not for the reasons that I expected.

The First Half of the Jurassic Coast 100K

The first half of the route was tough. Really tough. The Jurassic Coast is absolutely stunning, but whoever designed the coastline clearly had very little interest in making life easy for ultra runners.

There were relentless climbs and descents and plenty of moments when I questioned my newfound enthusiasm for trail running. I’ve spent most of my running and cycling life avoiding hills like the plague, and now I’d voluntarily entered an event that appeared to contain every hill in Dorset.

My shins started complaining at around 25km. My quads weren’t particularly impressed either, especially on the descents, and I was very aware of my taped knee. But generally, my body felt good and, most importantly, I was enjoying it.

Learning How to Fuel a 100K Ultra Marathon

Nutrition had been one of my biggest concerns. During the South Downs 50km, I’d had energy drink in both bottles, along with gels, chews, cashews, cranberries and watermelon from the aid stations. By around 40km, I’d started feeling nauseous.

So for the Jurassic Coast I made the energy drink in both bottles weaker and tried to introduce proper food. Half a chicken sandwich went down surprisingly well. So did some crisps. I’d also brought my usual mixture of gels, chews, salted crackers, cashews and cranberries.

The strange thing about ultra running is that eating becomes something you actually have to practise. In normal life I graze like a horse. Put me on a long run and suddenly I can completely forget food exists.

So I’d set an alarm on my Garmin to go off every 20 minutes. When it beeped, I ate something whether I particularly fancied it or not. It was working brilliantly.

Until my Garmin died.

When My Garmin Died, So Did My Eating Reminder

After around eight hours, my Garmin battery gave up. No watch, no alarm and, most importantly, no little beep telling me to eat.

Because I wasn’t hungry, I simply started forgetting. I was distracted by the scenery, the people around me and the small matter of trying to get myself along the Jurassic Coast. My eating became increasingly sporadic and, for quite a while, I didn’t really notice the consequences. I was happy, I felt good, I had taken a Nurofen to help my knee, little did I know that taking this on an empty stomach was a massive error.

I remember thinking I feel great and hope I continue to feel like this.

What Happens When Things Start to Go Wrong in an Ultra

By around 78km, I was beginning to feel weak and nauseous. This was particularly frustrating because physically I still felt surprisingly strong. My legs were tired, obviously. My shins had hurt, my quads had taken a battering and my knee was taped up, but my fitness wasn’t what was stopping me. My stomach was.

As darkness fell, everything changed too. It was windy and drizzly, my trainers were wet, it was pitch black and I was moving through the night by head torch. I had made a friend which made being in the dark a little bit easier, snippets of conversation and having someone to share the experience with makes a huge difference.

However, I had entered that strange territory of endurance sport where you genuinely don’t know what your body is going to do next. And I was beginning to feel really ill.

Reaching 82K and Realising I Couldn’t Carry On

At around 11.30pm, after roughly 15 hours, I reached 82km. By then I was nauseous, having gastrointestinal problems and feeling incredibly weak.

Porridge, baked potato, panini — nothing tasted good and nothing appealed. I drank endless cups of sweet tea, desperately trying to get some energy back into myself. The medic gave me an anti nausea tablet but instead of improving, I was getting colder and weaker.

Endless trips from the medics tent out into the cold night into the Portaloo with a sick bag. You know you are in trouble when you don’t think twice about sitting on the loo seat without putting loo paper down.

My daughter had been following my progress on the event app and realised I’d been stationary at the medic for a long time, so she came to find me. She kept saying, “Mum, you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t finish.”

But I remember thinking there was absolutely nothing to forgive. This wasn’t me giving up because it was hard or because I’d simply had enough. I physically couldn’t go back out there. I was too weak.

I’d been with the medic for around two hours. I was under blankets with heaters and a hot-water bottle and I still couldn’t properly warm up. The medic advised me to withdraw and I knew he was right. I could have stayed in the marquee with the other runners that were trying to sleep on the floor but it was cold and I just wanted to be warm. So we left.

I didn’t want to become a statistic. I didn’t want to be the person who stubbornly carried on into the darkness, got into serious trouble and then needed rescuing because I’d been too determined to admit that things weren’t right.

So we went home.

Why I Went Back to Finish the 100K the Next Morning

I finally got into bed at around 2.30am. A few hours later, at about 6am, I woke up with the sun streaming through the windows.

And, somewhat surprisingly, I could stand up. That alone felt like quite an achievement.

Then I remembered something. Before our Half Ironman in Taupō, my daughter and I had talked about the cut-off. We’d said that if either of us missed it, we’d carry on and complete the distance anyway. It might not count officially, but we’d finish what we’d started for ourselves.

I went upstairs to her room and said, “Remember before Taupō when we said that if we didn’t make the cut-off, we’d do it anyway? I want to finish the 100km for myself.”

My time was actually still live on the event app and the overall cut-off wasn’t until that evening so it seemed plausible. I still felt weak and tired but managed to force down some jam on toast and packed a banana and jam sandwich for the run. We drove back to the 82km rest stop, not entirely sure what would happen.

They scanned my tag and told me I could continue. I couldn’t quite believe it.

Finishing the Final 18K of My 100K Ultra

So off I went again, and the difference from a few hours earlier was extraordinary.

My music was on loud, I was swinging my arms in the air, the sun was shining and I felt genuinely happy just to be back out there. If I had done it the night before it would have been in the dark and I wouldn’t have got to experience the beauty of this rugged terrain.

More than anything, I felt grateful. Grateful that my body had recovered enough to let me do this. Grateful that I could move. Grateful that I had the opportunity to finish those final 18km.

The night before, I hadn’t been capable of taking myself any further. Now I had a spring in my step.

I made my way through the final section towards Bridport, including Chesil Beach, knowing that whatever happened with times, results or official classifications, I was going to cover the entire 100km.

And I did.

Discovering I Had an Official DNF

At the time, I thought I’d finished.

My time had remained live on the app. I’d returned to the 82km checkpoint, they’d scanned my tag and allowed me to continue. I’d completed the remaining 18km before the overall event cut-off.

I’d got the medal. I’d got the T-shirt.

As far as I was concerned, I’d done my 100km.

It was a couple of days later when my daughter told me I was officially listed as a DNF.

I’d entered the continuous 100km, choosing not to do it over two days. I had left in the middle of the night so I’d been withdrawn so officially my race had ended at 82km. It didn’t matter that I’d returned or that I’d covered the full 100km before the wider event cut-off.

But, that was okay. I was pleased to have completed it for myself because I would have been disappointed if I hadn’t.

Was My First 100K Ultra Marathon a Failure?

Immediately afterwards, I thought I could live with the DNF. I’d made the right decision that night and I knew that. There was nothing to “forgive” myself for. Continuing when I was weak, cold and unable to eat wouldn’t have proved I was stronger. It would simply have been stupid.

And I’d gone back. I’d finished the 100km for me. Surely that was enough? Possibly. Although I had a slight suspicion that feeling might be rather short lived.

Because the annoying thing about knowing exactly what went wrong is that another thought starts creeping in. I know what I’d do differently next time.

Would I Attempt Another 100K Ultra Marathon?

Would I do another 100km? No. Definitely not. Absolutely no chance. I’ve experienced the hills, the darkness, the nausea, the medic tent, the endless sweet tea and the joy of somehow coming back to life a few hours later and finishing those final 18km.

I don’t need to prove anything by doing it again. Probably. But then I’ve said that sort of thing before.