There were plenty of questions running through my mind as I stood in a rugby field in rural Shropshire at six o’clock on a Saturday morning. Why was I here? Would I make it back? How long would it take? And perhaps most importantly… had I finally lost my mind?
Watch my Rollin 100 Ultramarathon video
But before I take the first of around 233,000 steps, let’s take a step back to remind ourselves how I ended up here.
I’m standing on the start line of the final event in a three-race series. It began with the Midwinter Mortimer Trail, organised by Andali Events, continued with the Shropshire Way 80K (SW80K), and now culminated in the Rollin 100 with Runningmonk.
So, what brought me here?
I’d become a regular at the SW80K over the last few years, and when this series was announced I couldn’t resist. It felt like the perfect challenge for my year of turning 50: the opportunity to finally tick off the one distance that had always intrigued me. For many ultrarunners, 100 miles is the benchmark, the distance that carries a certain mystique. I’d come here to answer one simple question: did I have what it takes to become a 100-mile finisher?
So how had I prepared for this moment?
Normally, at this point, runners will share details of carefully crafted training plans, days and weeks spent putting miles into the legs, and weight sessions to build that all-important core strength.
But for me, there was no carefully periodised training plan stuck to the fridge. No prescribed intervals or marathon mileage. Instead, I’d simply carried on living the sort of life I enjoy anyway: cycling instead of driving, hiking mountains with Ewan and Iona, running a few times each week and occasionally doing something slightly ridiculous (check out my crazy exploits around this year’s SW80K!).
What about the kit?
My kit was pretty tried and tested. My Kalenji trail pack had an OMM Chest Pod added to allow easy access to gadgets and food. My footwear was my new favourite, the Altra Olympus, with feet carefully embalmed in TrailSkin and ensconced in Harrier double-layer socks. I had my trusty Harrier poles, vital for the hilly terrain, along with fairly standard running kit. I’ll post a full ultra-running kit list if you’d like to know more.
And of course, there were the gadgets to film the adventure: my DJI camera, Neo drone, microphones and battery packs to keep everything charged. Oh, and one new addition for me – Shokz headphones to provide music through the night hours.
A first for me was having a kit drop at mile 50. What on earth do I put in that bag? I went fairly basic: spare socks, a clean dry top and a battery pack. When I saw others dropping off huge holdalls at the start compared to my little plastic bag, I did wonder whether I’d miscalculated.
And we’re off
A briefing on safety, looking out for each other and a reminder to enjoy it… 3, 2, 1… Go!
Forty of us set off together. For the first few miles we chatted as we funnelled through kissing gates and climbed over stiles, but the hills soon stretched the field apart. Everyone settled into their own rhythm. Some were chasing sub-24-hour finishes; I had only one ambition – to keep moving until I got back to this same rugby field, hiking up the climbs and jogging along the ridges and descents.
And that’s what makes ultras so special. The fastest and the slowest all tackle the same hills, eat the same cheese toasties and are greeted with the same enthusiasm by volunteers. Nobody cares what pace you’re running. They simply want you to get home safely and have an amazing experience.
One of the joys of ultra running is the aid stations. Somewhere between a village fête and your mum’s kitchen, every table groans under an entirely illogical selection of food. Cheese toasties. Chips. Pasta. Jelly babies. Crisps. Porridge. Fresh fruit. Somehow your body just knows what it wants.
Happy and encouraging volunteers refilled water bottles and checked on your well-being. It was also at the aid stations that you caught up with other runners, sharing a few brief words of encouragement as one arrived and another departed. One familiar face was James, who was also completing the Triple and tackling his first 100-miler. He was never far behind me, and at every aid station I’d ask how he was getting on. It felt like we were sharing a story of resilience.
One thing that gave me all the feels was having Ewan leapfrogging sections of the course on his bike. Seeing him appear at aid stations on both days with a hug, dry socks and a chat lifted my spirits more than he probably realised.
Darkness falls
As darkness fell, the event changed completely. During the day you enjoyed yomping along with big views. At night, your entire universe shrank to the narrow pool of light cast by your headtorch. Every gate, stile and field edge became a puzzle. Brambles and nettles attacked my legs while the occasional low-hanging branch collided with my head. It’s amazing how quickly your world shrinks. During the day you’re looking across valleys; at night you’re simply focused on the next few metres of trail.
In the middle of the night I reached 100 km – further than I’d ever run in one go. For the first time, the distance still to run was less than the distance I’d already covered. I started to believe I might actually complete it.
Dawn breaks
As the first light of dawn slowly crept across the fields, the views opened up and, with them, so did my spirits. After the darkness of the night, everything suddenly felt possible again. The music went off and I enjoyed that magical feeling of being the only one awake, with just the sheep for company.
As the second day wore on, my legs grew wearier and the hills somehow seemed to get steeper. Offa’s Dyke was both challenging and spectacular, and then a rainbow appeared as if to encourage us onwards.
As I left the final aid station at Clun, the sun started to set and my hope of finishing before darkness fell was dashed. Navigation challenges, overgrown paths and a couple of wrong turns meant that, as midnight struck, I was still out on the trails, albeit with just two miles left to go. I could do this.
Finish Lines
Ewan messaged to say he was waiting for me at the finish, while the amazing team from Runningmonk phoned to check I was OK after spotting me going in circles on the tracker trying to locate the final section of trail. In the end, I found a road route for the final stretch into Bishop’s Castle, and Alan even drove out to check I was alright and lent me a headtorch after my main one had died.
So, with two miles to go, Ewan waiting at the finish and Ruth awaiting news back at the campsite, I decided to run. Or at least what passed for running after 103 miles.
The floodlights of the rugby field glowed in the distance as I covered the final few hundred yards, turned in and crossed the finish line. Ewan gave me a hug, Katie presented me with my buckle and a pot of soup that warmed the cockles.
A short while later James rounded the final corner too, and I was able to cheer home my companion on the trails.
We’d done it!
Back at Foxholes Campsite, Ruth helped me shower before I finally collapsed into bed. After 45 hours awake, I was more than ready to drift off to the land of nod.
The next morning began with a lazy start and a big breakfast at Laila’s Café in Craven Arms. Afterwards I sat once again in the grounds of the Shropshire Hills Discovery Centre, where my trail running adventures in Shropshire had begun, and reflected on what I’d learnt.
So, why would anyone run 100 miles?
Definitely not because it’s sensible.
And certainly not because it’s easy.
We do it because every so often it’s good to discover that the limits we imagine for ourselves aren’t nearly as fixed as we think.
Somewhere between that rugby field at six o’clock on a Saturday morning and returning to it nearly two days later, life had been stripped back to essentials:
- Eat.
- Drink.
- Put one foot in front of the other.
- Solve the problem immediately in front of you.
- Repeat.
We do it for the community. My family, the volunteers and my fellow runners collectively got me to that finish line.
Somewhere over those 233,000 steps I stopped wondering whether I’d lost my mind and discovered that I’m capable of far more than I’d ever thought possible.
And yes… I have a feeling I’ll find myself standing on another 100 mile start line one day, asking exactly the same question all over again.
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