The Body Bus

The unthinkable has happened. I have clocked a DNF for a race. Sad, sad times.

Let me tell you the story of The Wilmot Wander .

The weekend's running started well, with a great Preston Parkrun with my Dad and Andrew, followed by a leisurely coffee and part of a scone. However, I couldn't shake a bad feeling about the next day's ultra-marathon. I had been struggling a bit with a low mood again for a couple of days, which had knocked me, as I was really starting to feel much better, and I was simultaneously feeling down, but also annoyed that I was feeling down, both at the same time.

So my frame of mind was already sort of negative, but I'll be honest and admit that a lot of my foreboding about the race had also to do with the weather. I love running, but gales and storms cause me to re-assess this feeling. The weather forecast was bad, and I wasn't looking forward to being out in it. All day. 

Still, whenever I think this, it is quickly followed by an image of Sir Ranulph Fiennes looking at me in disgust, and shouting "there is no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing" (for those not in the know of popular running quotes, this is a keeper). Chastised, I put on a base-layer, two waterproofs, thermal gloves, hat, and stepped out into the night (it was actually 7.30 am by this point, but the night sounds more dramatic, which is helpful for the scene I am setting, and anyway it was sort of still dark).

Andrew and I set off at 8.26 am from the 27th Derby Scout Group HQ (everyone was released at two minute intervals), and immediately on entering the first park were barely able to keep upright in the mud, we had to stop and discuss the directions at the very first corner, and the rain and wind hit us square in the face. In hindsight, I should have turned around at that point and headed straight back to the Scout Hut, had a hot cup of coffee and a biscuit, cleaned the mud off my trainers, and said that I would be back to try again next year. But I kept hearing Sir Fiennes's voice, so I didn't do that. A couple of miles later we were out into the countryside climbing through a gate, when Andrew slipped and went over on his ankle. He thought at the time that he had hurt it, but in the true spirit of endurance sports, opted to ignore it, confident it was all in the mind and the pain would disappear. For the next few miles he managed OK and it seemed to have settled, but then it started to get more painful. Finally, at about 13 miles, suddenly something just gave way in his ankle, and he could barely put weight on it. Those were a tricky few miles that followed, where Andrew battled on, and we limped slowly on through the fields, Andrew feeling pain shoot up his leg every time his ankle slipped in the mud. Meanwhile our body temperatures dropped to -10, the mood dropped lower, and the mud got deeper. 

Finally we made it to the next checkpoint, at 17 miles, where we threw in the (by now very wet) towel, and the lovely people manning the checkpoint cleared Andrew a seat in the boot of the car, made us steaming hot cups of coffee and called in the Body Bus from HQ. I thought the Body Bus was a common term, but my Dad looked at me blankly when I told him this story, prompting me to elaborate that this is the vehicle that the organizers have organised to drive around the course picking up participants who have expired on route. I've never been in one before, and have held it in fear, but I have to say, gutted as I was not to complete the race, it was really a very pleasant experience. I was expecting to be thrown in the back of a pick up, with a load of other injured and delirious people, so I was surprised when a brand new, personalized number plated, leather seated Merc turned up. OK, so the organizers found a roll of bin bags in the boot of the car, and ensured that our muddy selves were neatly wrapped up in them before we were allowed in said car, but these are all the experiences that go to making up a true and fond memory. And we had a nice chat with another runner who had also had to retire, also via a mud related injury.

I was sad not to get a nice orange certificate at the end, and another notch on my 100 marathon quest, but you win some you loose some, and that's that. Plus, the only thing that ultimately matters is your and the other participants safety and health during these endeavors, and let's face it, what good would a certificate be, compared to Andrew being safely back at Scout HQ, hot soup and bread in hand, frozen peas on ankle, and the whole experience fading swiftly into the recesses of memory? 

Altogether, the race was a bit of a disaster, and could be seen as a set-back on my 100 mile training program. There were of course some things to be learned. I reeeallllyy need to get some trail shoes. I also need some properly waterproof gloves, as mine were great for 10 miles, but as it was raining so much eventually the rain got through, and I have problems with my hands when they get cold, getting very painful and pretty useless, which makes reading a map/ drinking/ opening bars/ keeping cheerful tricky, which would be a disaster if I was on my own. I also really hate mud. I am used to being muddy, it goes with winter running in the north west of England (and summer running too to be honest), but  I can say that this was easily the most muddy I have ever been. I am coming round to the idea that perhaps trail running in the middle of winter may not be for me. Perhaps my running calendar should follow more of a autumn/winter, spring/summer pattern, like fashion does. Road races in the winter, trails in the summer (with different shoes, of course, to fir in with the fashion theme).

There are some positives though. I wasn't tired at any point, I felt I could have finished, had no stomach trouble, got most of the map reading right (ish), and got some (more) character building training in. I also tried out my new camelbak, and loved it. Not having to hold a bottle is quality! We also saw Bill (the 71 year old 100 marathon record holder who is training for the Marathon de Sables, who I first met at another race in December), and it was great to see him - a legend and a genuinely lovely bloke! So, good times were had too.

I hope not to see you on the Body Bus anytime soon. 

Take care all.