The New Forest Challenge

Challenge. One of those useful words used in interviews to make a nightmarish experience sound more like a constructive one. "Whilst I certainly found the relentless focus on targets a challenge (or, silently replace with "a complete nightmare"), I used this as an opportunity to develop my time management skills by finding more effective ways of working, to enable me to rise to the challenge and succeed in meeting those targets, for example by..... etc etc, ya di ya di yah. 

Although not being interviewed during my 65th marathon, I did have plenty of time to think that the word was fitting for this event for much the same reasons, making number 65 a challenge I certainly won't forget in a hurry.

The New Forest is one of my favourite places. Many happy runs and days out took place there when I was at uni in Southampton. I love standing at the top of a hill, and the the feeling of freedom looking out over the wide open spaces and taking in the glorious colours. We'd made a weekend of it visiting friends and family, and everything was lovely, and I was completely sure that the event was going to be a straightforward marathon. Navigation = tick, I know the area (well, sort of). Distance = tick, I felt confident in the 26 miles. Mental state = tick, I was looking forward to it and feeling good. Nutrition = tick, lots of checkpoints and refuelling opportunities. Kit = tick, all packed. Weather = tick, cold for sure, but sunny weather forecast. Hurrah - it was going to be fine!

But in a blog which I am conscious is becoming almost repetitive for things not going fine....guess what's going to happen......

To begin with, Andrew is still injured, so I was missing my running partner. Thanks though for hanging around all day. It must have been a drag....

And thanks for the lift to the start! I checked in, collected my check-in card, had a few minutes of 'kit faff' where I like to pointlessly rearrange everything in my bag a few times, and then bumped in to Kasia, a friend I met on the Winter Tanners...

We set off - it felt exhilarating to run in the cold air in the sunshine, and an added bonus of the cold was that the bogs were all frozen. The first checkpoint was only about 1.5 miles into the run, and was an unmanned checkpoint, which according to the instructions should be a sign with a random number on it, which you had to write down on your checking-in card. According to my carefully marked up map, it should be in a car park. Me, plus a bunch of other runners all arrived at the grid reference, but couldn't find the sign. Not anywhere. A few frantic minutes sped by running up and down, checking posts, signs, fences, but nothing. Bowing to peer pressure from my more confident fellow competitors, who all said it wouldn't matter, I tentatively carried on with them, but with a niggling feeling that I would already be disqualified for missing my first checkpoint. Soon after, I got chatting to a bloke who had found it (it was in the car park after all!) - and he kindly told me the number was 38! We found the second checkpoint and I proudly wrote down it's number with my free Ikea pencil - excellent. Soon after checkpoint 3 was found - things were going swimmingly! But as a wrote down it's number, the lead in my Ikea pencil snapped and fell somewhere into the mud below, leaving just a small, yet gaping, hole where the lead should be. Great. Now I had no way of writing down the numbers, of the next 8 checkpoints - EIGHT! How was I going to remember that many random numbers?

Cursing myself for bringing a pencil and not a pen (I mean, who uses a pencil, anyway?) I became aware that the niggling feeling of being disqualified for missing a number had quickly been replaced by a different but just as niggling feeling that despite obsessive checking of my carefully marked up map, and just as careful attention to my surroundings, I was struggling to figure out where on the map I was. Which is a long winded was of saying, I kept getting lost. I'd forgotten quite how many paths and tracks the New Forest has, snaking about all over the place; but only the main ones are marked on the OS maps, making it difficult to follow a route marked on a map, because what looks like crossing over say three cross tracks on the map could be any number of actual tracks on the ground. And with it being so big and open, there often isn't much else to reference against to guide a decision as to if this is actually the junction where you should turn left, or if it's an extra one.....I was getting increasingly frustrated at what felt like my total and overwhelming inability to work things out, and having to repeatedly stop and figure it out, usually incorrectly, only to see some brightly coloured dots running off ahead in a different direction....

Then I fell over. The first time. But this was expected, as I was wearing a new running outfit and I'm convinced that any time I have ever bought any new running clothes, I have fallen over on the first outing and either immediately got a hole in them, or made them muddy. At least today it was just mud.

Then I reached checkpoint 4, the first manned checkpoint. "Which are you!" asked the first of the two gentlemen recording people coming in. "26!" I replied. "Thanks!" the second gentleman exclaimed and wrote it down. A few others came in behind me, and I heard them all shouting out different numbers. Weird, I thought there were only two distances: 18 and 26. Oh. Of course, we should be giving the number on our check-in card. Obviously. I'm such a buffoon. I went back and sheepishly corrected my number to 21, my actual number. I beat a hasty retreat before anyone could pay to much attention to me....

I ate a kit-kat and realised I was ravenous. I had been stuffed as a gug with delicious food by Andrew's sister-in-law the night before, but thinking back I'd had a few days at the end of the week of being quite stressed and not eating as well as usual, and predictably had only really paid any attention to this fact at the moment when it was becoming apparent that I was not adequately fuelled for a hilly marathon in freezing weather. I became angry with myself again. Will I never learn the importance of good nutrition prior to a run? What with being a dietitian, and having been a runner for over 20 years? No, apparently not. 

I plodded on, waiting for the kit-kat to kick in, and soon made my first major navigational error. This was a costly mistake, adding on 1.5 miles to the distance. But aside from that sad fact, I met fellow runner Dave on the detour, who I ended up running the rest of the race with, and who as a veteran of 86 marathons was an entertaining and motivational running buddy - thank you Dave! I was glad to have someone else to consult as to the route as well, and although we continued to get lost for the rest of the run, it's not nearly so bad when you're with someone else to discuss how it was you went wrong and get back on track. He also kindly lent me his pen, so the pencil crisis was averted. 

At the next manned checkpoint I discovered in fact how great a buffoon I really was, when I noticed that my number was 210 and not 21. Following a short panic where I feared a search and rescue party might by now have been deployed from the last checkpoint to look for number 210 who by all accounts didn't seem to have turned up there yet, the marshals reassured me they would radio over to let them know. Good Lord. This event is turning into some kind of maths challenge. (Challenge! See!)

It took a few minutes to regain my stride after that. But soon the beauty of the forest seeped back into my consciousness. It was truly stunning out there. The sun shining and the air hazy, and all around that blue colour that penetrates everything on bright winter days. And the ponies, of course, the ponies!

A good few pleasant miles passed, taking in the views and the air, chatting, and the odd debate about the route. 

Then two things happened quickly.

First, I fell over again. A proper fall over this time, over a log and into a bog and all. Interestingly, I landed on my shoulder, and gained my first, maybe anyone's first, shoulder injury from running.

Then, at the final check-point, I realised my check-in card was missing. I assumed I'd pretty much covered all possible mistakes with this flipping check-in card by this point, but apparently the greatest was saved for the end. I had no idea where it had gone, and the only thing I could think was that it was somehow fallen out during my nose-dive into the bog. I had a complete melt down at this point, but Dave calmly stated that as we'd run most of the race together he would vouch for me at the end, and it was no problem. I was grateful for his kindness and coolness under pressure, but spent the last 3 miles in a complete panic and dreading the finish when I would have to explain myself.

But it in the end it was all fine. After a brief explanation and apology for my absentmindedness, the marshals registered my number (which fortunately I could remember by now) and it was made official (thank you Dave and the marshals at the end for your understanding!)

I even set a PeBeDe - a personal best detour - for the furthest extra distance run over the actual distance of an event- 29 miles instead of 26. Three extra miles for free!

A delicious plate of vegetarian lasagne, some bread and butter, a hot cup of tea and a nice chat to some fellow runners, and everything was well again, and the nightmares of all the maths challenges faded away. It was a brilliant event and I loved it despite the challenges (which were mostly my own making anyway). I recommend it, and hope to be back (maybe I'll find my check-in card next year). Thank you to the organisers (the Wessex LDWA) and fellow entrants for a great day. 

I hurried off home to wash the mud out of my new running clothes, and sharpen my pencil.....