Alexander - Running Up That Hill

Running, life, the following races and pages theyre all about the journey, not the destination.

This book is for Caroline, Emily, Matthew and Mary. Who are both.

Contents

8 May 2017 at 12:15

Email from: Chrissie Wellington

Subject: What have I done?!

Just entered!!!!!!!

8 May 2017 at 12:40

Reply from: Vassos Alexander

Re: What have I done?!

Hooray!! I promise youll love it.

8 May 2017 at 12:46

Reply from: Chrissie Wellington

Re: What have I done?!

I

HATE

YOU

8 May 2017 at 15:40

Reply from: Vassos Alexander

Re: What have I done?!

Ha! See how much you hate me when you reach mile 44!!

I may have been mildly to blame for Chrissie entering her first ultra-marathon. Only in that I introduced her to the organiser and kept bombarding them both with emails until she agreed to give it a go. Still, she thanks me for it now. I think.

I remember speaking to Vassos after he completed Race to the Stones and being sent a decidedly unattractive picture of his feet with their dead toenails and Vesuvius-sized blisters and swore I would never do an ultra-marathon. Fast forward a year or so and I have been forced to eat those words.

Im still not sure what came over me, but I decided to Google ultra-races soon after crossing the finish line at the London Marathon in April 2017. I blame post-marathon delirium, combined with a large dose of intrigue and a dollop of naivety. I thought that if I was (hypothetically, obviously) ever going to do an ultra-marathon I wanted the race to be: a) relatively soon, so as to capitalise on the fitness I had banked for the London Marathon; b) close to my home town of Bristol so as not to inconvenience my family and reduce any logistical headaches; and c) definitely less than 62 miles. Scheduled for mid-June, taking place along the Cotswold Way and a (meagre, according to Vassos) 52-miles, the Race to the Tower ticked all the boxes.

I entered. And then became concerned. The longest run Id ever done was a marathon and, off-road, Id completed the 22-mile Man Versus Horse a few years ago. Runners racing against riders on horseback in Wales. I didnt beat the horse, but I had thoroughly enjoyed pitting myself against the equines across the Welsh hills. But 52 miles was an altogether different kettle of fish. Could I finish it? Was I strong enough? What would I eat? What should I wear? What on earth was I thinking? Will Vassos lend me his running rucksack? So, yes, doing an ultra definitely scared me. But this was part of its appeal. I like to be pushed out of my comfort zone and do things I think I might not be able to do. Its an important message to send my daughter and to others. We may not be confident in our ability to succeed, but this shouldnt stop us trying.

A double marathon completed, I can now reflect on my virgin ultra experience. I loved the rawness of the event, I felt unburdened (unlike triathlon) with kit or gadgets and really appreciated the informal, relaxed atmosphere. I realised that, whilst ultras had seemed impossible or inconceivable, they are truly open to all, with people of all backgrounds and abilities taking part from the speedsters at the pointy end to those out for a rather long walk closer to the back. The camaraderie between everyone was fantastic, and it was the least intimidating race environment I think I have ever encountered.

I also really liked not running to a target pace, and focusing more on the journey than on specific times/splits/positions, etc. Of course, I tried my hardest but I really couldnt have specific time or outcome goals, other than to finish, which was very liberating. In terms of race strategy, I slowed down, walked up the steep hills, fuelled early on and learnt how to smell the flowers, look around me and enjoy the entire experience, rather than only the destination.

And yes, a month later I did my second ultra, the off-road, hilly 30-mile Mendip Marauder, from Wells to Weston-super-Mare in Somerset, which was a wonderful, low-key, local (for me) race. It took in many of the places I know well, having done a lot of cycling around those hills. We travelled along paths paved with stinging nettles, through dense forests and over boggy grasslands. We climbed for views over the Welsh Estuary and descended to the beach at Uphill where the ubiquitous Mr Whippy awaited. Being a relatively short 30 miles, it also meant I finished in time to head back to a friends BBQ, and refuel with a burger and a glass of wine before the sun had started to go down.

I know there will be many more ultras in my future, as much for the journey as the destination.

Chrissie Wellington

I was told the following tale by my grandfather, as I sat on his knee one sweltering summer afternoon in the house he built by the sea. For a long time I believed it was Ancient Greek wisdom, passed down from generation to generation. I liked to think you could trace its origins back through the mists of our family, through Cretan mountains and remote island fishing ports, way back through time to the great Athenian empire, to the dawn of philosophy and civilisation. Back in fact, to the original ultra-runners. To those legendary long distance messengers like Pheidippides, the greatest of them all and the inspiration for what we now call the Marathon.

But as it turns out, its actually a famous Cherokee parable from Tennessee.

An old man is teaching his grandson about life. A fight is going on inside me, he explains to the boy. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, arrogance, self-pity, resentment and ego. The other is good he is joy, peace, love, hope, determination, humility, fortitude, compassion and truth.

The same fight is going on inside you and inside every other person, too.

The boy thinks about it for a minute and then asks his grandfather, Which wolf will win?

The old Cherokee smiles and replies simply: The one you feed.

And thats the point of this really. All this endless running. All the wonderful people who enter all these stupidly long races knowing theyll frequently fail to finish. All the pain they suffer, all the injuries, the failures. All the lost toenails.

And also the successes. The feeling of having pushed yourself to the edge of your limitations and deciding not to quit. To push on regardless. To keep on running. The satisfaction of helping a fellow runner in trouble; the comfort of being helped. The lifelong friendships formed. The exhilaration of getting your body to achieve the impossible. You break yourself down, like stripping an engine, yet somehow emerge more whole.

I dont much like the term ultra-running because it sounds exclusive, which is the opposite of what it should be, and is. Endurance running is inclusive and quietly seems to make you a better version of yourself. For me and so many of the runners Ive spoken to over the years, running long gives a powerful sense of joy and serenity.

Theres the warm blanket of community too. The generosity and positivity of runners and volunteers, as well as supportive, long-suffering friends and family behind the scenes. On the trail, theres the slow accumulation of problems, and even slower process of solving them, little by little, one by one. Youre absolutely in the moment. It can be like therapy, or an exorcism. A journey of self-knowledge. Youre feeling liberated from daily life but youre also taking control, escaping into a more simple world. After all, we were born to run.