West Country Ultra Hilly 50

My hardest earnt medal ever

Prologue

Coming into the Albion Running West Country Hilly 50 Ultra I knew I probably hadn't done enough training. With work entering the silly season of exam prep I hadn't been running nearly enough but I had put more hills into my training so thought it might see me through. I was wrong.

Driving to Minehead the evening before the race and the majesty of the Exmoor countryside revealed itself in the glorious technicolour of the dimming sun. I say 'majesty', what I mean is 'Oh God! How big and steep are those bloody hills!?' Fear set in as the car wound its way between those behemoths and I knew the next day would be a day of reckoning for me. I was right.

Race morning - registration and race start

After a fitful night's sleep, I awoke to a beautiful sunny day without a cloud in the sky. Previous forecasts had suggested the max temp for the day would be 18C but that was clearly going to be an underestimate and it was already 15C as I pulled into the carpark for registration. Whatever the course had in store for me, I was going to see it in its very best light.

Registration was the lowest key affair I have ever experienced at a race and it was clear I was one of a very small number of participants (about 25 in total). Did they know something I didn't? As a result, the organisation was super-quick and I was soon back to the car to sit on the boot-lip, munching a banana, attaching my race number (24) and sizing up the other competitors.

As usual, I couldn't help but stare at the packs and how light/heavy the other runners were going to be racing. It's my own pre-race paranoia and completely unnecessary as we all carry what we have learnt we need from extensive training. I'm never going to be a fleet-footed, front-running mountain goat carrying a hand-bottle and single emergency gel so why do I torture myself? It made no odds in the end. The obvious hot day and race duration dictated the following: a full 2l bladder of water (no additives), my run cap, an application of Factor 50 suncream, a full compliment of SiS-Go cola gels, a couple of SiS-Go double espresso gels (a real treat) along with various other pieces of running and camera equipment (see Stats for the full rundown). With everything safely stowed, it was into the minibus to the race start on Minehead seafront.

Waiting at race start was very enjoyable. The tiny field meant we were all soon chatting with old-hands sharing key pieces of info about the course including just how rocky is the descent off Dunkery Beacon (more on that later) and how pacing was absolutely key to surviving the day. And then Dave arrived.

To describe race director, David Urwin, as unassuming would be an understatement but he knows how to run an excellent race that shows off some of the most fantastic countryside I've had the pleasure of seeing and he also knows how to deliver a pre-race briefing that is light on dos and don'ts and heavy on dry wit. With much mirth and a light-heart it was quick countdown and we were off.

Race start to CP#1 - hills, hairpins and good-humour

We hit the first climb of the day after only a few hundred metres and I really began to get an idea of what I was in for. As well-behaved ultra-runners do, we slowed to route-marching when we began the long, hairpin climb out of Minehead and onto the coast path proper. It wasn't long before I fell in step with Mark who would keep me company all the way to summit of Dunkery Beacon 20-odd miles away.

As we summited the first climb, and came out onto the coastal cliff path heading for Bossington Hill, it was a beautiful day, the running was easy and the scenery (with the countryside to our left and sea to our right) was as good as it gets. Mark and I shot the breeze with stories of past ultras and generally getting to know each other and time and distance passed without incident. Then we came to top of Bossington Hill and its descent down towards sea-level.

I'll keep this brief. At 5 miles in we hit the steepest descent on the entire course. On an out and back course that meant only one thing - at 45 miles we would hit the steepest climb on the course. At that point, though, I had no idea just how horrific that climb would be.

From the foot of Bossington it was gentle run into CP1 and our first taste of the first-rate service provided by all the volunteers, all day no matter what time a runner got there.

CP1 to CP2  - a brief course recce

Due to an issue with one of the volunteers who was to man CP2, the aid station was brought forward so the gap between CP1 and 2 was only a few miles. Those miles were flat, at sea-level and along the easiest section of the coast path until the beach section. A section of ankle-wrecking pebble beach that, like Bossington Hill, would have to be navigated later when tired and (as it turned out for me) in the dark.

CP2 to CP3 - the race begins in earnest

When Mark and I hit CP2 it was a modest affair of water and rapidly melting iced donuts so we quickly refilled our water and headed out.

What followed was an undulating route of stepped climbs and tree-shaded trails that skirted the coast. The temperature continued to climb and even though we were by the sea there was little in the way of discernible cooling breeze. The running was still easy and having company always makes things more enjoyable.

After a few more miles of coast path we turned inland and the navigation games began. As typical blokes, Mark and I were relying on our GPS watches for navigation rather than the course notes we could (should) have printed off and so we got lost searching for the trail up Porlock Hill. It was the curse of top down GPS navigation. We hit a split in the road - one road went up, the other went down. Both were so close to each other they looked like one road from above. My watch knew we were supposed to be climbing so we headed up only to be called back by a fellow runner, Juliet, who was behind and was convinced we needed to head down. So we back-tracked and headed along the lower road only for our watches to tell us we were off course!? Fortunately, Juliet had printed off the course notes and after about 15 mins of faffing we finally found the start of the trail climb up the hill. And what a climb. A steep trail that had me envying the runner infront with his climbing poles. Porlock Hill climbed, Mark, Juliet and I carried on together warily and carefully to avoid any further off-route issues.

The next few miles saw the start of the niggles that would end up being the blight of my race. I had no issues keeping pace on the flats and the climbs but from about 17 miles my quads began to twinge, just a little, on the descents and I was having to slow down, just a little, but enough to be distanced from my fellow runners until I caught up when things levelled out. Still, the company was good, the course great and the weather almost perfect so we hit CP3 (at 20 miles) in high spirits.

CP3 to CP4 - the rave station, Dunkery Beacon and a descent from hell

CP3 was one of the best aid stations I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. In fact all the aid stations on the course were excellent with a whole variety of foods on offer and great support from the brilliant volunteers but CP3 was the rave station. An aid station of witty banter and quality tunes kept those of us who stopped to enjoy it in good-spirits. And, boy, were we going to need those good spirits.

The next 10 mile section of the course was a loop with Dunkery Beacon, Exmoor's highest point at 519m, at its heart. We had been warned about the rocky descent down from the Beacon but we first had to find (yep, we managed to miss another trail) and then ascend this monstrosity. Again, it was Juliet to the rescue as she had climbed it in a previous race so led us to the summit.

I was weakening by now. The climb up Dunkery was long and steep, it was the hottest part of the day (about 3.30pm) and Mark and Juliet's greater experience and strength was telling. I was struggling to keep up and they distanced me as we headed to the summit. My legs ached but so too did my shoulders and back. It was another reminder that trail running requires an all over body strength that road-running does not. It was a reminder that I might not have done enough training.

The summit of Dunkery Beacon offered a brief respite with about 5 of us hitting it (from strangely different directions) all together. It was a moment to enjoy the wonderful panoramic views of Exmoor and remind myself of one of the main reasons for doing this kind of thing - to see the best bits of the British countryside and believe me, it is one of the very best bits. And then to the descent.

Coming down off the Beacon it was a long, steady, rocky descent and, with my reluctant quads aching with every downward step, Mark and Juliet rapidly left me in their dust. We'd gone through the marathon mark and I was tired and in pain. I had no desire to face-plant on the loose rocks so let them go and picked my way gingerly down the trail. My Hoka Challenger ATR3s are fine for long days on buffed trails but they are rubbish for anything technical and you are acutely aware that you're effectively running with pillows strapped to your feet. It was a long and torturous descent in the heat and my first really difficult headspace moment.

Alone, I made it to the bottom of the hill and set off into the woods to trace the loop that would bring me back to this same trail. Clearly I made an error somewhere and must have cut a corner because as I climbed back up Dunkery's rock-strewn trail (just as gingerly as before) I was passed by Mark and Juliet. I did feel guilty for obviously having cut some part of the course but as my final distance was about 53 miles (yes, I got that much wrong on the way back) I'm not going to beat myself up too much.

Fortunately, the climb back up is not to the top but to a road about two thirds of the way up and then an easy run down to CP4. My quads were completely shot by now and any descent, even the most gradual, was agony. It was here I met Darren who was in the same shape as me and we hobbled into CP4 together.

CP4 to CP5 - Darren, directions, descents and desperation

CP4 was just as jolly as it had been when it was CP3 but now there had been a shift change and it was 80s themed. More quality food, tunes and banter and then decision time. Although our moods were light, our legs were heavy and I suspect, had we been alone, either Darren or I might have seriously considered DNFing here. But we were not alone and we set off together to track back to the finish along trails we had already navigated. How bad could it be with 'only' 20 miles to go?

Bad. Very bad.

It was soon clear that neither of us could really run any more so we settled into a route-march, chatting away to keep our spirits up. Problem was we were tired by now, physically and mentally, and we weren't really paying attention to the course. During that 10 mile stretch I lost count of the times we missed a turn or trail and had to track back because we had been too busy talking. It took us ages to find the top of Porlock Hill and then the descent was agony. We also started to meet 100 mile runners and they looked so fresh with almost 70 miles in their legs. We really learnt where we stood in the ultra-running pecking order during this section and it was clear - we had been playing at it up until now. This course and these runners were the real deal.

It was also during this section that I began to regularly revise our estimated time of finish. Starting at 10.30am I had expected to finish in about 12 hours. That was not going to happen, not without running and we just could not run. I began to hope we might still make it back before midnight but even that became a pipe-dream as the miles and time slipped past.

It was not doom and gloom though. Darren made for excellent company and although it was incredibly hard going we were not oblivious to the joys of what we were seeing. Through that section we saw the sun slip beneath the horizon and the amazing play of colours it cast across the sea. The dimming trails took on a new atmosphere of gloom but it was never oppressive; I was never afraid; I never felt like we weren't going to make it back. But it wasn't easy. Darren and I both ran our bottles and bladders dry and we were convinced the next CP was 'just over the next rise' or 'just down here and around that bend'. And then, finally, it was.

CP5 to CP6 - flat but still not fun

CP5 was much needed with a complete refill of all water bottles and bladder and yet more fantastic food. The cold pizza was so good. From here we knew it was a short flat section to the final CP but it included crossing the pebble beach in the darkness.

Darren opted for a line closer to the water and tried a higher line but it was no use - the beach was a nightmare to traverse whichever line we took and we soon fell into a single file.

The rest of this section passed without incident save for the arrival of more 100 milers and occasionally stopping to take photos of the moon. Then we were into the final CP and the final act of this race.

CP6 to race end - a horrific climb and the longest of descents

CP6 was a welcome sight and we probably tarried there a little too long but we knew what was to come and I for one was not eager to get to it. Darren took the opportunity to have a sit down and we both welcomed the hot drinks on offer but time ticked ever on and we were now up against making the final 16 hour cut off. We left the CP a little before 11pm and made our way to the foot of Bossington Hill.

There is very little I can say about climbing Bossington. From the start of the climb, at 15m elevation, to the summit at 297m and a distance of 2km, it took us 35 minutes, many stops and a lot of willpower. I was wrecked and feeling light-headed but from the summit we could see the bright lights of Minehead and we knew the end was near.

The last few miles of the trail itself are a bit of a blur. There were some odd moments that I would have put down to exhaustion had Darren not seen the same strangeness: the bouncing pairs of reflective animal eyes of a herd of deer? ponies? that we spooked; at midnight being hailed across the clifftops by a woman out looking for her dogs that had got out.

Eventually, the growing pain in our quads informed us, quite rudely, that we were now heading downhill on the final push to the finish line.

As with all aspects of the run from CP4 onwards, the distance from the top of Bossington Hill to the end of the actual trail was a slippery sucker. There were several times I turned to Darren to declare there were only a few hundred metres to go before we were off the path only for the path to turn upwards or flatten off and delay our intersection with sea-level just a little bit longer. Eventually, however, I was proved correct and we stepped off the path onto the welcome pavement of Minehead promenade.

From there we continued our route-march pace along the front before turning inland at Butlins for the final mile or so to the finish. We were pretty much silent by now, focused only on getting to the finish line and the end of the race.

Turning into the carpark that housed race HQ we broke into something approximating a jog and were welcomed into the school hall by Dave and an awaiting St John's Ambulance paramedic. As finishes go, it was a very low-key affair but to Darren and I, it was everything. We had finished under the cut off time and that was enough.

Darren and I before it got dark - literally and emotionally

Epilogue

This blog has taken forever to write for good reason. I got injured with a groin strain just after the race and that coupled with the emotional effort it took to finish the race turned me off to running for a couple of months. I'm only now getting back into any kind of running again and I have been questioning training for races. When you have a big race to prepare for training becomes exactly that - training. The enjoyment from just getting out for a run had gone because of the focus you put into building up to the event whether that preparation is enough or not!

So what now? Well, I haven't got anymore events on the horizon while I nurse my body back into shape and nurse my training back into something approximating fun. I've traded my road and mountain bikes for a gravel bike and I'm enjoying the cycling equivalent of trail running at the moment. I suspect I'll end up balancing the running with cycling.

Will I go back to the West Country Hilly 50 and do it right? No. It is a brilliant race with fantastic organisation and support in a truly stunning part of the country. I cannot recommend Albion Running events highly enough but I know my limits and I know this kind of race is a step too far, more for what I can dedicate myself to in training than what I can achieve physically. 2017's Country to Capital meant I had unfinished business with that race. My business with the West Country Hilly 50 is done. However, I might go back for the flat 50 in 2019.

Finally, a massive thanks to Darren without whom the race and this blog would have ended in ignominy. Cheers, mate.

See you on the trails.

Andy

Stats and stuff

Age: 43

Height: 117.8cm

Weight: 77kg

Trainers: Hoka One One Challenger ATR 3

Pack: Nathan VaporAir

Nutrition: SiS Go gels and anything savoury I could get my hands at the aid stops

Total distance: 85.8km (53.3 miles - I got lost, a lot)

Total elevation: 2860m

Time: 15:10:05