Sunday, 1 March 2015

Reflexión de un viejo cientounero.


Para entender lo que significan los 101 de Ronda para mí hay que comprender mis raíces.

Desde que puedo recordar, siempre he empujado mis límites al extremo. Encuentro mi camino en la delgada línea que separa la bravura de la locura, íntimamente atractiva e estimulante. De joven, a mis 20 añitos, practicaba piragüismo de aguas bravas en el Reino Unido y escalada de roca; siempre buscando un tramo del río más exigente o una pared más expuesta, que empujaban mi limite técnico y psicológico un poco más allá. En aquellos tiempos corría sólo para mantener la forma.

Un día, cuando me encontraba en una vía psicológico, viajando en un espacio vertical liso y sin protección, me caí y me rompí la pierna derecha. Había 5 trozos de hueso independientes, la pierna estaba rota a 90º y el pie me colgaba de un par de tendones. El rescate fue dramático, me tuvieron que sacar en helicóptero y trasladar a un hospital para cirugía de emergencia.

El cirujano que me operó dijo que ahora, con la placa de titanio que llevaba dentro, la pierna era más fuerte que nunca, pero los demás médicos dijeron que jamás podría volver a correr, que las lesiones eran demasiado fuertes y que debía aceptar mis nuevas limitaciones (además de la rotura evidente se habían cortado varios tendones que tuvieron que ser cosidos y el pie estaba totalmente fuera de sitio).

Pero creo que nuestro destino está enteramente en nuestras manos y no les escuché. Empecé a correr como un demonio sobre compensando con la pierna izquierda, a pesar del dolor y la falta de flexibilidad en la derecha. Muy poco a poco volví a recuperar la forma y a correr de nuevo, con un estilo un poco raro, pero era correr. Conocí a José Luis Rubillo Gallego y juntos empezamos a entrenar y competir en carreras de orientación.



Lentamente fui olvidándome del accidente, entrenando cada vez más fuerte, pero un día bajando una pendiente muy pronunciada aterricé bruscamente sobre la pierna izquierda provocando que la tibia penetrarse dentro de la rótula. El dolor era más intenso aún que con el accidente previo y tuve que parar en seco. Resolver el problema de la rodilla me costó dos operaciones y dos años fuera de juego. Estaba totalmente desconectado del mundillo de correr cuando José me contactó para volver a participar en una carrera de orientación juntos, el Rally a Pie del grupo de montaña Amadablan de San Pedro de Alcántara. Estaba muy fuera de forma, con un considerable sobrepeso, pero José insistió y volvimos a competir. El tiempo aquel fin de semana era horrible, con visibilidad entre 2 ó 3 metros y a pesar de ser el atleta con la peor forma de todos, conseguimos ganar porque no nos perdimos.

Y un día nos enteramos de una carrera militar cívica organizado por los Legionarios Españoles en Ronda con una distancia de 101 kilómetros que pasaba por la serranía y que por lo visto tenía un excelente organización. No podíamos creer que no hubiéramos sabido de esa carrera antes, pero eran los tiempos antes de Internet y no nos había llegado la información. ¿Cómo era posible que nos hubiésemos perdido las 3 primeras ediciones? ¡Esa carrera estaba hecha para nosotros! La emoción de haber encontrado algo tan fantástico era máxima y con lesiones en ambas piernas, equilibrando cada vez en una, comencé a entrenar en serio de nuevo. Perdí peso, lo que me ayudó a correr mediamente bien de nuevo. No tenía la velocidad de antes, de hecho iba bastante más lento, pero podía correr y mis intenciones en mi primer 101 eran simplemente acabar la prueba. Con eso me daba por satisfecho.

Mi primera participación en los 101 de 1999 fue un desastre. Lo recuerdo muy bien. Estaba usando unas zapatillas media talla pequeñas para esa tipo de recorrido; zapatillas que en distancias inferiores me habían servido muy bien, pero que esta vez me iban a castigar y dejar sin uñas en los pies. Perdí 9 de las 10 en aquel viaje a pie por la serranía de Ronda. Pero más doloroso todavía fue abandonar la carrera en el cuartel. Muy a mi pesar tuve que reconocer que con los pies destrozados no podía acabar aquel año. Me quedé con la miel en los labios: el ambiente tan cálido de la carrera, el buen rollo con los soldados, el compañerismo tan fuerte con los demás corredores y marchadores, ¡y el recuerdo de mi fracaso! Nunca había fallado en una carrera y para mí eso era un desastre.

Desde ese momento los 101 se convertirían en obsesión. No pasaba un solo día que no pensara en aquella carrera. Cada vez que salía a correr tenía la mente puesta en esa prueba y en aquella época era el santo grial para mi mundo. Me hice amigo de Oscar Pajares, principal organizador dentro de la Legión, que se convertiría en una especia de héroe para nosotros.

Acabé los 101 el año siguiente en algo más de 18 horas. El invierno previo había estado bastante enfermo, sin poder entrenar mucho a pesar de las ganas, y la terminé andando. Me costó todo lo que tengo dentro, incluso varios desmayos, pero acabé. Crucé la meta con lágrimas en los ojos. Nunca en mi vida me he sentido tan reventado, nunca he estado tan cerca del límite absoluto de mis capacidades físicas, emocionales y psicológicas, mi tolerancia a dolor; pero a su vez nunca he experimentado una sensación de éxtasis tan fuerte al simplemente acabar una prueba. Descubrí que me siento más vivo cuando me siento más muerto. La adicción total había empezado e iba a marcar los siguientes años de mi vida. De hecho me sigue marcando.

Desde entonces he participado en casi todas las ediciones de los 101 con mi mejor marca en 9:50. He realizado algunas de las pruebas más exigentes del mundo incluyendo la Badwater que pasa por el Valle de la Muerte en los EEUU, The High en el Himalaya y la Spartathlon en Grecia. Esas carreras son desde luego más potentes que los 101 de Ronda, más largas y en condiciones más extremas. En todos los sentidos de la palabra me considero un ultra fondista muy experimentado. He estado en lugares donde pocas personas se atreven a ir, he visto cosas que pocos han visto porque mi cuerpo me ha llevado a esos lugares remotos. Y todo eso porque había una carrera organizada por la Legión de Ronda que sembró una semilla de ulrafondista en mí. Pero no solo para mí, sino para muchos de mis amigos, es la prueba que realmente nos inició en este mundo.

Los 101 de Ronda siempre tienen un lugar especial en mi corazón, espero participar todos los años de mi vida mientras pueda. Porque esa carrera, ese ambiente tan único, ese inicio tan poderoso me dejó marcado en la manera más positiva posible.

Mark Steven Woolley

Ultrafondista

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

Take the “Ultra” out of Ultra Running.



I was first attracted to running very long distances when a friend rang me up out of the blue and asked me if I would partner him in a long distance orienteering event in the local mountains at the weekend. One day later we had our hearts in our mouths in a spectacular mountain race where I think we ran something like 80 – 100 kms that weekend and in an instant I had fallen in love with the game. I used to mountaineer and rock climb in those days and after the race all I would wish for at the weekend was bad weather so that I could go and run. Good weather obliged me to go climbing. 

There was no organisation, there was no training plan, no specialist equipment, just pure unadulterated anarchy and lots and lots of fun. It was in the day that the term “Ultra running” hadn’t yet been coined, at least not where I lived and played. There were just a couple of organised races a year and we would wait eagerly all year long to take part and then we would run our little hearts out in the hills. There was no strategy to our races; we would simply run as fast as we could and for as long as we could without wiping out. We would buy the cheapest shoes we could find and any hint of technical kit was where we had stitched something together ourselves, or to simply stop what we had from falling apart. Sometimes we would actually win a race but the driving force behind us was simply the immense fun that we would have whilst running. Don’t get me wrong, we were tremendously competitive but the fun was in the competition and much less so in the result. We always tried hard to win, it was that urgency of the competition that gave me such a buzz but if we didn’t win we were the first to congratulate our friends on their victory. In those days we were all close friends, there weren’t actually that many of us and we didn’t give a flying f*** as to what anybody outside our little insular world thought of us.


That was in 1989 and our little world has grown a bit since then. Initially I enjoyed the growth as there were many more friends to go out and play with. The same raw passion was there and then, being a seasoned mountain runner with some experience I derived a great deal of pleasure in advising the youngsters that were coming into our sport. They delivered a raw energy that us older folk no longer had and we too, were part of their success.


But as the sport grew in numbers the closeness that was prevalent in the early days gave way to a kind of dumbed down group think that betrayed its soul. People started to appear that were only concerned with winning, or being overly obsessed with their rank in a race. People started to become more obsessed by the trivia and with the details of the kit they had than simply getting out and running. “World records” started to appear that clocked the fastest time to do some local distance with some quirky addition. But above all, what most appalled me was the beginning of a kind of ultra-running fascism where people were declaring that their way of doing things was the only way and that anything else was invalid. On top of that people even became aggressive with it. Whilst I have always got along well with pretty much everyone, this new brand of “Ultra” runner certainly wasn’t my brand and so I sought out that pioneer atmosphere elsewhere in longer and more difficult races. The mainstream “Ultra” races had become corrupted.


I have found what I am looking for in the big, big races. The edge had simply moved along a bit and at the edge lived the pioneers. Badwater, Spartathlon, The High. The people that got to take part in these races were pure in spirit, and I had the enormous privilege to rub shoulders with not only some of the world’s best athletes but also some of the world’s purest athletic souls and some whom I now consider amongst my closest friends. The “big” races it would seem continue to attract people with the sporting values that I admire.


An “Ultra” run or race is technically considered to be anything longer than a marathon of 42 kms. So a 50k is indeed a legitimate “ultra” race and anyone that finishes can indeed call themselves a legitimate “Ultra” runner. And that sounds just so really cool. The problem is though that it is just too easy. To complete an “Ultra” these days all you have to do is run a bit longer than a marathon and you can give yourself a cool title that will impress your friends. With just a few days training a week and being moderately fit you can take part in, and have a reasonable chance of finishing one of these races. Now, don’t get me wrong; I have absolutely nothing against this and I have every respect for anyone who takes part in any event of any distance.


But the problem radiates from the “Ultra” word. The word “Ultra” suggests extreme, it suggests beyond the norm and it suggests special. It suggests that the person that has finished an “Ultra” is out there, on the edge and is pushing the limits of human endeavour. This is clearly and often not the case, especially in races with generous cut offs. Now I am going to say this again; I have no problem whatsoever in people doing this, people who push their own limits, finding their own edge, finding just how far they can go have my every respect. These people are pure in soul and I identify with you.


But amongst the masses there are now a considerable number of people that are not actually in love with the sport but in love with their own image. The barrier to being an “Ultra” runner is simply too low and with minimal effort you can paint a public image of yourself that is far removed from the genuine sacrifice that is needed to reach your own true edge of human endeavour. Not only that but with “World records” being set simply for doing obscure runs under obscure circumstances “Ultra” running is even losing its credibility.


So then, I say we take the “Ultra” out of ultra-running. We just call it running and we stop pretending that we are cutting edge athletes because we have “Ultra” in the title of a race we just did. The truth is that the majority of us are far from the cutting edge, we are mediocre at best and to use the word “Ultra” to describe what we are doing is to blur reality into making us look better than we really are and that ladies and gentlemen is tantamount to a lie.

Sunday, 31 August 2014

The Worlds Cruellest Ultra marathon. La Ultra The High 333

The worlds cruellest Ultramarathon. (A story about an epic fail)

La Ultra, The High 333 is billed as the cruellest ultramarathon in the world. In a hotly disputed arena for the world’s toughest race, La Ultra simply states that it is the cruellest and subtly avoids entering into the pointless argument over which is the toughest and in spite of not giving the “cruellest” title much significance I was to find out the full meaning of cruel.

It all started on a mountain top in Sierra Nevada range in the south of Spain, just under a year ago, with a face book conversation with Rajat Chaugan from India.

Rajat: “Are you coming to la Ultra next year?”
Me: “No, I am not really interested in repeating 222 kms in the Himalaya, I have done that.”
Rajat: “What if I made it 333 kms then?”
Me: “Sure!!”

And so it was, Rajat had managed to entice me into another Himalayan ultra-running adventure in spite of having decided to move on and do other things. In fact, I had already agreed with my close friend José Luis Rubio that we would climb a Himalayan Peak during the summer. However, the 2 objectives were completely compatible and we decided to get to the Ladahk valley early, climb the Stock Kangri mountain at 6153M, rest for a couple of weeks and then run La ultra, the High 333, with José crewing for me. Our respective families would meet up with us when we come down from the mountain and then we would all be involved in the race. What could possibly go wrong with such a perfect plan?


The Stock Kangri climb was one of the most enjoyable experiences I have ever had. We had decided to go with a small commercial expedition, simply because it meant that we didn’t have to deal with the logistics. It was a good call as all we had to do was climb and hike as the rest was taken care of for us. A well known Japanese ultra runner; Ryoichi Sato joined us, and although there were a few translation problems, the group quickly gelled into a buzzing happy unit. Indeed; the guides Tenzing and Padul were quite taken aback by how fast we hiked and climbed, but their pride always surpassed us and especially the younger lad; Padul always managed to stay in front. Many years ago I would never have considered a commercial expedition but these days, as well as being considerably older I also consider that I am helping out the local economy. They need it, Ladahk is a poor region. The guides were extremely competent and friendly and on the 4th day, after having left the village of Stock and after having progressively climbed higher and higher, allowing our bodies to acclimatise we saw ourselves on the Summit at about 7am. We had left at 12:30 in the middle of the night.

La Ultra. The High.

After coming down from the mountain we all met up with our families and had an extended 2 week rest before the race started; this was all too short but it was great to meet up with old friends from the 2012 edition and make a few new ones. The day before the race started, we had to go to the Nubra Valley and get ready for the race.

The race started at 10:00 pm and followed the Nubra Valley until the fork in the road indicated that we turn right and head up to the Kardung La pass at 5400M. The climb was steady but relentless and I spent some time running with a few of the others, John Sharp, Jup Brown and Jason Dunne, enjoying the conversation whilst it lasted but both John and Jason stormed ahead which left me for the most part running on my own, as Jup was running a little slower. 


As I got higher the temperatures dropped pretty fiercely. At North Pullu I had a down jacket waiting for me and I eagerly grabbed it whilst Molly Sherridon made me a hot drink. We were later told that the temperatures were between – 5 and – 8ºC ….. and I can believe it. I remember a moment when Alex exclaimed that he was developing frost bite and had to get into a support vehicle to thaw his hands out. Personally I didn’t have problems with the cold as I had good clothes.



As the dawn broke I found myself running on and off with Sato. He seemed to be having a bit of a tough time, as was I, especially as we were both over 5000M at this point and the hypoxic conditions meant that any physical effort took a lot out of us. We both slowed to a power walk and soon Sato left me behind. I had learned long ago that fighting the altitude was useless and I opted for a pace that didn’t leave me exhausted. There was still a long way to go.

When I got to the summit Sato was in a car resting and didn’t look too well. I greeted him, ate some food and then said my farewells; Satu was soon to be retired from the race on medical grounds. A great runner but the altitude is cruel.

As I descended I soon became much more alive and upon hitting the 4800M mark I found myself running again. At this point Kim Rasmussen from Denmark caught me. We ran together for a short while but he was going stronger than I and I let him go. There was still over 250 kms of race to go and anything could happen.

At the 90 km point, a curve in the road with a giant painted frog, called Kardung Frog, my crew; Jose Luis, Javi my son and a local girl called Angmo, a martial artist expert was waiting for me. From this point onwards we were allowed a personal crew and all the runners in the 333 km race had opted for a personal crew. From this moment on I would always be accompanied; I would never be alone. Coupled to the crew where Elena, my wife and Bea, Jose’s girlfriend who seemed to be having a great time filming the whole event.

Upon reaching the Goba Hotel checkpoint in Leh I had a short rest and then ran comfortably down to the village of Spituk. Here the run ran alongside the main road and the dust thrown up by the trucks was really unpleasant. I pulled the buff over my mouth and nose and just pushed on, hoping to get onto the back road as soon as possible.

Once off the main road, we entered into a quiet little back road of varying quality. At the start it was quite good but as the night approached the quality of the road deteriorated considerably to a point where the support car had quite a hard time in getting across. We crossed a point where John Sharp had staked out and soon after we had all decided that it was time for a few hours’ sleep. You reach a point in the middle of the night where you are not really making much progress and this is the best time to sleep. A couple of hours later we all felt much more refreshed and it was time to hit the road again.

We soon got to Serthi and then the climb to Wari La at 5300M. It was daytime now so the cold temperatures that we had experienced on Kardung La would now be avoided. The climb was pleasant, if long and slow but we soon found ourselves on the summit where we stopped for a little while to eat. 

Jup was here and we chatted for a while before descending. It was here that I felt just great and I literally ran happily and joyously down the mountain as if I didn’t have a care in the world in spite of Jose’s warnings to take it easy.

We soon reached the valley floor and then onto Karhu. At this point the secondary road joins with the main highway which goes on for about 15 kms before a turn right takes you up a narrow valley and then on to Tanglang La. At about 5 kms before reaching Upshi, with some 230 kms in the legs I felt exhausted and Jose promptly called it a day and we all slept; perhaps a little longer than we should have but all I can say is how wonderfully refreshed I felt. On to Upshi we went and then into a narrow gorge and on to Rumpsi at the base of the climb.

The climb up to Tanglang la was pure delight and the same sensation that had invaded my body whilst climbing Wari La invaded me again. I soon caught up with Kim who was having difficulties so I shook his hand, hugged him and wished him all the best, it was a race after all. The atmosphere was electric, with everyone congratulating me and wishing me well. We soon made the summit and with just 24 kms to go I settled into a gentle but happy trot using the gradient of the hill to aid my advance. At this point I thought it was all in the bag. How could I possible thing otherwise, I felt great, I had a 2 hour lead over Kim, what could possible go wrong?

The first 5 kms coming off the top were enjoyable in spite of some heavy trucks throwing up a lot of dust from the track that they were slowly converting into a road, but then the track crossed an open section of mountain with a strong, cold cross wind.

Upon reaching the support car I climbed in, just to get warm again but then things got very quickly and alarmingly out of control. I started shivering and then went into deep, uncontrolled convulsions. Jose quickly took control and covered me with every available sleeping bag and item of clothing but by then my body had gone into shock and I was all but paralysed, except for the uncontrolled convulsions. The medic Razwin arrived and took over, he put even more layers on and measured my temperature; 37.5ºC, half a degree above but I still couldn’t stop convulsing. After a couple of hours laid down during which time Kim had passed me it was obvious that I wouldn’t recover in time to finish. Jose made the actual call to quit. I didn’t argue with him, I knew I was beat. At 318 kms, at 5000M, with only 15 kms to the end I was well and truly beat, I couldn’t even stand up. Out of it. There was nothing I could do.

So Kim Rasmussen became the first and only person in the world to cover 333 kms in the Himalaya in hypoxic adverse conditions in a single stage foot race. He did it in 71 and a half hours. My sincere congratulations go out to him as he is a genuinely lovely person and I am happy to be beaten by him. He deserved to win.

And finally a race account could not be finished without a special mention to the crew and to my family. They had kept me going during some very tough times, and Jose, especially had made sure that every detail had been taken care of in order to keep me going. In the end I failed, I came so close yet the finish line may as well have been another 333 kms away for I was simply unable to make those last few kms.

So, I now have unfinished business out there. In many ways that is a good thing; it gives me something to work on, something to focus on, something to spend the next year dreaming about for I now just have to go back. And finish.

Cheers!
Mark

Saturday, 4 January 2014

How to train for Spartathlon.



How to train for Spartathlon.



In writing this little piece I need to say that it is completely and utterly subjective and written from my own little viewpoint as a middle of the pack, middle aged, of average ability ultra-distance runner. I have started Spartathlon 6 times and finished 3 times and all of the finishes were smack bang in the middle of the pack of finishers. Not the fastest but not the slowest either. To put this in perspective to other measurable distances I have clocked 8:27 in the 100 kms and 190 kms in 24 hours on the track. Not that fast, or great but not that slow either.


What I will describe here is more of a training philosophy rather than a training plan, but I hope it is useful and that it helps at least a few others achieve success in the Spartathlon. I have a couple of friends in mind when I am writing this so if this article actually helps them then I will collect my beer at the next post-race celebration. So these are my recommendations for a 50 something year old amateur athlete who wants to finish the Spartathlon before old age creeps up on them.


John Fodden summarises what it takes to finish Spartathlon in a beautiful, simple quote: “I shan’t wish you luck because if you haven’t trained properly, luck will be of no use. And if you have trained properly then you don’t need luck.” I like to add that “Luck starts at 5 in the morning.”


But just what is training properly for the Spartathlon?


AND JUST HOW HARD IS IT TO FINISH?


I really don’t like qualifying a race as the hardest or the toughest or baddest or whatever based on a subjective opinion.  So many races claim to be the toughest or the most difficult but the truth is they are only playing to a public that are all just too eager to buy into the image of the event where they imagine themselves as the “toughest in the world”. However, what I will say is that the Spartathlon is the race that I personally have found the most difficult and demanding just to finish. The reason is simple. You must run 246 kms in 36 hours. The Spartathlon is the epitome of an ultra-distance athletics race. It is ultra-distance, it is athletics and it is a race. And there you have it. Most people in the “ultra running” world can understand the distance and the race element without too much explanation but I think it is the “athletics” part that the vast majority of people that present themselves on the start line fail to fully comprehend. The act of fighting in battle for an ancient Greek warrior was incredibly athletic and it should come as no surprise that Milatides chose only the very best athlete to deliver the message to the Spartan king. I repeat; the very best athlete. So when Herodotus documented this original feat of Phiedepides, we are talking about the very best warrior athlete of the day. Not a plodder and certainly not a long distance walker. If you are considering doing the Spartathlon you need to comprehend this little fact. Far too many do not.

Unlike many other ultra-distance races, the Spartathlon forces you to run almost all of the time. The moment you ease up the pace you find yourself against the time barriers and they are brutal. As a result you have to be extremely physically and mentally well prepared to finish. Note that only 33 % actually finish and this against a back drop of having to present a good solid ultra-running CV to enter. And this brings me to the first major point:


The Spartathlon qualifiers: They are far too soft. You can qualify for the Spartathlon by doing a 100k in 10 hours 30 mins, or by doing a 200k race inside the time stated by the organisation. For a start, the 100k distance isn’t really a good indicator for a 246 km race and let’s face it, 10:30 is way too soft. If you can just break 10:30 in the 100k on your best day you will almost certainly not finish the Spartathlon. I hope I don’t sound too cruel, but that is the truth. If you can just break 10:30 don’t waste your time or you money, you will only be disappointed. Most people I have spoken with that have actually finished have the 100k time in at least less than 9:30, most under 9 hours.


A much better qualifier would be the distance covered in a 24 hour track event and the word on the street is that you should be able to clock up at least 175 – 180 kms. The cut off in the Spartathlon is 172 kms in 24:30 so 175 – 180 kms in a 24 hour, flat track race would approximate to this …. Except that you still have 80 kms to go.


Clearly it is a race that is very, very difficult.



For someone who has had success at mountain trail races it is also a very deceptive race, especially if you come with a lot of experience and a strong curriculum in mountain conditions. The main feature of the mountains are the changes in pace and therefore the continuous changes in the muscles used. In the Spartathlon there very few changes of pace and that tends to load certain muscle groups more than others. The road also takes its toll in a way that the mountains do not and the body must be prepared for the pounding of the ​​asphalt. I remember all too well my first attempt after the UTMB in 2007. I finished the Tour very comfortably but the Spartathlon left me with trashed legs after a meagre 70 kms because I was not accustomed to running on the hard road. I was obviously very strong in the mountains and very bad on the asphalt. The mountains did not prepare for the asphalt of the Spartathlon. Running on a hard road surface has nothing to do with running trails and so here is my first major tip:


YOU MUST TRAIN ON ASPHALT.


To succeed in this kind of race you have to know how to run with maximum efficiency. Ie , with the minimum expenditure of energy. And if you want to finish the Sparta that has to be the only goal of the year. Other races are nothing but fun and training sessions in racing conditions. And since it is so difficult I would recommend that at least 70 % of all training is on asphalt.

For the year that I first had success, I trained with a GPS heart rate monitor . I set the speed to 10 kms per hour and I experimented with different positions, postures, stride length, arm positions etc. , etc . in order to find the most effective and efficient way to maintain this speed. I started with 125 pulses per minute to keep 10 kms per hour and got to 106 just by polishing running technique alone. Clearly this already gave me a huge advantage over my previous technique with no actual gain in fitness. The moment you discover the technique it then takes lots of practice until it becomes firmly engrained in the subconscious and it becomes the most natural thing to do. Basically there are almost no foot lifts and the foot almost glides over the surface of the road, which cannot be done in the mountains without a face plant into the rocks. The arms are kept low and the torso kept straight and leaning ever so slightly forwards with your head facing forward. I also learned a lot watching the runners in 24 hours races. Think of efficiency when training, not speed.


As far as the amount of training involved I have a very simple philosophy. You train when and however you can, but for an ultra-distance runner you must maintain a very high volume. Why no set plan? Well, because I work and have a family and they have to come first. In my case this means I have to get up at 5 every morning to train but if I do not, I know that I will not finish the Spartathlon. As a general rule I will train 2 hours a day in 2 sessions during the week, one before and one after work with long runs of  5 or 6 hours during the weekends. 
I will do some 160 to 200 kms a week, week after week, for at least 4 – 5 months before doing the race. I will take a full day off every 7 – 10 days where I will do nothing. But be aware, most of this is at a slow relaxed pace. Only slightly faster than the speed I will use to run the Spartathlon. That is about 11 to 12 kms / hour, no more. These are not junk miles, as some often mistakenly assume. You are not just training your body, you are training your mind just to keep going…and going … and going. You will need that in the race and this last point cannot be stressed enough. However, I will still put in a couple of speed sessions a week just in case I want to do a fast race like a 100k. The vast majority are slow sessions that allow me to be fully recovered for the next session.


And a major factor that is often overlooked in preparing for the Spartathlon is the psychological preparation. This is where the relentless high volume really gives major benefits. With so much running your mind will eventually adapt to a state where running at 10 kms an hour is the normal state for it to be. This means that your new comfort zone is running and when those demons at 3 in the morning come out to haunt you can happily revert to your comfort zone which is running. If you can get up at 5 in the morning and get out on the road without even thinking about it, and then again every evening when you finish work, again without thinking about it you are probably well on the way to a Spartathlon finish.


So, if you do need a bit of luck, remember that luck starts at 5 in the morning, every morning for months upon months before the Spartathlon.


Good luck!!

Mark

Sunday, 13 October 2013

Spartathlon 2013



OK, I admit it; I am on a crusade. This is the year that I reach 50 years old, the magic half century of life and the psychological turning point for the vast majority of the population into a decadent decay period which is characterised by long years of poor health, one that ultimately leads to a premature, unpleasant death; that is if they haven’t turned before.


My work is with young people; I am a teacher and these youngsters look to us adults for inspiration and for guidance on how to conduct their lives. It is an incredibly influential period of their lives and the philosophy that embeds in their heads is essentially that by which they will live the remainder of their lives. But how many times to these youngsters hear the message to eat healthy, do some exercise, not to smoke only to look at the person delivering the message who is overweight, visibly unhealthy and who is clearly not ‘walking the walk’? And then they look around themselves and see a society where all the older people are actually getting old, looking old and suffering from poor health. Such is the extent of the poor health that they grow up thinking that it is indeed normal and that the message they are hearing is just an extravagant lie. All the youngsters see is hypocrisy and they become cynical and reject the message.


So then, what better way to spread the message than to do both Badwater and Spartathlon in the same calendar year that I reach 50. I finished Badwater this summer and that has been written about in another blog post.


In the 4 previous attempts at Spartathlon I had failed twice and finished twice. The score was even and this was the decider. The stakes in my mind were high; all the students at school were really interested in this “old” guy running this insane distance in this ridiculously short time. The news was published on the school website and the pressure of putting in a solid performance; so as to demonstrate beyond any doubt that I practice what I preach to these adolescents was at a maximum. Maybe for people outside the teaching profession this may seem a little strange, indeed, it will seem strange to many of those in the profession too but as I said earlier, I am on a crusade and if I leave a legacy, however small it will be that we can live a healthy and active lifestyle right up to the point that we die. At 50 I am still young!


The Spartathlon race feels very familiar now. The arrival at the London Hotel, the pre-race tension, the daft jokes with Rob Pinnington and the general banter with all the other runners is just great fun. I have been playing this game for some time now and this was a time to meet up with many old friends. James Adams and Robbie Britton who I had trained with in Spain just a few weeks ago were buzzing, James as the British Team captain and Robbie, who was determined to “smash it”. Both inspirational guys but I had my focus purely on the finish. I had to beat this beast just one more time.


At the start of the race I spent some time talking to the Argentinians. I have written a lot in Spanish and many of these people know me from my writings. I met Gerardo Re in Badwater this summer and we had a lot to talk about. Nico kierdelewicz lives very close by and we had trained a few times together before the race. Like I said, I just love the pre-race tension and the nervous laughter but my laugher wasn’t nervous, it was simply childish joy at being surrounded by like-minded nutcases.


So at 7 in the morning we left the Accropolis and started our journey to Sparti. The race developed well, Rob Pinnington quickly hooked into my pace, using me as a pace setter so that he didn’t go too fast. In this race pacing is everything and starting out too fast is paid for by failure. But after some 5 hours of bad jokes and a lot of laughter Rob fell behind as the heat of the mid day sun started to bite. Then I was on my own for a long time, casually passing others or being passed myself. I came across Paul Ali, I overtook him. Then he overtook me, so I overtook him again ….. and on and off like that until about 20 kms to the finish! Paul is true a warrior, of that much I can attest, and although he was having obvious difficulties with the race he just kept at it until he finished. Respect!


On the other hand I was on a roll and felt just so strong. The kilometres fell away and I simply flowed through those ancient mountains where so many warriors have fallen in the past. The connexion was complete and I was just completely in the zone and running was just so easy. That is until about 150 kms. At this point I was having difficulty with eating and keeping the food down. This isn’t at all unusual as it coincides with the small hours of the morning and my body shuts down. The mountain came and went but I had slowed down quite a lot at this point and the 2 hour margin that I had accumulated started to be lost.


When the sun came up I started to feel a whole lot better but my legs were heavy and I couldn’t recover the pace that I normally do after the night. I was eating again but the legs weren’t responding, they were like planks of wood and it took all my mental effort to move them. They did move, and the moved sufficiently but they didn’t flow. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t connect to the beast within and every step was a struggle. But there’s the point. I knew I would finish. There was absolutely no doubt that I would finish. I had a comfortable margin and all I had to do was to hang in and move towards the finish. That’s why the beast stayed hidden, he knew I didn’t need him.


The finish is Sparti eventually arrived and the Union Jack flag was thrust into my hand as I approached the finish line. The tunnel of people leading the way to Leonidas’s statue was lined with the carnage of runners that had failed, including many from the British team. They cheered me on all the same and then I remembered why I was here. Finishing the Spartathlon is always emotional. It takes so much out of you to get here that the ecstasy of touching and kissing leonidas’ foot are simply overwhelming, and of course the crowd goes wild every time someone finishes. The Spartathlon finish is simply the best finish in the world. Woolley 3, Spartathlon 2. Game set and match, and at 50 to boot!






Reflexions


The Spartathlon is the greatest footrace on Earth. This year I actually found Badwater tougher with the 55ºC heat but Spartathlon is still the greatest. Why? Because it just is, that’s why! It is impossible to explain and the only way you will ever know is to take part …. And finish. And that’s the rub. Most don’t. The physical demands on your body are enormous but the mental stress of the race is greater still. The race unleashes ancient demons that haunt the runners right from the very start and that do their very best to derail them. They usually win. It’s the battle with the demons that makes the Spartathlon so difficult and that make the finish so special as it means that you have beaten them in battle.


Many people have asked me what it takes to finish the Spartathlon, now that I have had 3 successive finishes. Well, that’s easy: Be like a Spartan warrior. No retreat, no surrender and be supremely fit. You will either return on your shield or with it. It really is as simple as that and any compromise on that philosophy will result in absolute failure. The only prize in Sparti is the finish.


As far as my crusade is concerned, I hope that I have set a good example to the students at school. I hope that they are starting to see age as a mind set issue rather than how many years you have been on the planet. Remember, you don’t stop running because you get old, you get old because you stop running.