Despite being hampered by having just the one arm, we catch up with John Allen who talks us through completing the Race to the Stones at the weekend – that’s 100km! 

 

Wow! After a few months of training, the day of the race arrived. Sadly, I was unable to soak up the atmosphere at the start line as a horrendous traffic jam leaving the M40 meant I missed my starting time and I was dropped off in the car park before getting to the start line just in time to tag on to the back of the wave behind my allotted one.

I was slightly disappointed not to get the opportunity to take some photos and it transpired there was also an opportunity to get a temporary tattoo on my arm showing the distances between aid stations, something which would have proved helpful during the run.

It was a pleasant little trot through the woods to checkpoint one, which was in a field, near the church in the delightful village of Swyncombe.

I had intended to video myself and upload it to Facebook while I was in the checkpoint, but I was disappointed to discover my phone only had 9% battery and while I was sat there, I couldn’t get the phone to take a charge from my battery pack. So, I threw it all back into my pack and set off for checkpoint two.

On route to checkpoint two, I passed a couple of runners, Debbie and Rachel, who knew a friend of mine who also runs a stupidly long way, Kirsty. I spent a very pleasant time walking through the woods while talking to them before setting off running again.

Checkpoint two was adjacent to the Springs Golf Club near Wallingford. By now it was approaching midday and it was getting warm.

I had a sit down and managed to get my phone charger to work, sorted out my drinks and grabbed a couple of slices of watermelon. Then I set off again with my sights set on an unofficial aid station where I hoped to meet my mother and father.

On the approach to Goring, the route passes through a village called South Stoke. Adjacent to this road is a charming pub called ‘The Perch and Pike”. As I approached there were a few people congregated by the benches outside the front, cheering on the runners.

They seemed a little surprised when I veered off and entered the pub. Inside, while waiting for my pint to be poured, I had a chat with an elderly gentleman, who seemed rather surprised that people would pay to run 62 miles and even more surprised that a highly trained athlete, attempting such a feat, would stop for a pint on the way.

I then returned outside to encourage my fellow runners. I struck up a conversation with the group outside, who it turns out were waiting for a friend to run past. Their friend was running the 50k option, so they were quite surprised that I was running the whole 100k, non-stop, and I still found the time to stop in a pub.

My parents then arrived, my mother gave me some homemade flapjack and I resumed my quest, overtaking some of the runners who had been surprised to see a runner cheering them on from a pub garden a few minutes before.

As I ran through the streets of Goring, I struck up a conversation with a lady called Donna, and as we seemed to be moving at the same pace we stuck together until the next checkpoint, checkpoint 3.

It was here that I first had to attend to a ‘hot spot’ appearing on my left heel. This is a precursor to a blister and it’s really a good idea to sort them out as soon as they make their presence known.

I agreed to run with Donna to the next checkpoint and in fact, we stayed together for the rest of the race. Donna is from Devon, in her mid 40s, had suffered a stroke early some years before but had fought back to fitness and started to run marathons but she also suffered from ME and fibromyalgia. She showed immense determination to even get to the start line.

The next checkpoint was number 4, was in a car park, just north of the village of West Illsley on top of the Wessex Downs. Up here, it was a little blowy and exposed but there were beautiful views across to Didcot Power Station. By now, I had gone over marathon distance but I was still feeling ok. I had completed 26.2 miles in my second worst time of around 7 hours.

Checkpoint 5 was the halfway point. There was a hot meal there. It was quite disheartening in a way. Although I had signed up for a 100km race, there were other options, including staying overnight at the 50km point, then finishing it the following day, or just stopping at 50km.

I was a little jealous of those who had stopped at 50km, they were wandering around the camp, medals on display, wearing flip flops and buying themselves celebratory beers.

Completing a 50km trail ultramarathon is no mean feat. I was less jealous of those doing another 50km the next day. The campsite was on an exposed ridge – it’s not called the Ridgeway for nothing – and I couldn’t think of anything worse than sleeping in a tent after a day’s running then getting up the following morning and doing the whole thing again.

While I was at checkpoint 5, I availed myself of the pasta meal, changed my socks and attended to my blisters that were now developing on both heels. I also convinced Donna to carry on for a bit longer as she didn’t think she’d be able to finish.

Checkpoint 6 was on a road called Gramp’s Hill, south of a village called Letcombe Bassett, in prime race horse training country. Sadly, my hooves were beginning to let me down – my left heel had a huge blister on it, which again, I dressed.

This checkpoint had the added bonus of providing “Skittles” to eat, one of my favourite sweets. This provided me with a much needed morale boost. At this checkpoint there were two runners who didn’t look like they were going any further.

One was in a in the medical tent having an ankle examined, the other lying down in a silver blanket with medics feeding him and giving him hot drinks. I’ve had to drop out of events before and I know what a devastating blow it can be after all the training and build up to the race.

After checkpoint 6, Donna and I caught up with another lady, Angie. Angie was pretty much walking, but she appeared to be a powerwalking whizz kid. Donna and I would run (admittedly, very slowly by this stage) the flat bits and the downhill sections and every time we got to a hill Angie would catch up. It was dusk now, and we could see a beautiful sunset over the Wiltshire countryside.

Checkpoint 7 was at 66km, roughly 2/3rds of the way. It was now head torch time. I had always said I wouldn’t run after dark as it was too risky with uneven ground underfoot, I’d go over on an ankle and break something and that would obviously spell the end of the event for me. Donna was again, seriously considering giving up. I tried my best to convince her to stay with it.

The next checkpoint was only about 7km away and I was sure she could make it. After this checkpoint, Donna and I walked with Angie as we naturally fell in to each other’s pace, although with Angie’s extraordinary powerwalking skills, Donna did sometimes drop off the pace occasionally.

It was on this section that I saw two friendly faces. Firstly, there was a lovely friendly, smiley, happy lady called Annmarie. I knew her from sight as we had done various running challenge events organised by Saxon, Viking & Normans Marathons and Challenges.

I thought she was a regular ultramarathoner but it turned out she was about to beat her longest ever distance, and when she got to the relevant distance marker (I think it was 73km) I took her photo. I saw her a few times in this section of the race as she kept meeting her support crew at the checkpoints.

Shortly after this I experienced the biggest surprise of my event. Donna, Angie and I were walking alongside a road in deepest, rural, Wiltshire when Donna said “Isn’t that a member of your running club?” and pointed at a chap stood by a car wearing what was indeed a Rebel Runners – Medway top.

My friend and regular running partner, Graham Smith, had driven all the way from Kent with his wife, Natalie and their two children, dropped the children off at a relatives and gone looking for me on the route. They’d already missed me once due to the unreliability of the tracker I had but had waited ages on the side of the road near a village called Foxhill looking out for little old me.

Graham had come fully equipped with many supplies but the only thing I could face were a couple of Jaffa Cakes. I was in a poor state by now. I don’t think I’d eaten enough at the aid stations and I felt sick. Normally, I would jump at the chance of a milkshake as offered by Graham but I just couldn’t face it.

As I arrived at Checkpoint 8, I looked right as I crossed the road, and saw, to my surprise, my mother’s car. I went up to her side window, knocked on it, rather surprising mother and had a quick chat.

She had driven down from our hotel in Swindon as I had mentioned problems with my feet and she had some spare socks. In retrospect I should’ve changed my socks then, but didn’t as I really couldn’t be bothered anymore, I just wanted to keep moving towards the finish. Donna was talking about quitting again, and as she was staying in the same hotel, I offered her the chance of a ride back with my mother, while still pointing out the folly of quitting so close to the end.

Angie’s husband was also at checkpoint 8. Their hotel was in the nearby village of Ogbourne St George. We now had just over 20km to go and the next checkpoint was just under 9km away.

Checkpoint 9 was at Barbury Castle, an Iron Age hill fort overlooking Swindon. I’m sure it’s rather picturesque in the day time but at 2am on a Sunday morning when you’ve run and walked 88km and still have another 12km to go its appeal is somewhat lessened.

I had a quick restock of supplies, should’ve eaten something but couldn’t bring myself to, should’ve sorted my feet out, but could bring myself to look at the mess my feet were becoming.

The bit from checkpoint 9 to the finish was horrific. My chest torch failed so I was reliant on my head torch, which is ok, but it’s not what I trained with and it’s not as bright. The last 5km before Avebury was incredibly rutted where 4x4s have been greenlining in the winter mud and then it’s dried up in the summer when vehicles are banned and the ruts were huge, deep and uneven.

Even in the daylight I would have been unable to run. By now, I was incredibly fatigued, and due to my poor nutrition regime, I was low on fuel. I didn’t drink enough because the effort of getting my water bottle in and out of my running vest was just too much.

At one point, a moth was attacking my head torch, and I was having a heated argument with it. Eventually, what seemed like a millennia later, we reached the outskirts of Avebury and a road. This is the sting in the tail of Race to the Stones. You travel along this road, past the track that takes you to the finish, and continue to Avebury Stone Circle. Then you go back along the road turn off towards the farm. It’s about 1km from the road to the finish line. Donna, suddenly invigorated by the finish line managed to run over the line.

Angie carried on walking, as did I, however Angie at least had the good grace to look happy when she finished. I just felt empty and broken. My official finish photograph is awful and shows me looking at my phone at what should’ve been my moment of glory.

After being presented with my medal, I used my emergency £20 note to buy myself a t shirt. The organisers like you to pre-order it, and despite the race costing well over £100 to enter you have to pay extra. I don’t like to pre-order these things as it seems like tempting fate and I fear I won’t finish. I then went to the hot food stall for my free meal.

By now, mentally, I was finished. It was 5am. I hadn’t had proper food since 50km at about 5pm. I had walked 50km since then. The people in the queue didn’t even look like competitors, just people waiting for friends or family to finish.

They then started having a conversation with the staff serving the food. I decided I couldn’t wait for them to finish their conversation, flounced off in a huff and got mother to drive me back to the hotel and went to bed. I didn’t take any photos at the finish.

I woke up two hours later, went to the hotel restaurant, and had two full cooked breakfasts. And some croissants. Quite a lot of croissants actually. And some more sausages, bacon, egg and mushrooms.

I finished 821st out of 1121 finishers, my total time was 20 hours, 23 minutes and 16 seconds. I completed the first 50k in 8 hours, 34 minutes and 2 seconds. There were 146 runners who did not finish the race. I really feel for them, as it must be so hard to train for a big event like this and not finish. They still had the guts to start it though. I don’t think I’ll be going quite so far again – I enjoyed the event, it was well organised and very friendly, but the distance has done too much damage to me. I may be tempted to do 50k events but I think this was a step too far. But, as I’m clearly an easily led buffoon, anything is possible.

I’d like to say thank you to my family and friends who have supported me in this act of folly. My wife Wendy for putting up with an even more absent husband than normal, my children, Harry, Lydia, Sam and Dan. My running club, Rebel Runners – Medway for providing a friendly and supportive club where people get encouraged to achieve the impossible and to the people who spent most time with me on my training runs – Stephen Chandler, Victoria Whitlock, Graham Smith & Gemma McSweeney.

Thank you also to everyone who has donated to the charity I raised money for. So far, I have raised nearly £1500 for the Oliver Fisher Special Care Baby Trust. If you wish to donate to reward me for performing such a foolish act, please click on the link below to donate on line.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/john-allen35