Previous races - Race to the Stones 2022

I wasn’t actually supposed to be doing Race to the Stones. Last year I’d attempted Race to the Castle, organised by the same bunch, as my first attempt at 100km, and it had gone rather pear-shaped. Northumberland decided to have a sulk in the middle of June, and threw north winds and driving rain at us all day- and I simply hadn’t prepared properly. RTTC ended for me at pitstop 5 64km in, wearing everything I was carrying and still so chilled through that it took me 10 minutes to complete the last few hundred metres to the feedstation, where Paul picked up the pieces.

Somewhat disliking having not got over the line, I re-entered Race to the Castle for 2022 as soon as entries opened. Unfortunately, then Northumberland pulled its second trick, and we got the winter storms that decimated the Kielder forests through which the first half of the RTTC route goes. Unfortunately, the Forestry Commission could give Threshold Trail no guarantees that the paths would be clear by June - and without those guarantees, the event could not go ahead. I was therefore offered either a refund or a switch to another event, and picked Race to the Stones.

In the same way as the Castle route followed St. Oswalds Way, the Race to the Stones follows the Ridgeway. I’d never been in that part of the world much, but had heard others describe it as a great place to walk. These were all understatements - it was just beautiful.

So the usual for a long event - hotel the night before in a Premier Inn in High Wycombe. They were setting us off in waves, and for some reason I was in the last wave, leaving just before 9am, which was highly civilised by the standards of these thing and meant I actually got a proper breakfast in the hotel. The start line was in a field at Lewknor, just east of Oxford. We had the usual spiel from the organisers, accompanied by a very bad mime to the song “Wrecking Ball”, and then were on our way.

I had mostly recovered from the Wall three weeks previously, but the only outstanding niggle was my left ankle - it had got swollen, and taken quite a while to go down. I’d run a couple of short distances between the two, but it still wasn’t quite right. My logic was to run until it started to make its presence felt, and then if I was walking the rest of the way it was a nice day to do a very nice walk. I was less worried about any finish time than I was about enjoying the day and completing the event. Ankle was fine to start with, so I was off in an ultra-plod along the fields.

Compared with the Wall, which is 80% tarmac, this was a true trail route - it was probably about 10% road if that. Its very much field paths and pastureland - England’s green and pleasant lands, as someone said. If you want true adventure and craggy peaks, this isn’t it. If you want field runs through arable and farmland, seeing the occasional bird of prey and views of more of the same for miles in both directions, this certainly is.

The early miles were fields up and down some hills, and the first pitstop at 9km came up soon enough on top of a hill (this would become a theme). Threshold Trail had warned us that, for claimed environmental reasons, all feedstations would be vegan only. For the first one, this hardly mattered - I grabbed a cereal bar, but the key thing was going to be hydration that day.

The day was forecast to hit 25C, and did so from fairly early on. It was also full sunshine - we didn’t see a cloud until much later in the day - and for most of the route, there was no cover (see under “Ridgeway” - the clue is in the name). From some experience running in these sort of conditions, I know that you need not just water, but something isotonic to replace the salts you are sweating out. Fortunately, Threshold trail are sponsored by High 5, and their Zero tablets, my normal isotonic drink, were available at every water station. One tablet in each bottle, and full up. At that first water station, it was Pink Grapefruit. Booo - I prefer the citrus. Even though both flavours are probably just E numbers. A lot of people were just staying on the water, though - more on that later.

The next part of the route was back into fields descending from the hill. This was a bit they advertise as something to look forward to - the “Field of Dreams”. Kevin Costner probably wouldn’t have liked it - it was a bit short of baseball, but made up for it with an excess of wheat fields just about ready for harvest. Sting’s “Fields of Gold” came very much to mind. There was a photographer there to record us - the picture is now one of my favourites, as unusually for a running photo it was taken somewhere flat and early enough in the event that I was smiling and it didn’t look as if I was trying to find a ditch to die quietly in, as many of my photos do. The photographer was distracted by the wheeling kites above enjoying the thermals and looking for prey - shrews, voles, slow-moving ultrarunners, that sort of thing.

Across a big road - which at least was at the stage where I could still move at a reasonable speed - and the route went on down into a wooded area. A sign said that this was called Grim’s Ditch - I was glad that it was early enough in the day for that to be funny rather than descriptive. It was a nice woodland run, although the number of tree roots poking into the path meant you had to be careful, and a few people became grimmer than they would have preferred. The shade was nice, as although this was only 11am the sun was already strong. The second pitstop came up fast after that, with the same procedure - but this one had High 5 Citrus! Woooo! (it doesn’t take much to please an ultrarunner).

A mile or so after that, and several signs and my watch indicated a left turn. Bearing in mind that straight on was the Thames in about 6 feet, it was one of the more unnecessary signs so far. That took me onto a riverside path, and Andy waiting for us, having been forced to read a book in the sun for an hour or so. There was plenty of river activity, both river boats going by and swimmers, SUPpers and canoeists enjoying the weather. Everything was going well, so I left Andy - I headed off along the river, and she headed off to Basildon Park for a cooler wander around and lunch.

Up to this point the Ridgeway had been entirely trail, but it now joined with the Thames Path to follow the road alongside the river for a while. Fortunately, nothing too busy, so no problems, and we passed a few families of supporters who were happy to cheer everyone along while waiting for their family member to appear. One mum whose two kids yelled out “Keep going!” and “You’re doing great!” was clearly taking it as an education opportunity - as I passed I heard her telling them “now, we need to learn some more encouraging words”. I knew a few I could have suggested, but decided that “DBS” was probably not in the National Curriculum vocabularly for that age, and desisted.

One of the fun parts of an ultra is that you’re moving at a speed where you can chat to people you are passing (or, more frequently, who are passing you). Sometimes its a couple of lines, sometimes you can put the world to rights for several miles. On the river section, I passed a clown, which was less usual. I usually admire anyone doing a race for charity in fancy dress, as such costumes really aren’t designed with running in mind, but anyone doing an ultra on a day like this one is utterly mad. I could only be impressed as I passed her, and said so.

That took us to Goring, where we crossed the bridge and left the river behind. They provided an extra water station between feedstations at Streatley the other side of the bridge, which was very welcome - major kudos to Threshold Trail for these, as there were a few of them during the hot part of the day and they meant you could drink more freely without needing to be aware of how far away the next pitstop was. We ran along the road through Streatley, past all the cars queueing to get past each other - the road is narrow, and the double-yellow lines ignored comprehensively, which meant that running was far quicker than driving at this point.

The good news after Streatley was that we got off the tarmac at last. The bad news for me was that my ankle was starting to make its presence felt - I knew it was going to happen at some point, as I just hadn’t had enough time to let it recover after the Wall. I had two choices - keep running and risk it taking me out completely, or drop to a walk and go for completing. Not a difficult decision. Not that it made a lot of difference immediately, because the only way now was up.

The Ridgeway has a few bits where you seem to be going up forever. Its not that its particularly steep, but its just never-ending. Unless you are at the mountain goat end of ultra-running, most people walk the uphills anyway - the extra effort required to run them just isn’t worth the minimal time gains you get as a result in a long event. But this one went on for miles. At about the point I was wondering where the snow line would come, I turned a corner and a noisy team from Cancer Research welcomed us into pitstop 3. A bit more choice of food there - they had sandwiches. Vegan cheese sandwiches. Since I know of no-one, including a couple of vegans, who have anything nice to say about vegan cheese, I passed and went back to the cereal bars. There were 8 varieties in total, and I was starting to know them. At the same time, it was getting more difficult to actually taste any difference between them. Still High 5 Citrus, though. All good.

A nice ridge walk followed - we’d done the climb, and mostly stayed high for a bit. Views in both directions, and an odd monument with no sign that I could see - either the guy who built the trig points had got a bit carried away, or someone had wanted an anonymous grave with a really good view. On top of the world as we were, there was no escape from the sun, but at least a bit of breeze, and I was still walking but moving well - probably pretty much as fast as I would have at a slow run. It was a relaxed hour or so until I got to the half way point - which Threshold for some reason call “base camp”. 

You can do Race to the Stones either as a straight-through event, or in two days with an overnight camp. There were rows of identical tents set up in regimented rows at base camp for the two-day folks - it looked like a highly organised Glastonbury. Quite a few people had finished their day 1 by the time I got there, and were making all the through-runners feel much better by sitting around drinking beer. I decided that really wasn’t going to help my ability to get through the next 50km, and decided to use the base camp option of a hot meal instead - I’d been going 7 hours, and it felt like a while since breakfast. This was a mistake - the vegan cheese pasta I was served was possibly the most tasteless stodge I have ever had. It was so tasteless I poured salt all over it, and it became salty stodge. I left basecamp with the feeling that it was still coating the roof of my mouth.

Fortunately, the wonderful Andy was waiting a mile or so further on with some non-Threshold trail rations, which included a pork pie. Definite improvement. I also took the opportunity to add some kit to my pack for the evening - there was no sign of the heat waning, but I knew that nights when you are tired can suddenly get very cold to be out in - and do a sock change, presenting Andy with the old ones, for which she thanked me. I felt I was moving well, so moved along the Ridgeway - she departed on the low road, which would definitely get her to our B&B at the finish line afore me. Our combined photos of the day at this point show golden evening shots of fields from me, and a nice meal at an Avebury pub from her. Even honours there, I think.

When planning the route, Threshold try and space the pitstops out fairly evenly - but obviously they need to be able to get a van or two to the site to carry all the equipment and supplies needed. This had mostly worked, but checkpoint 5 was stretching their abilities - in the end, we had to divert off the road onto a field edge path for half a mile or so to get to it, and then come back the same way. I know the distance was included in the total, and with the need to replenish drink stocks you couldn’t have missed it out, but it was dispiriting to go so far off the route knowing that you needed to come all the way back. It was also a very uneven and little-used path, and my feet started to let me know that they’d been going for a while.

I took a quick 5-minute sit down at pitstop 5 to finish the bag of pretzels I’d grabbed, and joined a couple of other runners in the shade of the portaloo - not top real estate to sit in from an aromatic point of view, but the shade felt good. We were joined by a runner in a bad way - he was wobbly, and commented that he’d been trying to drink more water but just couldn’t. All three of us sitting down looked at each other and said “salt” - the guy had been sweating salts and water from his body, and only replacing the water. Hyponatremia, if you want the posh name (and yes, I had to Google that while writing this). We tried to get some salty snacks into him, but his stomach wasn’t having it - and at that point we caught a marshal’s eye and pointed to the medical tent, and handed him over to their care. Although I’d known about the reasons for keeping on the isotonic drinks, it was the first time I’d seen them demonstrated so clearly in front of me. I hope he was OK, and I’d love to think he recovered and was able to complete the course - I know the feeling of baling at this point in an event. Happy that he was in good hands, I refuelled my pack - pink grapefruit this time, but after what I’d just seen I wasn’t being picky - and started the trip back to the Ridgeway path.

The early evening was more up and down through the fields, but still warm. We went past the Uffington White Horse, but unfortunately too close to it to actually see it, and crossed the M4. It had become a little more mechanical by now - keep moving, keep relaxed, keep drinking, try to keep eating. Solid food was getting harder, but I had some Clif Bloks, which look and taste like cubes of jelly and are very easy to swallow. I met Andy at the wonderfully named Ogbourne St. George, which sounds like the name of the Lord of the Manor in a period drama, and picked up some more supplies and support. I still felt I was moving well, and the predicted time on my watch had me finishing at about 2am, which I was very happy with. I left Andy heading for the finish to meet me there, and picked up the next feedstation - really not much more than refilling the drinks at this stage, as I was carrying enough food to get me through.

There was a fairly nasty bit of busy road to walk along after feedstation 6, but it didn’t last long, and then threw me back into a field. Not for long, though, that had clearly been a way of just getting us off the road, and we need to climb out again through the ditch to cross the road to the path on the other side. And I couldn’t get out of the ditch - my legs just wouldn’t push me up the bank after 70km. It was sad to the point of being funny, and plain unfair - I ended up crawling up on hands and knees. I got to my feet, tried to give the impression to the road marshal that I’d done that deliberately - a rare species of moss, or vole watching, or something, and crossed the road.

And another hill. This was the last of the biggies, and another three miles of pretty much constant ascent - very pretty, particularly with the sun mostly down now, but you can have too many pretty hills in one day. We’d left the wheat fields behind - this was sheep country now, as was obvious from the various presents lying around. It was also getting darker, and time to break out the head torch - I’d intended to do that at the last station, but forgotten. There was a good moon, and in general you could see where you were going, but the shadows of the ruts in the path meant that you couldn’t see where you were putting your feet down, and with tired ankles my balance was not what it was. This wasn’t a good time for a fall.

The moon also wasn’t a lot of use in letting people spot you, and I was glad of my rear light when a couple of motorbikes came up the route. Some of the Ridgeway is not just a bridleway but allows motor traffic for the summer months - we’d seen a procession of Land Rovers earlier - and getting run over by a motorbike wasn’t in my race finish strategy. They slowed down for me, passed me and roared off.

At this point I also broke out my borrowed headphones - they were Andy’s, and of the bone conductor type where you can still hear what is going on while still listening to music. I’ve only started doing that on longer routes recently, and only really at night, when there’s less chance of chatting to people. It hadn’t worked for some reason, but it worked here, and gave me a little more spring to my step, which was getting increasingly unspringy.

It had been such a good day that it was always going to go wrong at some point, and at about 15km from the finish it did. Two things happened - I started to blister up, which meant that the uneven and rocky surface really started to hurt as my feet were never given a chance to go down flat. And my head torch batteries decided to die - I realised that I’d never replaced them after the Wall. I was carrying a spare set, but I knew that if I tried to switch them in the dark the odds of me dropping one of the new ones into the long grass were high, and I’d never find it again. The moon was still high, so I decided to try and make it to the final feedstation where I could do the job in the light. It did mean that my feet got worse quickly, as although I could see my direction I no longer had any idea where I was putting my feet down, and I was constantly stumbling. The speed dropped off, and it was now going to be a case of just slogging it in. I turned the music up in the headphones and stumbled on, with the occasional yelp when my feet twisted and landed on one of a collection of blisters I was building up.

While the moon was up, this all worked, but the last km into feedstation 7 was helpfully through a wooded track, and I couldn’t see a thing, even with fairly decent night sight. I resorted to using my phone as a torch, and this high-tech ultrarunning solution got me into the checkpoint, to the amusement of the marshals. I’d been intending to go for a quick turnround - the finish was now only 12km away - but the job list had gone up, and it took a little longer.  A nice marshal sorted my torch out for me - if you’ve been running or walking for a long time, the blood tends to run to the ends of your hands and you end up with “banana fingers” - not the slightest problem, unless you happen to be trying to install 3 AAA batteries the right way round in a head torch, and I wasn’t doing too well on my own. The later night, and my slower speed, also meant I swapped out my top for a sleeved one to stay warm. After all that faffing, I did at least remember to refill the bottles for the last time (can’t remember whether citrus or grapefruit. Didn’t care by then. If you are keeping score, sorry), and off on the last lap.

I was well into the pain cave now, and the rutted track was exactly what my feet didn’t need - even with the head torch working properly, there just wasn’t a good route and every step hurt. In daylight, with fresh feet, it would have been a nice walk, but at the point I was now it was just something to get through. Downhills were the worst - your weight is thrown onto the front of your feet just where the blisters are, and there was one painful descent in this bit that took me forever. One foot in front of the other now, but eventually the field ruts turned into a proper track, to my great relief, and we started the final approach into Avebury.

The race is called “Race to the Stones” after the amazing stone circles at Avebury where you finish, but 3am is not the best time in the world to examine them. Normally, the runners are permitted to run through a loop actually past the Stones at the finish, but this year the local council had decided that this wasn’t allowed (despite it being open to public access) and the race route just turned round and went back down the road after giving you a sight of the stones. Another Facebook commenter called it the “Race to the Cone”. The marshalls who were still managing to be enthusiastic at 3am took a quick photo of me with a lit stone in the background to prove I’d finally got there, and then it was back down the road, across a field and up to the finish line at a farm. 3:14am, 100km, 18 hours and 24 minutes. For all the pain of the last 10km, that really had been a grand day out.