Belfast 24 Hour 2024

Success is a relative term, isn’t it?

A noun with a cosmos of possible definitions:

A healthy salary?

The love of a significant other and, or children?

Everton winning the Premier League? (Though I suspect this final entry might be safer filed under “miracle”)

We are constantly driven by our desires for success and to succeed, often to the extent that little else makes much sense unless the criteria for “success” are met.

In running terms, success fundamentally takes the form of a finish line. A stake in the ground at a pre-determined distance in the future for all to hang their conditions for victory on. Others will, of course, supplement this primary goal with additional side quests, a new fastest time, a sub this or sub that, but none of those happen if you don’t first finish.

It’s something of a rarity then, for a race to offer entrants the chance to define success for themselves; and therein lies an interesting question: 

What determines running success for you? 

Perhaps more interestingly, is the success you define for yourself, easier, or harder to achieve?

Atlas Running’s Belfast 24 Hour event offers a chance to answer such questions.

This is a race with a simple format. Runners begin at noon on Saturday and have 24 hours to complete as many laps of Belfast’s Victoria Park (approximately 1.1miles) as they can, before the buzzer sounds at noon on the following Sunday.

Longer serving readers will recall that I actually ran this race for the first time last year finishing up with 125km. This previous result would serve as the benchmark for a successful run. If I could reach 126 kilometres this year, I’d go home happy. Beyond that, I’d really just hoped to build on last year’s experience and go as far as possible. 

Hopefully without any accidental naps this year…

Saturday 15th June, 9:45am

We arrived amid the stampede of Parkrunners waging their weekend war on the 5K distance. Victoria park has a reputation of being a fast, runnable course so if you’re into Parkrun and fancy a crack at a PB, I’d recommend a visit some Saturday.

Unloading the car, we headed for the area allocated for competitors to set up their respective race camps, a 300 metre stretch preceding the start of each lap which we’ll refer to as “The Pit Lane” from now on. True to it’s name, the air was filled with an anticipation and light a anxiety one would expect to find on a grand prix circuit. People coming and going with all sorts of supplies and equipment in an attempt to pre empt any and all emergencies that might occur while attempting to run around the clock twice. The missing aromas of burnt rubber and petrol replaced with Deep Heat and coffee.

With the help of a few club mates, we managed to set up the running club gazebo, which we’ll henceforth refer to as Club HQ.

Now, I don’t consider myself to be a particularly good runner by any stretch, but I am unreal at organising stuff, and I took great satisfaction in unloading and locating my gear, all of which was bagged and labelled accordingly, intentionally along the back wall of Club HQ.

With 30 minutes to go I collected my timing chip, a foam strap to be fixed around one’s ankle, and set about my final pre race rituals. At precisely just before noon, I made my way along the pit lane and reflected on the strategy I’d employ for the task at hand.

The plan was simply to relax and gauge my effort by my heart rate, rather than pace. In terms of fuelling, I’d stop on the hour every hour for fluids and food, adjusting as need be as the race developed and, very literally, following my gut. One of the most important aspects of training for an ultra is determining what works as fuel, since gels aren’t really going to cut it for such long durations of time. I had a wide variety of trusted foods to choose from, most of which were returning favourites from last year. Chicken and mayo sandwiches, Jaffa cakes and Haribo Star Mix the most notable sources I’d draw from.

Ready, Go Steady… 

The first quarter of the race was perfect. I felt completely calm, capable and confident. A light rain lined up and started with us, which was a welcome contrast to the searing heat faced at the start at last years event. We would soon be reminded of last year’s start though, as the clouds parted and the early evening sun threatened to make things a little uncomfortable.

By this stage, my fellow club mates, who were taking part in the 50K option of the day had started, and it was a welcome encouragement hearing them offer a few words as they periodically lapped me. Others had also very kindly came down to spectate and cheer us on, providing vital encouragement and distraction from the mundane.

I am quite often asked about what one thinks about during longer runs, specifically runs like this where the one mile loop denies a change of scenery. The truth is that, a lot of the time, I don't think. Yes, there is a sense focus and you’re monitoring your pace and how you feel physically but these, I would say, are programs running in the background. For the most part, I think it’s best described as ‘meditating on the move.’ I’m not thinking about how far I've ran or how far I've yet to run. I’m also not thinking about how well or poorly the run is going either.

My brain just switches off.

I am where I am.

So despite having a selection of podcasts and playlists on hand which I could use to distract myself, for long stretches of the day I found solace in my mind’s silence and simply relaxed into the rhythm of my footsteps on the pavement.

Round and round we ran as evening gave way to night. Many had now began to employ their own version of a walk / run rhythm. I myself had opted to walk the beginning to each lap until I reached the “summit” of the incline offered on the first half (which would, I’m convinced” increase in elevation as the night went on) before resorting to an easy run down to the lake’s edge and back to the line.

Crossing halfway, my watch read 80 kilometres, meaning I’d covered 50 laps of the park. Considering I’d managed 75 laps in total last year, it’s safe to say I was on for quite an improvement.

The early morning hours would afford me little time to revel in my improvements. This 3rd quarter would be the fiercest challenge mentally. My motivation had faded with the last of the daylight and what were once whispers of pain in my legs had given way to more pronounced protests.

Something happened at 100km that I still don’t really have an answer for. As I rose from the chair in Club HQ to begin the next hour of running, a sharp pain shot through my left knee, leaving it incredibly painful to move. My problems were now compounding as a scheduled sock change had unveiled some substantial blistering on the bottoms of my feet, meaning that walk or run, I would be stepping on them for the remainder of the race. It’s important to stay positive though, and so I decided to use these new pains as a distraction from the searing pain in my lower back I’d been chatting with since around 90km.

The solitude of those early morning hours force you to depend solely on your own self reliance. There are no cheers now to spur you on, just the relentless echo of your heartbeat in your ears and the sound of your feet scuffing the pavement below. Both of which insist that you do not falter in your pursuit of the goal that waits beyond the dark and the cold. Self doubt and despair will rob you of the illusions of comfort the daylight provides though and suddenly you’re left to shake hands with the rawest version yourself. This version will question if your goals are possible, among other lies.

“After all, it’s only a goal you set yourself, what does it matter?”

I knew that my club mates would appear around 11am, to watch the final hour and to bundle me into the car afterwards and bring me home. Had the guys arrived at 7am though, I’d have thrown in the towel and went home. The early morning battle in my mind and physical deteriorations had opened the floodgates to all the negative thoughts I’d battled to keep at bay.

Simply put, I was done.

My spirits began to rise with the morning sun though, and I decided I had come too far to only go this far. And so, with 6 hours to go, managing blisters and a ballooned knee (the morning light revealed quite a lot of swelling have occurred,) I steeled myself for the final quarter. Knowing that, if my tired mathematics were correct, I could hobble the rest of the way and finish the day with an improvement on last year’s distance. I would sporadically attempt to run again, but my body would quickly revolt and reprimand me with a jolt of pain for my efforts.

I arrived back in the pit lane at 11am to see the guys waiting. The mere presence of them lifted me no end. By now, I had matched last year’s distance. Mission accomplished. This last hour then was simply about getting what I could out of it, I’d come too far to not go out swinging.

I finished what would be my final lap with all of 2 minutes left on the clock, and 79 laps completed. The 130km covered meant I’d only beaten last year’s distance by a mere 5k, but it may as well have been a marathon.

The day had been a success. 

Running the longest run of your life is a universal sensation. It's feels exactly the same for those who run 100Km for the first time as it does for those who finish their first 10K. That's the great thing about running, there may be different levels of ability but the prizes on offer are the same for all.

Let’s bring this train into the station it left from then…

This had been, by the criteria I had set, a success. I set my stake and stepped forward to meet it. I’m having to cling hard to this simple fact though, because reflecting on the day, I have mixed emotions about it.

As well as surpassing my previous effort, I’d hoped the performance would leave me with an elevated sense of confidence and strength in my ability. 

The truth is, it’s left me feeling quite the opposite.

I have doubts… More than I had when I started quite honestly.

Doubts that have made me reconsider what I want from the rest of the year and the work I need to do before venturing this far from the start line again.

I think this run may well be proven to be a further success by the next race down the line, as it’s made me more aware of the gaps in my game. But for now, I’ll regroup and go again.

A word of thanks to the guys at Atlas Running for organising the event and hats off to everyone with who took part, here’s hoping the day was as all you aspired it would be.

The final words of this waffle are dedicated to my fellow club mates, whose performances in the 50K were nothing short of inspiring, and to all those who came to see us succeed.