South Coast Challange 2022 (100KM)

Why do people run?

It’s a simple question with an infinity, I’ll bet, of profoundly different answers.

But still, why do people run? What drives them? What makes it worth their while to get up and get out in the early hours, in the wind or the rain? For some it’s to lose weight, for others it’s a bucket list distance goal and for others it’s to maintain a general level of fitness.

Philosopher Friedrich Nietzche once said “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how” and I think the same sentiment stands in support of running.

With a good enough reason why you run, it can be simple but it must be strong, to you, at least… You can run as far as you want to. Those reasons are what drive your feet forward when its pitch black but for your head-torch. You’re tired, cold, sore and craving a Dairylea Dunker along with other dairy based snacks you haven’t had since you ten years old.

The more interesting idea for me though, is how far can those reasons push a person? And this actually forms a fair portion of my answer to the initial question.

How far can I go? 

Where is my limit, physically and mentally?

Over the course of my running journey (so far,) I’ve realised that my limit isn’t a marathon. It isn’t 50Km, it isn’t even 40 miles ran exclusively on a beach (although I must confess, it’s been two years and I’m yet to return to said beach, or any in fact.)  But as I was considering what this year’s running calendar might look like, I realised that although I was constantly pushing my run distance ever further - it felt like I was playing it safe. I wanted to sign up for a distance that would genuinely give me cause for doubt in the same way my first marathon did.

I knew I could run 40 miles but could I run further?

Could I run a marathon further?

Enter the South Coast Challenge. A 100Km run starting in Eastbourne, England, running along the South Downs Way coastline and finishing in the town of Arundel. This race was actually my first ultra. Runners have the option to run the first ‘half’ (57km) instead of the entire challenge, which I did in 2019. So it felt fitting that I’d attempt what felt like a signifiant running milestone at the course where I first ventured beyond the marathon distance.

With the race being on Saturday I arrived in Eastbourne on the preceding Thursday evening. The plan was then to have an easy day on Friday where I could go collect my race pack and buy any last minute things I’d need for the Saturday morning start (principally water and Wine Gums.) Beyond that, it also allowed me time to lay and re-lay all my kit out about 8 or 9 times and sit by the pier with a coffee, reflecting on why and how I’d landed on the edge of England preparing to run for dear knows how long (there wasn’t a goal time - the aim of the game was merely to finish.)

Saturday 3rd Sept, 04:30am

An early start. 

My registered start time was 7:00am, with the transfer bus to the start line running from 6am onwards. Naturally, I figured it would make life easiest if I was on the first bus out. And so, at half 4 in the morning, I rose, got my kit on, went over my food calculations for the first half of the course, finessed the contents of the drop bag that I’d get access to at half way and left the hotel. I arrived at the pick up point outside Eastbourne station in good time, checked in with the organisers there to greet us and waited.

And waited. And waited…

At around 7:20, the organisers, who had been talking amongst themselves and making nervous phone calls, announced to all waiting that the bus driver had phoned in sick and that although said bus was on the way, they couldn’t say how long he’d be. Totally not their fault, but not the relaxing beginning I’d planned to what was already sure to be a testing day. Luckily, some of my fellow competitors, who were in the same predicament, had already called a taxi. So I was able to jump in with them and we all split the fare.

We arrived just as the 7:00 am of runners left the holding pen, safe to say I was late. The organisers were fine with this though and advised us to just join the next wave at 7:30 and we’d be on the our way. I dropped off my bag, made some final stretches and decided I was ready.

After a short safety briefing, the battle horn sounded and we set off into a cool, misty morning. Golden rays greeted the trees and the long, dewy grass kissed our calves as we ascended from Eastbourne to meet first of the Seven Sisters. This was simultaneously perfect running weather and a veiled warning of the mid morning heat to come. 

Perfect running weather…

True to its word, by mid morning, the sun was out in full force and the steep coastal inclines felt even steeper, a sensation I didn’t think was possible. Constant glances at my watch showed I was struggling to keep my heart rate at the manufacturer’s recommendation, an obvious indicator that I was working harder than would have been ideal at this early stage.

Slightly worried at the level of fatigue I was currently feeling, I arrived at the first aid station. I refilled my water bottles, had a stroopwafel, grabbed some star mix for the road and set off again. My main rule on this adventure was to take whatever time I needed in the aid stations but no more than that, and no matter what, I would not sit down for sitting down’s sake, because I knew that it would get increasingly more difficult to stand up again.

At this point I should probably lay a few words to my fuelling strategy for this challenge. My fuel sources consisted of, honey and sea salt gels, my usual caffeine running gels, wine gums (obviously) and stroopwafels (you know, like the ones you get in coffee shops.) Of the two water bottles in the front of my vest, I added a tailwind electrolyte mix to one, and the other was just water. I knew from my training runs that I could comfortably stomach around 200-250 calories an hour, which equated to a stroopwafel and a gel every hour, with a handful of wine gums for good measure. I’d also written down the calorie amounts of each fuel source on a piece of paper that I kept in my race vest, for the later stages of the race when my tired brain wouldn’t be able to manage simple addition.

(I should also commend the race organisers at this point because each and every aid station we visited along the course was first class. The amount of drinks and snacks on offer was fantastic as well as plenty of medical facilities for anyone who found themselves in bother.)

The hills subsided and I was making good progress along a narrow tow path until our pace was brought to a rather surprising halt. We got stuck behind a cow. Now, for those that were in any doubt, cows do not have a great top speed, and with some persuasion, she obliged in heading our way until she eventually found a lay-by to pull into and let the traffic past. She looked a bit embarrassed by we assured her she did no harm.

Two aid stations later, I fell in with a guy who was running the first half - his first ultra marathon. We discussed the state of our respective football teams (Fulham in his case, Everton for me) as we descended from the cliffs and into Brighton. Although it was the second time I’d faced it, the long lunchtime run along Brighton promenade felt like it would never end. But on the plus side, there wasn’t a Brexit protest this time - not that that meant there were any less people. Brighton Pier on a sunny Saturday really seems like the place to be.

By the time we reached the “halfway” point at 57km - I was beginning to really struggle with the heat. My mouth was dry, and my head and stomach were starting to feel funny. I decided to head straight for the food tent and inhaled a plate of pasta that I had doused in salt. Almost instantly I was a new man. I changed my socks and shirt (instantly feeling fresher,) restocked my vest with gels and snacks and said goodbye to my drop bag, determined to make our finish line rendezvous.

When “only a marathon to go” is cause for celebration

Climbing the hills out of Brighton and back onto the South Downs Way, I was entering what would prove to be, mentally at least, the hardest stage of the race. By now, the runners were all separated out along the route, leaving me with plenty of lonely miles to chip away at. I was starting to feel sore now as well as still contending with the energy-sapping heat. This is the moment in every long distance run when one must begin to lean heavily on those reasons that got them in this predicament in the first place. Remember your ‘why’ and let it carry you forward. I took a moment of reflection as I passed the 64km sign - this was now the longest run of my life, regardless of whatever happens.

It was now proving difficult to block out the amplified pounding of my feet on the unforgiving footpaths. The pavement sections of the course were now the most uncomfortable to run on and it was a relief to finally ascend from city footpaths and back onto softer ground.

Departing from the 80km aid station, I met a guy I’d ran with earlier in the day and we decided, seeing as we were now moving at a similar pace and it was starting to get dark, that we would see out the final stage of this journey together. By now, our energy levels were fading hand in hand with the September sunlight and, mercifully, the air began to cool. Now it was a case of run where you could and refuel on the inclines and overly technical sections.

Psychologically, running through the dusk and into the darkness was very tough. As the day’s light dies, your body starts to get ready for bed and despite having a head-torch on, your eyes get tired as they strain to see through the night. The course route was now illuminated by little glow sticks attached to the arrow signs that shone a Fitzgerald-esque green light in the dark.

We were reduced to walking by the time night fell. This prolonged our pain in many ways, but it also reignited my confidence. Although I couldn’t run any more, I knew that no matter what, at this pace, I would see the finish line. It was simply a matter of time. Conversations covered during our mentally exhausted march through the darkness included who the greatest footballers of all time were, previous events we’d ran around the world and how great the new Top Gun was.

90Km. Now tired beyond conversation, we spent what brain and willpower we had left on the lookout for the little green light from a glow stick in the darkness ahead. For those who haven’t read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel ‘The Great Gatsby,’ the green light represents Gatsby’s hopes and dreams for the future and it’s hard not to feel like we were living on a similar hope as we waded further into the black. My thoughts at this time were simple but strong:

“Am I at my limit?.. Can I take another step?.. 

The answer was always yes and so that’s what I did…

“I’m uncomfortable but I’m fine, I’m moving forward…”

The final mental test was the missing 99km sign which, we learnt at the finish, had fallen down. Believe me when I tell you, that final kilometre feels long enough never mind not knowing when it begins. And when you’re that tired and sore, it’s hard to trust you’re still going the right way, even though there only was one way to go. Our faith was soon rewarded though as glimpses of the finish line lights began to wink at us through the trees. We emerged from the darkness into the light of the football ground where the finish line was waiting. We managed an enthusiastic shuffle, which honestly felt like 5K pace, to see us up the home straight and over the line.     

It didn’t occur to me that it was 1am until I turned to take this photo…

I finished the 2022 South Coast Challenge at precisely just before 1am in a time of 17:22:42.

I’ve spent four weeks trying to articulate that finishing feeling and, at this stage, I’m not sure it’s within me. The best I can say is that it’s a tranquil feeling of exhausted euphoria. Anyone who even starts a 100km run has to do so with the dream, the hope, that it can be done. That they can do it. And it’s that feeling; the feeling when you cross the finish line, stop your watch and realise that this dream you gave the chance of reality, this mountain you backed yourself to be able to climb, this really physically and mentally demanding thing that you decided you could do, well you’ve just did it. You completed it because you deemed it doable. You deemed it doable, and then you struggled and you did it… That feeling is beyond words, for me at least. I guess you’ll have to sign up for one and experience it for yourself…

(Side Note: I’m going to low-key congratulate myself for sticking with this little corner of the internet for 10 episodes of waffle. 

And if you’re here, having read all ten, thank you. 

But also, what are you doing? Go be productive.

But also also, I’d appreciate any feedback you may have… Thoughts on which one you think is best, or any writing feedback in general would be lovely. And if it’s your first time here, welcome… I hope it was insightful, motivating and above all else interesting and enjoyable.)