Peaking too soon, losing my focus, being a wimp – call it what you want; the plain hard truth was that in 2007 I had a problem with finishing long events and learnt some things about myself that I wasn’t too comfortable with.

So it was that what started out as a purely speculative entry in the HURT100 race in Hawaii assumed a far greater significance. Last summer, training in Colorado for Hardrock I was chatting to a few ultra-running friends from the US who told me about the delights of the HURT100 and how tough the course was. They said they thought I could do well at the event because I love rough trail and lots of climb. Well, putting an entry in was easy.

A few days later and I found myself leading the field at Hardrock, my 4^th time on that course and loving the mountain experience. A few hours later and I was out of the race – a combination of stupid mistakes; getting caught up in someone else’s race and discovering that I didn’t have the motivation and mental strength to carry on to a worse time or lower position that I have achieved before when it started to get hard. Over the following weeks I reflected on my decision to quit. I had wasted a slot in a race that has 3 times as many applicants as places. Several weeks later I started the Tour de Mont Blanc. This time I didn’t even enjoy the temporary high of running up-front. I knew within the first 20 miles that it wasn’t going right and, once again, I quit.

Well, I had a slot at HURT100 in January this year. In fact, I had the very last slot. So; decision time. Either I gave my place up to someone fitter, more motivated and more deserving or I made it my comeback to finishing races. What to do? There are always 2 ways of looking at things aren’t there. One view pointed out the cost of travel, the time off work, the fact that I was not well trained and had little time to address that. The other view that said “what the hell” prompted me to pursue the possibility. Within a week I had free flights lined up from miles I had been collecting, a great offer of crewing/pacing and even the possibility of sneaking a couple of days skiing in Tahoe, California on the return. So now the question was – do I want to spend 10 days in Hawaii/California in January for minimal cost with interesting and fit people, to complete a 100 mile race and get some skiing at legendary Squaw Valley. If ever I turn down opportunities like that then it will be because I have sold my soul.

Arriving on Oahu is a little like flying to somewhere in the South Mediterranean – you feel the warm breeze, see the palm trees – but downtown Honolulu is nothing special and the traffic is just as frustrating as the traffic anywhere. It’s Thursday lunchtime and the race starts 0600 Saturday so not too much time to recce the course. In fact I don’t even bother to set foot on the course – this one is a 20 mile loop run 5 times so I figure the first loop will get me pretty accustomed to what’s going on. Anyway, I’m in Hawaii so surely time to chill, put on the Jack Johnson and check out the surf babes – no? Anyone who has done a 100 miler will know the usually fraught 24hours before the race; lots of food to prepare, kit to shuffle between endless carrier bags, agonising over where to put the flashlight, whether to carry spare Vaseline/Bodyglide…the list goes on and apprehension and introspection dominate. This time it was different – 5 loops meant that logistically life should be much easier plus I had support so, whatever turned out to be in the wrong place could easily be retrieved – at least that s the theory although I don’t think I ever got to try my tinned peaches exported especially from the UK. Getting up early the day before the race, I had all my shopping and sorting fixed by 9am which left the day free to explore a little of the island. The North coast is much more attractive and intriguing and we spent a chilled couple of hours watching a junior pro-surf comp. in totally awesome surf. Simply huge swells generated by a big storm that had passed through 36 hours earlier meant those boys were getting regularly stomped on by monster waves and even leashes were being broken off.

Saturday, 5.30am. Gathering with the 100 other nervous souls in the pre-dawn I was intrigued to know what the course would be like. As Grandmaster Melle Mel said “it’s like a jungle out there” – and indeed it was, banyan trees, exotic bird song and guava and avocado lying by the trail side where they had fallen, over-ripe, from the trees - a slight change from mud and tussocks.

So then, how well prepared for this race was I? If we are being honest, then the answer is “not very”. I had staggered around 50 miles of S.Yorkshire scenery in mid-December not much slower than previous years but, since that time had had increasing niggles and the odd sharp pain from my left knee. Grand plans for a couple of hundred miles in Scotland over Christmas had translated into a 5day ski trip with lots of wine drinking and the first 3 weeks of the new year had seen me clock up well under 100 miles in total. So, we were relying on accumulated fitness then!

Actually, the first loop didn’t go too badly. In fact, I probably went a little too quickly but Paul set an early lead and put the hammer down to the extent that no-one was inclined to chase. I ran steady and sort of drifted into 2^nd place rather than really meaning to. I was thinking all the time of friends and folks back home who would be checking the on-line updates and cursing me for going off too near the front – “I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened!!” By the time loop 1 was complete, the day was warming up so I decided to run loop 2 without a shirt. This was working really well until the heavens opened between checkpoints 1 and 2.

All of a sudden I was feeling very foolish – clad only in shorts, completely sodden and at the mercy of the elements. One great thing about HURT100 is the out-and-backs; do something stupid and everyone else on the course gets to see!! Ah well – its good to be humbled. The rain, however, is not so good. What seems initially like fun as the trail turns to a brown foaming river soon becomes a hassle as the ground soaks up the rain and turns into a muddy quagmire. Big sections of the trail are rocky and rooty and the wet mud is making them very slippery. Before long we are all sliding here and there, stubbing toes, wrenching our feet around on the roots and it’s clear that this is going to be a tough year on bodies and feet.

The course shape is a little like a palm tree – up the trunk, out in a graceful curve to the right, back to the crown and a curve to the left, back to the crown and down a parallel path, the other side of the “trunk” to the start/finish area at a Nature Centre. We share these trails with wild pigs – evidenced by their scat rather than in person and a fairly large population of meditators away for a weekend retreat. The real damage to feet is done on loop 3 and my time for this loop is almost 50% slower than the first. It was going to get a lot slower though!!

Before all that, however, a great surprise as Justin turns up and offers to run with me. He is a New Yorker, been on the island about 9 months, just had a big argument with his girlfriend and needing some time on the trail to calm down and make some sense of things. So, how cool is it that he chose to spend those hours with a slightly irritable Englishman who keeps muttering about tinned peaches and stumbles a lot. Justin turns out to be a great pacer, he gets me talking about all sorts of things including some shameful secrets of my disruptive years – the ones that saw me expelled from school and grounded lots. The fact that loop 4 has taken almost twice as long as loop 1 means that Justin and I are out on the trail until around 4am – probably a little later home than he had intended. (thank you my friend).

By the end of loop 4 my feet are in a complete mess and the amazing aid station crew spend almost 20 minutes fixing them up with loads of tape. I now have Lynn to pace me. She has spent all day and half the night supporting at aid stations and worries that she won’t keep up – hah! As a finisher of Western States she knows the score – not too much sympathy, no letting me sit down and get comfy and keep the chatter going wherever possible.

Unsurprisingly she is able to keep up quite comfortably but then I am doing little over 2 miles per hour by this time (don’t ask how it could possibly be that slow). I guess there were long periods when I lapsed into introspective silence and felt nothing other than sorry for myself but I had come as a fool to this paradise and was learning, re-learning actually, that when you can run no longer you walk, when you can walk no longer you hobble and step by step you reach your goal. When you do, all the pain and all the hurt melt away in the satisfaction that you have used the time wisely. Whilst the pursuit of 100 miles is selfish and ultimately futile it is also a

profound learning experience about so many things: appreciation for the hard-won, the truth that pleasure, joy and elation can only be fully appreciated through knowledge of pain, despair and depression and the value of friendship and altruistic acts made by one person to another.

So, with the brain nourished and the feet trashed, this runner who re-learnt how to finish long races hobbled into the finish with 2 bamboo walking sticks some 32 hours and 30 minutes after he started; my slowest 100 by hours. Amazingly, the trail conditions meant that only 21 of the 100 runners completed the full 100 miles and I still ended up in 7^th position. Still, I don’t think I really impressed anyone with my athleticism and the best my pacer could offer was “you ate well!” - pretty much says it.

What remained to be done – sleep, huge piles of sushi, an extremely sociable and funny non-award ceremony where runners were scapegoated rather than feted and a long flight home filled with renewed vigour, enthusiasm and motivation. It hasn’t worn off yet. Mahalo to Hawaii, Justin, Lynn and the HURT 100 team.