Looking at the Vasque series calendar, one race really stands out as seeming easier than all the rest: the Downland Ultra. How can a 30 mile race along the South Downs be anything other than a stroll in the park compared to the rigours of, say, the Calderdale Hike on a cold April day with slush on the ground? Do not underestimate the Downland Ultra: it is a hard race and can unashamedly stand in the calendar with its more illustrious northern fellows. Here's why:
The Downland Ultra is held in late July. This is often the hottest time of the year. The South Downs are rolling grassland and there is little tree cover to offer shade.
The race is an out and back race: 15 miles eastwards out from the playing fields at Clayton to Itford Farm. If you suffer on the way out, you can relish the thought of suffering once more on the way back. There is also no hiding from your position in the field: you will pass the race leader somewhere near Itford Farm and you can count the minutes from there to work out how far you are behind...
.... and you will almost certainly be behind. The Downland Ultra is a fast race on very runnable terrain and regularly attracts fast marathon runners from local cities such as London and Brighton. They will show you no mercy and will pump out those miles at an even pace no matter how you are feeling. Navigational skill or an ability to handle rough terrain will not help you here.
So, it's a hot, fast out and back race along the South Downs Way. How appealing is that? When you're running through some of the most beautiful, though gentle, scenery in the south of Britain, you will find it most appealing. The South Downs lead off eastwards into the distance. To the north is spread out the wooded Weald and to the south the Downs slope into the sea ending in the white chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters. You will run with skylarks singing overhead and with the support of countless daytrippers at the likes of Ditchling Beacon (yes: the Downland Ultra does go to the highest point on the South Downs!).
And so it was that on 27 July 2008, around 200 people lined up on the Clayton playing fields ready for the start of the 2008 Downland Ultra. Even at this time of day, the runners were seeking the shade in an attempt to stay cool. This was futile. The gun went off and we all set off round that field and up onto the ridge of the South Downs.
The heat really hit me. I was longing for a cool breeze on top, but it was perfectly still. The heat would rear up from the white chalk track and burn down from that big downland sky. There was no way to escape it: the only thing to do was to keep running. And so I ran and ran: not too close to the leading pack as I had a race plan, but I ran to schedule. I reached the first checkpoint (which surprise, surprise is at 7.5 miles) in just under an hour. I drank loads and covered myself in cold water from head to toe to try to cool down. I reached Itford Farm in just under two hours: running to schedule pretty well. I was about 5 minutes behind the leader at this stage which was pretty much the position I wanted to be in. I drenched myself in cold water again and carried on, passing the runners behind me on my way back west. I passed the friends I have made in the Vasque series (either in front of me or behind me) at the out and back by Itford Farm and then I was pretty much on my own. I could see a few white T-shirts ahead of me that I was slowly catching up. I went through the third checkpoint in about 3 hours, bang on plan (you may have worked out by now that the third checkpoint is at 22.5 miles and is identical to the first checkpoint - except you're running the other way). My plan was to finish in just under 4 hours. I was confident that this would give me a good time.
And then it all went horribly wrong. The South Downs Way goes up and up from the third checkpoint. It is treeless. It is midday. It is 28 degrees in the shade (but remember: there is no shade hereabouts). It is 25 miles in. I wilted. Those white T-shirts ahead of me were wilting. Despite feeling awful, I was still catching the white T-shirts up, but it was oh so slow and oh so painful. The white track was almost unbearable to look at in the midday sun: it glared back at you and seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. Remembering the advice of Mark Hartell, I tried to push on as fast as I could: "the faster you go, the sooner it's over" (how many times did that phrase go round and round my head?). And then came the evil envious thoughts: does that walker have a water bottle that could "fall out of his rucksack"? Can I steal that child's ice cream? Is water from a dew pond drinkable? That last question was academic in any case as there was absolutely no lying water in the whole of Sussex that day. And so it went on. I suffered. I came tantalisingly close to that white T-shirt in front. I suffered some more. Eventually the Jack and Jill windmills came into view and it was downhill to the finish line. The white T-shirt was really going slowly by now and a sprint finish should have seem him off, but there was nothing there. I was just really, really pleased to cross the line: 4h20m: the last quarter of the race hadn't gone to plan! I was really pleased to have the chance to be able to stop.
And stop I did. I found the closest tree and lay under it with other gasping finishers (some wearing white T-shirts). I couldn't talk. I couldn't eat. All I needed to do was to recover: try to drink, try to cool down somehow and try to sleep.
Yet again, the Downland Ultra bit back. This has to be one of the most brutal races in the Vasque series calendar. The Downland Ultra has beaten me twice now (2007 and 2008): I know that.
I wear my Downland Ultra T-shirt with pride!.
The Downland Ultra is held in late July. This is often the hottest time of the year. The South Downs are rolling grassland and there is little tree cover to offer shade.
The race is an out and back race: 15 miles eastwards out from the playing fields at Clayton to Itford Farm. If you suffer on the way out, you can relish the thought of suffering once more on the way back. There is also no hiding from your position in the field: you will pass the race leader somewhere near Itford Farm and you can count the minutes from there to work out how far you are behind...
.... and you will almost certainly be behind. The Downland Ultra is a fast race on very runnable terrain and regularly attracts fast marathon runners from local cities such as London and Brighton. They will show you no mercy and will pump out those miles at an even pace no matter how you are feeling. Navigational skill or an ability to handle rough terrain will not help you here.
So, it's a hot, fast out and back race along the South Downs Way. How appealing is that? When you're running through some of the most beautiful, though gentle, scenery in the south of Britain, you will find it most appealing. The South Downs lead off eastwards into the distance. To the north is spread out the wooded Weald and to the south the Downs slope into the sea ending in the white chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters. You will run with skylarks singing overhead and with the support of countless daytrippers at the likes of Ditchling Beacon (yes: the Downland Ultra does go to the highest point on the South Downs!).
And so it was that on 27 July 2008, around 200 people lined up on the Clayton playing fields ready for the start of the 2008 Downland Ultra. Even at this time of day, the runners were seeking the shade in an attempt to stay cool. This was futile. The gun went off and we all set off round that field and up onto the ridge of the South Downs.
The heat really hit me. I was longing for a cool breeze on top, but it was perfectly still. The heat would rear up from the white chalk track and burn down from that big downland sky. There was no way to escape it: the only thing to do was to keep running. And so I ran and ran: not too close to the leading pack as I had a race plan, but I ran to schedule. I reached the first checkpoint (which surprise, surprise is at 7.5 miles) in just under an hour. I drank loads and covered myself in cold water from head to toe to try to cool down. I reached Itford Farm in just under two hours: running to schedule pretty well. I was about 5 minutes behind the leader at this stage which was pretty much the position I wanted to be in. I drenched myself in cold water again and carried on, passing the runners behind me on my way back west. I passed the friends I have made in the Vasque series (either in front of me or behind me) at the out and back by Itford Farm and then I was pretty much on my own. I could see a few white T-shirts ahead of me that I was slowly catching up. I went through the third checkpoint in about 3 hours, bang on plan (you may have worked out by now that the third checkpoint is at 22.5 miles and is identical to the first checkpoint - except you're running the other way). My plan was to finish in just under 4 hours. I was confident that this would give me a good time.
And then it all went horribly wrong. The South Downs Way goes up and up from the third checkpoint. It is treeless. It is midday. It is 28 degrees in the shade (but remember: there is no shade hereabouts). It is 25 miles in. I wilted. Those white T-shirts ahead of me were wilting. Despite feeling awful, I was still catching the white T-shirts up, but it was oh so slow and oh so painful. The white track was almost unbearable to look at in the midday sun: it glared back at you and seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. Remembering the advice of Mark Hartell, I tried to push on as fast as I could: "the faster you go, the sooner it's over" (how many times did that phrase go round and round my head?). And then came the evil envious thoughts: does that walker have a water bottle that could "fall out of his rucksack"? Can I steal that child's ice cream? Is water from a dew pond drinkable? That last question was academic in any case as there was absolutely no lying water in the whole of Sussex that day. And so it went on. I suffered. I came tantalisingly close to that white T-shirt in front. I suffered some more. Eventually the Jack and Jill windmills came into view and it was downhill to the finish line. The white T-shirt was really going slowly by now and a sprint finish should have seem him off, but there was nothing there. I was just really, really pleased to cross the line: 4h20m: the last quarter of the race hadn't gone to plan! I was really pleased to have the chance to be able to stop.
And stop I did. I found the closest tree and lay under it with other gasping finishers (some wearing white T-shirts). I couldn't talk. I couldn't eat. All I needed to do was to recover: try to drink, try to cool down somehow and try to sleep.
Yet again, the Downland Ultra bit back. This has to be one of the most brutal races in the Vasque series calendar. The Downland Ultra has beaten me twice now (2007 and 2008): I know that.
I wear my Downland Ultra T-shirt with pride!.
