Mad Max Runs

Sparsholt Firs – Foxhill     Despite my determination to finally complete the route on this new day, I could only summon a trudge from my weary legs as I stepped from that cozy car into a brisk and foggy morning. As luck would have it, I hadn’t been walking for more than 10 minutes, when the terrain decided to tip its hat with a rowdy GOOD MORNING! HOW DO YOU DO?! REMEMBER ME?! I stopped cold at the sight of a mucky chalk pond that had consumed the crossroads. As I debated which part of Michael Rosen’s Bear Hunt antics I’d use to reach the other side, I started thinking about the next section of the trail, which I recalled from previous outings would be a lengthy, knee battering, chalk descent – and hard as a rock. Not today. Of course. Silly girl! I crossed The Marvellous Junction Eating Pond along the path of least resistance (read: trying not to get swallowed up) and minced my way along the left side of that now sludgy descent, with the ever-present fear of skiin...

Bury Down - Sparsholt Firs   Every ultra I’ve done contains a missing bit of the journey that somehow falls into the black hole of my memory, when the monotony takes over and I recall little more than just moving forward. I remember negotiating with pain seeping into my bones. Forging a forever imbalanced agreement that I’ll do A if you do B and we’ll agree to disagree, now shut up. But it never shuts up, it just gets louder. This was that lost segment, and during it, I remember that I sat down a lot, for a little bit, just to minimise the volume in my screaming feet. All through this second night, it was just me snaking along the endless rutted track between nameless, shapeless downs*, under a dark sky clotted with cloud and decorated with a stubborn sliver of moon, that vicious crosswind raging at the side of my head, starting to chew at my sanity. In retrospect, I don’t actually remember the rain but I know it did rain – I remember precisely that sensation of cold and...

Streatley - Bury Down    ‘…What's the plan, and would you like some company?’ The text had largely come out of nowhere two weeks prior to the big event, and I grinned when I saw it. Despite my natural aversion to accepting help from anyone for just about anything, this was nowhere near an offer I’d be declining—it was from my friend, fellow runner, and previous R86 finisher, Hobs. We’d originally thought that he’d catch me up at some point early in the day on Easter Monday, but when my pace had aligned my arrival in Streatley with an easterly sun rather than the previous night’s pitch, this, like so many other plans, went out the window. We agreed I’d ping him later when I was getting ready to move again, as I’d be staying in my basecamp room for some time. I was so knackered that I didn’t bother to shower before settling in for a 2 hour nap, which was startlingly interrupted when a cleaner barged halfway in to me shouting ‘HELLO!? HELLO?! I’M SLEEPING!’ He slammed the...

Nuffield - Streatley   The only previous time I’d ever entered Grim’s Ditch well after sunset was during last year’s R86, having waved off the checkpoint team (who’d probably been waiting an age for me) with a jaunty 'thanks, I’ve got crew up ahead!' They seemed cheerful enough about it, but thankfully if they did throw visual daggers, it had been so dark I couldn’t have seen it even if I tried. That night, I’d been conscious that the levels of light under the trees would imminently halve at best, and in the absence of a head torch I was in a major hurry to get down to my crew before the sunlight beat me to it. I knew that the only light I had in my phone would never be near enough. When the sun was firmly gone, my phone came out and its impossibly tiny and ineffective light led my way. To keep the chimp at bay I’d belted out Peter Gabriel’s Biko to the trees with all my heart. You can blow out a candle, but you can’t blow out a fire, Once the flames begin to catch, the wi...

Lewknor - Nuffield   Even in the midst of such a fright, I never once asked myself why am I doing this? Because every step, every minute, I knew full well. It was no longer a question but an answer, the culmination of a journey that flickered like an early talkie, back and forth between actual life and what seemed to be a simple achievement on a trail, but became so very much more. The reality of how important it was for me to complete this thing was suffocating, this yoke around my neck too heavy, for far too long.  No question at all why I was there. Despite the horrific chill that had taken hold of me, my wits were clear enough to not only know that I had to keep moving until I warmed up, but also that I would warm up quickly from the exertion. And I did both of those things as expected. Within just a few minutes I had recovered my sensibilities and coordination, and thawed out enough so that I could once again pause, return all my kit to the pack, and move with purpos...

Princes Risborough - Lewknor   It wasn’t the first time I’d gone diving into the dark on the quest for a finish line, but I had never before come across this particular patch of the world sans daylight. I covered my headlamp to prevent blinding the few cars that raced through the next junction, and crossed well after they’d gone. The road rose steadily to the entrance of another field which had previously been full of either poppies or some other fragrant flora, but today it held nothing more than the olfactory assault of a massive manure heap blocking the way ahead. All I could see were shit and shadows. If there has ever been an analogy to represent the past few years of my life, I think I’ve just typed it. As omens go, this was not a particularly positive one. Still, I made my way past the obstruction and along the barely discernible way forward, as you do. It was the start of many similar field crossings (minus the giant pile, thank heavens) where I had plenty of company i...