When Adversity comes calling.

It wasn’t even remotely my intention to just rock up and attempt the Ridgeway for a fourth time off base mileage so low it may well have been negative, because that would be insane and I’m just Mad.

But that’s how it panned out. Following a December exchange of contracts on the House Sale That Never Happened, training had to stop as I turned my attention to packing. When I didn’t move out on January 26th, I crawled into a small hole in my brain, consumed by inconceivable emotional turmoil for a couple of weeks – from the disappointment of not actually moving on, from the horror that I’d broken my son’s trust because we didn’t actually do the thing I’d promised for months, and from the fact that I’d lost so much time and fitness for absolutely nothing. It was burning a hole in my core, this painful angst, like one of those aliens trying to break out of my chest. I have never been so furious.

Now, I value fury for gritty delivery on the trails, but fury festers in stasis. I couldn’t sit there and keep eating myself alive. I had to tee up a goal, and naturally there would only be one goal in mind. That elusive dream. That impossible dream.

But impossible is nothing.

I slipped that dream back on like a mink stole – warm, soft, familiar.

Controversial.

As it happens, merely thinking about when I’d have my next attempt brought me back to the land of the living. Here was a goal that didn’t involve real-life struggles. This challenge was all my own, and it could only go one of two ways: it could break me or it could unshackle me. The clarity of this potential result was comforting, in a sort of twisted way.

I distinctly remember thinking ‘if I can’t do this on my own terms, I can’t do it at all.’

But oh! I absolutely knew I could do it on my own terms. I had never been so sure of anything in my life. And yet again, as had been the case since hitting send on that very first entry form, I started working up a solid and sensible plan, but this time instead of the plan bursting into flames, it would be upended by a surprise – and patently clear – opportunity.

I’d long understood that in order to succeed at these kinds of distances, training the body was hugely important but physical strength was merely the smaller part of the mix by some margin. Having stared down this trail so many times, over so many years, I knew a steel head game was the only thing that would see me through. If I wasn’t going to fail again I needed to protect that head game as if it were the holy grail. I had to control the controllables to the finest detail. So my original plan to finish this once and for all was to remove the recurring obstacles. Every one of them.

Childcare. Fitness. Time.

I had planned to train as if I were going to race the R86, because I genuinely believed there wasn’t a way to get through it with suboptimal fitness. I expected I’d work up until the point at which my fitness peaked, where I felt that level of serene invincibility and strength I’ve had so many times in training which always sets the head game on fire. I would ensure I’d been healthy up to the minute. I would plan to take it at a less suicidal pace and rest as much as I needed to. But most importantly, I would wait until I had 100% reliable childcare – I’d plan the childcare first, and get rolling only when I was assured everything was in order.

Rukai well looked after is always the key ingredient for any of these ultras or I have to fight twice as hard to focus because I’m constantly worrying about him. You simply cannot have your head going off in those dark places when you’re clawing your way out of the ones an ultra will chuck you into. I found that out in year one when I retired at Foxhill. I’d been worried about Rukai for hours and it was like someone had bled out my motivation.

Game over. Womp womp.

So the ‘Ridgeway, my way’ plan was clear: start with Rukai reliably safe and happy for the duration. All other factors, although important, were secondary. If the childcare fell through, I’d wait for the next opportunity. Simples.

I wasn’t about to be held hostage again by a fixed timeline in which I had to complete the task, because for three years something had always fallen apart and I wouldn’t risk it again. Last year I didn’t just lose planned childcare once; it happened three times, the last as I was actually in the car, driving to the hotel the night before the race. Absolutely unavoidable but equally so unlucky. Talk about soul destroying.

That childcare setback came on top of having contracted a vicious throat infection some ten days out. I can actually envision my head game finally bursting into flames when I was desperately trying to get a revised antibiotic after the original one failed to do anything for two days. I will never know just what happened but as I was in the hold queue after a fastest finger first episode, I accidentally disconnected the call with my cheek, or hair, or maybe just my bloody karma. When the line dropped I absolutely lost my shit and started blubbing my eyes out. Poor Rukai even started crying when he saw how distressed I was. I felt a bit like Apollo 13 Tom Hanks saying ‘we just lost the moon.’

Hand on heart, I think I knew it was over long before it started last year. That clarity of thought, that inner peace, that total focus you need to get through things like this were about as far away as could be. I know I have some deep levels of strength when the chips are down, but this was all a bridge too far. It’s a small miracle I got to Streatley at all, timed out or not. But the fact I made it following that catastrophic lead up told me beyond the shadow of a doubt that I had the guts and the wherewithal to get down this trail, end to end, at a reasonably good clip, whatever it took.

I just needed more time, more control, and an airtight childcare scenario.

Lo and behold, that last came as Rukai was offered a place out of the blue for the second year running on the HCPT Group 26 Easter pilgrimage holiday to Lourdes after one of the children dropped out. Interestingly, when the offer came I immediately had other plans in mind – my intention was to recce the Pennine Way with a view to attempting the Summer Spine Challenger South in June. But when I went to go see how many places were remaining it had already sold out. With all the other uncertainty in life at the moment, I had no desire to join a waiting list and work my nuts off for a race of that depth and commitment that I may not even be able to do. So all roads clearly pointed directly to Ivinghoe Beacon (do not pass Go, do not collect £200).

With that holiday place set for Rukai, his wellbeing during that week could not have been better to set up a stonking head game. He’d had such an incredible time last year, so I had no doubt in my mind this was going to completely remove that blocker from my brain. I knew I could put my heart in a little box knowing he was safe and let my head lead the way. I decided to fundraise for them immediately as a measure of gratitude.

The Ridgeway, my way, with Rukai 100% guaranteed safe, happy and probably not missing me a dot?

Bring. It. Bloody. On.

As I was thinking about logistics I asked myself what happens if I get to Streatley and I can have a sleep? A shower? Determine exactly what kit I need going forward? Eat any of the laundry list of goodies I’d brought along? Is that how I break these chains? Is that how I punt the chimp into oblivion?

It was a reasonably easy and quick decision that rather than finish 100 miles in Swindon as I’d been planning for three years, I’d basecamp in Streatley (halfway point of the Ridgeway proper) and make this a fastpacking adventure for the week – end to end and back to the middle for roughly 128 miles. I wasn’t anywhere near fit so I’d power hike most of it and rest when I needed to by wild camping.

It really did seem like a good idea at the time.

But honestly, you’d think having lived here for 23 years, IT’S BRITAIN IN MARCH, DEAR would have come screaming down at me and every plan would have at its absolute core the rock solid expectation of cold, rain, wind, and mud. And although these certainly got a clear look in to my remarkably well thought out plans, in the end it was my limited experience with kit considerations in extremely British conditions that would scupper that full adventure.

Too cold. Too wet. For too long. For two nights. Toodleoo.

Interestingly, there’s genuinely no sorrow at all in that conclusion, because this is a story of absolute triumph. It’s staggering what I know in the aftermath. What a gift.

So this is a story of managing change and of weathering storms. It’s about accepting help when I'm shit at accepting help, and telling that naysayer voice that’s been hanging around in my skull for the better part of fifty-two years that it's high time to shut the fuck up.

When Adversity comes to your door, let it in. Make it tea. Get to know it.

Then take it outside and kick its ass.

(2/x)

Prologue: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/in-search-of-inner-greatness.html

Part 1: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/why.html

Part 2: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/when-adversity-comes-calling.html

Part 3: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/once-more-unto-breach-dear-friends-once.html

Part 4: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/dream-big.html

Part 5: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/the-big-chill.html

Part 6: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/let-it-begin.html

Part 7: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/keeping-faith.html

Part 8: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/breaking-levee.html