Catharsis after the CWC

Now recovering at home after an eventful weekend, both the event and things around it. It is hard to reflect on a series of unfortunate events at which Lemony Snicket might be taken aback. I tried to take them all in my stride (haha) but I have been ground down to the rather unreal reality that I was beaten by what many called a brutal first half of the Cotswold Way Challenge (CWC). The news that so many, either doing the full 100 km or the first half (53 km), dropped out at least put my efforts in a better perspective, sad as I am for both them and myself.

I was at least as nervous about the arrangements with it being the first time on a train for 18 months but there was no need to worry, two changes en route, and a bus transfer shuttle from Swindon to Cirencester, arranged by the event organisers. The room was student accommodation, for which we’d been advised to take a sleeping bag and, having ‘suffered’ this before, I didn’t expect to see any soap, shower gel or towels there. I’m glad I packed those too.

Not a great night’s sleep with a mattress that was slightly softer than I like. I knew I would need a good set of stretches in the morning so I was up at 5:45 for a shower, stretches and breakfast (a bacon roll). There was light rain so I did have a thin waterproof jacket at the ready, and there were temperature checks and a confirmation that we’d filled in the COVID declaration. We were advised to keep 1 metre apart for social distancing on the route and at the rest stops, not always easy but everyone did their best.

I viewed this event as eight walks, none longer than 15 km (9 and a bit miles) so no one of those was an unreasonable distance. The first stage was 11.5 km to Edgeworth, and I found some of the early parts quiet claustrophobic, the path definitely only wide enough for single file, but with runners often waiting to pass. The rain stopped within about 3 km and the only testing bit was between 9 and 10 km with a sharp uphill in the woods, with crumbly terrain, and I was glad to see the back of that. A few minutes later I felt my trouser belt flapping around and realised that had somehow snapped. I’d have to continue on beltless but I rationalized that my trousers were not about to fall down and I could get a belt from my other trousers at halfway, since I’d paid for a baggage transfer. More on that later.

More of the same in stage 2, a 12 kilometre stretch to Painswick, a few grassy or crumbly climbs and with one exceptionally steep climb at around 20 km, but it was pavemented. Earlier in the stage, a stream was unavoidable and – try as I might – one of my socks did get wet which increased the risk of blistering (in fact, I had no blisters at all all day; vaseline beforehand and a change to clean socks at 53 km). I felt mainly ok apart from a niggle in my left thigh that wouldn’t go away. I was struggling to eat very much as well but at the second stop I did manage a cheese and ham roll, an oat and raisin muffin, about half a bag of crisps, and a couple of satsumas. Bananas had already become gagworthy, and I don’t mean I was going to start to make jokes about them.

This was the point at which the climbs became unbearable to many. The repeated drag of difficult steep downhills, worry about slipping and ending up like one of those cheese rolling events more common in these parts, followed by steep long climbs, was really tough. However, I sensed I could handle the uphills ok. It was never a race but I often made up distance on others on the climbs but lost distance on the descents. I can usually grit my teeth, look down at the ground and not on the uphill looming. Obviously I would look up occasionally to see the distance to the peak decreasing.

At the 38 km stop (Coaley Peak), I saw a couple of people retire, they’d “just had enough” and the word ‘brutal’ was the go to word for many. I was still struggling to eat and it was a real effort. No problem taking in enough fluids though.

At the end of my table there was a young couple who were thinking about giving up and the girl was visibly distressed. They were down to do the first half and she was in despair after that 3rd stage. We chatted for a few minutes. I recounted the 2015 Wight Challenge and said how hard it was to live with not finishing. I turned into this motivating force – yes, it is going to hurt but it’s a short term pain compared to all sorts of longer-term emotions if you pull out, with feelings of failure, guilt and embarrassment. 50 km (or 53 km) would still be a massive achievement today with CWC feeling the most difficult first half by some distance. I needed some support myself so, off the cuff, I then offered to walk with them. “I’ll get you through it, doesn’t matter how long it takes”.

Thankfully the next couple of km were flat during which I chatted with George and Georgia. Of course, I talked about my walking history and learnt that George is a marathon runner with a best time of 2 hours 28 minutes. Anyone who knows anything about running will know how good that is. He had signed Georgia up to a half ultra “50 km sounded ok” and they did do a fair amount of training. But very little could have prepared us for this. It was a new loop route due to COVID restrictions and the graphs did show a lot of hills in the first half especially. Brutal was the word for it. At around 41 km one loomed large with an increasing gradient and really took all the best efforts to reach what seemed like the top. Then behind the bushes, there was another sickeningly tough climb in the woods. As on other occasions, we were rewarded with fantastic views but we weren’t in the mood.

The climbs kept coming, interspersed with short flat and longer downhill sections. We were hating it, really hating it, but we kept each other going. At least the last km or two were on the road and gently downhill. I really felt I’d done a good thing – George and Georgia were lovely and gave me so much credit, but their legs had done the walking. All I had done was given them belief, confidence and motivation. Seeing them cross the finish line was without doubt the highlight and biggest positive of the whole day for me. Kindness of strangers and all that, and today I was that stranger. No sniggering at the back. One sometimes forgets how good it can feel to be kind.

I was looking forward to a hot meal and some fresh clothes. I’d paid for a bag transfer to Wotton-under-Edge, the halfway point, and I’d have fresh clothes to replace an almost completely sweat-soaked set. I had taken spare socks and vaseline anyway and I could feel the benefit immediately. But I could hardly eat any of the spaghetti bolognese but did have a bread roll with butter, a blueberry muffin and some odd snacks. I felt underfed but the next upcoming section was fairly short.

I went to collect my bag and it couldn’t be found. Every effort was made with frantic phone calls to all rest stops but no, nothing. What I hoped might be a 45 minute stop became over two hours. Eventually I was given a few freebies which did allow me a change of top and base layer. I was becoming really cold even after donning my hoodie; it was now dark and past midnight by the time I restarted.

The night sections have to be walked in groups or with Trekmasters, and I set off with about six or seven others. It felt a different dynamic and my hip and thigh were very painful now. The Trekmasters are always brilliant and it was very helpful to chat to them and some of the others to help take my mind off the job in hand. The two hour stop had done me no good at all and I did well to get over a couple of big peaks and made good pace to the 63 km and Hawkesbury Upton.

It was obvious I wasn’t in a good way. I still couldn’t eat much more than a packet of crisps and some fruit, along with two cups of tea. More importantly, I felt a significantly decreased range of motion in my left leg and a pain in the upper thigh and hip. In particular, the stiles on parts of the route were not quite agony but definitely painful for me. I talked to the medical support and I felt there was only one outcome likely. The medic was amazed I had got this far with what was diagnosed as a hip flexor injury (that was what I had thought) and was very concerned I might make it considerably worse if I carried on. I had no choice; I don’t know if they would have even let me continue.

At least that stop had a warmer room with a wait for the bus back to Cirencester likely to be a while. I had a sleep for half an hour or so and then got on the bus back to the start/end, and of course my bag was still missing. About three hours later (yes, three hours) it was found, hiding under some camping equipment in one of the buses. I was really cold but was now able to have a shower and have a complete change of clothes. I felt a lot better.

It is difficult running such an event but so many things this time weren’t right. The charities on the participants’ bibs were almost all wrong. I was apparently walking in aid of Cancer Research, and many others had had to scrawl the correct charities onto their bibs. The route in the first half was not one to encourage new recruits to ultra challenges and I spoke later to an ultra challenge veteran who was on her 14th full 100 km ultra challenge but had had enough by halfway. The whole bag thing was just me but farcical in the extreme. I didn’t see the point in wasting energy by getting angry with anyone in particular, but they do know how I felt about the whole thing.

I had a personal lift to Swindon Station for my journey home and had another disappointment on arrival just before 8am that my first available train was at 9:40am. Blimey, I’m going on a bit now but there was a coffee shop next door opening at 8am! No way was I going to turn that down. A long journey home with two changes, some Russian Roulette style naps on the trains but I didn’t miss my stops. A long sleep in the afternoon at home.

Some reflections. 63 km is still 39 miles so it’s no small deal but I am desperately disappointed. I had definitely got through the worst and there was apparently only one big hill remaining, in the next (6th) stage with stages 7 and 8 much flatter with some smaller undulations. I did my best, perhaps better than my best in some respects, and I know it was right to withdraw (or be withdrawn). It will take some time to recover, for sure. The final insult came just after noon when I received a call from the event organisers who thought I was still out there somewhere on the course. I’d done all the right things but not officially been withdrawn.

Writing this has been somewhat cathartic but I’m not even thinking about doing another one of these challenges, or even going out walking for some time. I might feel differently in a few days, of course. I did see all the reactions, read all the comments on my Facebook page and some private messages, and I would like to thank everybody for their very kind thoughts, as well as the donations for Guts UK as per this challenge. God bless you all.