Pain, Joy & Potatoes — Running a 50 mile ultramarathon — Pennine Barrier 50, GB Ultras.
On Saturday 6th May, I ran GB Ultra’s Pennine Barrier, a 50 mile ultramarathon that follows the delightfully lumpy Pennine Way, and then joins the Yorkshire 3 Peaks, before looping back around to the Pennine Way, starting and finishing in the limestone painted Malham.
I’m currently training for a 106 mile ultramarathon, also with GB Ultras, Scotland 100. That’s on June 10th. So this was apparently a “training run”, which my brain can’t quite comprehend. I hadn’t tapered and was going into this somewhat “tired”, so I was curious about what to expect.
Despite this being “training”, it was still hard. The day was filled with so many highs, lows, pain, hurt, joy, euphoria, freedom, laughing, fatigue, silence, chats — everything that makes life so colourful.
And also — it was another fantastic experience, of which I’ve learned and realised a lot. Thus — here’s some words.
So excited I could explode and feelings reflecting that of a dog that hasn’t been walked in days, I was so ready when we set off at 6am.
Not much sleep, as is always the case leading up to an event for me, but masked by excitement and adrenaline, it didn’t really matter.
One of the main things I had in mind from the start, was to pace myself, and to be aware of them urges/feelings to go faster, overtake people, etc.
I often find I subconsciously set little markers in my head of people I need to try and keep up with, which is unhelpful at best. Hence I aimed to just be aware of this happening, and to not act on it, but to “run my own race”.
Miles 0–12, were such fun. I had a slight blip of my brain entirely turning against Rice Krispie squares and concluding they are the worst thing in the entire world (despite eating likely 400+ in the last year of doing this and thinking they’re the best thing to ever exist), which caused a slight problem, given I’d bought 30 with me to eat.
Thankfully I also had some other options, but the similar cereal bar, sweet type — became an awful, nauseating idea.
I forced some down, and tried to not let the lack of appetite instil a fear for the rest of the day. There’s always something, and also, a great lesson for running 100 miles in 5 weeks, don’t bring 90 Rice Krispie Squares bars.
The first climb, Fountains Fell at 668m, around 8 miles in, was beautiful. Feeling fresh, excited and ready to exert as the sky opened up, sun shone and a beautiful cloud inversion appeared below. I made sure to take a moment to actually stop and look at it, one of the few moments I actually did so.
On reflection, this is something that made the day harder — my lack of “lets just stop and appreciate this”. Having done the event last year, and trained many times on the route, my brain was filled with expectations, comparisons and the rest of how I should feel by X point, pace, effort level and in general, a lack of paying all that much attention to what’s around.
I also had a subtle desire, to do it a little faster than last time. I wasn’t bothered if I didn’t, but if I did, that’d be cool. If I could pace myself, keep it steady, but just not waste time faffing, then awesome. But this subtly grew into a little bit of a hasty presence. A slight “getting to the next thing” mentality, rather than truly being where my feet are, present to where I am.
It also meant slightly ignoring problems.
I intentionally didn’t check the time or distance I’d ran throughout the event, as for me it does nothing but make me want to finish, and makes right now not enough and not enjoyable. It’s a bit like when you’re driving somewhere with the Sat Nav on, the more you check how long left, the more it drags, and the more desperate you are to get there.
Which often results in a lack of ability to be content in the moment — of which certainly isn’t why I run. I don’t run to finally finish running.
I wasn’t aware however, that this was a thing I was doing, until I finished.
I got to the first checkpoint, 12 miles in, to be greeted by the most splendid sight a woman can ask for — cold, salty potatoes. Day, made. I inhaled plenty, filled up my water, and continued on. Approaching the 2nd climb, up Penyghent (694m).
It was pretty warm, and by pretty warm, I was boiling. A steady climb up, chatting, laughing and sweating. I put my poles away to use my hands for the fun little scramble, and got to the top met by a nice cooling breeze. I did the mandatory “tap the trig point” and continued on down.
I was having such fun. Someone mentioned we were over a 1/3 of the way and I remember actually feeling a little gutted, that it was almost over..
I love running downhill. So much. It feels so wonderfully fun and freeing. I used to find it so hard, leaning back with every step, cautiously placing my feet, anticipating an ankle break. However, the last 3 months of training, I’ve learned to switch my brain off and to just let gravity take me and it’s genuinely my favourite thing to do in the entire world.
I feel so unbelievably free.
However, at only 15 miles in — caution must be applied, or else I knew I’d regret it later if I absolutely hammered it down and had no use of my legs later. This intention, however, slowly slipped through my hands as I felt my weight be taken by gravity, and the urge to entirely just let go, took over.
Reaching the bottom, there’s a steady 5–6 mile undulating path to the next checkpoint at 21 miles, just before the next climb up Whernside (736m). I soon realised, oops, I might have gone a little fast. Feeling a little fatigued, heart rate high, and my heat hot.
I inhaled a bagel that was so dry I almost choked, grimaced as I took in a sickly yak rice krispie squares bar and continued plodding on, really trying to pace myself.
It was getting hot. I could feel myself slowly falling into my first lul. Thankfully, from experience, this wasn’t a scary thing. I knew peaks and troughs happen, and they soon end, and to just allow them to be there. I remember this time last year though, at this same point, after running down Pen-y-ghent I started feeling tired.. and thinking “oh no.. how am I going to keep going?”
I’ve soon learnt that tiredness isn’t important. There is choice beyond that feeling, and I can coexist in the face of it, letting it wash over me before it soon dissapates. This was a great lesson, because it has made me give way less meaning to feelings, which is empowering. It protects my autonomous choice to keep going, and importantly — to still have fun.
19 miles or so in, it was getting hotter. Little wind and little cloud on top of doing this strange act called running, made it feel boiling. I was excited to see the upcoming bridge and put my hat in the stream, giving an instant relief from the heat.
I could feel the lul I was in gradually leave as my energy and mental enthusiasm returned. 21 miles in, I reached checkpoint 2, and was greeted by my Mum & best friend Kate, as well as perhaps even more amazing — cold, salty potatoes.
Feeling like a mature, well experienced “adult”, I made the executive decision to put some suncream on as I could feel my Scottish skin being liquified. Or something like that.
More potatoes, a cold drink of water, and I continued to begin the 3rd climb up Whernside. Which to put it politely, is a bit of a slog. The incline barely changes, but it just goes on, for quite a long time. My head starting to ache, likely due to exertion, the heat and whatever else. Another lul was here.
5 years later, finally reaching the top, the most incredible breeze arrived. Ah it was so nice. Finally the ground transitioned to an angle that was runnable, and I ran along the top delighted with the breeze, before beginning the steep, rocky descent back down.
Feeling my energy return like a bucket being filled up, I felt awesome and excitedly ran down the giant rock slabs, with a slight grimace with every step. It went on for some time. 27 miles in, 1500m climbed, I could feel my quads were a little tired, but I loved the feeling. Fully relishing in that localised spread of tiredness, I kept running down, accidentally setting a PR on that descent (oops) whilst getting some fun noises from walkers, probably watching in fear that this long legged human is about to break a leg (or run/fall into them, and break their legs).
I continued shoving snacks down my throat and soon reached the 3rd checkpoint, 28 miles in. Warmly welcomed by my crew and surprised by my step Mum and step sisters, which lifted my greatly. Stopping to change my socks, I soon felt the tiredness hit and the “it only hurts when you stop” rang true. But I was having such fun.
I was also aware, that I hadn’t eaten anywhere near as much as I’d planned. My aim was to get in 300kcal an hour, roughly 60–90g of carbs. I’d probably managed 200kcal, with 40g of carbs. Placebo effect or not, running towards the 4th climb towards Ingleborough, I began to feel tired.
The tiredness I’d expect 30 miles in, but a different one to before. The sort of “the ultra begins now” feeling. You know the freshness of the first half has entirely gone, and is unlikely to return. And that the perpetual waves of feeling good, feeling bad, are likely to become more frequent and intense. It begins now. This is what I’m here for.
The steep climb up Ingleborough was tough. Legs with just over 30 miles in them, and a fair bit of climbing, there wasn’t much of an option to take it steady. I don’t remember any words being shared going up here. The air went from being filled with bright, happy conversation, to silence. Everyone focussing on sustaining themselves to get to the top.
The strava segment of this part is called “Slabs of Doom”, and at this point in the race, it kind of does eat the remnant's of your soul.
Just before reaching the summit, feeling the struggle of the climb, a race photographer was near the trig point, so obviously, I was forced to run. For you can’t be seen walking in an ultramarathon. We definitely run 100% of it, especially the steep climbs.
I had another “I don’t want this to end” moment, I was having such fun. Even more so, now was time to run down. The rocky, but gentle descent down was fun. Each step caused my feet to ache a little more, but I was impressed at how little I was feeling at this stage, 33 miles in. Trying to not get carried away with feeling good and equally trying not to let my mind loom on the fact that in 5 weeks time, I will still have 73 miles left.
I could feel the tiredness becoming greater though, and made another fantastic decision — to put my sunglasses on. I came to the conclusion that it would be easier if the world was darker. Surprisingly, it was. The dark world was less intense. Crisps! I thought crisps would help too. I’m sure they would’ve helped if I managed to get them in my mouth, given half of the pack bounced off my face and went down my vest, leaving a really pleasant feeling.
You know the feeling we all dream of.. to lie in a bed full of crumbs. That sort of feeling. Yum.
My tiredness and hurting achey state soon came to an end, when I bumped into some other strange humans who also enjoy doing this strange thing, and started chatting.
It’s funny — and confusing, and I guess not that funny, how pain/hurting/fatigue just dissapears. The intensity of it just completely vanishes, the second your attention shifts. Be that chatting with someone, seeing a race photographer and (fake) smiling, whatever it is — it’s like the difficulty doesn’t exist anymore.
The pain and tiredness only exists when your attention is on it. Which thankfully and excitingly, is something we have the ability to shift. It’s both wonderful and strangely disappointing at the same time.
Something I’ve expected and somewhat yearned for in the 3 ultramarathons I’ve done, is stumbling along the edge. That point where I genuinely question if I can keep going, the point that brings me to tears of despair, laying on the ground crying, unable to move.. and I’ve not had anywhere near close to that. Nowhere near.
The last 50 miler I ran was Snowdon 50, which was 50 miles around some of the biggest and most daunting mountains in North Wales. It took me a long time, 18 hours. The last 12 miles, were ran in the dark. Quads really hurting from the crazy mountain descents, the deep, bone ache spread throughout my legs where every step really hurts, feet raw and throbbing, yet — this edge still wasn’t found.
I was still having fun and was still somewhat disappointed when I had to stop (because I’d finished). But them last 12 miles I was running with a wonderful human called Beth, and we were chatting and getting each other through it.
Which is great, but it does bring me to question it. It’s possible, it’s doable, it’s a lot “easier” when you distract yourself from the pain, when you run away from it.
When you’re chatting, taken out of your head, with someone else. It certainly feels “easier”.
But part of me wants to run head first into that pain, that discomfort. I’m curious what happens when you don’t distract from it, when you don’t try and escape from it. I do this for a plethora of reasons, the main one being because I love it.
But there is also this part of me that has an insatiable curiosity about what my limits are, about what I can endure, but more so what I can sit with without it being full of suffering and mental hate. Part of me doesn’t want to just “get through it”. I don’t want to distract myself from the experience until I finally finish.
That adds in a sense of haste, urgency and for me — a lack of self-discovery.
However in that same vein, as I said — I do it because I love it. I love being outdoors, I love running on beautiful trails in beautiful mountains, immersed and at one with nature, meeting new people, sharing an experience, chatting, community, connection, all of it.
But one thing for sure I know is that I don’t ever, ever want this to be about finishing. So much of life is about that. About waiting for it to be over until you can finally experience peace or joy. I don’t want to live like that.
The pure act of running and everything that comes with it is so rich, that to run just to finally feel the relief of finishing, for me, just doesn’t do it.
But for sure, there’s a fine line, a dance to be had between the two extremes. Distraction and focus.
Focus too intensely on the pain and feelings, they grow and magnify and soon fill up your entire awareness until it becomes unbearable and there is no space from it. Taking away all the joy and “dancing” that we have when running ultras. It goes from experiencing feelings to being the feelings, and that’s never a good idea.
But distract too much, and the feelings chase you, and you always lose. What you resist persists.
Again, this is why I love ultrarunning and am continually fasincated by everything it gives — because I don’t understand it. It’s all so intangible and incomprehensible. The second you try to understand it, figure it out — it doesn’t transpire and it makes no sense.
I am learning however, that when I get out of the way and stop trying to do it “right”, it all works pefectly. I think running ultras forces you to let go of the part of you that wants to control everything and you soon have to surrender your power & problems to the mountains you run on.
It makes you feel so small that you feel big.
I arrived at the 4th checkpoint, 35 miles in. Sick of the taste of electrolytes, the best tasting orange juice ever (not an understatement) was a true delight to my throat. I inhaled more potatoes, sang some songs with my crew Kate, specifically — the lemonade song, about ducks, or something like that, and continued on.
Now, officially feeling — tired. The tired point where your body doesn’t really want to run. It wants to walk. It’s a strange feeling, it feels like you have to endure a heated debate with your limbs to please let me run, of which for the first 5 minutes just sort of hurts. But beyond that, it feels fine and fluid again. Until you stop, and then it doesn’t. Repeat.
I forced myself to run more than I ever have before, and I had an agreement (with myself, to myself) that all the slight inclinces, flats and the downs I would run. It doesn’t feel great initially, but once moving it feels good. This became the internal battle for the remaining 15 miles. Like convincing a child to walk to school.
Also, for running 100 miles, to avoid a crippling level of delerium from not sleeping, I’d like to make progress where possible — and run. Adding an extra 2–3 hours onto the adventure because running hurts a bit, likely isn’t worth the additional delirium, potential stomach upset and overall mental deterioration that will exponentially increase with time.
Hence my intention to run, even when I didn’t feel like I could… and to my surprise, I always could. Great lesson.
35 miles in, we had to climb up to about 2/3 back up Pen-y-ghent. The steep, grassy hill eating up the leftover parts of my soul. Reaching the top, I felt dead. I felt like I was experiencing the classic “bonk”. Absolutely nothing left. Likely due to inadequate carb intake, I forced another bagel down, some energy chews and forcefully stabbed my poles into the ground with every step.
The noise of my breath and sharp stabbing of the poles into the ground became really cathartic. I acknowledged my tiredness and allowed myself to express it into the unfortunate ground.
This is certainly something else I’m pondering — is it helpful to express emotion?
Something I’m becoming more set on in life in general, is allowing and expressing emotion, rather than being a blocked up and repressed individual (of which, I’ve always been). But, in these moments, I’m unsure if expressing it is helpful.
Or if it lends itself to make the feeling deeper, more encapsulating. And really, whether or not just completely ignoring/not acknowledging how you feel, is better, to avoid you getting lost in it and making it mean something. When under fatigue and tiredness, and the looming idea of how much further is to go, I feel it’s not as easy to let it out and move on, the mind wants every reason for you to stop.
This is something I’m still exploring, and have no answer to. But the forceful stabbing of my poles and slight grimacing did feel good, I’m just not sure if I felt into it a little too much and started making a story of how tired I felt.
38 miles in, I made it to the final checkpoint, feeling hurting and tired. The home stretch was after this point, 12 miles left and one final climb to do. I inhaled more potatoes, made sure I had enough supplies till the finish and headed off.
The final climb up Fountains Fell was hard, it seemed to go on forever, but reaching the top and seeing Malham Tarn shining in the distance was a cool moment, as that’s only 5 miles or so from the finish.
The final 12 miles I had a new friend to join me, called some awfully painful and uncomfortable abdominal cramping/this doesn’t feel good, feeling. Given my subtle desire of doing it a little faster than last time, I ended up mentally rushing to the finish even more.
The discomfort and unpleasantness of this feeling for sure made me want to get to the finish, but in reflection, if I had just stopped for a couple of minutes, assessed the situation, had some water and slowed myself down mentally and physically, I think it would have been a different experience. However realising I could do it in under 13 hours, I didn’t listen to this need.
I kept going, in a rush, with a lack of appreciation for what’s around me and consumed in a whirlwind of unpleasantness. The ache and hurt in my legs seemed to intensify, as did the tiredness and negative mental state. Not to mention the disconcerting feeling in my stomach.
That’s what rushing does. No1 rule of ultrarunning; fix your problems, and don’t let things linger. Now, although there perhaps wasn’t anything I could’ve done to get rid of the physical feeling of whatever was occuring in my stomach, I for sure could’ve mentally brought myself back round, grounded, back here.
“Hurry is the enemy of love”
I decided to put my headphones in for the final few miles, something I’ve never done in an ultra before and rarely, if ever — do when running, but figured I needed some distraction from the overbearing feelings to still attain some joy from the final stretch.
The final 2 miles are really quite special, as at the top running across near Malham Cove, you can see the finish lower down in the distance, and you know you’re nearly there.
12 hours 57 minutes, I crossed the finish line. I feel I experienced every possible emotion, and the final one being -
How on earth am I going to run 100 miles…
I was hit with hysterical laughter and appreciation for finishing, alongside legs that ached like they were crying for help.
It was a beautiful day. The final 12 miles for sure tainted my perspective and left me with a lingering feeling of apprehension and doubt, until the next day when my brain also remembered all of the amazing, incredible moments and also appreciation for all the lessons I’ve taken from it. Lessons that for sure, will be invaluable for the 10th of June.
When I was younger, I used to love playing football. Just the act of kicking a ball against a wall, into a goal, with a friend, up and down, it gave me such joy.
There was no purpose, no outcome I was trying to achieve, no real reason, other than it was fun.
The act of doing it, itself, was where the inherent joy lay.
Then I got scouted for a good team, pressure arrived and the joy slowly left. Then I took up athletics, because I just loved running really fast, then pressure and expectation came knocking, and I hate every minute of it. I used to love learning things, until it became about doing well and passing an exam. Insert endless stories.
The discovery of running on trail, in the mountains, for a long time became so alluring because I just loved doing it. There was no reason other than the pure joy of doing, of being.
I was reminded during this race, the importance of not forgetting that. When the subtle “hurry” came to visit, all aspects of joy were stolen, and it became about getting to the end. Running for me has never been about competing, pace, time or any achievement oriented thing, not that that’s a problem, but for me — there is very little, if no, appeal.
I don’t want to run ultramarathons to finish them. They have so much more to give than just to finally be over.
I run because I love running.
Improving, achieving for sure has a place, and does create intrigue in me as to what my body can do, but I’m learning this can only ever come from a place of light curiosity, rather than an obsessive need to be better. Or else, the joy is taken.
I’ve learnt many lessons also about my nutrition, salt intake and checkpoint efficiency that I’ll for sure take into Scotland, so aside from the mental and experiential revelations, there are a lot of super useful practical lessons I’ve taken.
GB Ultras, are fantastic. Wayne, Laura, Ian & all the amazing marshals and volunteers are your biggest cheerleaders and make the day so incredible. Endless thank you.
All the great humans I got chatting to on the way round were wonderful, and sharing the experience with like minded people is always a special thing.
32 days to go till I try and run 100 miles. Whatever happens, I’m curious to see.
For those wanting to learn to love running without being riddled with pain, injury and mental struggle — please email miaoldroydpt@gmail.com, I’d love to chat.
