'See you tomorrow!' I just about registered my mother’s words as I began to settle into my stride. They say only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun, but I found myself doing exactly that in the 33°C heat of mid-July 2019. Although not exactly iconic, the scenery was pretty enough as I ran past the playgrounds and ploughed fields of Hornchurch Country Park on the eastern edge of London. Five and a half steady miles later, I arrived at the finish line to be greeted with some electrolyte-infused water and a triumphant beep from the timing system.
Mission accomplished? Not even close. This was the Spitfire Scramble 24-hour race and, unlike the eight-person relay teams, I was flying solo. My objective that day, night and the following morning was simple, yet utterly daunting: to run a hundred miles... in one go... without stopping... or sleeping. I was determined to endure lap after gruelling lap to join the ranks of ultrarunning centurions.
I’d spent around four years getting myself increasingly hooked on running – from a complete novice just about making it round the block to a fairly respectable sub-4:00 London Marathon debut within two years. For around a year, I revelled in the kind of PB purple patch that often follows that first serious marathon training block, but after taking half an hour off my time in Brighton, I decided that the intensity of spending months striving to peak for one day and shave a few further seconds wasn’t worth the nerve-shredding weeks of taper tantrums. So my next running year took me from 50K to 100K, and then to this balmy (barmy?) summer’s day.
When to start training for a spring marathon ultras really does take the pressure off. When you go further, no one asks how long it took – most just express a mixture of respect and concern for your sanity. Especially at my mid-pack amateur level, there’s no expectation to run remotely quickly. You can – and should – eat a lot, too: 100 miles will burn you an extra 10,000 calories and it’s impossible to consume too much along the way. Trust me, I’ve tried.
But in my experience, every long run presents a unique set of challenges, and this race was hot. Dunking my T-shirt in a bucket of water every lap until dusk helped considerably, even if the T-shirt was dry again by halfway. At some point during the night, I was asked by a passing runner how I was feeling. All I could manage was, ‘F*****,’ but I kept going, spurred on by the convergence of the end of the race and a tantalisingly close target. By the time I staggered towards the home straight on my 18th lap, I had 50 minutes to spare, but after 102 miles, there was no way I was going out for another. So I took everyone by surprise – including the welcome party of fellow club members gathered to run me in – with a sprint finish that left them all trailing in my dust. To this day, I’m not sure how my battered legs found the speed, but I do remember my mum standing at the finish line with open arms and a beaming smile on her face. All the pain disappeared as we shared the most euphoric yet gentle embrace. You see, she wasn’t very well.
Two months later, on a cooler September midweek morning, my brother Jon and I arrived at Rutland Water and walked to the start line in a mournful contemplative silence. We were 10 days late for the official marathon, having dropped everything to see Mum in hospital. Jill Dye chose the ordeal of surgery and a couple more weeks to see her family again over the comfort of palliative care before bowel cancer took her life. So it seemed the most fitting tribute to put ourselves through the mill in her enduring memory. We didn’t say much along the way, but having fallen off the ultra-training wagon, it was definitely hard work.
It’s strange how possible it is to run, even when emotions are at their most extreme. We were both choking back the tears in Rutland, but at no point did that affect our running gait or ability to keep going. Similarly, with the wave of depression that accompanied the onset of winter as I found myself committed to a run streak that would last seven weeks until the new year brought it to a close. No matter how little I made of the rest of the day, that run was at least something undeniably achieved. So many people run for so many reasons. But in that bleak midwinter, running was therapy, a reason to make it out the door, and I’d go so far as to call it my salvation.
Through the turbulence of 2020 and a pandemic spent living alone, running became a constant companion in the face of my uneasy isolation. Catching Covid left a lingering fatigue that took months to lift. But as 2021 dawned, so did my golden age. Conventional wisdom has it that consistency is key, and so it proved to be. I set PBs at every distance from 5K to 50K, won an eight-hour loop race and completed the 102-mile Beacons Way Ultra on the way to logging over 3,000 miles for the year. I had fallen so deeply in love with this beautiful sport that I treated it to a romantic holiday, with a fast-packing trip along the Pennine Way. When shinsplints cut our honeymoon short six days and 160 miles in, I wasn’t angry, just disappointed that my legs would have to spend a couple of weeks on ice.
A creeping shadow
With some patient rest and rehab, my shins recovered and, before long, I was back to full power. But ever so gradually, running became harder and each mile took that little bit longer to get through. Not exactly lung-busting, but it felt like my engine was making unusual grinding noises, with a load of amber lights on the dashboard, and I just couldn’t find fifth gear. This was despite trying everything to keep progressing. I hired a coach to help me integrate strides, speedwork and strength training Despite the blindingly obvious obstacle of the sheer distances involved, running easy miles. I cut down on side-hustle work in order to rest enough. I stopped drinking and was already one of those whole-food, plant-based types. I even supplemented with beetroot. Looking back, I’d never been leaner, stronger or fitter.
But still I grew ever slower and more exhausted. I put it down to all sorts of things. Too much rest (or the opposite?), not enough sleep, a stressful teaching job, always catching colds from the kids, an overcommitted extra curricular schedule. I’d reached my mid-thirties – had I simply passed my peak? By the spring of 2022, I still didn’t have any answers. But with the benefit of hindsight, it was blindingly obvious that I’d been asking all the wrong questions...
To read the full cover interview with Dye, pick up the latest issue of Runner's World at your local newsagent/supermarket or subscribe here.
