Gritstone Grind 2023: boiled alive

Mow Cop

A 35-mile trail ultra marathon, following the length of the Gritstone trail across Staffordshire and the Peak District.

I could cite maybe four running challenges as the hardest thing I have ever done, and the one freshest in my mind will cry out for that honour. I don’t think today should take that crown; surely if I mentally revisited my Scotland 100 run it would rank as the toughest, but today was utterly gruelling in the heat.

My new Garmin fitness watch has been telling me for days that I’m broken, describing my training status as “strained”, and my training readiness as “poor”. This persuaded me that trying to match my best time in the Gritstone Grind this weekend was futile. Having hit problems in a marathon-distance training run a week ago, where dehydration caused me to hugely slow late in the run, and suffer cramping hamstrings, I knew hydration was key for today, especially given the forecast of high temps and full sun. I tried to keep fluids going in yesterday, but I still felt parched, and arrived at the race start today with a headache.

Start line

This was my third attempt at the Gritstone race. The first, in 2020, was my first ultra marathon, and consequently a huge challenge fraught with knee pain and fuelling struggles. Last year, with experience under my belt, I bagged an 8th place, and have continued to cite that as my best race performance. This year, with another century looming, and everything looking harder, I wrote off the possibility of going better. But then the race started, and it all changed.

At the start line someone had dumped an almost full bottle of water by the bin. I necked it to give myself the best chance. Once me and Rob were moving, and picking up a brisk pace near the leaders, I felt a lot better. I got caught up in the excitement, and we started to get some clear air in good position, so we were pressing on speedily. It was already quite hot an hour in, heading towards 10am.  The enthusiasm continued for about 15 miles, and things were looking promising for a very good result. We were chatting away comfortably, so no sense that we were pushing excessively. 

The Cloud

By late morning, the temperature was scorching. As we neared Croker Hill, Rob’s race started going wrong with calf cramps. I got chatting to another runner, and quite quickly a gap had pulled out and I had to assume things had worsened for Rob. I was quite buoyant and kept the pace up, until I got struck by nausea. It quickly got bad, to the point where I struggled to drink or eat. I took on fluids at the next checkpoint, but then it worsened, and all I could do was slow to a walk and wait, then start sipping fluids and wait again.

Approaching Tegg's Nose

Eventually, the nausea eased, and some gentle running became possible. I kept on the fluids, but whenever I was in full sunshine, it returned. It became unpleasant to the point where I started pondering pulling out; this would be neither my best race nor my biggest, so why suffer so much?

I passed my family, who were supporting, and inched up Tegg’s Nose. I was on the verge of sobbing as I saw a friend, who saw the struggle on my face and offered water. Some enthusiastic supporters a bit further on gave me a mental boost, but the nausea wouldn’t leave, and stomach cramps followed.

When I neared checkpoint 3, I was hanging on in there, and passed another runner whose race was derailing with cramp. I ate nothing but a few crisps, and filled one bottle with coke and another with plain water. I knew I wasn’t doing the best things with fuelling, but with only seven miles to go I thought I could make it.

Somehow, on the horribly long sequence of climbs that followed, I found another gear, and passed yet another runner whose day had taken a turn for the worse. I tripped on a gravelly concrete path, making a mess of my hand, but jumped back to my feet and ran on. It hurt, but nothing major. I wondered if the adrenalin was helping me to run.

With lots of slow jogging, I neared the home turf of Lyme Park. My family once again greeted me before I turned in to the park, and I almost collapsed in a sobbing mess. My stomach was hurting badly, and I knew my hydration level was bad. But I was entering the final few trails that I have run hundreds of times.

Approaching Bowstones, above Lyme Park

Still struggling through Lyme, two other competitors passed me, chatting away. At first it crushed me, I thought I had nothing to fight with, to defend the 7th place I thought I’d just lost. But then I realised my nausea had eased and my stomach pain too. With less than two miles to go, I went up a couple of gears, confident I could hold it to the finish, took back my place and continued swiftly down the long hill towards Disley.

My overall time was 17 mins slower than last year, but I would expect everyone took a big hit from the heat. I came in sixth, scooping up a first in age category - my best ultra result. I think everyone ahead was younger. This came at a big cost, and everyone I spoke to at the end expressed how hard and unpleasant it was to get round in those conditions. Reflecting on such a hard-earned result brings some satisfaction, but I think I will get more joy from it when the dehydration subsides and the memory of the pain fades. I hope not to do another hot run this season.