The Weald Challenge

When a race has its race HQ at a Chiddingly Primary School in a place called Muddles Green, you know it is going to be a homely, rural affair, even if Google Maps insists on calling it Chiddingly City. And so it proved, for the small but perfectly formed Weald Challenge.

There were three race distances on offer: a half marathon, full marathon and 50km ultra. A club-mate and I had both opted for the marathon, as part of our training for ultra races later in the year. This would be my third marathon (and second trail marathon) in five weeks. If it is possible to become blasé about running marathons, I was well on the way to becoming so.

As we arrived, the Ultra Runners were heading to their 8am start. We had an hour or so to collect our numbers and prepare for our marathon. This was easily the smallest marathon, and in fact one of the smallest races I’ve run. There were more running the Ultra and the Half, but it meant that out on the course, one might find oneself running with one or two others, but often, particularly in the second half, I was running solo. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I can say, without fear of contradiction, that this was the most picturesque race I have had the pleasure to run. Although overcast as we toed the line, the morning sun quickly broke through, to light up the Sussex countryside in all its glory and variety. This race route really did have everything. Cows and sheep. Rivers, lakes and streams. A ford, and an unmanned railway line to cross. Fallen trees to clamber over and low hanging branches to stoop beneath. Some runners felt there was more road than they expected, but I was more than content with the amount of woodland paths, downland tracks, buttercup meadows and green-crop barley and wheat fields. And if I never see another stile again in my life, it will be too soon; I must have climbed over about 50 of them.

It took me a little while to get into the race. My legs didn’t really loosen up until about three or four miles in. From that point on, I held a steady pace, resisting the temptation to stop and take photos of the glorious countryside all around. When I reached the first checkpoint at about seven miles, I retrieved a cap from my backpack, to shield me from the sun for the rest of the run. Fortified by water, cola, ritz crackers and watermelon, I set off again.

Three weeks previously I had run the Three Forts Marathon along the South Downs Way, and visibility had been so bad I may as well have been running in the gym. This time, on the Weald Way and the Vanguard Way, the air was clear, the sun was warm, and I could see for miles. I felt that I was lucky to be a runner. I could see countless stunning vistas in a single morning, effectively having a fast-paced country walk with picnics provided at regular intervals.

The second checkpoint was at halfway. I again stocked up on cola, water and watermelon. I was carrying my own water, using a hydration system for the first time, but I didn’t know how long it would last, or how warm the weather would get, so I made the most of the aid stations. The volunteers were more than happy to fill bottles for thirsty runners.

Leaving the checkpoint, I picked up the pace a little, taking advantage of some downhill sections, and knowing that there were some big climbs still to come, and that I needed to up my tempo if I wanted to run under five hours.

In the second half of the race, I ran on my own for much of the time, but began to overtake a number of runners, including those running the Ultra and the Half, as our courses converged towards the end. The weather continued warm and sunny, and wooded sections of the route came as a welcome relief, even if they did require more concentration, looking out for roots and low-hanging branches.

There was a fair amount of overtaking, as runners changed pace going uphill or downhill. I tend to lose ground going uphill and gain it going down. As I felt pretty strong in the second half of the race, I consciously tried to gain ground going up and down, run-walking up hills when others were simply walking. This seemed an energy-efficient method, and I picked off a number of runners in this way.

There was a checkpoint at 19 miles, and thankfully again at 23. By this time, I was swigging all the coke I could get my hands on, desperately trying to keep dehydration and fatigue at bay. I expected some kind of gastric reaction, but thankfully none came.

At around 24 miles, I was trading places with three other runners as we ran through a wood, climbed another inevitable stile, and headed across a meadow. Ahead of us, we could see another group of runners – half-marathoners, we surmised – paused at another fence, clearly trying to figure out which way to go. By the time we reached where they had been stood, they had headed off, but we all four paused in the same place and reached the conclusion we had gone off-course. Now, my trail running experience stretches to just two marathons, but you can take it from me that getting lost, 24 miles into a run, is a pretty dispiriting experience. Tired legs and tired mind make decision-making problematic. Go forward? Go back? Heaven forbid. We looked at the maps provided at race HQ, but could make no sense of where we were. I recalled a hard right turn we’d taken half a mile back, which hadn’t been signed, but there had been no obvious alternative route to take. Eventually we reasoned that the group ahead of us hadn’t returned, so we might as well follow them. We did this, and eventually found ourselves back on a track we recognised from the outward part of the course. We were definitely heading towards the finish, but we had no idea whether we had added distance to the route, or taken an inadvertent shortcut.

As we neared the finish, along country lanes, there were numerous people out offering encouragement. Sensing the end was near, I pulled away from my companions of the last few miles, to finish in 19th place, in 4h55m56s. But this race really wasn’t about the time; it was about the journey. And a wonderful journey it was.

As I crossed the finish line, I was handed a hand-crafted Weald Challenge mug by a young girl, and a medal by what I guess was the young girl’s mother. Free coffee and cake were on offer, and I supplemented them with a protein shake.

In the post-race analysis, it transpired that lots of runners had gone off-course towards the end of the race, due to someone removing a direction arrow. For some this was a disappointment, but for me it seemed to add to the adventure of the whole event. I wasn’t running to break a pb, or for any particular kudos. I was running to prepare myself for another event, and actually for the sheer joy of running through the English countryside. On a sun-soaked May morning, there are few sensations more pleasurable than moving easily, under one’s own power, through our ancient landscape.

Mortified by the navigational problems, the race director has already made the decision to make next year’s race a 50k ultra only, and for it to be self-navigated. If I’m in any kind of shape next May, I think I will run it. I would recommend it to any runner.

My 19th place is probably the highest I will ever finish in a marathon. Such are the benefits of running in a race with only 50 finishers.