Barcelona 24hr Race…Finally.

Barcelona, the world famous pickpocket hotspot, subject of epic tunes ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pj9sMxrFHZs), the slowest builders known to humanity (sorry Dad, not you, the chaps on the Sagrada Familia) and a rather good Olympics in 1992. What better place to run a 24 hour race in December to attempt the 230km qualifying mark for next year’s 24hr World Championships; also a nice excuse to wear a lovely England vest again. I couldn’t think of anything better to do on 15th December, my birthday… what kind of monster had I become?

After the bright idea of a 6.30a.m. flight from Stanstead (which meant getting up at 3 in the morning!), Mick and I arrived in Barcelona on  Friday morning and settled into our apartment, the highlight of which was a shower made to measure for me and about a foot too short for Mick! Maybe it was Lionel Messi’s old flat in the El Ravel district, famous for being a red light district of Barcelona. That is what you get when your mother books the apartment as a birthday present…what kind of man do you think I am?

Some bland tuna and pasta (described by Mick as the worst meal he’d ever had), an early night and Saturday morning we were off to the track around which I would dawdle for 24hours from 12 midday. The differences from Tooting Bec were slight, a rather sunnier day in December in Spain, a more pleasant approach journey that avoided Streatham and everyone spoke in a funny language, of which I only have a basic grasping that mainly involves the language needed to sell alcoholic beverages to drunkards. My friend Iria had taught me a rather unpleasant way to ask people to move but I didn’t want to make too many enemies on the way round, I might need their help later on!

I recce’d the course online. I didn’t want last year’s winner, Kai Herzog, having too much of an advantage with the route.

 At the track I started to see some familiar faces, the formidable Garfield Jones, the rather pleasant Matt Moroz, who’d been at UTMB and Tooting Bec, Mr. John Pares, GB 24hr hero and the new face of Richard Brown, manager for the GB 24hr squad who had been here to help Lizzy Hawker (who unfortunately had to withdraw with a niggly injury) and myself run around the track. Richard is a fantastic runner and race walker who held the JOGLE record, going quicker than most that cycle the distance. With my beautiful assistant Micky Seymour, the lovely Anne and the experience of Richard I really had no excuse but to run the 230km required of me. I was set a steady pace by Richard: to run the 230km I just had to run each 436m later in 2 minutes 30 and keep that up all night long. I had my usual stacks of food, including malt loaf, cheese, flapjacks, crisps and some sandwiches. I had a ban on sugar until the 12 hour mark but I knew my faithful jelly meerkats were there, waiting for me to gobble their little heads off. BRING ON 12 HOURS!

It was a pretty big event for 24hrs and the 5 lanes inside of us had all kinds of different races and relays going on, from 5k up to 6 hour races. The 12 hour racers had been bundled in with us, just to mess with the heads of anyone trying to pace to win. I would be doing my best to ignore what anyone else was doing, I was just going to crack on and do what I needed. We all bundled to the start, the briefing “run around in circles, turn around after every 3 hours” was as complex as ever and we were off.

Turn right, turn right, turn right, turn right. The race briefing was complex.

John and Matt were flying round at the start but I was determined to stick to my 2:30 laps and put a little break in at each hour, which was lucky as I felt like crap. The first 3 or 4 hours were the worst I’ve ever felt in a race, I had a headache, I felt lethargic and had stomach issues. I thought to myself “you’re going to waste everyone’s time coming out here, all this way, and you’re falling apart already. Maybe I just wasn’t made for 24hr racing after all”. I decided to push on, gobble some painkillers for my head and keep plodding on at my required pace. I thought I might as well make sure I got to 6 hours on target and see how I feel. 24 hours seemed like a really long way off at this point, as did 18 hours, but I kept moving in the right direction, eating and drinking. I reckon that my lack of sleep on the Thursday had affected me more than I had thought and my body was none too happy. I kept a smiling face on for everyone else, and was pleased to see John and Matt still pushing on strong through the night. At least we were having a laugh about me having to pee every other lap, I thought I’d developed diabetes or something? What was going on?

When we were getting nearer and nearer to 12 hours I was feeling a lot better and I needed the psychological boost of that half way mark. Home straight now and still on target (Insert distance here). Izzy Knox was having a blinding run in the 12 hour race, although also blighted by some pleasant vomiting and the happiest disposition I have ever seen in a running race (please read my sarcasm here, face like thunder is appropriate). After she was 1st lady and 2nd overall (and still unhappy about a MAN having the cheek to beat her) I expected a Sir Steve Redgrave quote of “If you see me near a track again, please shoot me”. It was a fantastic effort though, I’m sure she’ll be back to defend her title next year….

As ever the halfway point was a nice feeling and I was happy that I was feeling better and still on track (no pun intended). I had banked as many miles as Matt and John but I was hoping my steady pacing would see me good in the end. I was used to finishing strong in 100 mile races but hadn’t transferred this to 24hrs races yet, limping and crawling the last few hours in Basel and Tooting Bec earlier this year. I wanted to finish at pace this time, every race needs a sprint finish, this event needed a sprint from 20 hours to try and make it a little exciting!

The race went on however and I was trying to eat anything I could. Richard was insistent on getting as much food in me as possible and was adding little extras to everything I was to eat, especially lots of cake. I’ll have some peaches, “add some cake”, I’ll have a coffee “add some cake”, I’ll have some soya milk (a wonderful addition to my race diet) “add some cake”, I’ll have some cake “add some cake”. I never want to see another cake for the rest of my life, but I did get enough food in thanks to Richard’s skills as a feeder and Mick sneaking me some jelly meerkats when he wasn’t looking and eating some of the things that I didn’t want to eat.

On I plodded and it was rather nice to see Matt go through his first ever 100 miles in under 16 hours (I was a little happy he didn’t beat my PB) and he was still going real strong. He’d previously only clocked 93 miles in a 24 hour race but was guilty of sleeping and not pushing himself as much as he could. John, Richard and I then made it our mission to keep pushing and dragging him round the track, sometimes a lot easier than others, but he was smiling and moving quickly in those ungainly Hoka shoes. One benefit of the Hoka shoes was that if Matt and I were jogging round together people moved out of the way. It sounded like some kind of industrial machine stomping round the course and none of the Spaniards wanted to take their chances! Matt had the joy of every step being a PB, a nice way to think of a race and something I hadn’t been able to do since Grand Union seeing as there were not many longer races. Hopefully I would get a little taste of that today to go with the 10k PB I’d set a couple of weeks before the race, equally important.

18-20 hours in is getting towards the business end of a 24 hour race and I was happy to be still plodding round at about the same pace I’d started at. I knew myself that if I made it to 20 hours with 21 hours with 200k done then I would be fine for the distance. For once I knew I had a strong finish coming and that I could up from 9k an hour to 10k or more without too much worry. Unfortunately Mick and Richard were not as confident and unnerved by my calm attitude at this point. 30k in 3 hours, it’ll be fine chaps. So I plodded on. John wasn’t having the best of times at this point but Matt was still going round and the 230km mark, an aim for the future at the start of the race, was his to lose and we all knew this. I think I even shouted at Matt when he stopped for a pee, but he knew we had his interests at heart. Every time I jogged past I got Matt to tag along and churn out some more laps. I think both Matt and I gained a lot of the team aspect of this race and we started a “GB Train” which was Matt, John and I powering along lane 5, shouting “TRACK” and “Gracias” to anyone who hadn’t heard Matt’s almighty Hokas pounding the surface. I have always played team sports and taken great comfort in a shared struggle so this was great fun and helped all of us put a few extra miles on without too much effort. We even dared to talk about how nice it would be to get a GB train going at the World Championships in May next year… hopefully we hadn’t spoken too soon.

It wasn’t until the last few laps that I started to get a little emotional, probably for a number of reasons. Firstly I was so glad that I was finally finishing strong in a 24hr race, like I do in any other distance I run, and I wasn’t letting down the people who had shown faith in me over this year. My last 12 laps were my fastest 12 laps of the 24 hour period and John and Matt had to take it in turns to do a lap or two with me. My body felt great and I pushed so much on my 231km lap that no one was anywhere near me and I reckon I could have kept up with the last lap of the 10k race (I was probably crawling round at an excruciatingly slow pace but I felt like I was flying round like a disturbed racing pigeon).

Like a real man the tears started trying to force their way out and I imagine I sounded like I was in some kind of pain/pleasure mix as I was charging up behind people. Quite unnerving I imagine. I pushed it all the way to the line and then grabbed hold of my mate Mick and yelled “I’ve done it” and cried like a little baby. With Mick being a 50 year old plumber and all round tough guy there were obviously no tears from him…

Ah, ah, ah, ah Stayin’ Alive. Just about.

John and Matt jogged round and we managed another lap, stopping for a group “moment” celebrating that we’d all be in Holland together in May then  got the GB train on for one last ride. Night Fever was blaring out of the speakers and nothing drives a man to run more than the high pitched tones of the Brothers Gibb, dancing and all. The crowd was fantastic; cheering everyone over the finish line after our lap markers had been dropped, all together. Matt had finished a fantastic 3^rd overall, behind a brilliant German effort at the front from Oliver Leu. Considering Matt had come here to try and get to 200k, his performance was one of the top runs from a UK Ultra runner in 2012 and I’m expecting big things from this chap in 2013 (I’ve already been hearing about his epic mileage weeks in January). John is training up and down the mountains of the Alps and getting himself in peak physical condition for May; it should be fun to all run together. Hopefully my new job in the outdoors will let me run around a lot as well!

(L-R) Matt Moroz, Oliver Leu, Moi, John Pares at the finish. I’m just getting something out of my eye.

My 2013 aims are the 24 hour Worlds in May and Spartathlon in September, both opportunities to pit myself against the World’s best and see what happens. Earning a chance to run in a GB vest means more to me than anything I have ever done before and I couldn’t have done it without the great help of everyone out there!

Next year I will be again supported by the great guys at 9Bar (www.9-bar.co.uk) and I will also be part of Team Centurion with James Elson, Drew Sheffield, Neil Bryant, Paul Navesy and Ian Sharman, a great bunch of lads (www.centurionrunning.com/team-cr). I know it is just the start of things to come and I won’t be happy with less than 240k in Holland so I best get a bit of work done before hand and start stockpiling those jelly meerkats.