Spartathlon 2009

by Nick Lewis

The Spartathlon, for those who don't know, is considered by many to be the 'original' ultra-distance race - and also one of, if not the toughest, in the world. It follows a historically accurate route that Pheidippides, an Athenian military messenger, is believed to have taken in 490 BC to seek help against the invading Persians in the battle of Marathon. According to the account by Herodotus, Pheidippides left Athens and arrived in Sparta 'the day after he departed'. In 1982 John Foden and four other RAF officers led an expedition to see whether this was physically possible and were successful in their attempt. The following year the first Spartathlon was held, and has been held on the last Friday in September ever since. The race is 246km (152.85 miles) and must be completed within 36 hours. Incidentally the course record is 20:25:00.

I first became aware of this race a couple of years ago, possibly just after my first, and successful attempt at the GUCR. I thought it sounded intense back then, how right I was. In October 2008 I had decided that should everything go well the following year and GUCR also go well, I would enter and give it a go. After all, 145 miles along the Grand Union wouldn’t be a bad base for this.

GUCR 2009 went very well (3rd in 31:57), and I posted off my form for Sparta. I knew that I had to recover and get back to training ASAP. Things could have been better, but by the end of June I was starting to put in the hard miles. Things were going well. However, on a 35 mile off road-run with a friend, I turned my ankle badly, and had to bail on the run and have another friend (thanks Nicki) collect me as I was about 20 miles from home. This was late July. I took almost a week off from running and then tested it. It hurt a little, but wasn’t too bad. In the following 4 days I ran 27, 9, 55 and then 20 miles. This last run was my undoing. I aggravated the tendons in my foot and was getting ankle aches and pains. More time off from running. I gave it at first 4 days, then tested it again – and aborted after 10 minutes. In all I probably ran 3 times in two-and-a-half weeks – none of these were positive outcomes. Not the best preparation given that I had intended to be sticking in some high road miles now… I was, but it was on two wheels instead of two feet.

Eventually I got back to running without pain or tendon issue about 2-3 weeks before Sparta. The first time I went out my legs felt sluggish and heavy and hurt after some 5 miles, not exactly encouraging. Then I sprained my other ankle 8 days before the race…at least I was balanced now!

I say all of this not by way of an excuse, rather an explanation of how my race went. I am sure that those who do not finish this race look for reasons, and this I believe was mine. No ‘unlucky’ about it – in running it is all down to you – there are no short cuts. Many people said to me ‘oh you have plenty in the tank after GUCR’, whereas I was feeling very under prepared, and was very conscious that I had done few miles in the last month.

After receiving much valuable advice from other runners – most notably Mark and Peter, I prepared my various drop bags for the race the day before, as I wondered ‘what is the f***ing point of doing most of these – I’m NEVER going to get that far’. Realising that was rather negative thinking, I kept thinking – well if you DO get that far you are going to need x, y and z. Drop bags were packed, with various bits and bobs, and I actually felt happy with everything in terms of organisation. The rest of the pre-race day was spent trying to relax, and for me not worry too much about what may or may not happen, as now all I could do was wake up tomorrow, and give it my best shot, and what would be would be.

Race morning came and we were all bussed off to the start at the Acropolis – which did look rather magnificent in the dawn light, but quite frankly I wasn’t worried about that, I pootled off to go and find some facilities (bushes) – can’t imagine you would get away with doing that in one of London’s major tourist spots! The 10 or so British runners mingled at the start, some of whom had been here many times before, others such as myself James (x2) and Karen were first timers. I wished everyone the best well before the race started, so that I could do my own race preparation, which simply involves trying to calm myself down and be as relaxed as possible.

Placing myself well towards the back, we were off, down the steps from the Acropolis, and out into the early rush hour traffic, which was kindly being stopped by the Greek police. I ran very briefly with Karen Rowntree, however as we all settled into our respective paces, I was soon running on my own.

I was conscious that I needed to start drinking as soon as possible, and did so, although in hindsight I probably could have forced more down early on – ensuring I stayed hydrated as long as possible. The first few miles ticked away quite quickly, and I felt I had a sensible pace of about 9½ minute miling. I picked up my first drop bag (a bottle of SIS) at CP3, which was about 8 miles.

I was feeling pretty good on the whole for the first 15-20 miles, the course wasn’t overly picturesque – a mixture of dual carriageways and industrial areas of a typical large city, not what one would call inspiring, however the general atmosphere more than made up for it. At least I had made it to the start line and I wasn’t experiencing any niggles, aches or pains that I had feared.

Although the day had started cloudy, after a few hours the clouds thinned and the sun started to warm up by the time we went through the marathon distance. I was also starting to regret my choice of snacks that I had put into my drop bags (biscuits and flapjacks) as they were rather dry on the palate and made for difficult eating. I had to nibble small chunks moulds them into a sticky ball and then force it down with a mouthful of drink. Although less than ideal I made sure I kept putting fuel in the tank.

The course improved in terms of scenery as it wound its way along the coast – the sea looking particularly inviting now that the heat of the day was building. Although it was hot I never felt overly hot or troubled by this, and made sure I drank as much as I felt I comfortably could. However, by about mile 30 or so I started to feel soreness in my quads – which isn’t uncommon, given that I was only going at a very steady pace and I had quite a way to go it was becoming something of a concern. At some point Mark Woolley passed me and we quickly chatted, I mentioned my quads and he insisted that I take one of his gels. Now I rarely use gels, and I was loathe to take someone else’s supplies given that we have to look after ourselves in these events, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer – one of my main reasons, aside from what I just mentioned, is that a gel wasn’t going to sort out my quads, and I was sadly correct. I thanked and wished him well and he bounced off looking really good.

The miles slowly ticked by and I kept forcing food down, endeavoured to stay cool and drink as much as I could. This last point was something I was probably failing a little on as a ‘check’ showed that I was very dehydrated – more like ‘peat’ rather than the ideal ‘straw’ colour. I reached the Corinth canal where I quickly put on a toe-cap as my 2nd toe was beginning to become sore, no major concern, but the process of sitting and reaching my feet proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated, showing just what state I was already in. From here it was a short stretch to the Hellas Can CP – the 1st major control point.

I reached Hellas Can with a 45-minute buffer – more than I was expecting, so I felt quite pleased. This CP was quite a sight. There was a huge array of food (none of which I really wanted), people lay in the shade having massages and a real ‘picnic’ sort of atmosphere. In the end I grabbed a yoghurt, ate it, and some other bits from my drop bag and left within a couple of minutes – firmly sticking with the ‘don’t faff around at the CPs’ mantra that Mark Cockbain recommended. I walked out eating and thinking that if I give my legs a little rest then things should improve, as by now they were becoming uncomfortable and rather wooden.

After having walked for 10 minutes or so, I started to try to run again. Not entirely comfortable or successful if I am honest, but eventually I sort of got back into the rhythm. The race now headed out into the countryside – olive groves, with occasional houses, and I really had a sense that the picturesque side of the course was becoming evident. However it became increasingly uncomfortable for me to run, which was incredibly frustrating as I felt as fine as one would expect to be, just my legs seemed to be unwilling to cooperate! Walking increased and people started to creep past me.

Reaching the various CPs I stupidly forgot to look at their respective closing times, and it wasn’t for a considerable while after Hellas Can that I became aware of my buffer ebbing away (inevitably) as I walked more frequently. By this time though the sun was heading towards the horizon and James and John had passed me looking much more composed than I was. After brief chats they went on their way and I tried to walk out the stiffness in my legs.

Eventually I reached ancient Corinth and walked into the CP – ate another yoghurt and some fruit and left as quickly as I could so as not to waste time. The next couple of hours I walked as best I could although it gradually became difficult. There was one CP shortly after Corinth where there was quite a gathering in the town square, and quite an atmosphere – already there were numerous people who had dropped from the race on the buses cheering those as they ran (or walked) through the town. By this point it was starting to get dark and my drop bag with my head torch was still some way off.

The CP before I dropped (CP 29 or 30) was due to close 5 minutes after I had arrived, and it said that the next was just over 2km. This ‘2km’ took me close to half an hour, it was generally accepted that this was wrong as even at the pace I was going it was it shouldn’t have taken as long as it did. By the time I got to the 105km CP I had 15 minutes to get to the next one, about 4 km away. At this point I thought there is little point in me carrying on, as I am unlikely to be allowed to go beyond the next CP, let alone the remaining 140 km. So with a real sense of frustration I gave them my number and signed the form to confirm that I was retiring from the race. I felt fine in my head, my stomach wasn’t causing concern, and I wasn’t ‘tired’ nor were my feet hurting. My legs had simply fallen to pieces and I could barely walk. So I got on the ‘bus of failure’.

Sadly the bus was an empty one, and it only heads to Sparta when it has sufficient people on it. I got on around 8pm I think, and the bus slowly filled with people in varying states of coherence. James, John and Martyn were the other brits that joined me on the bus. However, Stuart seemed determined not to join us as we kept seeing him trucking on through the CPs, much to our delight and we all gave him as much encouragement as we could. If you have been on the bus, then I am sure you are aware of what occurs on it. There were several people having to be helped off as they threw up or passed out…or both. Eventually it left for Sparta as there were enough retirees and as I recall we got in shortly after 2am.

The next day was cloudy, damp and cool. Ideal conditions. I made my way to the finish and was immediately overcome with a real sense of emotion – somewhat irrationally I felt. I knew that the few people I saw finish in that hour or so had pushed themselves immensely, yet I had no personal attachment to them. I guess an appreciation of what they are going through and the sense of relief perhaps? Whatever it was I watched a few people come in then spent the rest of the day milling around Sparta.

By late afternoon, the first Brit was due to arrive, and it was Mark Woolley who finished looking incredibly strong on his 3rd attempt at the race. Within 10 minutes of finishing he had a beer in his hand and was being congratulated by his friends and support crew.

Mark Cockbain followed, and looked strong but tired at the end. As a man of experience of this race he avoided he iodine slippers at the medical tent. Finally James Adams, who had walked the last 10 miles or so and was able to come up with a few witty comments in the last few yards. Three finishers out of about 9 or 10 starters – typical of this race I believe.

Now that I have had several weeks to reflect on the race, I can see how I could have improved upon my preparation – mainly by not being injured, and how my race plan could have been better (drinking more and choosing different foodstuffs) the latter being minor points really. I have learned a great deal from this DNF as you would, and I do think that all being well (injuries/fitness and motivation) next year I would probably make another attempt, as these points and the knowledge gained would be invaluable.