Extract from application essay, 2021.
I can’t recall when I first heard about the Barkley Marathons, but I do remember that at first, I wasn’t at all convinced. The event sounded contrived, the course repetitive, and the emphasis on suffering strange. A few years later, after running the 2019 Spine race, I was already changing my mind, but I knew I needed to be 100% committed to Barkley if I was going to do it justice. By summer 2021, that moment had arrived, and I was suddenly excited by the scale of the challenge. Not for fame or recognition, but for myself, because there is something strangely addictive about pushing oneself to the edge of what is possible.
Months later, I
arrived in Frozen Head State Park for my virgin attempt at the Barkley
Marathons. I’d spent the winter training specifically for this race, building
up distance to weeks of 80+ miles with a maximum of 35,000 ft (10,700m) ascent.
My training was all done in the early mornings, typically at 5am, and the
longer weekend sessions sometimes started even earlier, as I was keen to spend
as many daytime hours with the children as possible. January and February
seemed to bring one storm after another here in the UK, which probably provided
ideal Barkley training, in terms of mental resilience - it certainly took great
resolve to leave bed and head for the hills with sleet whipping into my face, and
wind knocking me sideways. To maximise ascent and steep gradient whilst
remaining safe from the worst of the wind, I did many sessions of hill repeats,
accumulating 18,000 ft (5,500m) ascent in 22 reps of Castlelaw (a local hill in
the Pentlands) on one occasion. Our dog Moss clearly thought I was mad, and
quickly learnt to hang back as we neared the top or bottom, sensing that we’d
soon be heading back the same way. The rest of my family got involved with the
training efforts too, my brother and mum both organized practice Barkley
Marathon events for everyone, complete with undergrowth to test the hardiest of
bushwhackers, and old magazines to collect pages from. (My brother Vaclav even
went so far as choosing National Geographic titles such as ‘Journey to the
South Pole’, and ‘Disasters.’)
I arrived at Barkley
feeling that I’d done all I could (as a working mum of two small children, aged
4 years and 20 months respectively) to get physically fit, but the many
unknowns ahead of me were intimidating; weather, terrain, navigation, and
sleeplessness all being factors in what should, statistically speaking, almost
certainly be eventual failure. Nevertheless, I was excited to meet Laz, and
hand him my UK car registration plate (a requirement for all race virgins), as
well as the huge wooden ladle my mum had carved out of cherry wood collected
from the Longdendale valley where I grew up - Laz seemed pleased by this,
pronouncing that it would be excellent for ice cream.
Laz hung out the flags, as is custom on either side of the track from the gate, starting with that of Ukraine, and we marked up maps according to the master copy and race instructions provided.
A fortunate result of
arriving from Scotland only the day before the race was that my body clock was
still on UK time, and I managed to sleep despite the knowledge that we could be
woken at any moment by the conch, signaling one hour to the race start. In the
event, this happened shortly before 7am, at which point the camp came alive
with last minute preparations. As we lined up by the yellow gate, a stranger
approached me to say my run at the Spine had given his young daughter the
confidence to keep playing football with the boys at primary school, which was
a wonderful thing to contemplate at the start of that next big adventure.
Laz lit his cigarette,
and everyone rushed forwards excitedly, relieved to be running after all the
anticipation. For the first couple of books we moved as a group, and I was
delighted to chat to the inspirational Courtney Dauwalter as we ran along
dodging briars on a rare flatter section. I can’t think of a better place to
have met.
The first descent was
a rapid introduction to Barkley terrain (rocks, slides and undergrowth
included), and I arrived at the bottom to find my compass had disintegrated
somewhere along the way, leaving me with just a plastic rectangle for
navigation. Thankfully I had a spare, which I guarded nervously from that point
onwards.
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| Enjoying loop 1, credit Simon Franklin |
The field started to
spread out, and I settled into my own rhythm, deciding that this would be preferable
to chasing the leaders. Luckily for me, I was joined by veteran and fun-run
finisher Guillaume Calmettes, who gave me a guided tour for several hours
that followed, kindly pointing out landmarks to look out for in the reverse
direction as well. That period was genuinely enjoyable, with company, sunshine
and fresh legs making easy work of the course. On the climb to the fire tower
Guillame dropped back a little, and I briefly joined the group of Paul Giblin,
Aaron Bradner and Tomas Oderud, before taking the lead. I navigated the last
few books of the first loop alone with no issues, arriving back at the gate
after 9 hours 13 minutes.
I rushed through a pan of pasta, changed into long trousers and
top, and added a heavier waterproof jacket, spare gloves and waterproof over-gloves
to the kit I was already carrying (which included waterproof trousers, hat,
gloves, a spare thermal long-sleeved top and a fleece), aware that the forecast
for the night was for heavy rain. Ten minutes later I collected a new number
from Laz (corresponding to the pages I would need to collect from the books)
and set off on loop 2 from the yellow gate, again in a clockwise direction.
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| Starting loop 2, credit Konrad Rawlik |
The light started to fade as I started the first long descent, and
I briefly joined Thomas Dunkerbeck to search for the second book, before he
pulled away on the next ascent. As the darkness deepened, the rain set in.
Hours passed, and the drumming grew louder, until water seemed to be everywhere,
running from the trees, pooling in the hollows, turning the steep descents into
a sliding quagmire. A fog drifted in, dazzling me in the reflected light of the
headtorch, and forcing me to carry it in my hand, where it jostled for space with
the map, compass and poles. The mud clogged the studs of my shoes, and I slid
downwards through fallen leaves, snagging against briars and grabbing out to
tree trunks for traction. At one stage, I looked up and saw two reflected eyes
watching me from an outcrop above, watching my slow progress upwards.
I reached the summit and located the book hidden there, noting how
much harder that was at night. I ran a short way on along the mining bench and
then stopped, studying the blackness ahead, and trying to recollect the route
down along the ridge, searching my memory for the clues Guillame had pointed
out earlier. I made one attempt, recognised it was wrong and climbed back up
again. I stopped to put on layers, grateful for the addition of warm dry gloves
and fleece, before descending once more. Arriving at the edge of a cliff, I
took a guess and headed right, fighting my way through briars as I searched for
a way down. Suddenly a light appeared coming in from the left below me, and I instinctively
started shouting, ‘Hello there! Hello there!’, excited by the sign of human
life. The light turned out to be Thomas again, and he was equally pleased to see
me, having been on the wrong line too far left.
Working as a team, progress improved. On occasion, Thomas would
take off his waterproof over-gloves and empty them of water, a sign of just how
wet it was. The descent from the fire tower was like trying to stand on an
inclined ice rink - in the end we just sat down and slid the steepest sections,
untangling legs and arms from the cable and briars at speed whenever they got
snagged. I remember thinking how impossible it was going to be coming up in the
opposite direction on loop 3, if we made it back in time to tackle that.
By the time we’d reached the final ascent it was starting to get
light, and I encouraged Thomas to push on, as he seemed to be climbing faster.
Just below the summit the flashlight of Grieg Hamilton appeared (already on
loop 3), approaching at pace. He stopped as he passed me, lifted the cap of his
hood and asked, ‘Who’s that?’, before moving on with a quick smile as I gave my
reply. I must have passed Karel Sabbe sometime earlier, whereas I met John
Kelly as I started my descent to camp. He shouted something like, ‘Get back out
for that fun run’, which suddenly seemed doable now that it was light and no
longer raining. I forced myself to speed up, preparing in my mind a list of
things I would need to do at the changeover, to be back out again by 24 hours.
I touched the yellow
gate at 23:38:31, and after a hurried bowl of porridge accompanied by chocolate
milk, a new running pole (the second replacement in fact, having also broken
one on the first loop), dry gloves and re-stocked food provisions, I collected
my next number from Laz at 23:52:24, thus starting loop 3, this time in the
opposite (anti-clockwise) direction. Thomas set off just behind me but quickly
moved ahead again, so I was left alone with my thoughts. I’d been told at the
changeover that most of the field had dropped during the night, and I knew that
I was now the fifth and final runner on the course. At that point I was still
aiming to try and get back within 36 hours, the cut-off to start loop 4,
although I suspected that it would be tight. Realistically, I thought 12-13
hours was more likely, providing I could navigate my way around without mishap…
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| Taking on water at the fire tower, credit Konrad Rawlik |
The first few hours
went well, and I arrived at the fire tower in good time and spirits, buoyed to
see Konrad there in a supporting role (even though he couldn’t say/do anything,
as per race rules). I think I muttered something aloud about the
inappropriately named ‘Fun Run’, before checking a compass bearing and
disappearing into the woods once more. The hours that followed were less
straightforward, and I struggled to find the line on the climb where I’d met
Thomas the night before. Whilst I’d done the loop twice already, the change of
direction made the challenge surprisingly different. The time losses were
small, but continuous, and I was aware that the 36-hour cut-off was slipping
away from me. On the steep descent that followed I fell heavily, and then
again, both times hitting my arms on stones as I did so. The second time I lay
for a moment, waiting for the intensity of pain to pass, before concluding with
relief that there was nothing broken.
I made better progress
on the flat section that followed, and I tried to use the opportunity to take
on calories, nutrition having been neglected somewhat in the focus on
navigation and terrain. I wasn’t enjoying food as much by this stage, but in
contrast to other ultra-race experiences I had no problems getting it down,
possibly because the pace at Barkley is relatively slow. I was keen to make the
most of the remaining daylight and was pleased when I found myself with what I
considered were all ‘straightforward’ books ahead of me as it grew dark. Alas,
my confidence was ill-founded, and I made one navigational error after another.
The 3 hours or so that I’d expected to have in reserve for a 40-hour ‘Fun Run’
rapidly diminished, and I was relieved when I finally reached the last summit,
with an hour to make the descent. Once again however, I relaxed too soon.
Somehow, despite theoretically running on a compass bearing, I gradually
drifted off the ridge onto a diverging slope. At one point I saw a stream and
made my way down to it, then changed my mind and inadvertently overcorrected,
further exacerbating my misdirection. Eager to be home, I convinced myself that
the stream I was following was the one I’d intended to arrive at, despite
increasing evidence to the contrary. It wasn’t until I arrived at a waterfall
and a large pool that the realization struck home, and with it a horrible sinking
feeling inside. I checked my watch and for a moment I lost all hope, with half
an hour remaining I surely couldn’t make it back in time. But then my resolve
returned, and a huge wave of adrenaline kicked in. I was suddenly running back
uphill and across, far faster than I’d moved since loop 1. I found myself
encircled by mountain laurel bushes, and I raged at them, pushing against their
strong arms and shouting out loud ‘Let me through, let me through!’, before
recognizing the futility of my struggle and dropping onto my belly to slither
forwards along the ground, desperately searching for an opening ahead.
Finally able to run
again, I spotted lights to my side, but not the ones I needed. Breathing hard,
I pushed over the next rise where I finally saw what I’d been hoping for. Continuing
to the furthest point across, I re-joined the race route, and finally ran down
the track to touch the yellow gate at 39:49:46. Counting my pages seemed to
take forever, and there was a nervous silence as I scrabbled around amongst the
sweet wrappers in my zip-lock bag for the final one, but finally I had it, and
Laz was shaking my hand enthusiastically, whilst people congratulated me at
either side. My heart was still pounding after the final sprint, and my legs
suddenly felt drained and wobbly, as I struggled to process the fact that I was
done.
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| Counting the pages, credit Simon Franklin |
One week on, I’ve had
time to be proud of myself and of what I achieved. I went to Barkley determined
to give it my all, and I came away knowing I did. Whilst I made many mistakes,
I also found the strength to overcome those disappointments, time and time again.
I am already forgetting how hard my time ‘out there’ was, and in its place is a
sense of nostalgia for the intensity of that effort, and the people I shared it
with. I understand now why Barkley becomes an obsession; in fact I suspect I’m
already firmly in its grip.
At this point I want
to thank Laz and his team for creating and maintaining a challenge that is
genuinely unique and wonderful. A huge thank you also to the fantastic Damian
Hall for his coaching, as well as to Coach Dee for strength training, Shane
Benzie for gait advice, inov-8 for kit and Supernatural Fuel for training food.
Lastly, but most importantly, my husband Konrad for crewing and hugs, and my
parents Alena and Jeff for looking after the children and dog at home whilst we
were gone.
I’m overwhelmed by the
kindness and generosity of the many congratulations messages I’ve received over
the last week, and I hope that I can use a little of that attention for good,
to inspire little girls playing football in primary school, amongst others.
