“For me. Part of the super-long stuff is about digging the biggest hole I can, skirting around the edge of it and then, if I fall in, find out how I can get out. Sometimes you just end up crying on the side of the road. Other times you push through. So discovering what makes the difference between those two is fascinating to me”
Robbie Britton, In It For The Long Run.
Monday 31st January 2022 7pm
On Saturday 29th Jan 2022 at about 10.45 am, at mile 73 of the Arc of Attrition (or mile 75 for me because, well, shit nav), I DNF’d the Arc of Attrition 2021.
For the last 4 hours I had struggled alone in the dark, rain, wind and mizzle from Lands End through Sennen and onto what my friend Jay referred to as “The Badlands” – the remote stretch of coast between Lands End and St Ives that forms the most difficult part of the Arc.
This was the race I had worked my bollocks off for, the one I saw as the most important running event of my life to date, the one I thought would see me rise from the ashes of mental illness, heartbreak and (no real apologies for the language here) a total cunt of a year and emerge triumphant with a shiny buckle and a feeling of absolute completeness. Instead, The Arc was handing me my arse on a plate, telling me I was a complete fucking disaster of a human and that I had properly, properly fucked it up.
When Lorna (Queen of crew) met me at Zennor (mile 75), she had my bag, shoes and food – all things that I had text to ask her to bring. I had changed my mind about quitting about 17 times in the course of the last 4 hours, and had finally (I thought) decided to try and keep going to meet the St Ives checkpoint cut off - only 7 miles away from Zennor in distance and, at the time of texting, 3 hours away in time.
However, it took me an hour to get to Lorna after I sent that text. An hour to do just under two miles. I knew, coming down that hill towards Zennor like a crippled, shitty bambi, I would not be able to make the cut off. I just sat on a rock and cried and cried. Then I got up and hobbled towards Lorna. I had completely fucked it up.
When I got back to the cottage where my crew were staying (Lorna, Julius and Dunc were on duty with Lawrence and Anna waiting in the wings and helping with all important doggie day care) I was met with hugs and tea. I sat on the sofa and attempted to be normal, still in full kit.
I was OK with it. Everything was OK. I accepted my failure. I didn’t cry.
I managed tea and a shower, and then attempted to make conversation but went to bed for a nap at 2pm, getting up at 5pm and joining them in the pub for a cup of tea and orange juice and lemonade. I made loads of jokes and had a lovely time with my friends.
Everything was OK. I accepted my failure. I didn’t cry.
I went to bed at 9pm after three slices of pizza. I had hideous night sweats. I woke up on Sunday and had one piece of toast, went to race HQ to hand in my tracker and see the awards being given out and walked the dogs on the beach at Godrevy with Julius, Dunc and Lorna. Lorna and I went back to the cottage and watched all five episodes of The Responder with more tea and burgers.
I was OK. I had accepted my failure. I still didn’t really cry. Until I went to bed. Then I cried. A lot.
The next morning, I got in the car with Lorna and drove back to Devon to pick my car. On the way we chatted about how it was all fine and I had done my best and how everyone has these things happen and it was part of the process.
I was OK. I had accepted my failure. I didn't cry.
And then I got in my car, alone and started the 5-hour drive back to Yorkshire. And everything was not Ok. And I was a fucking pathetic loser. I had fucked up the single most important event I had ever entered, had done EVERYTHING wrong, wasted weeks, months, maybe years of training. I had failed at something I had publicly banged on about across even social media platform that would listen, I was a ‘professional and personal embarrassment’ (words borrowed from my friend Kate when she DNF’d Dragons Back last year, stolen by me because that’s how I felt), I had wasted hundreds of pounds in petrol, accommodation, recces, kit, race entries and food, I had wasted my crews time, my time and every person who had supported me’s time. I was an embrassment to the guys who supported me at Beta Outdoors and Inov8.
How the fuck could I have pulled out with only 25 miles to go??? Who does that? I’ll tell you who does it – a fucking coward. A fake. A person who is deluded to the point of insanity that they could even take this on. Everyone gets ill, everyone’s feet get fucked, everyone get’s sore and tired and dizzy. I just couldn’t hack it. I just wasn’t good enough. I was simply looking for an excuse to stop, to take the easy way out. I had gone against my core values, I’d lied to myself and not done the basics right. I could definitely have kept going. I chose to not to because I’m a pussy. What a fucking dick to even CONSIDER you could complete this.
I was locked in the car on my own with these thoughts for 5 hours. Lovely, comfy, familiar thoughts going round and round in my head between fits of pathetic sobbing – fits that a five-year-old would have been proud of, all whilst driving down the M5 (which makes anyone want to cry at the best of times).
When I got home, still in tears, I threw all my kit in the washing machine in a vain (and somewhat dramatic) attempt to wash the shame off everything I owned. I threw myself in the shower in an attempt to do the same. I phoned my mum and didn’t believe a word she said. I was angry that I had got home to an empty house, no partner to greet me, no nice words or a hug – and we all know why that is – because I’m a pathetic cunt who doesn’t deserve any of that. I proved that last year. “It’s super funny that you hated being alone on that night section Allie, because you’re always alone and you always will be - best get used to it! You will probably be alone FOREVER. Nobody loves you and people just pretend to like you because you’re a pathetic, timewasting pain I the arse”. That’s the sort of self help talk I was giving myself. Nice, comfy, familiar thoughts coming from my brain. This, friends, is how quickly it escalates.
I watched these thoughts doing their dance. Reacted to some of them, didn't react to others. Cried about a lot of them, sat in silence and stared at others. Sort of felt a bit hungover because these are the main familiar thoughts I would have when I was drinking, most of the time. Then I made a cup of tea and I sat down to record all this here, on this blog. And I do this for one reason and one reason only. It’s all a load of bollocks.
All these thoughts are bollocks. All of them. But they are there, clear as day, loud as fuck. I want to record them for myself and anyone else that has been in a similar circumstance. They are so real, but they are just thoughts. They are not real. They are familiar fuckwads that thrive on low self confidence and come out when shit goes wrong. They are not real but they are also so real. And tomorrow or the next day, or next week sometime, I might feel differently about all of it. But right now it fucking hurts so badly. And there is nothing that anyone can say that will make it better. Which just proves what a selfish, self obsessed bellend I am. (There they are again!)
Tuesday 1st February 2022 – 8am.
Spolier alert – I still feel fucking awful. But let’s get into it. How did this happen? Let’s attempt to look at it rationally.
That day started out gloriously. Great breakfast, ace mates and seats at the back of the bus to the start with James Elson, Jay and Chris from STE and someone else who just keep laughing at us because we were behaving like 10 years olds.
When I picked up my number that morning it had a gold star on it. I asked why and was informed that it was because I had been “seeded for a top ten finish” because I was “fast”. I laughed and felt sick because that is ridiculous, but the part of me that likes attention (and I do like attention, I wouldn’t write this stuff if I didn’t and I am a human being) was super proud and a bit taken a back. MAYBE I AM BETTER THAN I THINK I AM! A horrible mix of confidence and knowing I couldn’t live up to an unrealistic expectation. Bonza.
The start was everything I wanted it to be (not the waiting about in a car park bit, but the fanfare and drums and flares bit). Two years in the making – I was finally doing this. It felt so special and I felt extremely lucky.
I started running with Jay and Chris and some of the other Sussex Trail Events boys. Elson was long gone. I ran up the first hill. I should NOT have run up the first hill. But I was having a nice time and wanted to run with my mates. 5, 10, 15, 20 miles passed. Trails were in ace condition, hills were still there and were still massive and rocky and very, very technical. It was mega foggy, it was super gnarly, it was everything I had trained for. Lizard Point, Praa Sands, Loe Bar done, done and done. I was having the BEST time. I was also going way, way too fast.
I made it to Kynance cove almost an hour ahead of my own schedule and grabbed food and coffee off Lorna who was waiting patiently all wrapped up in dryrobes and coats. I made it into Porthtowan checkpoint almost an hour and half ahead of my own schedule. Alarm bells should have been ringing, but I was showing off – mainly to myself. I felt great, was eating well, having a proper laugh and felt AMAZING. Don’t get me wrong, that 25 miles is HARD but I was astonished at how well I felt. Crew, hugs, coffee and snack attack and I went straight through the checkpoint and on into the night. It was headtorch time.
The section from Porthtowan to Penzance I knew well. Tunes on, smashing up the hills, quads on fire, lungs burning, back down like a pro, a nice bit of flat between Marazion and Penzance, then straight through the checkpoint with a coffee and takeaway pasta and over to my crew in the car park. I was still an hour and a half ahead of my own schedule. The alarm bells started getting louder, but I chose to ignore them because I felt AMAZING AND I WAS A LEGEND. 46 miles in just under 12 hours on the SWCP. Smashing it, mate. Julius and Dunc were ace – refuel, change of top because I’d sweated buckets into the one I was wearing, and the Cornish mizzle had soaked me from the outside, and off into the first difficult and technical night section.
I think it was on the climb out of Mousehole that I started to realise I was “a bit tired.” Everyone seemed to be overtaking me. It’s a long slog up through the village until you hit the trails again, but I had done it a few times before. The trails were muddy and steep and I cannot find the words to explain how different they are in the dark. And it was pitch black proper dark. I soon lost sight of everyone in front of me and was alone. And this is how it would be for the rest of the night.
I had arranged to see my crew at Lamorna cove – renowned for where the coast path gets proper dicey – boulders to climb, the path right on the edge of the cliff with huge drops, but after a quick stop and high fives I was back on it and felt like I made that section look easy – I wasn’t afraid of the drop because I’d done it twice in the light. I could see the red lights of people ahead of me, but they were far away. My feet felt sore. They were VERY wet and I should have changed my socks – I vowed to do this at Lands End – new socks and shoes just in case the sore feet became a thing. I had slowed right down now. There were a few deep bogs and the trails were extremely slippery where the faster people had gone though before me. I was getting slower and slower but I was moving forward. I made a couple of nav errors – it was SO easy to do. I started to feel nauseous. I was eating all the snacks I had but they weren’t sitting right. I was drinking a ton of water and squash, but I just felt shit. The speed at which I’d taken on the first 25 miles was coming back to haunt me. Big fucking mistake Bailey. The blood was in my legs and not my stomach. And that meant whatever was in my stomach needed to come out.
I text my crew and asked them to meet me at Minak Theathre – about 5 miles from Lands End for an emergency rice pudding stop. I fell over twice, not badly, but I felt dizzy and a bit out of it. This was NOT how I was supposed to feel at the halfway point at all. The worst part was I had nobody with me. I am used to a pacer at night, princess that I am. But I was completely alone save a few people here and there going past. I was also hearing more and more stories about the people I had started with pulling out. That scared me.
At Minack I downed some custard and rice pudding and had a (nice) talking to from Julius. Everything seemed so far away and it was so, so dark. I felt a bit drunk. I couldn’t remember anything from the recee, and even if I could it meant fuck all. It was dark! Trails leading in every direction – which one was the right one? My watch was playing silly fuckers and telling me I was off course when I was on and vice versa. The slog from Minack to Lands End lasted forever. I did run with some people, but they were faster than me and kept pushing on. I tried to Be More Pie (this was my mantra for when I was struggling - my dog’s name is Pickle Pie) but even she would have eaten more than I had by this point. In fact fuck that, she would have been asleep, it was 2am.
Having a lovely time, before it went tits. Photo: MudCrew
Finally I could see the lights of the Lands End hotel – checkpoint 3. But that wasn't actually Lands End hotel – it was a container ship offshore. Tiny paths spread out everywhere into the dark forever, the noise of the waves was deafening and it was raining and windy. It was so, so confusing. I couldn’t listen to music because I needed to be aware of what was going on around me, for people shouting I had gone off course, for marshalls, for the sweet call of death, for anything really.
When I finally saw the Mudcrew Angels waiting at the top of the final climb to Lands End, I nearly cried. Finally. Over halfway. How did I feel SO SHIT half way into a 100? I thought my crew would be able to shelter in the Lands End Café but it was about 3.45am and they were waiting outside freezing. I felt terrible for them (and yes Duncan, I should have let you bring the van for this very reason, and I am sorry I didn’t). I had made good time and the checkpoint wasn’t due to close until 5.30am. I SHOULD have used this time to change my socks in the warm, take 45 mins and really get my head together for the next section. I should have addressed the nausea there and then and got a decent meal down me. But I didn’t. The madness was setting in. I felt so bad for the crew waiting outside, really bad, and so I spent 5 mins eating a plate of beans, went outside to see them (where it was freezing, raining and windy), got more snacks, mumbled something I can’t really remember, charged my watch and headed off again. This was another BIG mistake on my part. The last checkpoint at which I could have really got myself together and I didn’t. I now wouldn’t see the crew until Pendeen Watch – 11 miles away in distance, I thought about 2.5 -3 hours in time. It would take me 4.5 hours to get to Pendeen, and in that time shit went downhill very, very quickly.
“Long solo challenges (including long ultras) are hugely enjoyable when they go well. It’s a way of being so fully attuned to what you’re doing you don’t notice the miles……..When it goes badly though, there is nothing worse. You become very focussed on yourself, whether it’s discomfort, lack of energy, dehydration or whatever, and it can quickly become a downward spiral that just eats away at your self confidence and belief. Good moments can turn into bad moments so quickly. At it’s best the sense of achievement is just amazing. At it’s worst, the dark moments are just crushing”
Tim Laney, In It For the Long Run.
It was horrible, I won’t lie. It was AWUL. That section is an absolute bastard. It is SO remote and so windy and dark and lonely and pretty scary. I was moving VERY slowly now. I’d put on an extra down jacket layer, but where I had been walking more than running my feet hurt had begun to hurt a LOT. My quads had got cold and felt like raw spaghetti, difficult to manage without snapping. About a mile after Sennen cove I tried to eat a hot cross bun and some nuts but was gagging every time I tried to swallow. I was properly sick for the first time, and it freaked me out. And it wasn’t just coming out the top either. I’ll spare you the details, but my stomach was NOT happy. I started to panic. How could I keep going for another 50 odd miles when I felt this shit and couldn't hold food down? Hope was fading but I kept going. I tried to run but I didn’t have the energy and the terrain in that section is appalling. Huge hills up and down, rocks, the tin mines, it is HIDEOUS at the best of times, in the dark it’s like a nightmare.
“In this sport we’re fascinated by ruthlessly exposing our own shortcomings to see what’s left of us when we’re alone on the heath like King Lear howling at the wind……you’ve put yourself out there and no matter how many supporters you have, you are still alone”
Dan Bye, In It For the Long Run
I have no doubt that had I had a pacer or even someone to talk to for the whole section, this would have been very different, but I didn’t and that’s part of the difficulty of this race. Nobody to divert the demon. As much as I have done work on myself over the last 6 months to be in a place where I CAN be alone without other humans (I live alone, I work alone, I do most stuff alone but I do always have Pickle with me….and Pickle was not there either) being REALLY alone on that coast path dug into the darkest part of me and let the horror roam free in my brain. It was war. And there was not much left in me to fight the mental battle. I was calorie depleted, exhausted, playing the “Let’s Catastrophise!” game and hope was dripping away.
The only night photo I have - thank God. Photo: Mudcrew
Oddly I can’t remember a lot else about this section apart from how utterly, utterly mentally and physically shit I felt. People will read this and say “you should have called, I’d have helped” but it was 5am and I couldn’t think straight - I was paralysed by tiredness and a feeling of proper defeat. I was willing the dawn to break but it wouldn’t for another two and a half hours. And when it did it made FUCK ALL difference. I felt so unhappy and so, so lonely. And those feelings triggered other feelings that live in me that I can usually control because my mum will call me, or my sister will talk to me. But the demon was rampant. I was a fuck up. I had messed this up like I mess everything up. Pathetic twat. Pull yourself together. Oh no wait, you can’t. Dickhead.
I can’t remember how it happened, but I saw Lorna in the car just before Cape Cornwall at about 7am. I’d text the crew at 6.30am to say I didn't think I would make it through Pendeen checkpoint. I was not NOT looking after myself now. I hadn’t eaten since I was sick, and I felt fucking appalling. Bananas. I’ll have a banana. I had two at Cape Cornwall and the marshalls and Lorna willed me on the get to Pendeen, which I did. I saw the bananas again about a mile into that section. As did everyone else on that trail. Nothing would stay down now. Those few miles between Pendeen and Zennor were the ones where it finally went to shit. I cried a lot. I was so energy depleted. I kept trying to do maths, but my pace was now a 20min mile. I couldn’t physically do anymore. Even writing it makes me cry. How did it get to this? How? It’s fucking embarrassing. I have finished nine 100 milers. Why couldn’t I do this one?
My crew were great, willing me on via my phone but I just couldn’t. It was when I was sure Zennor was round the next corner only to find it was another 2 miles away that I finally realised I had fucked it. I wouldn’t make the St Ives checkpoint at this pace. It was too late for my feet, my stomach, my head.
I.
HAD.
FUCKED.
IT.
It was over.
I changed my mind about quitting so many times during those miles. I questioned my values, I questioned my decision making, I questioned if I would REALLY be a weight on the medics, if I was REALLY too fucked to go on. But I did make the decision. And ultimately it was made in a moment. It was one of those times that I really was IN the moment.
And having thought and thought and thought about it, it could even be that decision was genuinely made from a place of self-love rather than a place of self sabotage. I was too far gone. I’d let my own rules about food and pacing slide. Maybe in that moment I actually wanted to look after myself, even if that meant losing out on a dream. If this is the case, it should be applauded rather than seen as a failure. I write this not even really believing it myself. But is is a possibility, and one I should and will think about over the next few weeks. Could it be that instead of giving up I was actually waking up to the fact I needed to stop and look after myself?
Two distinct voices. One telling me I did it out of love and respect for myself, and one still saying it was a loser thing to do. I know which one I want to believe. I just have to start believing it.
In time I will to own my decision to stop and make peace with it. And that is honestly the hardest bit of all of this. It will take me a long time and a few brain wrestles. Everything I say, do and write comes from a place of authenticity and honesty - but this time I don’t know what’s honest and what’s not. Was I being kind to myself or taking the easy way out?
The years I spent ignoring my own needs and pushing on when I was breaking, both in running and in other aspects of my life almost destroyed me. Was this decision to stop before I was timed out actually the ultimate example of me finally showing I have some level of self-love and self-respect? Like I said, it’s a wrestle. I’ll get there.
When I met Lorna at Zennor and told her I was out, she gave me a proper talking to. But I had made the decision. If I’d have had an hour to sort myself out (the hour I should have taken at Lands End) maybe I could have kept on, but I didn’t have an hour. That’s the nature of the beast. There are checkpoint cut offs for a reason. If I’d have had all the time in the world would I have finished? Very possibly yes. But I didn’t. And those are the rules of the game.
And so we find ourselves here. Crying over the laptop on a Tuesday, then feeling OK about it, then crying again when I should be over it by now – shouldn’t I? I’m not over it and I will not be over it for a while. It has raised so many questions and it matters so much to me because I care so much about it. I care SO much about my recovery and my development as an endurance runner, about getting better mentally and inspiring people to try hard things. That is why I am sad and disappointed and frustrated. It might not matter to anyone else – it’s just a race and yes, I can go back and do it again and believe me, I will. But I worked really hard for this, I wanted to prove to myself that when those fucking thoughts came back, I could fight them and win. This time I didn’t win, but maybe I won when it came to being nice to myself for once and doing what needed to be done in that moment. I have a lot to learn about that decision and why it’s a great one one minute and a terrible one the next. A lot to learn.
Ultimately, I want to inspire people to go out and do these events because they will empower and energise you. And I still believe they can and do, I really do believe that. It’s just when they do go wrong you absolutely HAVE to address things you may find uncomfortable. I guess in the long term being able to do that is empowering in itself. Do not let this blog put you off. Please, please believe me when I tell you that this long stuff is worth it.
Today I feel depressed. Like proper lethargic depressed and I haven’t felt like this for a very long time. It’s perfectly OK to feel like that when you have worked hard for something that hasn’t worked out. But this time some things will be different. I’m not going to stop running, and there would have been a time when I would have stopped, maybe for months. I love running - even when it reduces me to the very bones of who I am and leaves more questions than answers. I’m going to keep working out where I went wrong to get me to the point of no return - and I think that running too fast at the start and not listening to those alarm bells is a big one here. I knew not to do that but I still did it. And putting my crew above myself - I should not do that. It is my race and they are there to support it, but only a sociopath could fail to feel sorry for them in the cold, waiting about for someone who is either and hour earlier or an hour later than thy should be and acts like a rat. But that is what crew are there for. They have chosen that. This is not on my crew, they were ace. It is on ME not doing what I should have done. I need to work on nutrition. AGAIN.
Lastly, I need to know when to just draw a line. I need to stop trying to unpick why I feel like this as a result of a decision I consciously made that, deep down, I know was the right one, even if it wasn’t the one I wanted to make. I need to own this decision. Over time I hope I will.
I’m very aware how long this blog is, so I’ll leave it here. To you the reader who may be feeling fucking shit because of a DNF in a race or maybe in something else, let’s hold hands and do it together. It’s Ok to feel like this. It means you care. Maybe it was your greatest act of self love. Maybe it is something to be celebrated not lamented.
A massive thanks to every single person who took the time to reach out on Instagram, facebook and text to try and help me when it went tits. I read all your messages and I really appreciated them even if I didn’t get back to you. I want to thank my crew, Lorna, Julius, Dunc and Lawrence and Anna for their time, energy and sense of humour throughout. All the other runners who I shared the trails with, who tried to keep my spirits up and who maybe got a grumpy Bailey back – I am fun, promise. I’ll prove it next time.
I’ll end with a final quote from Damian Hall’s excellent book In It For the Long Run. I read it before the race, and I will read it again now it’s done. Everyone should read it. It’s ace.
“Watching someone trying really, really hard to reach for a goal that may be beyond them, however pointless and indulgent it may seem, is one of the best things you can witness. It’s not pointless. It matters. I’ve heard it said that a person’s real character comes to the fore in a crisis, and while these ultra-distance challenges are self-created, voluntary crises, they can feel pretty real and intense at the time”
Damian Hall, In It For The Long Run.