alliebruns-blog

[alliebruns-blog]

Races, Recces and Adventures for 2019

First off SORRY FOR NOT DOING BLOGS (to the 3 people that read them)

2019 has already been quite the year. Let’s get the excuses in, shall we? I have finally moved out of London to lovely sleepy Somerset – home of the Mendips, hills and lots of cows. The running here is ace and I feel like I have finally shaken off the horror of 23 years in London. But it’s a big change – the first month I felt like I was on a different planet – then I had to find work (you know that thing that actually pays you?) So I took a step back from internets for a bit. 

Another reason for lack of bloggage. It seems I have been writing them for everyone else but me this year. For some reason my inbox went a bit mad and I’ve been asked to write pieces, blogs and interviews for a Bulgarian Travel and Adventure Magazine (apparently I am going to be on the cover?!), Run Deep, Precision Hydration, Lessons in Badassery, Dure, Red Bull and Trail Running Magazine. Plus, I have to do my day job. And look after 4 dogs. And a 9 year-old (not mine but sort of is mine now….) and a man human. Jokes. He’s looking after me. 

 So what’s been going on? EVERYTHING HAS. 2019 started with BBR trotting over the The National Running Show in Birmingham where we had a stand and I gave a couple of talks. I was I the throws of a horrendous depressive episode and had to attempt to put a face on. I still wasn’t over Panama really. I think it took me about 3 months to get over it in the end. I had to do a talk on a panel about mental health and running (oh the irony) and then my own talk about running across deserts, jungles and that.

It was very difficult attempting to inspire people when I actually felt like a piece of shit. The show itself was ace and weirdly we have been asked to come back – but more on that a bit later.

I got out in January and February to do a couple of reccees for White Star Running. The weather was JOKES bad. 60mph winds and rain made for a very interesting trot along the coast.

We were checking the route for Septembers Run Jurassic races which are going to be amazing. Have a look at what’s on offer here - and rest assured that it shouldn’t be weather like this on the day…..

Then came the first race of the year - Larmer Tree Marathon in Dorset. Lest gusty with 40-50 mph winds making for another interesting run, and it was also Pickle the ultra dogs first official marathon – she loved it. Look at her little face! 

Then it was off to Bulgaria to do some talking about running. Myself and David from the Bad Boy Running Podcast were asked to go and do a talk at a running expo they had there and it was MEGA fun – defo returning nest year to do the 100KM ultra they are organising – it’s BEAUTIFUL in Sofia.

Back home and it was off to Rat Race’s Ultra Tour of Arran for the second year. 62 miles over 2 days with “some” elevation (A LOT) and some demons to slay. As you know I did NOT enjoy this last year - my fear of heights and ledges almost got the better of me, but this year was different. We had about 10 Do-Badders with us and some of them were first time ultra runners, so I felt a bit like I had a duty of care to them.

As part of my role with Rat Race, I did a little talk to people about the Bucket List which was great and I managed to get round the course with the whole squad without crying. Only issue was I ended up with an eye infection that meant I couldn’t wear my contacts. This is not recommended on mountainous trails. I fell over 3 times - my knee looked like someone had gone at it with a rifle. It really knocked my confidence for trails and I have been super careful ever since. I really hate falling over.  

Arran was beautiful and epic as always. I cannot recommend this race enough. Its otherworldly out there. Here are some pictures – the weather was so kind to us. If you get booking it now it’s pretty cheap – or even better register for a rat race season ticket and it sort of pays for itself! 

Next up was London marathon. It was my sixth year and I wasn’t looking forward to it having only just really moved away. I used to love this race, but I had done so little in the form of road running I was dreading it a bit. So I decided to spice it up by running it in reverse to the start and then running it the right way round.I need some night running experience for later I the year so why not?  I also wanted to raise money for my old friend Scott who we lost to suicide last year. If you want to give a few quid, the charity has been set up now and you can find it here.

We got up at 12am after 3 hours sleep and got our stuff together – we were running with a couple of friends starting at Birdcage walk. We decided on a 5-6 hour time as I had the real thing later on, and this was a training run ultimately. That didn’t go to plan and we ended up smashing out 20 miles in about 3 hours – meaning as we came into Greenwich everything was shut. ARGH! I need coffee! I’ve never waited for a Macdonalds to open, but that day I did! We decided to march out the last 6 miles as we had the time and my legs were already staging a protest about the relentless road pounding they were getting. Once we reached the start we headed over to a hotel on Blackheath where my amazing friend and Head of Crew™ was staying.

We had the BEST BREAKFAST EVER and got I got changed into fresh kit and then it was time to do it all over again. I forgot how much waiting about there was at London. I think I stood in the pen for about an hour, little legs seizing up, feeling cold for once. London is usually boiling. I took a minute to look around at the people running. Lots of them were doing their first and only marathon. Some of them made me want to cry. I saw a guy dressed in a bin bag looking nervous, fiddling with his headphones. He has  a message scrawled on his arm in sharpie – obviously written buy one of his kids. It said “I love you daddy and I am proud of you”. He kept looking at it. It made me want to cry. Sometimes humans can be wonderful. I bumped into the legend that is Anna Mcnuff in my start pen. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. Brilliant. She’s running the length of Britain barefoot so was a training run. I had SO MANY QUESTIONS but she seemed very cool about the whole thing. She really is relentlessly cheerful, that woman. 

 Then we were off. I felt pretty good considering the fact I had already done it once that day. As always there were huge crowds and bottlenecks and I was running a lot faster than I had done in a while. You can’t help it at London. You kind of get swept along. I was very wary of eating and drinking – I hadn’t eaten much during the night run and I am used to picnics on ultras now. I tried to take it easy but it felt easier to run at pace so I did what felt good. For once I wasn’t wearing a pack and it’s amazing how much that frees you to go a bit faster. I was relying on the water stops for all my hydration and that worked. 

One of the things I really noticed about the marathon this year is the aggro. I am so used to the chilled nature of trail runners that I totally forgot about what happened in New York. Road runners can be total arseholes. There were points when I ran over to the water station, signalling I was doing so, only to be physically bashed on the shoulder by other runners and told to “move out of the fucking way”. When I take water I tend to slow down, walk at pace, finish the water and then run on. It’s pretty obvious. I walk close to the edge so people can pass me. I’m sorry but people need to have a bit more patience. Fucking idiots. ANYWAY I managed to finish in a pretty OK 4 hours 10 mins. Getting out of the mental finish area was awful as always, and I had to meet up with a couple of people because my personal hell wasn’t ending there. I had signed up to help out on a Rat Race private event for the next two days and needed to get to Richmond to drive up to Cirencester. No boozy celebrations for me! So off I went to work with 300 bankers who were out on a jolly for 3 days running, cycling and kayaking 165 miles along the Thames. Wednesday came and I had never been happier to see my bed! 

Turns out road running smashed your body up a lot – especially 53 odd miles of it. My back was killing me, my legs hurt. So I did something I am not very good at – I had a bit or a rest. A few days off, runs at the weekend, went to physio. And then, two weeks later, it was time for The Ox Epic.

This is one of my favourite races of the year. Set on the Rushmore Estate in Wiltshire, its a whole weekend of camping and running courtesy of White Star Running. You can choose what race you do. Theres a 10km in the dark, a 10km in the morning, a half marathon and a 50 miler. So what did I choose? I CHOSE THEM ALL. Last year I managed to accidentally win the Epic - this year was a different story. This was a training run for something much bigger.

Once again White Star pulled it out the bag - a beautiful weekend and everything went like clockwork for me and him indoors, despite the fact we had all four dogs on site plus a 9 year old to look after. I managed to keep the same pace for all the races and not feel broken, plus I had a really nice weekend! We ran some laps with the dogs, some without, took out time at the aid stations, walked the hills and ran the flats. All in, we managed to get 76 miles in the bag over the weekend and finished knowing that we could do more. It was a chance to practice fuelling and hydration and catch up with old and new pals. Highly recommended and I will definitely be back next year - perhaps with my eyes on the prize again.

Pretty much everything that I have done in the first part of this year has been pointing towards my one A game race of the year which is happening this weekend (18-19 May). The Climb South West Devon Coast to Coast Ultra. I signed up last year on a whim. It’s 117 miles from the south coast to the north coast of Devon non-stop. This is the furthest I have run without a break, so it really is a huge deal to me to get through it. We’ve been out and about doing a couple of back to back weekend recees to see what the route is like. It’s self nav and we will run a lot of it in the dark. It runs along the Two Moors Way, across Dartmoor and Exmoor, through some horrendous terrain. There are a lot of muddy bridleways, fields and hardly any markings.

Elevation is mental – it literally feels like your going up hill all the time. It’s a really important race for me because it’s one I am not sure I can do. I have a plan A. B. C and D in place but I can’t see myself finishing in under 39 hours. Will I finish at all? Dunno. Stay tuned I guess….

So yeah, a lot has gone on so far this year, and there are some awesome plans in the pipeline for the rest of the year. 

Adventure time! AGAIN! 

I am resurrecting my position as Rat Race Test Pilot for 2019-2020 and doing 4 big recees this year, as well as pretty much all the events.  

June sees me travel to Spain for the Sea to Summit test pilot outing. The highest mountain in mainland Spain is 80km from the coast. Our route connects a start line on a beautiful beach on the Costa Tropical to the summit of Mulhacen (3482m) via a tough 2 day running route, giving 2 marathons back to back and nearly 4000m vertical height gain. No biggie. Plus it’s going to be BOILING and we start at 2am to try and avoid the sun. This is Ben Nevis twice in a day. Fun. 

August sees me trotting off to Malta for The Maltese Falcom. There are 3 islands that make up Malta. This ia a full traverse of the island chain. 3 disciplines. Run across Gozo. Kayak to Comino. Swim from Comino to Malta. Run across Malta. Hot. Historic. Warm sea. An island totally geared up for Endurance sport.  And all in one day. Another world first. 

In September I am off to Scotland to do something I have always dreamt off. A full coast to coast traverse of Scotland on foot. This is a west-coast-to-east-coast outing, n foot, over 6 days. The difference here is that Rat Race have devised a route that encompasses crossings of water and the use of some rivers and lochs, for which we will carry and use pack-rafts. This very unique route means we will hike or run, get to a body of water, use the raft to cross it or traverse it and then carry on by foot. An insane format in a simply stunning setting and incredibly remote area. The route goes from a starting location at Mallaig to finish just north of Inverness. This is the wildest country in the British Isles. We will be vehicle supported for some of the outing; and then self-contained (pack on back) for a significant portion of the rest. Almost 100% off-road. And in September. Be kind, weather! 

October I will return to Scotland for a multi day traverse of the Outer Hebrides. Another dream event. It is around 150 miles from the bottom to top of this rugged island archipelago off the West Coast of Scotland. We will attempt this journey over 6 days. We’ve not quite worked out the logistics on this (have I not learnt anything from Panama??) But I am SO EXCITED TO DO IT! 

In November I am travelling back to Namibia to crew for the Race to the Wreck event. That means I get to see the beauty of the desrt from the crew vehicle with a bit of running, but most importantly, it means I get to encourage, help and inspire people to complete the crossing. I would like to thank Rat Race for constantly believing me and allowing me to do these awesome things. I am one lucky piglet.  

Also here’s a thing – if you fancy joining me on any of these funtime recees then you can – just drop me an email here for more details. 

I am also doing a few other things in between mega adventures to keep up the training and fly the flag for Rat Race and White Star. There’s the Dorset Invader Marathon, the Man Vs Series, the Run Jurassic Series, Ultra Tour of Edinburgh, not to mention my first Threshold event at Race To the King. Basically it’s BUSY. But I am happy. And that’s the most important thing. 

Finally – big announcement – Bad Boy Running are thrilled to have been asked to curate a new section at The National Running Show 2020. We have been given the honour of curating the Ultra Zone – a brand new zone that focuses completely on Ultras. We have our own stage, our own guests and our own talks and panels, We are in charge. We will be announcing out line up in the next month or so but if I were you I would get your tickets NOW because you DO NOT want to miss this. You can get your free ones here using my code AMB18. We have some of the biggest names in Ultra running confirmed and it’s going to be mega. You can register for your free ticket here. Massive thank to Mike for believing in us (and trusting us – he may regret this….)

I’m also going to try and bet better at this blogging thing – I have a lot to write about so not short on material – it’s just the time. Having said that I am happy to write for anyone else that fancies it. Just drop me a line and I will take a look at it. So yeah. That’s it. Whirlwind update done. See you next week. If I survive.

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings - Panama Coast to Coast, Days 16-17 - Extraction from the Jungle 

The Jungle - Day 16 

Amazingly (or not) I slept the whole way through the night. When I woke up at 5am, the butterfly was still hanging onto my tarp. I could go into a beautiful paragraph about how I felt the butterfly had protected me through the night, but in all honesty, I was just a bit surprised it was still there. I got up, checked my boots, put them on and started the routine of taking down the tarps and hammock in the pitch black. James had gone - his hammock and tarps were packed away and his bag hidden in a bush. He had gone back up the mountain at 4am. He had gone to get his drone. 

The mood in camp was still by no means rosy. For some reason I had hung up my wet muddy kit overnight in the hope it would dry (???) Things don’t dry in 90% humidity. They just don’t. And when it rains, they get even wetter and colder. And it had definitely rained. Pulling on wet compression tights is an endurance challenge in itself. The only warm, dry kit I had were the leggings I was sleeping in. I was guarding them with my life. I now hadn’t changed my underwear or tops for around 4 days. I was washing in rivers and streams, but there was literally no point in the faff of attempting to get changed. As much as I hated myself, I also didn’t care how disgusting I was. I tried to brush my hair with my fingers and three small spiders fell out. Oh well. 

I sat and ate my breakfast and jungle coffee on Ant Rock, staring at the rickety zipline. Whilst the sensible part of me knew it had been there for years, trusted by locals and used time and time again without issue, the catastrophising side of me would not let up. I wondered if Panamanian health and safety ever checked it. Possibly not. Would I want Panamanian Health and Safety checking it? Possibly not. I didn’t want to go over on it, but the river was very deep and fast flowing so there was no choice. I had a little quiet cry. The boys were, of course, loving it. I’m not sure that they understood how scared I was - I actually think they may have found it quite funny, and in a way I was ashamed and embarrassed of the fear of something so basic. Darren goes over taking selfies and having the best time, I go over head down gripping onto the rope like a child with my eyes shut. When I get off on the other side I feel like I might be sick and have to sit down. What a fucking hero. 

The plan for today is to try and get the hell out of the jungle. Again there is a plan A and a plan B.  Plan A is to smash out a 20km march - apparently it’s ‘not as hilly today’ and it COULD be possible to make it to the extraction point. plan B is go as far as we can today, camp and then get to extraction at lunchtime the following day. We are all hopeful of plan A. However, there’s something about the word ‘elevation’ that is lost in translation with Moises and Elvin. Their idea of hills and our idea of hills are VERY different. They have lived here their whole lives. They run up and down these ascents in wellies. They are tiny monsters. Possibly the fittest men I have ever seen. Later, James and I decide to take them back to the UK and manage them as trail runners. We’d make a fucking KILLING. The thought of them whizzing round the Bob Graham Round in record time in wellies was almost too amazing. Anyway, the point is that the trails that day were not flat. They were steep as fuck. Again. 

Once everyone is over on the zipline, we set off. We have agreed to leave James to follow on - he's fast and fit, and he is with Elvin. We have no idea if or when he will come back, but Elvin knows the route, so on we go. There is talk of another village on the way up the valley. Rick thinks that there is a possibility we can ask some of the villagers to help us with the packs in exchange for some money. 

We are all bang up for this - even an hour is some relief. Just a few kilos out of the pack helps. On the crest of a hill, we find ourselves in the middle of the tiniest village - it literally has 2 small mud shacks. The shacks have no walls, and browning dry palm leaves for roofs. In the shacks live families of 16-20 people. Around them are pigs, dogs and chickens, all thin and munching on anything they can find on the floor. One girl even has the smallest kitten I have ever seen in her hands. I want to take pictures of everything, but it’s disrespectful and the whole village was looking at us like we had just come down from space.

After a few minutes negotiation, we are instructed to thrown the heavy parts of our kit in a pile on the floor - some of the villagers would hoof it up the next hill with our bags. This was AMAZING news. I took out my hammock and my wet kit , kept my bladder and pretty much everything else - my bag was so much lighter - this was dreamy. My mood was immediately lifted.  We pretty much emptied Robs pack on the floor - he still wasn’t right. Throughout the trip I had been feeding him salt tabs and making him drink, but he would go through these really low patches where he had no energy at all. I think he was constantly leaving it too late to do anything about being hungry and thirsty - the rule in these environments is, if you have a hotspot or a twinge deal with it immediately - same with eating and drinking. If you even feel a tiny bit low, deal with it immediately or it will come back and bite you on the arse. 

I was almost totally out of snacks now - I know right? Me. Out. Of. Snacks. All I had was a bag of fruit pastilles. I was being so careful with them. I had said to everyone that the opening of the fruit pastilles would mark the beginning of the end. They were for emergencies and sad times. I could see that the team, although overjoyed about the fact our bags were lighter, were hungry and tired. So I opened the fruit pastilles and gave one to everyone. They were the best thing I had ever tasted. I tucked them away for later. 

We left the village and started off up yet another hill. The mud and elevation were similar to before, but the jungle was different. There were more tiny farms and even some “fields”.  The vegetation started to change. It became greener and more cartoon like. It was getting to be quite pleasent. Maybe it was the fact that we knew we only had one more day maximum in here, maybe it was the different setting, with lighter bags, or maybe it was the one fruit pastille. Whatever it was, we had all perked up. Rob was still at the back, but we were trying our best to push him on without annoying him. There is a fine line between encouragement and pissing someone off in these environments. A very fine line. 

After an hour or two we started to hear voices behind us. It was the guys from the village, carrying our stuff up the hill. Now, I expected the guys doing this to be a bunch of 18 year old badass farmers, but as they came into view, I realised this was not the case at all. The group was made up of 5 or 6 children, boys and girls. I say children - none of them were more than 15 years old. The youngest was maybe 8. All of them had our shit strapped to their backs with shawls and makeshift bags. All of them had wellies on. None of them broke a sweat. They swaggered past us, silently. I couldn’t even hear their breath. We were huffing and puffing and these kids seemed to glide up the hill with most of our gear. Mental. I felt terrible. I felt like we were in some way taking huge advantage of these people. I didn't expect to see young girls carrying my stuff! They kids stormed up the hill and disappeared from sight. It started to rain. It started to rain a lot - proper jungle shower time. I put my jacket on and put my head down. Onwards. We walked on for another 2 or 3 hours. I was getting really hungry, and was so sad about the lack of snacks. The environment really felt different now - less threatening. There were occasional hard packed trails with beautiful views, and fields of long, green grass. The mud was still there but it was manageable now, the ascents easier with less on our backs. The views took my breath away. The rain was on and off and the end was in sight. We rounded a corner and saw the kids from the village sitting on a grassy mound with our stuff all around them. Time to put it back in our packs again then…

Jim and Rick were about five minutes behind us, but we had lost Rob - he was still behind us but the gap between us was getting bigger. We sat down on the grass and started sorting our stuff. Jim and Rick caught up, so we were just waiting for Rob and Moises now. The kids looked at us with silent, stony stares. I decided I was going to have a precious pastille, so got them out. I gave one each to Rick, Jim, Merlin and Darren and then offered them to the villagers. They took them with trepidation, and I watched as they put them in their mouths. Their eyes lit up as they chewed them. I realised they had probably never had anything like this to eat before. I felt both massive love and gratitude for them, what they had done for us and their badassery getting up those hills, and then massive guilt that I had just introduced them to the world of sugar and E numbers. After about 25 mins, Rob and Moises appeared. All of us stood up and cheered. Rob seemed in good spirits and waved at us. He sat down on the grass for a little rest. We still didn’t have James with us. We were all slightly nervous about where he was. It was now about 2pm and we had been on the move since 7am. We started trying to do ultra maths in our head - trying to work out how long it would have taken him to run up that hill, get back down, get his pack and catch us up. It was futile though - we had no idea. For all we knew he may be lost to the jungle forever.

We decided, once again, to split Robs stuff up between us so he could go on with a lighter load. He seemed totally cool with this, so we set about repacking, with each person taking a few kilos extra. I still had the stinking bin bag, and now it was starting to rip. I attached it to the back of my pack with bungy chords and hoped for the best. Then I heard a shout. James was back, We could see him and Elvin bouncing towards us, sweaty and soaking wet. I didn’t want to ask the question. Nobody did. We were so over the moon to see him. 

He didn’t find it. They had left at 4am and RUN (YES RUN) up that hill to the spot where they lost the drone. They used head torches until first light, when they continued the search, deciding to call it off at 8am and head back down to the river crossing. James was gutted, really gutted. Alvin on the other hand, swore that he would return and find the drone at a later date. I for one 100% believe he will do that. James and Moises had managed to catch us up, even though we’d had at least a 2 hour head start and they’d been carrying their full packs. They were monsters. So, so fit. I had so much respect for them. Total legends. I gave them both a precious pastille. In fact I think I gave them two each because they were special.

So the band was back together. We looked at the GPS, and Rick and Jim had a chat. We wouldn’t make it out today. We would have to spend one more night in the jungle, and get out the following day. Although this news made my heart sink slightly, I knew that tonight was finally the last night in the jungle.  Any longer and we would miss our flight home. If we could keep going for another 3 or so hours, we could set up camp and then have about 10km the following day to the extraction point. And that would be it. 

We hurriedly ate lunch and said goodbye to the villagers. Packs back on and we were marching again - happy to be together, Moises and Elvin had promised that there would be no more steep ascents. Why the fuck do I trust these guys? 

This section was undulating, up and down and up up up, then down. It was a bit like being in a REALLY hilly New Forest. The trails were easier to follow - they were trails the locals used to get to and from market. They weren’t as boggy, and the trees became more spread out. I would describe the flora and fauna as like being shrunk and put into a forest in the UK. Things looked familiar - ferns and trees and flowers but everything was a thousand times bigger. We were like tiny borrower people. 

I was mega hungry now. Like proper hungry for sweets. I had given out the last of the pastilles to Elvin and Moises, and was desperate for something sugary. I went a bit quiet. Surely we had to be stopping to camp soon. I climbed yet another hill and saw James standing at the top taking pictures. He asked me if I was OK. He was always checking other people were OK. I whinged about how hungry I was and the lack of snacks. He then opened his bag and produced half a snickers. He may as well have got out a million quid. He gave me the squashed chocolate and I starred at him. He told me to enjoy it, so I nibbled tiny bits off it, sharing it with Merlin. It was totally delicious. One of the best things I had ever tasted. He reminded me I had carried his red bull for him and he hadn’t forgotten. This is human kindness. It’s something I will always treasure. I was so grateful, and that tiny bit of chocolate kept me going for another half an hour until we stopped to set up camp. 

Rules of a good campsite generally include having a running water source. We were at the top of a hill and there was no water to be seen or heard. Never the less, Moises and Elvin pick up the water filter and dart off to find some. They said they thought there was a well near by. We all set about hacking away and putting up hammocks and tarps. This spot was so much better than yesterdays - it’s more forest than Jungle. The mood was uplifted and bright. This was it - the final time we would have to do this. We were all feeling really positive - tomorrow we just had 10km and then we would be out, on a boat, on our way to Boco Del Torres - we would get there in the dark and leave there in the dark, but we WOULD be able to have a shower and proper food and a fucking beer. And we would be on our way home. The thought of all of this was just the best thing ever. 

I had, by this point, become a bit of a pro at putting my hammock up. Or so I thought. I spent an hour or so sorting my stuff out, helped the boys with their feet and ate my dinner. Darren came over to my hammock with a travel size Jack Daniels he had been saving and let me have a cheeky sip. It was delicious. For the first time I noticed that Moises and Elvin don't sleep in hammocks - they sleep on the floor under a tarp. They were laying there, laughing and joking on the floor of the jungle. What a couple of fucking badasses. 

I got my warm leggings on, hung my stuff up and got in my hammock. And then it started to rain. It was such a lovely sound, and I was soon asleep. 

That night I wake up at about 2am. It’s pitch black. I am on the floor. Turns out, I’m not yet a pro when it come to putting a hammock up. The rain has made the trees wet, and it’s slipped down onto the floor. I can hear something walking around - not a human, something with 4 legs. It shuffles past me. I don't feel scared. I just lay there. I wriggle a bit. Yes, I am definitely on the floor. I think of Moises and Elvin on the floor too. I turn my face a bit and feel something on it, poking its legs through the mosquito net, and crawling towards the top of my head. I keep my eyes shut and breathe. To this day I don't know if it was a spider or a stick insect or a massive fucking ant. All I know is that I was too tired to be scared or to panic. I went back to sleep on the floor. 

The Jungle - Day 17 - Extraction 

5am alarm. My first thoughts are “this is it - this is the end.” I am both excited and kind of sad. The sort of sadness you have as a kid on Christmas morning when you realise you have waited all year for this day to come, and waking up means ultimately it will end. It felt like I wanted the day to last forever, because it ending would mean the whole adventure was over. 

I had got used to the early mornings, the routines and the lack of food. I liked knowing all I had to do was run/walk/trek. I loved not having distractions. I loved my team mates. I loved the silence and the noises. I loved the rain. I loved feeling like the only people on earth. Of course, there were things I HATED. Wet feet all the time, being disgusting, not being able to get clean. Having hair that was now one massive dreadlock. I missed my boyfriend, family and my dogs (mostly my dogs). I did not miss any other part of my life back home at all. 

After packing away my hammock for the final time, I helped Merlin and Darren with their feet (I am now out for hire as a chiropodist). I was sat on a street stump rubbing lube all over my trotters, when Rick came over. His feet were killing him - they were sore, blistered and were starting to rot. He asked me what I was doing to mine. I had made sure, without fail, that every single night I took my socks off and poured rubbing alcohol on my feet. I had then let them dry out all night in the open and, in the morning, I would cover them with lube and fresh socks. Not any old lube. Ann Summers Silicon Lube, as recommended by my friend Lee. Sexy lube. It’s better than the water based stuff, because it forms a waterproof barrier between your feet and your wet socks and boots. It’s like another skin. My feet were battered and bruised, but they were not blistered and were not rotting. Rick looked at me like I was mental, then grabbed the lube and rubbed it all over his feet. I had a feeling it may already be too late…..

Everyone was pretty chirpy that morning. Rob especially. He had suffered the most during this trip, and I knew he was desperate to get out and go home. He had suffered but fuck me, does that man have grit. He had pushed and pushed himself to his very limits and not given in. I’d seen him laughing and I’d seen him crying. Probably crying more than laughing (jokes Rob). He had a steely determination to get this done, even when I could see he was in real mental and physical pain. Of everyone we had with us, it was Rob I admired most. Darren, Merlin and James are famously fit, agile, young men. Jim is a bulldozer. He shuts down and gets on with it. This was Robs first attempt at something of this level, and he was giving it everything he had. I’m not saying that anyone had it easier than anyone else. I’m saying this was a group of mixed ability - as it should be - and to me, Robs effort and stubbornness stood out as something to be admired. 

Rob has a funny way of doing stuff. He's VERY methodical, and every night, when we set up camp, I would watch him getting jobs done in a very rigid way - he had his routine, his way of laying his kit out and putting his tarp and hammock up. He would get well and truly in the zone, and wouldn’t stop until everything was in it’s right place and sorted. He was like king boy scout. I think this was his way of regaining some kind of control in an environment where he felt he had none. Merlin and Darren were the same. Military precision with stuff. I felt like although I had the admin down, I would kind of float about doing this and that. Have a fag, put a hammock up, sit down, look at an ant, get a sleeping bag out, sing a song to a stick insect, stare at nothing. That sort of thing. I had my things that I did EVERY day and night - feet, contact lenses etc. but those boys could faff for hours with ropes and tarps and hanging stuff. Granted my camp looked like shit. The boys had made shelves out of machetes and bits of bamboo. Merlin had a machete shelf for his jungle formula. He later fashioned it into a bog roll holder. I always found it interesting to watch them.

After our final jungle coffee, it was packs on our backs and onwards to extraction. No more big climbs, just down, down, down towards some unnamed village where we would have a taxi boat to take us off to the mainland. The plan was get there by 1 or 2 ish, get out and get the boat taxi to Bocas Del Torres in time for cocktails and sunset. There was some talk of us going to film the pack raft segment, but I kind of ignored that. Having never pack rafted before, I wasn't planning to start now. TODAY I WAS GOING TO GET A COLD BEER AND A SHOWER. That, my friend, is motivation. 

The slow downhill soon turned back into a steep uphill. The views were frankly astonishing. I felt like I was in a holiday brochure. Even the photos I took on my phone were out of this world amazing. We didn’t really know how far we had to too go - again it was all estimates and guess work, but we knew that every step we took was a step closer to home. The sun came out and we stopped at the top of a hill for a rest. It was fucking BOILING, the hottest it had been and there was no real shade that wasn't in knee deep cow shit. We realised we had all run out of water - we had been up high all day, with only a slight downhill and so hadn't seen any rivers to get water filtered. James took the opportunity to do some filming and I chatted with Merlin and Darren. Rob was behind us. Rick pointed to a lake in the distance. That lake was the extraction point. Beyond the lake was the sea and the island. We were almost there. 

When Rob got to the stop, he was very red and very hot. He wasn’t talking much - but that wasn’t unusual - Rob always went quiet when he was hurting. He stood to the side of the group, leaning on his poles to recover, and then he took his shirt off. I kind of thought this was weird behaviour and I should have questioned it at the time. Looking back on it, this was a very clear sign that all was not well with him. Darren and James often had their shirts off (obvs, they're the posterboys) but Rob not so much. Merlin never did - he was, as I said, cursed with being ginger. It would have been suicide for Merlin to even thing of such a thing. 

Rob didn’t look great, no not because he had his shirt off, but because his face was almost totally drained of colour. We pooled together some old bits of pit stop bar, a few skittles and the last of our water for him . He’ll be OK I thought - he just needs ten minutes. Ten minutes came and went, and we pressed on, down a hill towards a water source. We got to the bottom after about an hour and found a small, dirty stream. We sat there and got our lunch out, while Rick filtered water and we all topped up.

We sat and ate our lunch in silence. Rob still didn’t look great, but we were so close to the end now. I was sure he could get through the next hour or so. We all grabbed some water and picked up our packs. Rob was carrying his full pack again, he’d insisted on doing so that morning. This was it - the final stretch. 

As we were at the base of a valley, we decided to follow the river bed - this meant slogging it through some pretty deep water for about a mile before we started the climb back up. Once up we were headed across farmland - long grasses and easy to walk trails - we were only a couple of miles from the extraction point. The thought of this gave me a huge boost. Darren, Merlin and I got a march on - Jim and Rob weren’t far behind. James was between us taking photos, going back and forth. Every corner that we turned I willed to be the last one, every field that we crossed I hoped to see the lake that marked the extraction point. My mind started playing tricks on me - tricks like thinking I could hear running water, thinking I could see the lake. I was at the front now, I could hear Darren and Merlin close behind. We came to the top of a ridge and below us was a small stream. We were about 800m from the end now. We decided to wait for the rest of the crew. I sat down, washed my gators and filled my water bottle. We chatted and chilled, talked about what beer we were going to have when we got out. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty.  Jim and Rick appeared over the top of the ridge and sat down. There was no sign of Rob and Moises. Forty minutes passed and no sign of Rob and Moises. Alvin started shouting up the ridge, something he often did to try and work out where Moises was. Nothing. Forty five minutes passed and nothing. We were really starting to worry. Then we heard Moises shouting. He was saying he needed help. James jumped up and sprinted up the ridge to try and find him. We were all silent. I felt sick with worry. I think we all did. British awkwardness set in. Keep calm and carry on mentality - something that should actually be chucked in the bin. 

After another ten minutes, we start to hear voices. It was James shouting that he needs water. We look up and see James holding Rob. Rob is grey. His eyes are sunken and rolling in his head.  James is holding him up as he stumbles and slips down the mud towards us. His feet aren’t moving properly. His lips are almost blue. He is sweating, swaying and shaking, leaning all his bodyweight on James. He looks like he’s crying, but no tears are coming out. He is mumbling and making no sense. Moises is carrying Robs pack on top of his own. He has been carrying both for at least a mile. 

I don’t know what to do. I stand there, horrified. The boys sprint into action with Jim and Merlin grabbing him and trying to make him sit down. Rob is saying he can’t feel his legs. He’s moaning and it looks like he’s hyperventilating. He keeps saying he’s cold but he’s obviously very hot. Jim is very calm and is trying to lean him against a tree. Merlin is talking to him, telling him to breathe. Darren is helping Jim support him. We eventually get him on his knees and start taking his top off. We need to cool him down, but he doesn’t want to lay down in the stream, and is fighting against Jim and Darren. James is holding his shoulders and telling him to keep calm. I stand there like a useless sack of shit, unable to work out what to do. My instinct is to run away. I feel like a terrible person. I busy myself filtering water and trying to get Rob to drink it. I search bags for bits of food. And I watch as the rest of the crew battle to get Rob to come round. 

Robs body has given up. It becomes apparent that he is severely dehydrated. Dangerously dehydrated. He isn’t making sense. Between moments of hyperventilating silence, he yells and shouts that he is hot or cold, and that he cant feel his legs. He’s crying. Sometimes he apologises. Sometimes he just cries out. Eventually the team get him to lay down in the water. He doesn’t want to put his head in it. James calms him down and coaxes him into the water by cupping his head and holding it. All the boys are working as a team and I am just stood there staring at them. It’s fucking horrible. 

This goes on for a while, and eventually Rob starts to calm down. We give him the bits of food we have found and make him drink water. I think we get some more salt tabs down him. After another half an hour, he starts to come round, and we can understand what he is saying. I don't remember much about what happened at this point. I know Merlin distracted me by finding a tiny crab to play with. 

This was one of the defining moments of the trip. We had all pushed ourselves so hard, and we were so near the end. Maybe we had been too distracted by finishing to notice Rob deteriorating. We should have picked up on his behaviour when we stopped earlier. But what matters, is at the point where disaster struck, everyone pulled together. Without a plan in place, the crew just got on with it and managed to turn around a situation that could have been so much worse. I will never forget what happened that day. It was a real fucking wake up call. I felt useless, and since that day, I have read up on pretty much everything to do with dehydration and what to do about it. I wish I could have been more helpful. I am only grateful for the expertise and precise care that Jim, James, Merlin and Darren were able to provide. There is a breaking point, and Rob had reached it. We were all immensely lucky that it happened this way. If Rob had been alone without Moises, it could have had a far more tragic outcome. 

After another twenty minutes, we decide to press on. We distribute Robs stuff between us, and get him some new poles - his are totally bent. We attempt some lame humour on the hike up, and tell Rob we love him. We are now keeping a close eye on him. When we get to the top of the ridge, we see the village. We’ve done it. We have reached the extraction point. 

We are overjoyed. We stumble down into the village where the taxi boat will pick us up. There is a tiny school, houses, loads of animals and a shop. We slump outside the shop. It’s over. There are baby chickens and tiny puppies and even kittens. No really, there were! And in the shop there is ice cold fizzy orange and crisps. Jim buys us all a bottle and it tastes like rainbows. 

I feel weird. Elated, exhausted and empty. The whole village stares at us. The tiny puppies nibble my fingers and try and eat the bin bag (I still have the fucking bin bag - now it has maggots in it). 

We are escorted down to the lakes edge and put in a dodgy looking boat. It’s over. Jim wants to head out to the pack rafts to do some filming this afternoon - just so we have that in the bag for the promo video. We all agree to go. Merlin and Jim will pack raft and Darren and I will sit in the dugout. Like I said before - I have never pack rafted before, and I wasn’t about to start now. 

When we get off the taxi boat we sit and wait for our lift at a bus stop. Rob is still not well. I try and make him eat some pudding I’ve found in a bag. He’s like a petulant child, and keeps refusing, but I eventually get it down him.  We have to wait and hour and a half to be picked up. Darren falls asleep on a bench. Jim phones home and talks to Dani - he comes back to tell me my boyfriend has been freaking out because our trackers stopped working in the jungle and he thinks that we are all dead. It seems like he's about 3 hours away from calling in a full search party. I text him to let him know we are OK. I feel empty. 

Looking back on this time, at the end of the crossing, is weird. We behaved like we had just finished a normal, slightly tiring day. In reality, we had just crossed a country for the second time in a week. We had faced some of the most hostile conditions on earth. We had cried, ached, screamed, slogged, and dug down to the last of our energy supplies. We had snipped at each other, cuddled each other, supported and at times and for brief moments, hated each other. We had helped each other, shared food, jokes, snacks and vital medical supplies. We had slept in the jungle for 4 nights with only each other for protection and company. We had seen the darkest sides of each other. We had seen the kindness in each other. We had, each of us, given our everything to the team, the terrain and the adventure. We’d had only had each other. And now it was over. It felt impossible that it was over. But it was. None of us would be able to process our true feelings until many weeks after we had got home. So for now, we pretended everything was OK. 

Eventually our lift arrived to take us to where we would film the pack raft scenes for the video. We were all exhausted. We arrived at the gate of a huge hydroelectric power station. We left Rob in the car to sleep, and made our way down to the enormous and raging river. When the event is done with the public, this will be the final stretch - you will pack raft your way down to the coast and be taken to the island. I kind of wish I’d given it a go now, but to be quite honest I was physically done, and as much as I love doing new stuff, I didn’t think this was the time or the place for me to be learning how not to drown.

Darren and I sat in the dugout looking after the equipment while James, Jim and Merlin negotiated the rapids in what were basically blow up rubber dingies. All was going pretty well until James went over on a particularly ferocious corner, tipping him and his five grand camera into the water. We managed to get the camera back, but it was “quite wet”. Once again James was devastated. These things happen but twice in a week?! James spent the next two hours beating himself up about it and I didn’t blame him. 

Scenes filmed, we made our way back up to the car. Rob had slept and felt a little better. That was it. It was time to go to the island. On the way we stop in a town, and all rush to the corner shop to buy beer and crisps. The beer was magnificent. We sat outside the car and drank and laughed and ate crisps. I felt like we were pretending it wasn’t over.

We got to the water ferry terminal and said our goodbyes to Moises and Elvin. Those two, as much as I hated them for taking us the wrong way and telling out-right lies about how there were “no more hills” had been such legends. Some days, I wonder what they are up to. We get onto a small boat and speed off towards the island. It was dark at this point, and as we flew across the waves, the ocean lit up with bioluminescence in the most beautiful and magical way. It was over, and tomorrow we would be going home.

Here is where our story ends for now. I could go into how I had a meltdown on the island because I couldn’t have a shower before dinner, and how the boys calmed me down. I could go into how we had to get up at 5am to film James’ final beach scenes, clinking glasses of fake wine. I could go into how that night I cried myself to sleep, wondering what the point of it all was. But I won’t. 

If I am completely honest with myself, I still haven’t processed those last few days or where they have left me mentally. Am I scarred or reborn? I don’t know. Have I lost my purpose? Definitely. Did that trip make me or break me? I honestly can’t say. Would I do it all again? FUCK YES. 

I hope that this blog has given you some insight into what it’s  REALLY like to take on a challenge like this. It’s been an endurance challenge in itself writing it - so I imagine reading it has been the same. I hope it inspires you to want to see the world, to want to travel, achieve insane world firsts and visit places that are totally off the grid. I hope it fills you with hope, and the knowledge that humans can be the most wonderful of creatures when all they have is each other.  There will be a final word on all this, a kind of epilogue I guess, when I can pick myself up enough to write it, and when I have worked out the real effect this journey had, and continues to have on me. For now, I want to say thank you to my team mates - James Appleton, Darren Grigas, Merlin Duff, Jim Mee and Rob Atkin. Without any one of those people, we wouldn’t have been able to achieve what we did.  A huge thanks to our guide Rick Moreno and to Moises and Elvin the superhuman Panamanians. And a thank you to every person that reads this blog. I am not the best writer but I am trying. I am not the best runner, but I am trying and I am not the best person, but experiences like this will force me to keep on trying.

I don’t know what the next adventure will be. My life is changing in every way at the moment. I am moving out of London to the countryside, and taking stock of the world and where my place is in it. This trip has given me that. It has forced me to take stock. I am just grateful that I got the opportunity to share it with so many brilliant people. 

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings - Man vs Table Mountain, Day 7

Coming back to the real will after being in what was essentially semi-solitary confinement for 5 days was weird. We were all in a sort of daze at the cars and shops and people of Swapkomund. Having a proper shower was the best thing ever. We were all completely exhausted. That night we went out for dinner with the crew and then slept, before getting up and attempting to sort out our filthy, sand and mud covered kit. I would like to apologise to whoever had to clean those rooms. After stuffing it all into bags the best we could, we headed out for the tiny airport and caught a (very delayed) flight to Cape Town, where we would spend one night before attempting the big 3 - Signal Hill , Lions Head  and Table Mountain 

The idea was to see how long it would take us to get up and over all 3 on foot (spoiler - it took me over 5 hours). This time, the victims were just Darren and myself - Dani and Jim made the genius decision to take the time to recover, and handsome Pete had to head home - so apologies for all the rubbish pictures. My personal photographer had better things to do. The idea was to get up early and start the run and then head straight to the airport to catch our flight back to the UK where we would have 6 hours to wait before out flight to Panama. In that time we would have to swap out kit - we had left our Panama kit in the back of Jim’s car at Heathrow. We were going to try and dump the Namibia stuff we wouldn’t use, and pack the essential Panama kit we needed. Hectic right? 

The thing about air travel is that unless you are travelling in business it is NOT conducive to recovery after these huge runs. Every flight is painful. Trying to sleep while your legs ached and pinged, worrying you would not get enough rest to be able to attempt what was coming next. I would go as far as to say the flights were actually part of the challenge. Especially when they hadn't changed the film choices. 

At dinner the night before the run, we discussed the route. We were to head up and over Signal Hill, up and over Lions Head and then up to the top of Table Mountain and get the cable car down. It was over 6,000ft of elevation across 9 miles on very tired legs, up hills with my favourite things in the world on them - ridges. Ridges and drops. I tried to block out this thought by drinking wine. That was the sensible thing to do. 

The next morning Darren and I set off after breakfast, along roads and straight up the worlds longest steps. They weren’t  ACTUALLY the worlds longest, they just felt like it. 

And so it begins......again......

I was already NOT HAVING NICE TIME. There are no proper paths up Signal Hill - you sort of scrabble up and I didn’t like it at all. To be frank, Signal Hill is a bit of a shit show on the edge of Cape Town. There are NO tourists there, loads of littler and it feel like the sort of place I used to go and drink Strongbow when I was 13. I was tired and scared of the ledges that were up ahead of me. Once at the top, there was an amazing view of Lions Head and Table Mountain. As beautiful as it was, I was still bricking it.  I decided there and then I was not going to get too the top of Lions Head - I would be too scared and it wasn’t worth it. It’s important to know your limits, and and I know that getting up there would mean nothing to me except a possible panic attack and having to be rescued. I would go as far as I could, and then loop round and come down. I didn’t need to stand on the top of a tiny rock to prove anything to anyone. 

Signal Hill from the bottom of Lions Head 

Lions Head and table mountain in the background

It was a beautiful day with amazing visibility, and Darren was loving it - he’s a big fan of rocks and ridges - and this just made me feel even more shit. Why couldn’t I be more like him? Why did I have such an issue with drops and ledges? I felt like a total idiot. I felt, once again, like I wasn’t good enough. I let Darren run on ahead of me like a fell goat, and I plodded on feeling like Mr Blobby at a Crossfit session. I tried to take in the views, but at the back of my mind I felt like a bit of a failure. 

Camps Bay from halfway up Lions Head 

Some nice, “technical” trail.....

The trail up to Lions Head starts very friendly and lovely, but soon turns into craggy rocks on the edge of a big hill. There are people coming down towards you as you go up - I hate this - and so I focused on the floor. I imagined all the tourists laughing at me huffing my way up in running gear. Every now and again, I would look up at the view whilst leaning on the solid side of the mountain to avoid the possibility I might throw myself off. It was both mesmerising and terrifying. I probably got about 500 ft from the summit before I stopped and hid on a ledge for a bit. I waited for Darren to come back down for 10 mins, but them decided to make my own way down and head up Table Moutain. I had stupidly run out of water and it was very hot. 

Views alright though......

The trot down was a lot easier - the paths were wider and they were runable but my legs were shattered and running hurt. How the hell was I supposed to do another 300km on them? At the bottom of Lions Head, I crossed the road the saw there was a tap that was dripping water, so I filled up my flasks and started to try and find the trail up Table Mountain. At this point it all looked a bit like the New Forest, and after a few false starts I found the trail that would take me up - and joy of joys it was ALL steps. ARGH! STEPS! 

Table Mountain trails 

I was totally on my own now, and I felt better for it - I could take it at my pace and get on with what I needed to do - and that was get to the top. I could be as slow as I wanted, as long as I got there. This is a reminder that you are the one that judges yourself, and yes it is easier to do that negatively when other people are there, but ultimately you have control over your thoughts. The flora and vegetation were beautiful and I decided to try and enjoy it - and for a little while, I did. 

There were some amazing bushes and flowers and hardly anyone else on the trail. I met a good few lizard friends, some of them bright green and red, some of them blending into the rocks. The path up to Table Mountain is steep - steeper than Snowdon - but loops round, with little waterfalls everywhere and places to sit for a minute. And then the sheer drops start.

Hullo?

Spot the lizard.....

Regular readers of this blog (all 3 of you - hi mum!) will know that I have this stupid fear of heights and drops. I have tried and tried to get over it - most notably last year when I had a near meltdown on Arran. I don't know what it is about them, but I am terrified of big drops, narrow paths and cliff edges. I feel like I am going to either fall down or throw myself off. I have to use my hands to guide me, stare at the rock face and not look down. It’s ridiculous. The thing about being halfway up Table Mountain when the ridges start is you can’t do anything about it - you either get to the top or you go back. And I was NOT going back. Because that would mean looking down. The funny thing is, looking back on this as I write it, the vertical scrambles seemed like the hardest thing the world. They were, on reflection, simply a tasty warm up for what was to come in Panama. 

Some of the ascent featured vertical scrambles up rocks - I used my bands and tried to control my breathing and be nice to all the people coming down the other way. I tried to make funny jokes with them, but my voice sounded weird. I was hungry now - really hungry - and because it had been billed as 9 miles I hadn’t bought anything to eat with me. The hunger and anxiety bought on the shakes. I’m a fucking idiot sometimes. As I turned a corner I could see the cloud was coming in - sweeping the top of the mountain, and I was headed straight for it. Suddenly I heard my name being shouted from behind me - it was Darren. I could have sworn he was in front of me?? He had been doing parkour or some shit at the top of Lions Head, and so WAS actually behind me and he had FOOD! He stopped and checked to see if I was ok (I wasn’t), chucking me a few shot bloks  and a bit of cliff bar (noms) and then trotted off ahead of me - like the fell goat he is. In my head I had thought I was near the summit - turns out I was still an hour away and now I couldn’t see the summit. All I could see was cloud.

Staring up into hell.....

I dealt with the next couple of miles by counting steps, resting when I could and trying to stay calm. I wished I had bought my headphones. Eventually, the vertical scrambles stopped and I realised I was at the top. In the cloud. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face and was convinced I was going to fall off the edge. The top of Table Moutain is of course, flat. I was not going to fall anywhere. There was no edge.

Finally at the top. 

Cloud hiding the imaginary edge 

I followed the path until suddenly the cloud completely cleared and I could see the cafe and cable car at the top. Thank fuck. I had done it - I was there. I met up with Darren and went straight to the cafe for a rehydration beer. I met some of the locals who live at the top of the mountain - the dassies - fun little animals that look like a cross between a gerbil and a beaver. They lounge around on the rocks at the top. They are funny. They are brave. 

Gah! Lassies!

View from the top.....

Cable car down......

What is also funny (or not) is the way I processed what I had just done. I didn’t congratulate myself for getting there, I beat my self up for how long it had taken me and what a total wimp I had been. I managed to take some photos from the top, and did a little ‘positive vibes’ video for the Bad Boy Running lot, but ultimately, my overall feeling was disappointment in myself for not having done it better. I was tired, physically and mentally from the previous week, and possibly (no shit) irrational at this point, but I just felt massively disappointed with myself. I still sort of do. 

We got the cable car down and met up with Jim and Dani who droves us and our sweaty, disgusting selves to the airport. We were due to fly from Cape Town back to Heathrow and I need a shower. BUT there was a water shortage in Cape Town so all the showers at the airport were switched off. The thought of sitting on plane for 10 hours in this state made me want to cry. But superhero Jim to the rescue - he managed to smuggle both me and Darren into the business class lounge for showers and food. 

So that was it - goodbye South Africa. Man Vs Table Mountain is definitely worth doing if you like that wort of thing. Believe me, I will go back and do it again. I will keep doing the things that scare me until they don't scare me anymore. That might mean I am doing them forever, but so be it. 

The plane arrives and I sleep for the full 10 hours home.  Which is good because shit is about to get really, really real. 

Pretending to have a nice time at the top of Table Mountain. 

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings Part Two. The Desert, Day 5

DAY 5 Conception - The wreck of the Eduard Bohlen - 9 miles (AKA Look Mum, I Crossed A Desert!)

I wake up with a HANGOVER because I am not used to drinking wine anymore. Just a baby hangover, but a baby one when you have a desert to finish crossing is still a pain in the arse. Coffee and salt tabs for breakfast plus a bit of granola - and we are off. Darren is fresh as anything, so he whizzes ahead to try and catch Dani and Jim. I realise that I am going to be alone for a lot of today. Not sure if that’s a good thing. I don't feel mentally strong, but there you go. It is what it is.  That’s life. 

It’s a grey morning and I struggle to find the footprints that Dani and Jim have left for us. The dunes have more of less flattened out now - they are more undulating than mega frustrating, and it’s cold, because we are heading to the coast - I have 2 layers on. It feels like a different life to the one we were living yesterday. I trek away on my own, with my own weird thoughts. They are thoughts of pride, mixed with the inability to accept what I have done. Feelings of ‘who the fuck cares’ and feelings that I should try and keep myself together. I want to sit and cry. 

The irony of runnable terrain when you are totally exhausted...

I trot over a small dune, and suddenly I can see and smell the sea. It’s almost too much for me to take in. It’s almost over. The smell ignites my childhood memories of holidays, and the mist is rolling in across the flat sand. It’s beautiful and bleak. 

I keep trotting on - not wanting it to end, but willing it to end at the same time. What will I do when I get to wreck? Will I cry? No, I can’t cry. I just want to cry at the moment. I am all out of snacks and everyone is ahead of me. I am last. Always last. 

Old German mining railway left to rot on the skeleton coasts salt plains

The sea is not getting any nearer, but I come over a dune towards some plains. The salt plains. They are wet and cold and salty. Do what they say on the tin. The sand drops away under my feet and it’s more like an estuary than a desert. In front of me, is what looks like water, but I have learnt not to trust the desert. Turns out that this time it IS water. My feet are very wet and my shoes are full of grit.  

Seem fine to walk on right? 

NOPE. 

The water gets deep quickly and is running fast. It has dead fish in it. It’s about calf deep now, and my radio comes into action. It’s Jim. He has already crossed it. He says it will take me 45 mins at least. I look at it, and, being mental and not being able to judge distance, think “nah, that’s ten mins”. It takes me 90 minutes to cross the fast flowing estuary and get to the support vehicle. I have no pictures or video of it, as my hands and phone were too wet and frankly, I was too exhausted to film it. 

One of the things I remember vividly about this trip is those 90 mins. It was so hard. Lifting your tired legs and feet out of wet, deep mud.  Feeling like you are going backwards, and having nobody to talk to. The support vehicle seemed like it was getting further and further away. It was horrible - really horrible. It’s something that in times of stress I will always recall. Relentless forward progress. You will get there. I stood and shouted the word ‘FUCK’ many, many times at the water. I hated it. 

Back on firmer land with unidentifiable dead shit. 

Eventually, I made it to firmer sand and got to the vehicle. I said very little to Danny and David. I wanted to change my socks - I had 3 miles to go, so really no need. I felt mental, and probably looked and talked like I was. My shoes were filled with grit and water and I did my best to dust them off. Danny and David told me it was only 5km to the end. I put my head down and started marching. And then I started to cry. 

I didn’t want to cry at the end. I wanted people to think I was cool and casual, not overwhelmed by what we had done. I don’t want people to think I am ‘girly’ or ‘weak’. So I cried on my own. the irony of this is that crying doesnt make you weak - it helps you remain strong. I know this now - I couldn’t compute it at the time.  

Vertebrae from a whales spine, the skeleton coast. 

I kept on marching, I wanted to see the things I had come to see. The whale bones that litter the skeleton coast. Old wine bottles, washed up from ships that met their fate here. I saw a lot of it. Jackals coming out of their holes to chase down baby seals. Pieces of wood and metal from vessels long gone. It was bleak, astonishing and humbling. A world lost in sand and time. 

Wine bottles in the sand 

Then, in the distance, I see it. The wreck of the Eduard Bohlen. He has sat there since 1909 when he was wrecked in thick fog. The Bohlen completely symbolises the loneliness of the Skeleton Coast. It’s remains lie rusting in the sand, partially buried. A home for jackals, bones of their prey scattered around the hull.  A symbol of the possible future of mankind. Once full of wonder and promise - now a wreck forgotten and alone. It’s a lot for me to think about. I think about how transient everything is. 

Whale bones hidden in sand

Whale bones covered in sand. Wreck of the Bohlen in the background.

I try and run, but my brain tells me no. I am done. Exhausted. I take in what is going on around me and march it in. Nothing here but the remnants of a once promising and golden future, that the people of the 1900’s would have been proud of. Old glass bottles against dead whale bones. All preserved, but meaning nothing now to the people they once meant the world to. 

But I’ve done it. I have fucking done it. I have become the first woman to cross the Namib Desert on this course from east to west. I hold it together, but the team form an arch with their hands, and I run through it. It’s over. They know I have been crying, they just don't say it. 

An emotional little Bailoid tries to hold it together...

The finish line

I am given a beer, and I take a minute to calm myself down. The feelings that I have are not really for writing here, mainly because I don't know how to write them. I am both proud and empty, I have forgotten the hard bits. 127 miles through one of the most hostile environments on earth. I am tired, so tired.  Race to the Wreck. I have done it. 

Knackered

Ghost ship.

Time is running out to leave - we have a 7 hour drive out of here. I don't have much time to get myself together. I eat lunch, have a quick run around the wreck and wish I could stay here for a week investigating it all.  We get in the fun bus. We’re all very, very quiet. The drive back is one of the scariest thing about this trip. The fun bus going up and down dunes at what feels like vertical angles is terrifying. We pass a dead humpback whale on the shoreline, more wrecks, dead seals and hopeful jackals. It takes seven hours of driving across those dunes, but then, suddenly, we hit tarmac and we are back in the human world. 

Thats what a dead humpback whale looks like then...

More wrecks on the way out

Some casual driving on the way back..... FFS

We have one night in a hotel before we fly to Cape Town the following day. This journey is not over. One days travel and then its Man vs Table Mountain (or the Cape Town Three Peaks Challenge of Death as I have snappily renamed it). And that’s before we travel to Panama to attempt the double traverse in a journey that fundamentally changes everything for me.

So thanks for reading the first instalment of this ridiculous trip. If you want more info on the race it’s on sale now and I am happy to talk to  anyone about it - just get me on the website or social media. 

Next up on the blog: Man Vs Table Mountain

THANK YOU….. 

RAT RACE CREW

Massive thanks to Jim and Rob and the whole team at Rat Race for once again trusting me to trial one of their ridiculous ideas. This is a hard event, a really hard event, but totally achievable and I am honoured to have been part of the Test Pilot team and hope I have done you proud. I would recommend this to anyone who has ever sought to do more than just a desert multi-day. This is the real deal - an immersion in culture and a world first. And it’s on sale now, kids! Click here for details.

Thanks to Dani Brodie for representing the female side of endurance challenges with me - this was her first ever multi-day event - no pressure then, throw yourself in at the deep end why not? She handled it with style and enthusiasm, and in the end totally nailed the whole route. A total pleasure to be with, she provided some much needed female company on those nights round the brai, and I am so glad I got to spend this time with her. 

Handsome Pete Rees for making me laugh with his fear of pretty much everything, his health and safety lectures (NO IBUPROFEN BEFORE FOOD!) and providing us with top notch pictures and video that makes us look a lot more epic than we actually are. 

Lastly thanks to Darren - my adventure husband. It really is like being married - we constantly bicker and don’t sleep with each other. Magical. Darren - I know I can be an annoying rat, and so thanks for putting up with me and my stupid voices.  It’s good to know I have a constant to talk to when things get horrible and your support means the world. 

SUPPORT CREW

Eternal thanks to the crew put together by David Scott who runs Sandbaggers. Without their local and in depth knowledge of the Namib, we would never have made it. Without the expertise of the drivers, the trucks could not have made the journey over the dunes, carrying our supplies, tents and bags. I’ll be honest, some of those climbs in the car were touch and go….. and who the hell tries to run over an Ostrich? MONSTERS LIKE YOU, THAT’S WHO. 

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings, Part Two. The Desert Day Four.

Dune Street Camp - Conception - 32 miles (AKA The Real Dune Day) 

The decision is made this morning that we are going to have to add a half day onto the planned 4 days, making it 4.5. Jim (AKA The Bulldozer) is walking at a sterling 4KM/PH and that means we won’t make the Boulen by the end of today in the light. The idea was to get there end of day 4, have a party and then get back to Swakopmund for a slap up meal and a bit of a relax for a day before heading to Cape Town. Not gonna happen now. (This becomes a theme in this blog….) We would have one evening there and half a day for relaxing. To be honest, at this point I wasn’t bothered. I felt like I was on a roll and having a nice time. Bored of running, but feeling OK.  These dunes are nowhere near as bad as I thought they would be. Cue Jaws music. 

In the wonderful light of a 6am sun rise, Darren and I could actually see what lay before us and it was MASSIVE. We had set Dani and Jim off an hour before to allow them time to get to the end of the day - our plan was to “chase them down” 

Leave nothing but footprints....

Dunno why I look so pleased about this....

Some Namib desert dune facts for you. The Namib has the highest dunes on earth. The highest is 383 metres (FACT) I didn’t believe this until day 4. Photographing them is spectacularly hard. You just can’t get the scale. There is a lot of conflicting information on the internet, so I am going with what we were told by our guides here. No arguments at the back. Despite what they look like, they’re not sheer walls of sand. Maximum incline on them is 33%, so they go on forever. They can’t support themselves at anything over this. Most of the bigger ones are DEFO 33% from what I experienced on day 4. You can’t see the tops of them. Where the sand looks like it’s soft, it is hard. Where it looks like it’s hard, it’s soft. You can’t second guess a dune. Sometimes we had to run along the sides of them - it’s spectacularly frightening. They slip below you and make creaking noises. You cannot understand why they don’t just crumble underneath you. 

As Darren and I set off on the first ascent, we’re pretty perky. It’s a beautiful sunrise and we’ve got coffee and food in us - and we imagine today will be JUST LIKE yesterday. 

On the up......

On the down!

On the up.....

Wrong. The struggle to the top is real - about 20-40 minutes playing sandy stair master to get up  - sand creaking and falling away. Every step you take is one step backwards. It’s knackering and it batters your confidence, as well as your pace. Then you get to the top and it’s play time. Sometimes you can run down them like a gazelle. But sometimes, no. The soft fluffy sand can very quickly turn into very hard packed sand - which leads to you pretty much going arse over tit. As shown in this wonderful piece of drone footage. Thanks Pete. I am a fucking idiot. 

Some exclusive BTS footage of me being a twat and ruing a shot....

It’s like running down a bouncy castle and hitting a piece of pavement. It’s also very, very overwhelming. The beauty and serenity of the desert. The lack of animals, or vegetation. The harshness of the place. I imagine it’s like being on mars. You are hundreds of kilometres from any humans other than your crew. The support vehicles easily disappear from view, and the dunes are sculpted like mahogany bowls. It’s ethereal, frightening, hot and really fucking hard on your legs. 

Here are some words on dunes - apologies for the swearing. AGAIN. 

Unreal.....

Of all the places to bump into Pete Rees.... 

I think we did about 19-20 sets of dunes that day. Somewhere, there are a lot of pictures of Darren and I leaning on our poles, dripping sweat, halfway up fucking mountains, panting. Like, loads of them. We look like the worlds unfitest runners. As you know, I don't like heights, and whilst this wasn’t like being on Snowdon, it was still pretty up there on the terrifying scale. The longest ascent took us about 50 mins - it was hell. Here’s my view from the top. 20 min miles for the win. 

I could go on for a good few hours about this, but there is no point. It’s too hard to explain how hard it was. I am pretty fit, Darren is fitter, but we were dealing with this, time after time, after time….. This is not just one dune. It’s a reflection on all of them. Jim just ploughed through the middle of them - thats why he is “The Bulldozer”.

Here’s Darrens tuppence worth...

Now, because I had refrained from having a REAL ultra meltdown so far, today was obviously “the day”. Earlier, we had swapped support vehicles with Dani and Jim, but we had NOT swapped kit. So the vehicle we had in front of us did not have my drop bag in. I was desperate for salt and snacks and electrolytes, and so asked for my bag to be brought up from the other vehicle. When my bag arrived, it wasn’t my bag. And it all came out. Full on ultra strop because I couldn’t have my things. I had to go off and take a minute to have a massive cry - and so lost more salt - and then stomped my way up 3 or 4 more dunes. I was tired, very tired. I was overwhelmed by the environment, the challenge and it’s beauty, and I was also trying to prove something to the boys, I think. There has to be an outlet at some point, and this was mine. It was done in 40 mins. It’s OK to have an ultra meltdown. I found some sweets that weren’t mine, and ate all of them. 

Up and down and up and down we went, until finally we reached what looked like The Wall from Game of Thrones, and home for the night. We were promised that the next day was “only 9 miles” of flat to the Bolen. I didn’t know who to believe. That was one of the hardest days I have ever experienced in my little “running career”. 

Stretching forever....

Heaven or hell? 

I mean REALLY??? REALLY?? To put into context, this was about 200m high. There is no way round it. Over we go.....

The fake last night dinner was steak and chips and it was SO GOOD. Tomorrow we finished. Tomorrow we achieved a world first. To celebrate we had red wine and eager and Danny gave us all nicknames. Not telling you what mine was. 

I went to bed feeling sad to be leaving, but elated at the same time. It’s a weird old life.  Tomorrow we would set a world record and a world first. And did it really matter to anyone? Not really, no. 

Home sweet home.....

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings Part Two: The Desert, Day 3.

DAY 3 - Honeb - Dune Street Camp - 29.3 miles. (AKA Not The Real Dune Day) 

We wake up at 5am again, the idea being to start at 6.30am. There was trepidation in camp as this had been touted as “Dune Day” and there had been a lot of talk the night before about how the enormous dunes around us were just the “small” ones. They had a tree line at the top. They were not small. We set off as a group (dani and jim were now runners) down the remaining river bed, the dunes reaching up either side of us. After about a mile the support vehicle stopped and it was time to start heading skywards. With tired legs and not a huge amount of sleep or food, we were all beginning to feel the sand in our legs. I had suffered quite bad prickly heat on my legs the day before so Darren had lent me full length blue and white Skins leggings which made me look like a smurf, but provided coverage for my poor little legs. It’s not a fashion show, is it? 

Dem leggings...... 

The first ascent was a wake up call (at the time), especially when you've got Handsome Pete haring it up the hill behind you with a camera, making it all look easy, and once at the top we realised we were now heading for “real” desert. 

The dunes were getting more yellow, and they stretched out in front of us, row after row. The wind blows them into perfect peaks and they sit at a perfect 33 degree angle with long flat sand and grass plains stretching out between them. The plains are known as Dune Streets and sit between the big mountains of sand. It’s almost impossible to gauge distance, and so what looks like a flat mile can actually be a flat, but deep and rocky, 3 or 4 miles until the next climb up.  Once again it was hot and getting hotter. Both myself and Darren were well ahead of Dani and Jim but going slower than we had done and drinking a lot more water. 

Just amazing....

Dune street

Seems like a long way.....

After 3-4 hours of trotting along, I began to noticeably get into my stride. I think that by this point, I had my salt and water intake sorted and I actually felt really good. I noticed the wildlife was thinning out - gone were the zebras and oryx’s, replaced by the occasional ostrich seen from afar (and now feared) and huge condors swooping overhead. I managed to get into a good rhythm - you can almost go into a trance of walking/marching at a good pace across the plains. I felt nothing but a sense of calm and quiet. I had a job to do, and it was to get across the desert. It was a simple pleasure. Something I miss so much now I am home. One of the most natural things you can do as a human is to run from A to B, without worry or purpose or anxiety. It’s a much missed feeling, and something I now struggle to remember.

Darren takes a minute to look epic. Again. 

They’re getting bigger.....

As we got towards lunchtime, the vegetation too started to vanish. The sand stretched for miles, the dunes got bigger and more yellow. The wildlife decreased. The environment got more hostile. Myself and Darren were now blazing a trail, and Dani and Jim were pretty far behind us. Totally understandable when you consider Jim’s monster 15 hour day previously. We stopped for lunch on top of a huge dune, only to be called back - Jim had run out of food and was hungry. 

Lunch is served.......

After a quick lunch we were back on it, and followed the support vehicle down onto more plains with huge ridged dunes either side. We ran up to the dune ridges for fun - just so we could run back down them. The running down is awesome. That get’s you your “MDS” moment. The funny thing about the desert is that every time you get to the top of the dune, you think you are going to see the sea. You can’t see the sea. There is no sea. It’s just what we are conditioned to expect, us UK dwellers. 

When I thought I could see the sea.....no me neither now.....

See what I mean about the beach????

The green of the plains looks a bit like water and it’s easy to get confused. There were so many times when I could have sworn I saw water but no, it’s just light green grass. You can see how people get into trouble here. You can see how people die out here. You trek to the water, and it turns out to be grass. 

Some dead stuff. There was lots of dead stuff. 

Spot the tiny car

Onwards we trotted, past the bleached skeletons of felled Oryx and Zebra, up and over dune after dune, up a huge salt plain that the cars couldn’t drive on, for fear of leaving their imprints there forever. Nobody comes here. If you leave a trail, it stays. The temptation to draw a comedy cock and balls on the plains was almost too much. 

The salt plains begin.....

Eventually we get to the final ridge of the day, and on the other side was our camp for the night. Darren and I reach it about 90 mins before Dani and Jim arrive, and when they do we share a beer and watch the most magnificent sunset. I feel like I have found my stride. Dune Day wasn’t so bad at all. I mean it’s not easy, but nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. Guess why that was? Because Dune Day, it turns out, was actually day 4……..

Final ridge of the day - just over that guy aaaaaannd.....

Home! 

This photo shows why you should only let the prod do the sunset shots - thanks Pete! 

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings Part Two: The Desert, Day 2.

DAY 2: Erongo region - Honeb - 32 miles (AKA The Day Shit Got Real)

We wake up on Day 2 at 5am to a small breakfast of coffee and granola. 31 miles to make up today to meet Jim, Danni and Pete at the second campsite. We made a decision the previous night to start running as early as possible to try and get the most out of the day before the really hot part. We were aiming to leave camp about 6.30 and just about managed that. We had been spoilt by the weather the day before - it was extremely cool. That was about to bite us in the arse. Upon packing up the tents we found 2 small yellow scorpions. We later find out that these are extremely dangerous. I guess they just wanted to be friends? 

7am. Boiling. 

My legs felt a little heavy from the day before, but I knew they would sort themselves out. We started running down towards the plains, where the zebra and oryx were just about waking up and I immediately knew that today was different. It was already BOLIING hot. There was no cloud cover. Today I was going to have to do things a bit differently. One hour into the day, I had already drunk almost 2 litres of water and isotonic. The sun was relentless. Darren was slightly in front of me, but I was sticking to my own 13 min mile pace. The last thing I wanted to do was dehydrate. 

The plains are vast and stretch forever. They are in parts run-able, and in others marchable. Spiky little plants and long wispy grass grazes your legs for hours, as you scan the ground constantly to check you don’t step on an errant lizard, snake or beetle.  The plains are not flat, but undulate and the gravel is soft. It’s very hard to get any sort of perspective of distance on them. The sun beats down and bounces off the white sand onto your legs and face. I have factor 50 on all over but I can feel myself burning. 

At the first stop of the day we encounter something that I have never seen before - a huge canyon opening up in the middle of the desert. I took pictures, but they don’t do it justice. It was Star Wars like in it’s majesty and size. It looked like a painting or a backdrop for a film. I was dumbstruck and I still can’t really explain what it was like to look at. I felt like I was on another planet - maybe Mars - with the red untouched sand everywhere and this huge rocky canyon. Mental. 

After filling up water bottles and sing all the snacks, it was onwards. At this point I got myself into a really good marching rhythm. I’d covered my neck to stop me burning, and had my cheat sticks out (I’ve now re-named them Glory Poles - I wouldn’t have made it without them). I managed to get a 14-15 min mile march in for a few miles. Head down, up occasionally to spot the van. I wanted to get across the exposed plains ASAP in order to get to the more sheltered river bed that we had been promised for the second half of the day. I was now so far ahead of Darren I couldn’t see him, but I didn't care, I wanted to get off the plains and out of the sun. 

They went on forever and ever. At least 2 hours I spent marching across them. Hein and David kept telling me “just to the end of the next one, just head to the end of the next one”,  but there was no end and was no next one. Eventually, I took a turn to the right and I could see the downhill leading towards the river bed and canyon. I grabbed my sticks and started trotting down towards the van, desperate to get out of the heat and under a tree. 

Suddenly, my radio crackles and Davids voice comes through. “Allie - Ostrich to your right” I turn around and see a full gown Ostrich heading across the plain at full speed behind me. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and is about 300 yards away from where I am standing. David says something else, but I am mesmerised. Ostrich guy fly’s past me and effortlessly takes the dunes - hopping over them like they are speed humps on a flat road. And then he’s gone. 

“Do you have sight of the Ostrich, Allie?” David voices come through again “Nope, he’s gone over the dunes” I say. I notice the truck has stopped and turned round, and is heading at some speed in my direction. 

I get to the truck, David informs me the reason they have turned round is because they thought the Ostrich was heading straight for me. They thought it may try and kill me. Turns out that Ostriches have a big claw they use to rip people in half if they feel like their nests are threatened. Turns out they’re not very nice at all. My plans to try and make friends with one, and ride it through the desert are hurriedly put on ice. David informs me that because of lack of perspective, it appeared I was going to be either run over or attacked, so they were going to attempt to take Ostrich guy out first, by RUNNING HIM OVER!. I tell them off, and use the words “potential new pet”. They look at me like I am a moron. 

I follow the truck to the crest of what I can only describe as the end of the earth, and there, stretching out below, like a scene from Jurassic Park, it the river basin, winding along the outside rim of the canyon. I am so relieved. I have been promised shade. It looks shady. Sort of. 

I stand at the top of the steepest hill I have even seen. It just drops off into nothing. It’s insane. How they got the truck down, I don’t know. Myself and Darren fly down it, and at the bottom, under a tree, in the wondrous shade, is lunch being set up and it is GLORIOUS. 

Danny has filled up a basin with water and basically forces us to wash our hair. It’s the best feeling in the world. We sit under a tree and ask about the wildlife in the basin. Basically its the greatest hits of things normal people want to avoid. It’s ‘Now That’s What I Call Desert Extraction Vol. 1’. Snakes, leopards, hyenas; the words “black mamba” are muttered. We’re assured all the big boys are asleep, and that as long as we stay close to the middle of the basin and don't go off into the trees, we will be fine. The thing is, Darren and I actually WANT to see these things because we are mental and believe we are the Dr Dolittle’s of Namibia. 

After lunch we are assured there is only 9 miles to go, and I have an image of trotting through a shady basin all the way to the end, like a slightly tubby Springbok, making friends with leopards and riding a hyena. This is NOT what happened. The opposite happened. 

“Shade”

There was very little shade, and the sand on the floor was silver. Actually silver. We were running on a mix of soft and hard clay and silver sand. We had to zig zag to find runable terrain. There was no wind at all in the basin, and the sun was bouncing off the sand and straight up onto our bodies.  It was hellish. The brief respite we got was in the shade of huge mountains and the support crew stopped regularly to throw water over us. We distracted ourselves with looking at the huge cat prints that were dotting the route. But we were flagging. It didn’t matter how much I drank or how many salt tabs I took, I was really struggling. My legs were burning, not with sunburn but prickly heat. They had tiny cuts on them from the grasses and bushes on the plains. They were agony.

Sexy Legs FFS 

Found a massive skull though!

PRIZE!

After about 2 hours of forced marching, we got news on the radio that Danny and David had decided to move the camp slightly, meaning we only had about 2km more to go. Or that’s what we thought they said. We were overjoyed. It was just too hot. Danny and David were going to go ahead and collect supplies, and Johnny was going to lead us in. 2km. That could only mean another 30 mins max at a decent march right? WRONG. 

The river bed went winding on forever. Darren and I stopped chatting, and started to just keep our heads down and go as fast as we could. 2km passed, 3km passed, 5km passed. Still nothing. We were both getting annoyed. My watch decided had had enough and turned itself off. Now I had NO IDEA how far away we were. This was a low. 

NOT HAPPY

I’m not saying I felt broken. I knew I could still do it, I just didn't want to. When someone tells me something is a certain distance away, and then it’s not, I sort of loose the will to live. This was also the first (but not the last) time that I felt like I wasn’t good enough. I knew Darren was fitter than me - and he’s a bloke - but I honestly couldn’t keep up with him. Whether this was a physical thing or if it was because I didn’t want to, I don’t know, but I just felt like I was shit at everything and not good enough to be there. 

Finally, we started to turn a corner and there were the support vehicles and it was glorious. Huge dunes rose either side of us (so huge they had tree lines on the top) and in the middle of them  were the crew setting up tents. David greeted us both with a beer and I told him I hated him. Turns out he hadn’t said the camp was 2km away. He had said that it was 2km away FROM THE ORIGINAL PLANNED SITE - which meant it was actually 8km away from where we had heard the radio news. My bad. Heard it wrong. Am an idiot. Still, DAMN DAVID SCOTT TO HELL. 

Finally home....

It’s funny how once you sit down, have a beer and start chatting about the day, the whole thing seems glorious. I was kind of furious with myself for ruining the later half of the day by being so angry, when it was in fact my fault for not listening properly. Classic. So we had about 32 more miles in the bag. It had been a long day. But not as long as Jim’s. While we had been battling the elements on foot, he was still out there on the fat bike. That second day, he rolled in about 11pm after being on the bike for 15 hours straight. He’s a fucking hero. He was done in. We literally shoved the amazing food that the crew had made us in our mouths and headed for bed. Tomorrow was “dune day” and we had max 5 hours sleep before then. 

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings Part Two: The Desert, Day 1.

DAY 1: Namibgrens to the Erongo region - 28.5 miles  (AKA ‘The Naivety of the British Runner EXPOSED’) 

I love 5.30 am starts, which is lucky because that’s basically the deal for the next week. Yes reader, 5.30am is a time. A real time. That people get up. 

Kit on and bags packed, and it’s off for breakfast for musli and yoghurt and then straight into the car for me and Darren. Jim and Danni get on their bikes for the first leg of the bike ride. They are starting 100km behind us. We will drive 100km to the edge of the desert and start the run there. We won’t see Jim, Pete and Danni for 2 days now. It’s emotional, but we deal with it. If they want to cheat it’s up to them. They have to live with that decision. And boy, does Jim live with it…. (TBC)

After an hour in the car we get to the edge of the Namib-Naukluft Park and the giant NO ENTRY sign. There’s a gate, but one of the team has left the key to the padlock at the office 200km away in Walvis Bay. So we do what we always do, and knock the fence down. We put it up again. It’s all good. The government said we could do it. What are the laws on guns here again? 

Seems legit.....

Darren and I have had a brief discussion about running together. It’s hard when you don't know someone that well - or when you do, and know that they are faster than you (which is what I know about Darren). I say 10 min miles are my jam, which they are for these longer back to backs and Darren agrees he can deal with that. I am talking about 10 min miles in the UK on trails in about 12 degrees. Our 10 min mile plan lasts just that. About 10 mins to a mile. 

We start running on a gravel path - it’s pretty runable, soft in places, and it’s a cool morning - cloudy and not too hot - so we manage about 6 miles in about an hour - a pretty good pace. With one support vehicle in front of us and one behind, we have access to our kit and fresh water and food pretty much all the time. It’s great! I am still running with a small pack and a bladder - I am obsessed with running out of water. 

First part of the day looks do-able....

We trot on through the never ending gravel plains and then, suddenly from nowhere there is a big group of animals running as a pack. They look like ponies BUT THEY ARE ZEBRAS! Wondrous mountain zebras, stampeding along and crossing in front of us. A literal Zebra crossing. Amazing. There are some big cats in the area, so we keep and eye out to see if it’s a chase, but don’t spot anything. Seeing these animal up close like that, just doing what they do is astonishing and we don't take it for granted. 

Zebra Crossing!!!!!

Also out on the plains that morning were Oryx’s - great big deer type creature with huge spiked horns and long fluffy tails. They’re very shy and they can run FAST. We also see a couple of little sidewinder snakes and some fun new crickets we’d not seen before. Our “taking photos of everything” habit is slowing our pace, so we try to crack on. 

Snake holes.....

New Pal......

We keep running, with more walk breaks now. It’s getting hotter - it’s becoming obvious that we can’t keep up a flat 10 min mile pace for the whole day. The clouds clear and the sun comes out with a vengance. It’s 9am and boiling. 

Our first hill appeared in front of us, a long, slow rising dune made of red sand. There’s a burnt car - the remains of a poachers vehicle left in the sand; a reminder not to break the rules. An eerie sight in a beautiful landscape. At the top of the hill we get our first view of the red dunes. And what fun they were. Soft and fluffy - these are the small guys - we power up them and speed down them.

Views..... (get used to this....)

As we cross, we also get our first high view of the desert sprawling in front of us. It was magical and terrifying. At the top of the hill, under a tree lay the remains of a Springbok, bleached white by the sun. Possibly left in the tree by the triumphant cat that caught it, with the carcass dropping as various animals made the most of a good meal. It was a very real reminder of what happens when you are left alone out here. 

That’s what dehydration can do to ya.....

Danny and David realised the ‘road’ they had plotted was now no longer passable, as the dunes had moved and were too soft to drive on. This was highly amusing for myself and Darren, who got to watch them attempt to get the cars up the new mega deep, fresh dunes. Those guys are some of the best drivers I have ever seen. What they do with those cars is MENTAL and they never (well barely ever) get it wrong. The tracks from the support trucks lead the way for us to run - but running IN the tracks of the cars is difficult - they make the sand soft and moveable. The tracks serve only to show us the way-ish - we can run alongside them or cut across plains. As long as we have the trucks in sight it’s cool. And losing them actually freaks you out a bit. 

We decide to run off road and do an explore - trotting over dunes in the general direction that Danny and David pointed us in while they sorted truckgate. This meant negotiating spiky bushes, snake holes. lizard guys, big cat prints and dunes, not necessarily in that order, in rising heat. We kept on pushing and pace was good for the terrain. Darren though he saw some ostriches but it because clear these were actually a steel posts. Heat brain was setting in. 

Spot the car.....

Lunch was served at about 14 miles, in a small makeshift tent that Danny, David and Johnny had erected on the path for us - cold water down the back and on the head, bread, meat, cheese and GERKINS YES GERKINS were on the menu. I took a second to take in what was actually happening here. A picnic in hell or heaven? I dunno. It was one of the best lunch spots I’ve ever stopped at though…..

Lunch - doesn’t look that hot. Was fucking boiling. 

After the refuel, we set off again. It was getting really tough now, with heat peaking in the late 30’s between 1 and 3pm and zero wind. It was also getting sandier, which sounds stupid when you consider where we are but it WAS getting sandier! Elevation was also on the up. It’s easy to decide  try and give everything to the run in these conditions, but I was constantly reminding myself that we had another 3 days of this and we had to respect the distance. Oh yeah, then we had a good 250-300km to do in Panama. We ran and marched through another 15 miles of beautiful but essentially non-descript hill dunes. We ran past a small dune filled with big holes, and out popped a desert jackal (possibly one of the cutest things on earth) He should have been asleep really, and he couldn’t believe his bulgy eyes. I imagined him running back down into the maze of tunnels to tell the other jackals what he’d seen outside and them saying “go back to sleep Dave, you’re drunk”. 

Hello little pal! 

Eventually we saw the trucks had stopped at the top of a huge dune - we were 28 miles in to what was supposed to be a 30 mile day and we were all knackered. Doing that distance is one thing, doing it in sand and heat, without a rest day after 24 hours travel is another. We decided as a team to add on the extra couple of miles to tomorrow and try an get out heads down for the night. At the top of the dune, we downed tools and took in the the view of the valley below. Zebras and oryx’s were grazing as the sun set. It was Lion King beautiful.

I’ve camped in worse spots.....

Tent life.....

Our crew set up camp as we dealt with the important issue of re-hydration with a beer, a sit down and foot check. The make-do camp shower looked out across the plains. The toilet took in some of the most beautiful views on earth. We were so lucky to be there. 

That night as we settled down for a bolognese dinner, an huge owl flew over camp and drew our attention to something larger sloping down the hill. To the amazement of Danny (who has been working in the desert for over 25 years) it was the extraordinarily rare brown mountain hyena. He was trotting down the dune towards camp. We could just about make out his distinctive shape and he was obviously curious about the smells and sounds. He had probably never seen human beings before.  It was mesmerising. In his 25 years Danny has only ever seen 4-5 of these creatures and we get him on the first night. I swore it was because I was a dog person, and hyena guy could tell. 

After dinner we sit round camp and chat and then it’s bed. First day done, feet looking good and bellies full. Onwards to day 2. 

TBC

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings Part one: Travelling Tales….

The day I am due to travel, I wake up mega anxious, stressed and slightly hungover. I can’t concentrate on anything, even though I know everything is done. I packed yesterday and my work stuff is covered. I am so anxious that I don't want to eat. I am packing and repacking stuff over and over again. Moving stuff around the flat for NO reason. I tell myself to go out and get a sandwich. I am packed, and the cab is not due for another 2 hours. I might even be able to squeeze in a pint with my pal Lucy. So out the door I go, patting my pocket with my keys in. Slam the door. Then the horror, as I realise the keys I have in my pocket are not my house keys at all. They are my OLD house keys. I rush round the back of the house and try and jimmy the window - no luck. I have left the house without anything but my phone and old keys. I can see all my packed bags sitting in the living room I have NO access too. I phone the landlord, but it’s a Sunday. I sit down. Think. I’m going to have to call a locksmith. So I do. And he charges me almost £300 to drill the lock off and replace it with a new one.  He turns up in twenty mins and I stand there watching him, biting my nails, looking at my watch. 

I didn’t want to ever meet this man. Locksmith ninja. 

He finishes, and I go for a very quick beer and small cry with Lucy before my cab arrives at 2pm. I’m really going now. I cannot believe that just happened. That was pretty horrible. But I dealt with it, right?! Surely that’s the hardest thing I will face? Right?

When I get to Heathrow, my fellow adventurers are there waiting. It’s Jim (Rat Race CEO and all round amazing human), his wife Dani (who I now have a massive girl crush on), Darren (you might remember him from Monglia) and me. Handsome Pete is doing the camera work, and he will join us later when we get to Namibia. I offload my Panama kit into their car - we will do a kit swap on our way back through Heathrow to Panama, which is great because I don't fancy slogging around with 3 massive bags. One massive bag will do for now. 

Jim and Dani are planning to do both the bike and run stage in Namibia - it’s down to myself and Darren to see if the route is do-able solely on foot. 

Bit of background for you. The Namib Desert is the oldest desert in the world - 55 million years old and 81,000 square kms. It is 2000km long and, crucially for us, 200km wide. I say crucial, because that is what we are trying to do. Cross the width of the desert, from east to west. On the west coast lies the wreck of the Eduard Bolen. This is where we will finish. Fun fact, the Namib desert is home to the biggest dunes on earth, and is one of the most hostile environments on the planet. Even worse than Reading town centre at about 7pm. It’s hot, dry and full of things that may well kill you, if you don't die of thirst or heatstroke first. We’re not dicking about here. This is serious stuff. The area we are running across is primarily National Park, but not in the way we think of National Park here in the UK. This route has NEVER been run before - it’s a world first. There are parts never touched by humans. Our men on the ground have had to get 3 different letters from the government to allow us to do this. National Parks in the UK have way marked trails and picnic benches and shops. There is nothing like that here. There are no marked trails, because the trails change and shift every day. We didn’t know it yet, but we weren’t going to see one other person apart from our team for the whole 5 days we were out there. 

The plan is to run across it over 4 days - 50km a day on foot for myself and Darren. Jim and Dani are going to attempt to ride the first two days on fat bikes, BUT they will be trying to cover 100km a day each in comparison to our paltry 50km. So they will start 100km behind myself and Darren and try and catch us up in time for the 3rd day. Let’s just remember that none of us have any experience on this terrain (Darren has done Sandy Jog Week AKA MDS but wotevs) and none of us know what the terrain will actually be like in order to prepare anyway. I am imagining it’s all dunes going downwards, soft fluffy white sand and then sometimes flat white lovely sand. Spoiler: It is not like that at all. 

After a traditional trip to Wetherspoons Terminal 5, we jump on the plane, change at Johannesburg and a few hour later, arrive in Windhoek, Namibia. On the flight to Windhoek, I have a huge Ghanian guy sat next to me, who, it becomes very clear, is terrified of flying. I have to hold his hand and talk him down. Literally. Talk to him all the way down until we land. He’s very grateful and I was really happy that I could help him. It felt like he was a personification of my own fears about, well, everything. This also means I have successfully managed to avoid almost all of the sleep on all of the planes. I am amazingly stupid and bad at sleeping. So after about 18 hours in transit, I feel FRESH AS FUCK. The excitement of meeting up with Handsome Pete, David Scott (our expedition leader and pal from the Mongolian adventure) and the rest of our team keeps me up and bouncing along, and, after a quick stop at the local supermarket for beer and supplies, we start the 4 hour car journey to Namibgrens Farm on the east side of the desert, where we will spend our first night. 

View from the car en route to Namibgrens Farm

Namibia is massive and it’s hard to get places. “I’ll sleep in the car” I think - but, because the roads are dirt tracks and the cars are basically 4x4 buggies on speed, the bouncing about all over the place means no snoozes for me. Plus, there’s so much to see out on the drive. We drive past Warthogs, Oryx’s and Ostriches just mooching about. Causal. I ask our driver a million questions about the history and geography of where we are going. Turns out Namibia was a german colony from 1884, with the administration taken over by the Union of South Africa (under the League of Nations) after WW1. It became independent in 1990, but the German influence is obvious in the place names and the organisation of the streets in the major towns. Of which there are two.  

But the town has gone now. We’re heading out to the wilderness. We have finally arrived at Namibgrens Farm, where we will spend the night, before starting on our run tomorrow. The farm is literally in the middle of nowhere (4.5 hours to the nearest shop) and we have a real bed each for the night. A rare treat. After we have got changed and had a shower, we are picked up by Johnny, who is part of the support team, in what looks like a cartoon desert truck. In hindsight, this truck has a lot to answer for. This truck is now known as The Fun Bus, mainly for ironic reasons. Here is the Fun Bus. Fuck the Fun Bus. 

Looks a lot cleaner than I remembered......

Ten mins down the road, the rest of the support team David, Danny and Hein have set up a Brai on the edge of the desert. There we sit and eat, and drink beer and gin and tonic in the dark, whilst being briefed on hydration, foot care and how not to die. Danny and Hein are local expedition experts, and know the desert back to front. Not only that, they can drive huge vehicles up 33% sand dunes. Not fun for either the driver or the passengers. We’re in good hands here. It’s magical and we are excited. We all get to bed for about 8pm. Tomorrow we start.

Dinner location on the first night

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings: Prologue

Dune life (photo: Pete Rees) 

I started writing this blog on the hoof, halfway through the two trips. Mainly because I didn’t want to forget what was happening to me. I was too scared to get my laptop out in the desert, because everything I touched ended up covered in sand or mud or both. Like that skittles ad, but more annoying. I’m now home, scraping through the memories and photos and trying to piece together what was the adventure of a lifetime. I am safe, but blown away. Trying to understand what I have achieved without sounding like a complete tool. In the last 3 weeks, I have crossed The Namib desert on foot, east to west from the outskirts of the Namib National Park to the wreck of the Eduard Bolen. I am the first woman to do so, setting the fastest known time of about 38 hours for the 200km distance. Total ascent for the route was about 4,200m or about 4 Snowdons. Just over a quarter of a million steps. The day after I finished, we flew to Cape Town and ran the big 3 - Signal Hill, Lions Head and Table Mountain, all in one terrifying day. We got in a car at the foot of Table Mountain and travelled for 60 hours via Heathrow to Panama City. The day after we got to Panama, we began the first of two traverses. The first, the all-in-one west to east crossing on foot and kayak, taking in the Panama canal and pipeline in another world first. The second, the 5 day Panama Coast to Coast run - 50 miles road running followed by 3 (or 5 in this case - more on that later) days total self sufficient trekking through primary jungle, taking us on foot from the Pacific to the Atlantic Coast. In total, over the second phase of this traverse we clocked up over 28,000ft of elevation - that is the equivalent of Mount Everest from sea level.  

My favourite canyon in the Namib desert (photo: Me)

Top of the world in Panama (photo: Me)

Most of you reading this know about the planning for these adventures. Both events are reccee’s for Rat Race Bucket list events. (You can read about it here) We are the test pilots - we basically stress test, to see if the route works, identifying and overcoming any issues that we may come across in a smaller group, before throwing a bigger group into it. If you haven't read the blogs about preparing for this then do that first! It’s not a decision I took lightly.

I want this to be a true account of what happened. It will be long. In places it will be a tough read, for both you, the reader, and me the author. It will probably take me 4-6 weeks to get through the write up and I will be posting as I get it done. My overall feelings at the moment are of bewilderment, confusion and lack of belief. I have struggled to talk to my friends who have reached out to me about it, because I don’t want it to come across as boastful or overly dramatic. I am almost embarrassed to talk about what I went through. I feel like it’s not that interesting to anyone but me. But I know that some people want to read about it, and I owe it to myself to try and accept that I HAVE achieved something remarkable. I will try and be as honest as I can here. At times, this was the most beautiful and inspiring thing I have ever been a part of. At times it was the hardest and most horrifying thing I have ever been a part of. This trip has not made me a different person but has helped me accept the resilience of my own character. This trip has almost bankrupted me. This trip has taught me lessons about my own strength and weaknesses; it has surprised and delighted and broken and battered me.the experience is a metaphor for life. One step at a time. Deal with what you can now. Deal with what you have to tomorrow. This is the story of a normal person out to achieve something extraordinary, for ultimately no reason at all, other than that it was there to be done. It’s written in first person and second person for every person. I am not the best writer, but I hope it reads OK.   Be warned, this experience is a gateway drug. If I can inspire even one person to throw caution to the wind and get outside, live their life and believe they have more in them, my job is done. 

Stay tuned.....

[alliebruns-blog]

Groundhog Day - Trotting the Thames Path AGAIN

I honestly don't know what’s wrong with me sometimes. Two months after swearing that I would never run it again, I find myself on the train to Oxford to run 50 miles of my favourite worst nightmare, the Thames Path. 

How has this happened? Well, I was signed up to the Atlantic Coast challenge this year, but had to defer when my partner in crime and caravans pulled out - I just couldn’t afford to do it on my own, and this left a large gap in my ‘endurance training’ in the run up to Namibia and Panama. So, I got on the internets, and started looking for another race. The only thing I could find that was affordable and nearish my house was the Thames Path Trot. On the Thames Path. Thames. Path.

Organised by Go Beyond Ultra, a company I have never run with before, this is a “50” (it’s actually 48) mile run from just outside Oxford, to Henley-on-Thames. My rose tinted spectacles told me this was the “nice” part of the Thames. Here’s how my brain works: 

“The bit through Abingdon is lovely!”(Allie, you had a meltdown in the rain there) 

“Iffey Lock is glorious!” (Allie, the path was so overgrown you needed a machete) 

“The run out of Goring is AMAZING!” (Allie, you get PTSD from the A100 when you see the village hall) 

“Henley is so nice - some brilliant pubs there” (Allie, how do you know? You have only ever run through it in the dark). 

I reasoned it’s not so bad, it’s a course I know and I need to get the miles in, so I signed up (for a very reasonable £52), and got on with my life. 

But I had missed something hadn’t I? I had blocked out the horror that lies between Goring and Henley. My brain was protecting me from that dark place, a place I swore I would never run through again. A place of angry outbursts and discarded cheese sandwiches. A place where friendships with pacers are cast aside and minute mile records are smashed, out of fear rather than personal choice. A flat, dismal grey abyss, where the rich are separated from the poor by a river and Race Directors run out to accompany you for the sake of their own insurance. I had blocked out the horror that is READING.  

No. Just no. 

The race is on a Saturday which is a wonderful thing because it means you can get drunk after - and this year was their 11th edition. The 8.30am start meant a 4am wake up call for me to get to Oxford, which was nice, and it was a stunner of a morning. My Head of Crew (TM) Lorna picked me and a lovely stranger called Sylvia up from the station at 7.30am. Sylvia was running too - I didn’t just ‘pick her up’ on the train. Not that kind of party. 

Race HQ was at a REALLY nice hotel, and when we arrived it was full of runners - the nice kind, not the awful kind - and couples trying to have a romantic break that was being ruined by discarded banana skins and people in lycra. I haven’t felt so welcome and positive at the start of a race for ages. Everyone was chatting and there were all sorts of weirdos. Serious guys who were nice with it, the first timers, the chancers, the plodders; it was a brilliant reflection of the ultra community in one posh room. 

I went to drop my bag and bumped into Simon, the RD, who asked me if I was “that girl with the blog who wanted to drop pasta at the aid station”. I confirmed I was that very person. There can be only one. We had a quick chat about stuff that I was doing, and turns out Simon has the exact hammock I need for my Panama travels. And he offered to lend it to me. HOW NICE IS THAT??? This is why I love us Ultra lot. Simon doesn’t know me at all, yet he offers me this mega expensive piece of kit to borrow, just like that. He’s a legend. I like him a lot. Today is a good day. But still. READING. 

Doing some running

The race starts at 8.30 - I am running the first 10 miles with Lorna (a little Saturday stroll for her) and we run along faster than we should, having a catch up chat and paying ZERO attention to pace. It was one of those really cold crispy mornings and I start to feel guilty for hating on the Thames Path, because it’s actually quite magical. Totally different from the shitshow it was back in August. Sunbeams and glory, and I am running too fast. Lorna leaves me at the first aid station, where I make my first mistake and decide to eat a GU gel. I bloody love GU gels, but I have self inflicted rules about sugar - nothing during the first half of a race. Why I ate it I don’t know, but I did. It was yummy. I was like a child at a birthday party for all of 10 mins. I didn’t really have anything else in my stomach - breakfast was long gone, and because I had been chatting, I hadn’t paid attention to actually eating real food. This will come back to bite me on the arse. Almost literally. 

Snacky McSnackFace making some bad decisions

I trot on alone, listening to 6Music, still running too fast, having a chat with random strangers. The usual. I get to 20 miles and realise that I am well ahead of time in what I thought would be my “training run”. I start to get a bit worried. I managed to cover 25 miles in about 4.15, which for a race of this length, for someone like me, is punchy. BUT YUMMY GU GELS! It’s very flat, and I needed to slow down. And then I realised I was properly hungry. 

This was pre-Reading.....

Also pre-Reading

I had been snacking on nuts and stuff a tiny bit, but had totally failed to get any crisps or real food down me. I kept doing that thing where I was like “a couple more miles then lunch” which is stupid. If you’re hungry, eat. By the time I got to 30 miles, I was starving. I stopped and got out my lunch - cheese and onion rolls and crisps - and tried to get it down me, but I didn’t want it. The sugar monster was in me and wanted sweets. I’d left it too late and I felt sick. After a mile of walking and stuffing my face I realised that the sugar rollercoaster wasn't my only issue. I was in Reading. 

It’s just so shit, isn’t it? I can’t work out what’s better, running through it scared for your life in the dark, or seeing it in the daylight. It just depresses me that we, as an intelligent race, can come up with a place like Reading. By this point, I felt really sick and had utilised natures toilet, aka the bushes, a number of times (RIP Buff) and I knew it was because of the too much sugar thing. 

Natures toilets. Spot the bush. 

I was managing 4-5 miles an hour and not enjoying myself AT ALL when I saw the ray of light that is Julius running towards me. Hurrah! I am not alone! 

Poor old Julius. Why he comes out to pace me I do not know. To be fair, I had emptied myself of the sugar monster and just felt tired, so we trotted and chatted and generally had a nice time for the next 10 miles. I love the fact he doesn’t push me to go faster when he knows there is literally NO POINT. He had a massive bag of snacks (not a euphemism). What a winner that man is. 

Me emerging from Reading.....

Once you come out of Reading (think about coming out of the Upside Down in Stranger Things - it’s the same) and start to hit Henley, it becomes quite nice, but a bit technical on the old nav, and there is the chance you could get lost. I’ve done this route a lot in the dark, but I was lucky Julius had run from the end to meet me, so he knew where we were going. Sometimes you feel like you are running down the end of a posh persons garden, when it’s actually the Thames Path. About five miles from the end, it started raining which was not in the plan, but I have learnt now to always pack my jacket and I kept thinking “the pubs will be open!” so we made OK time and I got in at about 9 hours 5 mins. Perfectly acceptable - better than I thought I would do. Thank fuck that’s done etc. 

At then end we are greeted by Simon and his team. There was a stand with hot drinks, cake and snacks (no beer BOO!) that was brilliant PLUS changing rooms and toilets - a stroke of genius at the end of a 50 miler. I drank a coffee and went to the pub. As is my way. 

The spoils.....

So overall I had a lovely time. I fucking hate the Thames Path. But this run was actually OK. The race company are brilliant. Aid stations well stocked, brilliant medal, lovely runners and a wonderful RD. I am now looking at their races for next year because they are DEFO my people. A serious note - this is the perfect first 50 miler. Flat, good cut offs and amazing support from volunteers and race company. I might even do it next year for a laugh. 

Also look how knackered I am in this picture. 

Next up - New York Marathon! 

[alliebruns-blog]

Crafty Fox Marathon, Downslink Ultra and Pacing a Pal…..

Well, I’ve been shit at this, haven’t I? I’ve just had loads on and so have totally not had time to do the writing thing that I love doing the most. I have, however, been doing a fair bit of running. September saw the inaugural Crafty Fox marathon - a classic White Star marathon ish in the lovely village of Ansty. For reasons known to nobody apart from myself, I decided to wear a fox tail. Calm down everyone, it’s not a real one. I left that at home. This was 2 loops of a beautiful working farm, with cows and views and posh schools and loads of lovely runners. 

TAIL!

It was my first marathon in a couple of weeks, and my training had been less than satisfactory. At this point in the year, I’m just trying to keep things ticking over rather than win stuff or beat my PB’s or even do anywhere near ‘well’. My “A “races have been done, and I have achieved what I set out - there’s just the small matter of 3 weeks of running across deserts and jungles in November to deal with, so ultimately I need to keep fit for what will be day after day of ‘challenging’ endurance running. 

HILL!

I turned up with about 30 miles in two weeks under my belt, telling myself it was “only” a marathon (epic mistake). I also didn’t pack anything substantial to eat because, again, I just thought it’s “only” a marathon. I am a twat. As is the way with White Star races, this was not flat. I was running with Julius, who was taking it easy as he had the half marathon the next day (where I was marshalling) so we set off, almost immediately walking up a massive hill. The course was lovely - farmland tracks, mega up hills and cows trotting next to us. The downs were as steep as the ups and, after about 6 miles, I started to get hungry. The aid stations had the usual mix of WSR stuff, but I really needed a sandwich and I didn’t have one. The fact that I was hungry, basically meant my run was a slog. It took away from the beauty of it -  all I could think about was food. As it was a test race, the usual Love Station was less full than it would have otherwise been, which led this vegetarian to eat 71 mini sausages on the first loop. Sorry everyone, but a girls gotta eat. If I am honest, I hated that second loop, but it is my fault entirely. Food is important. 

Another hill.......

Not a cult......

This is a beauty of a race - as long as you’re not starving. The race village felt like a party zone - so many great faces and the brilliant Piddle Brewery delivering the goods on the booze front. The medal is awesome too. Would I do it again? 100%. Will I make sure to eat and get a bit more training in? Yes. As I said, I am a tail-wearing twat. 

MEDALZ

After a month off events with weddings and other stupid normal human stuff in the way, it was time for the Downslink Ultra. This is an event run by Jason McCardle - A Do-Badder and all round good egg. A race director who is also an endurance runner is a good thing - they know what’s what. I had been promising him for ages I would do a Sussex Trail Event, and had to this point failed, so I was really looking forward to this. It’s basically 38 miles down a disused railway track, running from Guildford to Shoreham-On-Sea. It’s flat - I LIKE FLAT! And I totally loved it. 

Start line pose.....

The wonderful Lorna Spayne (Head of Bailey Crew OBE) picked me up in the morning, and drove me to the start, and then went off on marshalling duties. She’s so brilliant. I love her.  The run is point to point, so Julius had parked his car at the end and got a bus up to meet me at the start. Clever ain’t we? 

Dream team....

Navigation is simple - follow the signs. The route is packed trail, with some stunning trots through forest and old tunnels. Although it’s a long, straight line, it never gets boring to look at - the weather was AMAZING - we lucked out with one of those cold, sunny autumn days, but once again my lack of midweek running was showing, and at times I found it a struggle. The start was at the top of a hill (approved) where we all whizzed down sandy trails and across very quiet roads to reach the first aid station at around 6 miles.

I mean..........

Dat Autumn sun filter....

At the second aid station, I bumped into Jay and mentioned how lucky we were with the weather - the day before had been appauling. “I know” he said “I ran it yesterday to check the route”. That’s what you want - and RD that does that is a keeper, and believe me a lot of them don’t! 

Aid stations were stocked with stuff for everyone - props on the vegan bites Jay! - and with super lovely marshals. I can only compare this to White Star for it’s organisation and support. You can tell Jay is a runner - he knows what runners want to eat for a start. The other runners were great and happy to chat as we clattered along - no Salomon men here (well a few but I didn’t see them because SLOW). Once again, Julius ran with me - I am trying to train him to run slower for the longer races we have booked in next year - not easy. He reminds me of my dog. I have to shout “WITH ME” every 5 mins when he tries to run off. I don't have a lead for him though. Not that sort of party. 

Welcome to the jungle....

A train......

This is a race for people that like to be sociable. Of course, it’s a great course for a PB - it’s flat and trail - nothing stopping you smashing it out - but it’s also very social, with wide paths and loads of space. It would be great for groups of people wanting to take on their first Ultra, as the cut offs are pretty decent and you don't have to run in single file at any point. I think if I had been on my own I would have got bored at points, but the autumn light was so brilliant and the changing scenery also made it seem less like a never ending railway track. 

Countryside......

It’s alright this.......

We went through fields, trails and small towns, under tunnels and through bits of ‘british jungle’. The main aid station is right next to a pub, and holy shit was it epic. Everything from sandwiches and mini wraps to cheese and pineapple on sticks to melon. This time, I had been sensible, and packed sandwiches and snacks and nuts, but I didn’t need too. There was even coffee! I was so happy I gave Jay a cuddle and 11 out of 10 for aid station glory. He just looked at me, confused.

Pro running shot courtesy of Lorna!

After this point it started to get a teeny bit more industrial on the run into Shoreham - not the worst end to a race I have ever experienced (Newcastle anyone?) Head of Crew Lorna met us about 2 miles from the end and ran us in. I was pretty happy with 7.14 on the back of no events the previous month and the chilli at the end was delicious, as were the showers. Sussex Trail Events know how to put on a good value, fun and achievable event. It’s safe, beautiful and genuinely a runners race. Jay understands what we want and need, and there’s nothing more to it. I am now eyeing up pretty much everything else he has on offer for next year - go and have a look for yourselves here. 

The following week I had the pleasure of being asked to pace my good friend Dan at his first 100 miler - the Autumn 100. As many of you know, this was my first 100 mile event this time last year and I was over the moon to be asked to help Dan out from the 50-75 mile mark. I know what a huge deal your first 100 mile race is and I know how important those pacers can be, so I was both scared I would fuck it up, and thrilled that I got to be part of his story. 

Dan looking better before I got to him......

The Ridgeway is leg 3 of a 4 leg race. It’s 50 miles in to the A100. Usually runners run it in the dark - and it is DARK up there - no light at all. I worked on a pace plan with Dan in the weeks before, giving him an A, B and C plan so he wouldn’t feel he was failing at any point. I worked out that to be on course for a sub 24 hour time, he should be with me at Goring at 8pm and ready to go at 8.10.  If we could do this 25 mile leg in 6 hours, he would be on for that sub 24 with 7 hours for the final leg (always keep an hour for aid station faff and procrastinating).

I got to Goring at 7pm (just in case) and had been watching his tracker like a hawk all day - he looked like he was on target. Sadly, in the last part of the second leg, he slowed slightly and came into Goring 40 mins later than planned, which means we didn’t leave until 8.50. I would have to try and get him through this leg slightly faster than planned and let his next pacer Kieran know that he was going to have to think more 6 hours than 7 for leg 4. 

Being a pacer is frought with difficulties. I know Dan quite well and I love him, we have run together before a lot - he came and ran with me on the Thames Path for 40 odd miles - but working out how far you can push a person is hard. I didn’t want to piss him off, but I had a job to do. We weren’t allowed to crew the runners - that means you can’t touch them, help them get changed or get them food and drink. They have to do it themselves or get a centurion member of staff to do it - that is massively frustrating. I got him out of the hall as soon as I could, and we started walking at 14 min miles up the hill towards the ridgeway. I explained we were late setting out, and we would have to do some running. Dan did not look impressed. He has already run 50 miles. I was fresh out the box. 

Halfway through the night shift.....

I was so worried about time and I tried to make Dan run as much as possible, but it was hard. When we walked, we walked at 13-14 min miles and I made him run down most of the hills. I could see him flagging. That far away look you get in your eyes - he had it. I kept on trying to be helpful. You need to be able to read when it’s ok to chat and when you should shut up. I pushed him to run as much as possible, and tried to get him to eat more. He wasn’t eating or drinking enough - I know exactly how he felt - but I also know you have to keep shovelling it down. The second half of the leg featured our best friend the “hammering side rain”. We were cold and wet - I ALWAYS run through this weather - to get out of it quicker - but Dan was only managing 2 mins running and then 5 - 10 mins walking. I texted ahead to tell Kieran to get ready to smash the next leg out in 6.30 rather than 7. 

As we came to the end of my leg I did a bit of home truth chat. I told him he could do it in sub 24 IF he could manage to do a 6.30 on the last leg. I told him about how you feel towards the end, and I hope that I helped him and didn’t scare him. We got in to the hall at 6.06 for my leg. Kieran was waiting, got him fed and changed as quickly as possible and got him out. When I saw him in the light of the hall I felt terrible I hadn’t fed him more. He was flagging. He had been running for almost 17 hours and he was half the Dan he usually was. I gave him a cuddle and went to get in the car home. It was 3.30am. Dan had over 7 hours more running to do.

The last leg was appalling for Dan - the weather was awful and his feet were playing up very badly. Despite this, he managed to get back in just over 25 hours - which is a fucking epic time for a first 100. I was lucky on mine - I didn’t have that driving rain and wind. With it, it would have been a very different story. Dan has achieved what 99% of people can’t, and for that I am immensely proud. I loved pacing him and being part of his journey and I learnt a lot from it. Huge thanks to Kieran for bringing him home in one piece. And thanks Dan for allowing me to annoy you for 6 hours. 

So that’s where we are at! Next up for me is the Thames Path “Trot” - 50 miles of Thames Path - because we all know how much I love the Thames Path right? (Kill me now) Then I am off to New York for the marathon. And then Namibia and Panama. Jesus christ, will this hell never end? (I hope not…..) 

[alliebruns-blog]

To Live A Life Less Ordinary.....

So here’s something a little bit different. This week there was discussion in the Bad Boy Running group on Facebook about adventures. My pal Lorna posed the following question “On a scale of 1 to 10 how much do the adventure podcasts such as Sean Conway, Anna Mcnuff etc make you feel inadequate?! 10 for me! If you had no responsibilities and could just up and leave for an epic adventure what would you do?” Much discussion ensued over this - head over to the Facebook post to take a look, but something about it really got to me. 

That post.....

For some time now, there has been something not right about how I am living. I haven’t been running as much as I would like - down to a little bit of my mojo being sapped by the Thames Path, the arrival of Pickle the very nervous but totally wonderful rescue dog, and my crippling anxiety about the thing that enables me to run. My job. 

As some of you know I have worked for many years in the music industry, marketing bands and making you buy music you don’t want. Living the glamorous life that you all read about. Parties and festivals and famous people. I am partially responsible for Ed Sheeran. But please don’t hate me (I love him, he’s great). I am so lucky. Or so I was constantly told. 

When we were young - in the years PR (Pre Running)

Two years ago I decided that I didn’t want to do it anymore. Or I thought I didn’t. I was fucked, to be frank. Tired out, abused, taken for granted, under paid, miserable, on the receiving end of some pretty #metoo behaviour.  So I went and started my own business as a freelance marketing consultant. To the music industry. And it’s gone well. I had good clients and the money was coming in. I was making a profit. I was doing things on my terms most of the time and I had time for the running adventures and the money to pay for them. Then I lost my biggest client. My bread and butter. And I haven't been able to replace them as yet. And I don't think I want to. And I have had a lot of time to think and worry. When Lorna posed this question in the group, it came at a time when I had agreed to take part in a reccee of a race across Namibia and then one across Panama in November/December of this year. A reccee that was not only going to cost me about five thousand pounds, but was also going to put me out of work action for 3 weeks. It was OK though - I had my big client and I had money coming in. And then I lost them. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? 

That’s there to be run......the Namib desert

So is that - The Panamanian jungle 

I read through people arguments on Lorna’s post, looking for some answers. Should I cancel the trip? How was I going to afford it? Was I being spectacularly stupid? How was I going to get a client when I had 3 weeks of ‘holiday’? There were a lot of people saying if it wasn't for job/kids/partner etc they would do something epic. Some people even said they wished they could go back in time and get these things done before they had “settled”. I have never settled. I did for a while (the married years pre running) but I never really settled. 

People like to tell you how to live or how you ought to live, especially on the internet. Good education, stable career, pension, husband, wife, children, save, mortgage, sensible, safety, plan. Saving it all up for a rainy day. But what if every day is a rainy day? What if it’s raining from day one and it only stops occasionally to allow a glimpse of sunlight into the otherwise black room of your brain? What if everything that you have been told you want is wrong? What if the things YOU thought you wanted are wrong? What if the thing you love starts to destroy you? Was that part of the plan?

Losing my biggest client was not part of the plan. The plan was long term. I want to make a living from my running. Something that is NOT the done thing. I am told by people that I am inspiring and clever and engaging and funny. I do not necessarily believe this, but the proof is in the pudding and I do know people that have gone out and done their first 10k, marathon, ultra because I have talked them into it - whether that is inspiring or whether I am a good sales person, I don’t know but there it is. I have done some pretty great adventure runs and I love to talk about them, I love to see people finish their first marathon or ultra and I love to be able to help with advice that I believe is contrary to most of the stuff you get from magazines or online. The CEO of The National Running Show recently referred to me as the first of the “Rock and Roll runners” - a description I totally love. Running is my passion. It has changed my life. Even if I don't get out and do it every day like the shiny people on instagram, I am always thinking about it. What sort of races I could do, where I could go and how I can help other people make their races and race companies great. How to makes things accessible and brilliant. how to make people glorious. 

Before I lost my client, I was branching out and doing all the extra curricular I could around running - going out to Mongolia with Rat Race - the ultimate adventure, becoming their only female ambassador, doing the various bits of press etc. Running all the White Star Races, bringing the White Star community into the Bad Boy Running community to make it the most glorious and dangerous group of all time. Working with the National Running Show to secure a partnership with Bad Boy Running, becoming and ambassador for them and being lucky enough to be asked to speak at their event. I was running races most weekend - winning some of them - and triumphing in all my A game races for the year which I am very proud of (SDW100 sub 24 hour, winner  and now course record holder of the TP184 and winning the Ox Epic 2018). Everything I wanted to do with regards to running this year I have achieved, and that to me is amazing. So why have I managed to achieve these things but NOT managed to secure another music client? Maybe it’s because I don't actually want to. Music and me, I think we are finally done. The long drawn out process of splitting up and getting back together is over. 

From when I did a win. 

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, petrified and afraid. I cannot afford Namibia and Panama. I can’t afford the flights or the time off. I have very little money coming in and no savings. I have no 9-5 bread and butter money. I am fucked. So, so fucked. I am going to have to cancel it. And then I thought of Lorna’s post again. I thought about the people that I admire and look up to - the Sean Conway’s and the Anna McNuff’s. I thought about Mongolia and how much that experience can NEVER be taken away from me. I think about my own mantras - see the world through your eyes not your phone. Relentless forward progress. You have more in you. I think about being old and the regrets I may have. I can’t go - I have a dog and I need to make money. I need to be sensible and grown up. I am going to have to email Jim and cancel it. I am going to have to do what society tells me I should do. 

I think about when I am most happy. I think about the Crafty Fox marathon at the weekend and how much I am looking forward to seeing the White Star lot and how much I am looking forward to running. I think about how kind Jim and Rat Race have been to me. I think about how happy I am when I give a talk to a bunch of people that think they could never run a marathon or a 10k or an ultra and how, when some of them email me months later to tell me they have done it, I feel like doing a little cry. I think about my breakdown. I think about the death of my dear friend Scott. I think about my future. I can’t see further than tomorrow. I call my sister, my most wonderful sister, and talk to her. And I make a decision. Based entirely on gut. Based on my sister being spectacularly supportive and kind and talking to me from her heart.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. I know what I want to do. I want to inspire people, I want to live a positive life, and give back the joy running has given me to people. I want to make people believe in themselves. I want to show people they are capable of so much more than they think. I want to write a book. I want to run all over the world. I want to be an extraordinary, ordinary person. And I want to be happy doing it. I don't want to be rich, or famous or the best or the fastest. I want to be the kindest and the most honest and the most accessable. I need money to live, but there has to be a better way. I don't have children. I have Pickle the dog, but she will be well looked after. I have nothing left to lose, and even the tiny bits I do have to lose mean nothing. I want to live a life less ordinary. 

So I am going. I am going to run 300km across the Namib Desert to the Skeleton coast. Then I am going to run 200km across Panama from the Pacific to the Atlantic coast. I will be poor. I will have to move out of London. I want to move out of London, so this is not a problem. I will have to work hard to secure talks and part time work. I will have to scale back my whole life. But I will do it. And I will do it fucking well. 

Normal service will be resumed next week after the inaugural Crafty Fox marathon. Now go and sign up for something extraordinary. 

[alliebruns-blog]

Stuck In the Middle With You: How to get a Strava segment in the middle of the English Channel.

My trainers look REALLY clean at the moment. Like REALLY clean. This is probably because I am spending most of my running time semi submerged in water. 

After attending Love Trails festival the previous weekend (no blog on the because I pretty much hated it although the running was good!) I trotted out to Dover for attempt number 487 to recce the Rat Race Project Explore: Goodwin Sands 5K. We have honestly tried to do this about 6 times and every single time it has been called off with hours to spare due to “weather”. Let me explain. 

Goodwin Sands is a sandbank situated in the English channel between Deal and french France. It’s about 10 miles off Dover, in the middle of the worlds busiest shipping lane. It pops up for about 45 mins a day and then it’s gone. Basically, this is a 5K in the middle of the sea and the only one of it’s type in the world. Sounds legit, right? 

Map!

So the day came and it looked like we were actually game on. After a few beers the night before and some map checking, we headed to Dover Marina on Tuesday morning, where we jumped on a pretty nifty little boat and sped out towards the sands. Submerged during the day, this is the site of shipwrecks and plane crashes, with the submerged bank often catching mariners off guard. On the way out we spotted wrecks on the rocks and heard tales of buried war planes. You can see some of the wreckage as you speed out to sea, leaving the white cliffs behind you as you bounce along the waves.

Dover from le bateau. 

After a 20 min boat ride we were given our life jackets and escorted off the boat to start the recce. As we dismount the boat, we start to see the seals. In my eyes, seals are the wolverine clowns of the sea, with sharp flipper claws and cute bitey faces. They were bobbing along next to us, like curious dogs, as we appeared out of the water. I was beside myself with joy, I decided I wanted to cuddle a seal. I was warned against this and it did prove difficult. (Spolier - the seals did not want a cuddle from me)

There she is! Goodwin Sands starts to appear. 

Myself and Lee (of Mongolia fame) were given flags and told to find a 5K route. Why does Jim trust me with this stuff?! So Lee took the lead and we decided to attempt to run the ever changing edge of the sands and mark out a 5K loop using the flags. 

The sand looked flat and compact. It is neither. Much like the frozen lake it is VERY hard to judge the terrain - what looks flat is actually undulating, rippled and quite technical. And in some places, very, very soft - stand there too long and it will suck you in and not let go. Pools of water are everywhere and there are constant rivers of water running up and down the bank, some of them a lot deeper than they look. 

Wettest MDS ever. 

Boats waiting for us to hopefully not die. 

Lee before the incident we don't mention where his life jacket went off because he “splashed” it. 

Lee and I soon learnt that the edge of the bank is the flatest and easiest part to run on, so started making our way around the edge. There were seals everywhere, sunbathing on the bank and looking slightly pissed off at having to move as we approached. They slithered into the sea like massive slugs and then stayed there bobbing up and down and waiting for us to leave so they could get on with their hectic schedule of sunbathing. They were massive and funny. 

“Please be my friend!”

LOOK AT THEM!

We made our way round, dropping flags, going back on ourselves and trying to navigate to 5K, working out how we would mark the route for the actual event in August. It was stunningly beautiful, quiet, almost eerie and being able to run towards the white cliffs while being in the middle of the sea was just amazing. The solitude was beautiful, the fear that you could get stuck was real and the sand was deep and very wet. 

Spot the seal.

NOT my friends. 

We eventually came back to where we started an hour after we had been dropped off. Longest Parkrun ever. But we had done it and we now know other people can do it in safety. 

On the way back we talked about the type of runner the event would attract - would people be smashing it out? Would they be going hell for leather, trying to get round in the faster possible time or would they stop, walk a bit and take in just how amazing this experience is? Is it possible for the fast people to actually do 2 loops for a 10K? I guess we will find out in August when the first intrepid Rat Racers get to try it for themselves. 

Dover from the sands. Epic. 

Goodwin Sands 5K is all booked up for this year but you can still register interest for next time round here. I would recommend you do. This is once in a lifetime stuff. Just don't even thing about seal cuddles. 

Also massive thank to Lee for being my personal videographer on this one - I will miss you pal. Strava segment after the jump!

LOL Strava. 

[alliebruns-blog]

Rat Race Man Vs Roast, I mean COAST.

Alriiiight mooy lovelies! (That is Cornish for hello…)

Earlier in July, I found myself on a train to Penzance to take part in the inaugural Rat Race Man Vs Coast “challenge”. 20 ish (24) miles of glorious north atlantic trails and hills with a load of water thrown in. Like Takeshis Castle, with a load of runners. 

It was my first Man Vs event, and despite me thinking the titles are a load of old bobbins, I was pretty excited to see what all the fuss was about. The route takes you from St. Michaels Mount in Penzance straight north crossing the whole of Cornwall (all 4 miles of it). Once you hit the North Atlantic coast, you trot along, all the way to Lands End where you fall off the end then drink beer. 

The start of Man vs Coast 

The Mountain of Michael AKA St Michaels Mount, the backdrop for the start. 

Unsurprisingly it was BOILING that weekend, and by the time I had taken the 5 hour train trip to Cornwall it was, in classic Bailey fashion, too late to have dinner. Again. So I did was any self respecting runner would do, and went to the pub for 2 pints and 2 packets of scampi fries. #carbloading. 

When I got back to the hotel, I bumped into a couple of other people I had met on Rat Race events and, to cut a long story short, ended up staying up until 1am with the guy that ran the hotel pouring my own wine from his stocks. This, my friends, is how you prepare for a race. 

It’s a little bit of a logistical pain the bumhole, this one. Registration is in Penzance, camping is at Lands End and the race starts back in Penzance. This means driving to Penzance, picking up your number, driving to Lands End, setting up your tent and then booking yourself onto a coach to take you to the start in the morning - a drive of just over and hour for start to finish. As you know I am lazy and self entitled, so I decided to stay in a hotel and then work out a way to get back from Lands End the following evening when I was drunk and vulnerable. Seemed legit. 

Saturday morning and I managed to miss breakfast as well because I am amazing, settling for a coffee and 2 biscuits I found in my room. The start line was a taxi ride away, and my nice new hotel FWENDS gave me a lift down there, where I met up with #bogsquad from Arran and a load of Do-Badders. There were a LOT of them there and it was lovely. 

The race starts in waves - GEDDIT!? Me and Spike having the best time. 

The race starts in waves which are seemingly randomly picked. I was here for training, to see my mates and to have a lovely time - others were not, and the wave system seemed to get a lot of “serious” people hot under the collar. Once started, you run straight out and into the sea where there is a giant yellow inflatable you have to swim around, then you head back onto the beach to do some running.  Unfortunately the inflatable came loose, so instead of the planned 50m swim it was looking more and more like a 50 mile swim, with every runner that went past pushing it further out to sea. Cue RR MD Jim Mee jumping into the water with a life jacket on to act as human inflatable, while the big yellow sausage (the inflatable, not Jim) floated away into the ether. What can I say? It was the inaugural race and I found this quite hilarious. 

Is this a sewer? It looks like a sewer....

Once back on the beach, it was a run along to the next water based obstacle - a pontoon in the sea that you swam towards, scrambled up on and then jumped off. What is the point of this, you say? There is no point, it’s just funny. A bit more running on the beach, and then through a tunnel that appeared like it may once have been a sewer, up a river, a scramble onto the bank and we were on dry land. 

Bailey bank scrambling. 

Once out of the water were off up the country roads and away from the sea running on tarmac with lovely wet feet as we made our way North across Cornwall from the English Channel and onto the North Atlantic coast. It was about 4 miles of roads and hills, via village called Ding Dong (no shit) eventually topping out onto the coastal path which is where I came into my own. 

DING DONG!

Just the best.....

Weeeeeeee!

Quick stop at Pit Stop one for water and salt, and up onto the cliffs. It was stunningly beautiful and the weather made the colours jaw dropping. The trails were really hard packed because of the weather in the previous week, and relatively technical, but I was loving it. Ferns, castles, cliffs, this run has it all. We live in the best country. Sometimes. 

NO FILTER NEEDED!

Secret beaches are part of this epic route. 

Second pit stop was well stocked with melting pit stop bars and jaffa cakes - and we quickly left in search of some more water to throw ourselves in. This race would have been VERY different if it was raining. VERY different. 

The next obstacle was a jump from a pretty massive rock into the sea - it’s so brilliant to be able to do this stuff you would never otherwise do - the crew are brilliant and supportive and anyone that was having second thoughts about jumping with gently coerced into it, emerging triumphant and soaked. theres always the option to not do the jumps but as you know by now I am VERY suggestable. I honestly think that it’s all down to rat race that I am no longer too afraid go heights. 

Get on the rock, jump in the sea - EASY!

Out of the water, and back along the cliff tops for some scramble sections up and down the rocks. Up the ‘Vertical Kilometre’ (or “Crisp Eating Hill” as I like to call it). Onto the beach for some bouldering, back into the water to retrieve some bobbing flags, and then up again. This is a total trail runners paradise and the water just made the heat easier to cope with. The next obstacle involved a rope bridge made of nets and what looked like safety pins, another cliff jump, a scramble up more rocks and a rope assisted climb down. That scared me, but again with the support given by the crew, I managed it pretty easily and actually loved it!

Tiny People and BIG old rocks

No words. 

Scrambles!

That looks runable....

 Now, I know there were some issues around this point with queuing for things and looking at the people from the top of the cliffs was a bit like watching lemmings trotting off to their certain deaths. I was back of the pack with Spike so I didn’t experience any huge waits for anything and was happy just sitting in the sun for 10 mins. 

The last obstacle was a bodyboard, if a bodyboard can be an obstacle. Running down onto the sandy beach, we were handed our boards and told to go “catch a wave”. Fucking ridiculous, but OK then. I swapped my dolphin board for a shark one, and did what I was told quite badly, dropping the board off for the final run up to Lands End for a beer and a chat with my pals. 

Of course I chose this bodyboard.....

Made it!

So yeah, 20 odd miles of fun run, splash splash and LOLS. There were, however, issues at the end with people not happy about their times or position on the leaders board. It’s pretty hard to be able to put a leaders board together when the obstacles aren’t mandatory - some people missed them altogether and others did them all, but to be honest, this isn’t a “race” to PB or try and win - this is a brilliant day out with some huge challenges and a big old party at the end. Bring your mates along, forget your splits and just have the best time ever. 

Next up, a little run around a sandbank in the middle of the English Channel…….

[alliebruns-blog]

Rat Race Recce Report: Subterranean Snowdon

Now a few if you may know my feelings about cycling. Cyclists are cheats, bikes are cheat machines, some of them poo in their lycra, horse attacking half wits etc. but that didn’t stop me from from biting Jim’s arm off when he asked if I wanted to come to Snowdonia to recce one of the new Rat Race Projects - ‘Subterranean Snowdon’. 

I’ve done Snowdon a few times - Snowdon trail Marathon, Snowdon Ultra etc, but this promised to be more than trotting up a mountain and stumbling down again. 

Sometimes it pays to be short....

The premise is that you start of half a mile underground in the old mines at Llanberis. You make your way up to the surface and jump on a mountain bike (gross) for 15 miles to the foot of Snowdon then run up the Watkin Path- possibly the most technically difficult way up - its’ got ridges  and drops and all sorts. You know how I like a ridge right? (Spoiler - I don’t). Once you get to the top you run down the other side and then abseil down 3-5 waterfalls to the bottom. Sounds fun right? Looks good on paper right? Reality is it’s the most exhilarating, exciting and terrifying fun you can have in 12 hours. 

We stayed the night in a little hostel in Llanberis and after a big old breakfast and briefing myself, Ross (our safety guide ninja) Jim, Darren and Handsome Pete made our way towards that start of the event - the slate mines at Parc Padarn. It was a little overcast and chilly but nothing to get upset about. Yet. 

Yeah, that’s a train.....

We’re put in a tiny train that looks like a well dodgy, yellow vertical version of the DLR, and clank our way down the mine shaft. A little bell goes and the doors open - we are now half a mile underground in a warren of still functional mines. It’s pretty dark in mines isn’t it? That’s why I was wearing a stupid at with a light. Our guides were great and led us through the little passages (poor Handsome Pete bashing his head every 3 seconds, Jim and I not having that problem at all) until we reach a pretty steep rail track that obviously hasn't been used for some time. We have to climb up it, towards the light - a climb that starts off ok but ends as more of a scramble. I’m not really that claustrophobic but this gets your heart rate and anxiety going for sure. Once at the top, it’s straight onto our bikes which have been waiting for us at the top of the mine. This is where it starts to get funny. 

Follow the light, kids. 

This is the hole we popped out of......

I haven't been on a bike for ages (boris bikes drunk don’t count) and I am so glad we had Helen - our lovely mountain bike guide - to help.  I basically had to learn how to ride one again - and it is NOT the same as running. Whereas Darren looked like he was about to win the Tour de France, I came across more Pee Wee Herman. 

Thrilled. I was thrilled. 

But that’s ok. I didn’t fall of. And Helen was brilliant. She was really encouraging and gave me some amazing tips - and didn’t laugh at me once for being shit. Well maybe once but that was because I was being shit. If the idea of riding a bike puts you off doing this - don’t let it. There loads of support and (don’t tell anyone) I actually had a really good time!

Standard Pete Rees crouch. 

The first part of the ride is roads - downhill and fast and really good fun. The uphills were a struggle for me - running and cycling are very different AND I am bad at maths AND I’m not really very ambidextrous which made changing gear just LOL-worthy. Darren was flying up the hills, Jim was flying up them, I was getting off and walking a bit and flying DOWN them.  Handsome Pete was hanging out the back of a van filming us. Standard. Then it started raining. (It now won’t stop raining until the second we finish the trip). 

After all the fun of the roads and the beautiful farm tracks comes the really hard bit - mountain biking down very steep, very wet technical terrain. It would be hard enough to run down with trail shoes and not slip, let alone ride a bike down. I looked at the trail with slight horror wondering how I was every going to be able to do it, but once again Helen gave me a masterclass about putting my seat down, balancing and standing up - and down I bounced actually LOVING it and not falling off. Darren on the other hand had bought his MAMIL bike and DID fall off. Lessons learnt? You need a mountain nike for this or else you’re going to be carrying it on your shoulder. 

Over to Darren on that......

Jim and Darren survey the “track”

At this point we had been on the bikes for about 3 hours and the rain had really set in - we were all pretty much soaked. The beauty of Snowdonia make up for it though and although wet, by the end of the second leg we were all feeling awesome. 

Serious briefing time at the start of the Watkin Path....

Quick stop at the trucks to get a change of gear, and we were off up Snowdon along The Watkin Path. This is one of the most beautiful routes up with waterfalls and woods and a gradual incline before you start to get to the big boy section. It was still drizzling but as we ascended it got worse and worse. It’s about 6km to the summit, but its a lung buster with some decent scramble sections and some terrifying ridges to deal with. It got to the point where it was so foggy and rainy I couldn’t see Handsome Pete or the Guide who were no more than a meter in from or behind me. 

Love a water feature....

Visibility getting worse

OK, where is everyone? 

The good thing about this for me was I couldn’t see the drops on either side of the ridges. Anyone that read my UTA blog knows that I have a really bad fear of ridges with drops on either side. The best thing is if all I can see is cloud or fog - and that’s how it was here. Gutted there were no views, massively relieved there were no views. It was REALLY fucking windy though. 

Lovely ridge. Thank God I can’t see it properly. 

We were all soaked and freezing and even getting changed at the Summit in the lean to of the NOT OPEN cafe seemed like false economy - the rain was NOT giving up but I was freezing so wicked on a couple more layers and put my sodden jacket back on. 

Up we go - there were sheep up here - how the fuck did they get up there? 

Lovely view from the top.....

And down again.....

We started the trot down the Pyg Pass - again it was GREAT that is was so foggy and I managed the trot down pretty easily with no view. As we descended the fog lifted, but the rain and wind remained. We kept moving, because whenever we stopped we got cold. It was technical trail and bogs, technical trail and bogs, all the way up and down until we finally got got to Cwm Dyli Waterfall. It was huge and so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself think. It was awesome. 

This is FOR real people. First waterfall drop. 

We were in a cloud at the top of the falls, and we were totally soaked and it was windy. We were all starting to get cold so did our best to keep moving while Ross and the Rat Race squad got our abseil kit ready. It was at this stage that it dawned on Handsome Pete that he might have to abseil. I had not been thinking about this part, because I needed to get over bike fear before anything else. But now, looking at the ledge we had to throw ourselves off backwards, the slippery ledge that had tonnes of water gushing over it, it became a little bit real. 

No audio apart from waterfalls - but this is where I explain to Pete there are 5, FIVE abseils. You can add your own subtitles for LOLs. 

Handsome Pete was having none of it and decided to him from up the top - filming was being made very difficult by the rain and the fact we didn’t really have a waterproof casing for the camera. Quite how my phone survived this ordeal even in my bag, is beyond me, but the only shots I have of the waterfall abseils are shots from a previous recce - but you get the idea! 

Fun vs Not fun. You decide! 

We managed 3 abseils. I HAVE done this before (in Thailand where it’s dry) and I know where I should be putting my feet etc but it’s a different kettle of fish when you have tonnes of water gushing over you, and the rock you’re going down is VERY slippery and VERY smooth. It’s a case of not freaking out, really. The minute you realise you have started to freak out, you start to freak out more then it’s game over. 

I got to the bottom of the first drop and fell in the plunge pool like the lady I am, then got roped up for the second one. This one was huge - there’s a picture of it above. I was literally being waterboarded by nature. You can get the idea of the power of the water in this video taken the week before on the same waterfall. 

There came a point towards the end where I totally lost my footing and swung straight into the rock and under the falls. It was actually quite glorious but fucking painful. I just kept swinging in and out like a pendulum, occasionally bashing against the rock, until Stuart - one of the badass RR experts - managed to pull me out by my harness. Embarrassing but hilarious. My bruises are amazing. 

The third one was smaller and much more manageable and their was the option of doing 2 more, but it was late and we were all freezing and starving so we called it a day. In better weather it would have been amazing and I would have kept going all day - as it was I was very wet and cold and I knew it was stupid to carry on for no reason. 

End of the day, the whole squad got together for a curry before an amazing nights sleep. Love the Test Pilot Squad! 

So is this something I would do again? 100% yes. It’s a brilliant challenge for anyone who’s relatively fit (enough to run a 10k I reckon) and the support is amazing. I knew I could do all the things I did, I just didn’t know how much I would enjoy it. It’s hard - don't get me wrong - it’s a really long day and you are on the go the whole time but it’s also fun and beautiful and exhilarating and it teaches you stuff about your organisational skills and brainhole. Top tip for anyone thinking about this? Take a spare waterproof if it’s raining and don't scrimp on waterproof trousers - lifesavers. 

Next up? It’s Man Vs Coast with the Rat Race crew and a little recce on a sandbank that’s been put off and put off and put off. Fingers crossed for this time! 

[alliebruns-blog]

Post South Downs Way 100 - Hitting The Wall.

So who thinks that running a 69 mile ultra loop North the week after a sub 24hr 100 miler is a good idea? Anyone? No. Thought not. Well I thought is WAS a good idea because I’m training for a 184 mile multi dayer in August. And I stand by my decision on this one, because I had a lovely time. 

The Wall is Rat Race’s only true one day running ultra. It starts in Carlisle and follows the route of Hadrians Wall for 69 miles through to Newcastle. The race is routed mainly along roads, with some trails thrown in, and is relatively flat - which for me is the challenge - road and flat are not my thang when it comes to ultras. I get confused and don’t know when to walk and eat my cheese sandwiches.  However, it’s a part of the world I haven’t ever been to and I do like a run, so off I went, staying in Carlisle’s most depressing hotel the night before, to run The Wall. 

GLADIATORS READY! THE START OF THE WALL 2018

Registration is the day before, so after registering and assembling some Do-Badders for dinner and drinks, I got my head down and set my alarm for 5.30 the next morning. The race starts at 7am,  with a briefing outside the castle at 6.45. In a nice change from the last few weeks the day was overcast as opposed to hotter than the sun, and as we started to run it started drizzling. Nice, I thought. Just a bit of drizzle, I thought. Glad I didn’t put my sun cream on, I thought. 

The first few miles are less than inspiring TBH. The grey roads of Carlisle take you past the airport and lots of fences, but no wall. I was very tired (I WONDER WHY?!) and at one point I felt like I was falling asleep at the wheel, but a bit of caffeine and a change of scene to some lovely villages and I started to feel better. My plan was to run a bit with Lorna, who paced me so well at the SDW100 the week before, but after 2 miles of 9.30 min miles, I was done and off she went. So I was alone for a while, chatting to people every so often, struggling to understand thick Geordie accents and genuinely feeling like a racist when I had to ask people to repeat themselves. 

BIT OF ROAD THAT IS NOT ROAD. NO WALL. 

The first Pit Stop was at Lanercost - about 12 miles in. I still hadn’t hit my stride at this point and honestly don't remember much about that Pitstop, apart from seeing my support crew and necking 2 DELICIOUS tuna rolls. The aid stations on this race are fucking mega. I could have stayed at this one for at least 3 days eating myself into a coma. All the snacks.  About a mile out of the pit stops, I met a lovely man called Dave. Dave was my new running pal whether he liked it or not, and we ran together for a good 20 miles chatting about stuff and life and about how otters ACTUALLY have pockets (they do - look it up). All the important stuff. The weather was pretty OK at this point - windy and on and off rain, but as we trotted on to the second Pit Stop at Cawfields (27 miles in) the heavens properly opened. This was not the last time this would happen today. Cawfields had the added bonus of all the hot drinks and loads of crisps and fruit. And peoples drop bags laid out on the field like tiny mouse body bags. Weird. I was having the best picnic ever and I actually had started to feel pretty good. We’d seen a bit of wall. Everything was nice. I insulted some other runners by accident and then left in search of Pit Stop 3 - Hexham - where I was meeting my long suffering boyfriend who was coming out to trot through the Dark side of Newcastle with me. 

This was probably my favourite stretch of the route, with the most trail. It was truly beautiful and there were huge chunks of wall and history to be looked at and chatted about. The people on this race are wonderful. I met a lot of very nice, very funny men. I didn’t meet very many women. As usual. At the 40 mile mark I texted my crew to say I was about an hour away from Hexham and took off my waterproof. BIG MISTAKE. I knew it was a mistake. As I started up the hill towards Hexham a storm of epic proportions started to appear over the horizon. It’ll be fine I thought. It wasn’t fine. 

It PELTED it down, it was literally like having buckets of water thrown over me. I had my Rat Race smock on, but even if I’d had a full on PVC body suit it wouldn’t have changed anything. I ran across an open field to the shelter of some trees where there were a few other bedraggled Rat Racers looking sad under the tress. It was windy and cold and I was SOAKED. I had a drop bag at Hexham but progress was slow as it was pretty hilly and the rain wasn’t helping, making the trail slippery - and we were all wearing road shoes. 

PISSING RAIN. THESE GUYS HAVE THE RIGHT IDEA.

After about half an hour the rain started to stop - too late though - everything soaked. The sun started to make an appearance as I trotted into Hexham to my boyfriend, all dry and clean and fresh-legged. Fucking annoying. Straight into the tent of joy where there was literally a party happening. A couple of lovely people lent me towels and I changed my socks, and top, grabbed 17 packets of scampi fries and ate the most delicious chilli on earth. I heard reports that some people stayed at Hexham for well over an hour, No surprise, I could happily have lived there for the whole weekend. Best Aid Station of any event I have ever done. I bumped into my pal Spike who was taking numbers as people had come in - the trackers had stopped working. If you track my number now you will see that apparently I am still at Cawfields. Quick chat with handsome Pete Rees and me and Julius were off again. I had slightly started to lose my sense of humour - I was tired and there was still a good 20 ish miles to go but apparently it’s “all down hill from Hexham” (That’s a lie) 

NEWCASTLE IS ALLEGEDLY SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW. 

About 2-3 miles into the last ish leg and the sun came out with a vengeance - it was like a totally different day. We ran through beautiful countryside and villages where people had set up home made stalls serving fruit and water - people can be so lovely. We ran past and under rainbows and it was beautiful. I was still tired, I was taking a lot of caffiene and I had started to feel a little pain in my shins. Painkillers down my gullet and we made it to the final aid station at Newburn. 

SAME DAY, TOTALLY DIFFERENT DAY. 

Quick turnaround, coffee, cake and encouragement for our new friend Rupert, and the final leg was upon us. I got in an Ultra Mood at one point - poor Julius - it wasn’t helped by the approach to Newcastle where a load of local hoodies were sat smashing glass and punching each other. Lovely Newcastle. I spent a few miles being quiet, until finally I could see the bridge and I knew I was there. As I ran towards the line, there was Spike with my can of Brewdog - I crossed the line and opened it and I was done. 15 hours, 23 mins and 48 seconds. I’ll take that for a 69 miler post SDW100. It would have been a sub 24 if it was 100 - YAY ME I AM AWESOME. 

CLASSIC BAILEY FINISH. “I ONLY POPPED TO THE SHOPS FOR A BEER....”

The facilities at the end are AMAZING. A lovely little yacht club with a subsidised bar, hot food, showers and even a sleep room. We sat and drank and chatted to our friends, old and new, and I waited for a few Do-Badders to come in and congratulated them all. It had been a GREAT day, but one that I wish I had been able to do on fresh legs. 

This is a brilliant event for all runners. for beginners, it’s an excellent first foray into ultra’s with amazing support and organisation, and a good course for people wanting to smash out a PB. Road racing is hard, but ultra road racing is even harder. My ankles were swollen and my shins were sore but I had beer in my hand and a nice bed to sleep in. Which is good because 2 days later I was test pilot for the brand new Rat Race even Subterranean Snowdon. That blog is going soooooon!