A week of ultra marathon recovery
Post-TGC diary and feeling motivated after a big run
Just a quick note to say that there are only a few tickets left for the launch of Walk Britain, which is happening this Sunday (March 9th) in Grasmere, Lake District. Limited spots available to join us for a walk (social 9km, starting at 8am), then there’ll be coffee and cake and a Q&A all about the book/anything else you want to chat about. It’s completely free to come along, you just need to grab a ticket below.
I always find that the week after a big run is when my motivation is highest, especially if the preparation for it was on, let’s say, the subpar side.
There’s all the apprehension before the race, all the shoulda woulda couldas. Should have gone and got that niggle seen to, would have done that extra long run if it wasn’t for [insert extreme weather event], could have drank a few less pints and eaten a few less chocolate buttons the month before the race.
I find myself packing my bags and sorting my kit and wondering, why didn’t I just enter a shorter distance? Why am I choosing to put myself through the inevitable hours of suffering when I could just spend the weekend having a nice stroll or going out for brunch or watching Saturday night TV or whatever sensible things other people do with their weekends?
But once the effort of getting myself to the start line is over, I usually start to feel quite excited. I love the beginning of an event: everybody pinning on their numbers, last minute kit faff, the miracle of a very kind Spanish man appearing exactly where you are in the portaloo queue and telling you that there are some public toilets nearby, then like the Pied Piper of ultra runners leading a group of you to some completely empty and sparklingly clean loos a few metres away. (Okay the last one doesn’t always happen, but it did happen at Transgrancanaria this year!)
Then you begin and the race goes however it goes - sometimes you have a harder day than you deserve, other times you get off lightly. Afterwards there’s the inevitable period of saying never, ever again. Except barely 24 hours passes and then you’re researching future races, setting lofty goals and handing over your credit card.
You’re filled with a heady cocktail of endorphins and glorious hindsight at this point. Memories of how amazing crossing the finish line felt but very little recollection of just how hard it was to get there. A slideshow of all the incredible views playing on repeat inside your mind. The buzz of a weekend spent surrounded by other people who like doing the same weird things as you. The sweet spot of knowing exactly what you need to do differently next time, without having to actually put your money where your mouth is yet.
All that adds up to make me really want to go for a run. Especially if, as we seem to be lucky enough to be having in the UK right now, post-race coincides with a patch of relentless sunshine and all those soggy training runs become distant memories.
Unfortunately, it normally takes a little while for my legs to catch up with my brain. Instagram might sometimes want us believe that it’s normal to run an ultra every other weekend but big races take big recovery. The danger comes when you discover you’re a little bit too good at recovery and suddenly six months has passed, the post-race fire is all but out and your average step count has taken a real hit (ahem, me after CCC). I’m aiming for a slightly shorter turnaround this time, while still trying to remember that 50 miles is a long way for your legs to carry you in one stint.
So, with that in mind, here’s how I’ve spent the week post-Transgrancanaria…