Race Report - Jurassic Coast Challenge
22-24 March 2024 - 3 Marathons in 3 Days
Prelude
For my involvement in this epic adventure, I blame that master of mischief and mayhem Mark Stacey! Whom upon imbibing at least a gallon of wine performed an almost ritualistic search of the internet seeking out the most craziest of races, capable of breaking mind, body and soul.
Once an event that filled the required level of insanity to satiate such a disturbed appetite had been found, he set about recruiting equally adventurous companions, to join his fellowship on a joint quest.
The first of the unhinged to be recruited to his cause was Sarah, a lively, bubbly, energetic, soul always up for a challenge, she duly signed up with a bucket load of enthusiasm with no fear and little idea of what the event involved. In true Sarah style she announced “I’m in!” then followed it with “what is it we are doing?”.
I tentatively agreed to join these pair of loons, unsure whether I was even capable of such an undertaking due to ongoing uncertainty over a niggling knee injury which has hampered me on and off for some time. The other two enlisted the help of my wife Josie, who convinced me to give it a go and so, decision made I signed up!
Sunday club runs provided the perfect training opportunity to rack up some miles test fuelling, hydration and pacing strategies and sneakily recce of some of the route. Running with lots of other striders made the long training runs during the cold winter months and horrendous weather more bearable, lots of fun and laughter helped the miles roll by.
One such training run has etched itself firmly in the memory in those who were there. After a sustained period of almost biblical rainfall, that would’ve had Noah heading off into the forest clutching his saw, hammer and a big bag of nails! The paths had become so waterlogged, very slippery and treacherously muddy. Mike Fleck announced there would be a prize for the first person to fall in the mud, then with poetic irony promptly took a tumble covering himself in wet mud! (Despite his best efforts to knock sense into himself he still supports Newcastle and talks funny!) He duly claimed his prize of an all-expenses paid holiday to somewhere warm and dry (paid for by Mike Fleck!) His footwear choice of racing slicks gave him an unfair advantage. He soon fell again and in the interests of safety and quite sensibly considering the awful conditions many of the group turned back.
A small band of hard-core reckless fools threw caution to the wind and opted to continue on trudging into the thickening mire, all falling multiple times covering themselves in a pungent gloopy mix of mud and cow poo! None so spectacularly as Mark Stacey, who managed to suspend himself horizontally in mid-air propped up by his walking poles, as he desperately gripped them in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable undignified crash landing. After what seemed an age he plummeted down, dumped unapologetically with an audible slap into the swampy mud bath, a string of completely warranted expletives followed, along with howls of laughter from the rest of the group. Slowed by the treacherous ground the group and the swamp thing continued on, eventually finishing battered, bruised and hours behind schedule. Little did we know this was the perfect preparation for the actual event.
Day 1 : Charmouth to Portland
Before we knew it race day was upon us. The race briefing was held at Portland sailing academy where we learned that due to the prolonged spate of poor weather several landslides had occurred on the coast path. Forcing the race organisers into making several last minute reroutes, giving us an additional 2-3 miles on each leg! For no extra charge, who doesn’t love extra miles for free? They issued us our trackers and bussed us out to the start point. A snaking procession of minibuses full of eager athletes in peak condition, applying body glide and filling up on prerace snacks, going through their last-minute rituals and checks psyching themselves up for the challenge ahead.
As for us 3 amigos we were in good spirits feeling fresh, well rested and excited for the task ahead, primed and race ready. Mark had wangled the front seat next to the driver resembling a bossy teacher on a school trip telling everyone to sit down and be quiet. The parade of minibuses arrived at the car park and debussed, a procession of runners headed off, not to the start line but to the hedges that lined the car park for a last minute nervous wee!
We crossed the start line and began our journey, almost immediately encountering the first obstacle, a steep climb stretching up that got the heart pounding and the calves burning! the true nature of our undertaking became all too apparent. Undaunted and feeling confident we powered up the hill, shortly overtaken by fellow strider Barry who stormed the hill with apparent ease! this event was mere Childs’ play for Barry, just a warm up for far more arduous runs he has on his race calendar.
Within a few miles the real test was upon us, the prolonged bad weather had turned the usual solid path into miles of soupy mess, the strength sapping, soul destroying, shoe sucking gloopy mud knee deep in places mocked our earlier confidence, spikey hedges and barbed wire fences hemmed us in on both sides, with no option but to wade on through, we struggled on. Reminiscent of a World War 1 battlefield this turgid torture lasted for an infernal eternity, mile upon mile of constant sludge! Every footstep hazardous, slip sliding every which way, was there no end to this squelchy quagmire? The palpable abject misery affected us all. I was convinced by days end we would all have trench foot! Our strength waned, our spirits dwindled and a string of curses turned the air blue. Only our strider banter and a dark gallows humour kept us going. The miles slowly passed, we’d aged decades as step by step we cleared the tortuous swampy goo and found more solid ground, the steep hills feeling like a blissful respite!
Carrying on, our mood lifted and our pace quickened, a short while later a group of young guys passed us, one of whom was undertaking the challenge barefoot to raise money for their chosen charity, we were all genuinely impressed given what we’d previously passed through, although the full measure of admiration for this intrepid soul would come on day 2 passing through the jagged rocks of the Portland quarries that can only have sliced and diced his feet!
The weather brightened as we came down off the hills onto the flat stretch of chesil beach from Burton Bradstock to Abbotsbury, long miles of shingle beach, the small pebbles strangely attracted to our claggy mud encrusted shoes and even seemed to migrate inside our socks! It felt like we were walking barefoot over a million Lego pieces! The benefits of gaiters became glaringly apparent we were forced to stop to empty our shoes of the multitude of small painful stones. I found myself looking forward to getting back on the hills, just to escape the accursed pebbles!
I seem to deplete my energy reserves quickly so at every aid station I avail myself of pretty much everything on offer, much to the amazement of my travelling companions. After filling up at the all you can eat and drink buffet, I was replete and ready to go again the only downside being that guaranteed within a half hour I will need to dive into the bushes for yet another old man wee! Much to the amusement of my sufferfest comrades who are convinced I measure mileage based on how many wee stops I have (probably not too far from the truth!)
Ever onward we went, we passed through glorious scenery, Portland, which had seemed so far away in the distance getting ever closer. As the miles ticked by, night began to fall and we finally came to the outskirts of Weymouth. The bright lights guiding us in, a stark contrast to the bleak remote scenic landscape we’d become accustomed to battling through, it seemed strange to meet people and step on tarmac again.
A strange encounter with a pair of elderly ladies, all dressed in their finery off on a night out, had the others laughing at my expense yet again when, as I was lagging a few metres behind them I was heckled and accused of slacking and if I didn’t hurry up I was in grave danger of being trampled by them in their rush! Side splitting hysterical laughter erupted from my companions and we shuffled quickly off to a dimly lit footpath across the causeway that leads back to Portland and to the finish back at the sailing academy. On this path Mark managed to stub his toe on a protruding stone, this was the first of many mishaps to befall his toe that would see a daily colour change to a deep angry purple and a toenail black as coal.
Finally battered, bruised, tired and hungry, filthy dirty and totally beaten we made it back to the finish at the sailing academy. We limped back to the car, all peeled off our mud encrusted shoes and changed clothes I remember thinking to myself if day one was this hard how the hell would I manage another two days? When I eventually got home a hot shower, home cooked food and my comfy bed all felt like heaven sent miracles.
Day 2 Portland to Lulworth
After a good night’s sleep, day 2 saw us arrive refreshed for an earlier start, we set off determined and focused. Heading out of the sailing academy to do a lap of Portland (also known as Mordor by some!) Dark angry clouds gathered overhead and almost immediately rain began to fall. Very soon the elevation rose sharply, the first steep incline was upon us and we began our ascent up into Cirith Ungol (The Quarries) The wind speed picked up dramatically, making traversing the loose rock debris and detritus of generations of quarrying that littered the area increasingly difficult. The strong changeable winds threatened to blow us off the cliff paths as we were buffeted in all directions, it became an extremely dangerous obstacle course. I feared we genuinely would lose one of our intrepid trio when Mark heroically rescued a stricken…. hat!
Literally swept off the head of a runner in front of us, to rest precariously teetering on the cliff edge, braving the winds, risking life and limb our hero retrieved the hat, to much applause and gratitude from the worried owner.
Pressing on struggling through winds which felt increasingly colder with the blustery showers that accompanied them. After what felt like an age we turned inland and headed down to Portland bill lighthouse and the aid station and toilets which gave us a brief respite from the winds and showers. I reacquainted myself with the all you can eat buffet, stuffed my pockets with sweets, crisps and sandwiches whist the others rolled their eyes in disbelief and we set off once again. The inclement weather didn’t darken our mood the non-stop banter and mickey taking out of each other continued – Mark for multiple shoelace tying stops, me for umpteen wee stops and continuous eating and Sarah for just being Sarah!
We carried on through more old quarry workings slowly rising up again past sombre old military buildings and moody ruined churches. The path came inland again passing one of his majesty’s establishments, we tried to intern Sarah there but failed as it is a young offenders institute so she didn’t qualify. Eventually the downward section came and took us back past our start point and completing the loop of the bleak isle of doom, we crossed the causeway back to the mainland and back onto the undulating coastal path, as always, a constant series of up and downs, made significantly harder by worsening weather. Pitch black storm clouds rolled in with frightening speed, thunder roared, lightening flashed and a ferocious barrage of hailstones as big as marbles pelted us mercilessly. Luckily the path soon took us through bushes and trees which provided some protection, spurred on to escape the storm the pace quickened until we broke free, to clear skies and a glimpse of sunshine!
The break in the weather gave us all a chance to admire the natural beauty of the raw untamed coastline. The deluge had saturated the ground making it slippery once again, inevitably even with poles one of us went over. Mark was unceremoniously dumped on his backside and slid down the slope at Arish Mell, the seamless comedy timing was perfect as the whole spectacle was witnessed by a group of younger, faster, far more agile and deftly footed athletic types who just happened to be nimbly overtaking us, none of whom could resist laughing and making comments to Mark, who had they been in range would’ve happily bludgeoned them all with his poles and disposed of them over the cliff edge! Still laughing they rapidly disappeared from view whilst we tentatively picked our steps to avoid any further mishap.
Onwards we travelled to one of my personal favourite places in Dorset, Flowers Barrow an iron age hillfort overlooking the abandoned village of Tyneham and Worbarrow bay, you can almost feel the history in this place and the spectacular vista is just breathtaking. Heading on within a few short miles we’d reached one of Dorset’s finest iconic natural landmarks, Durdle door, a view I will also never tire of. Carrying on the path towards Lulworth encountering more and more people as this spectacular scenery never fails to draw the crowds.
Coming down the last hill into Lulworth, I found myself starting to feel dizzy, hot and nauseous. I had literally run out of fuel. Becoming wobbly and unsteady on my feet, I knew I was in trouble and even though the finish was just over a mile away I would not make it. Thankfully Sarah recognised I was in difficulty and gave me the last of her water and thrust a flapjack in my face. Almost immediately, miraculously I was revived, focus and clarity returned and I was good to go!
A short time later we reached the finish point where an aid station was situated. The race organisers provide hot soup at each finish point. I consider myself to be a take or leave kind of person when it comes to soup but after 29 gruelling miles it just became my new favourite thing a hot liquid miracle! And so ended day 2 of this epic adventure.
Day 3 Lulworth to Studland
Day three arrived, getting out of bed was a much more tentative affair as the aches and pains of the previous two days were firmly embedded in every muscle fibre. Joints creaked and groaned with every movement. Back once again to Portland for registration and to collect our trackers. We had the option to take the provided transport or make our own way to the start point, opting for the latter meant that we could get underway sooner which felt more appealing. It was a beautiful morning, clear blue skies and not a cloud in sight made a welcome change and buoyed our spirits, conditions for the last leg were perfect.
Starting from where we had finished the previous day, the route took us out of the village back up onto the coast path immediately into a steep climb which made stiff, sore muscles complain even more. The sun came out and the temperature began to rise. The spectacular view extended for miles in all directions. Our good-natured banter continued deepening our bond and sense of camaraderie.
Encountering many runners along the way Mark did his best to engage them all in friendly conversation. One such encounter left him regretting his chatty nature, he spoke with a guy who looked like the running Forest Gump complete with long beard, who relived his entire life history only without the box of chocolates. Mark held open a gate for him and this strange eccentric runner wearing the most knobbly treaded gnarly looking trail shoes I’ve ever seen, stepped on Marks toe, the very same toe he’d stubbed several times previously! The guy thanked Mark then promptly ran off. We watched as the colour slowly drained from Marks pain etched face, his eyes welled up as he struggled to stifle his yelp of pain, a small wince escaped his grimly pursed lips. We did briefly consider sympathy but thought better of it and laughed out loud revelling in his dramatic theatrics. Mark pulled on his big boy pants, took painkillers his abject misery quickly dissolved and his smile and chirpy humour returned and we continued on.
Fellow strider Barry caught up with us, having set off later he’d made very good time, he slummed it with us reprobates for a little while, having a chat and photos then shot off at a rapid pace leaving us to eat his dust! Before too long we’d reached the bazillion steps of doom leading up to St Aldhelms head, these steps are incredibly tough at any time but on day 3 with many miles in the legs and steep hills already completed we did not appreciate them! Reaching the historic chapel, a haven of replenishment awaited, I dived into the culinary treasures on offer gorging myself as quickly as I could, much to the disbelief of my companions who tore me away, my pleas for just one more scooby snack went sadly unheard.
A few miles further on we came across familiar ground, this was the section we’d trained on only a few weeks prior. Luckily for us the ground had largely dried out, the path was now passable without endangering life and limb! Ever onwards we went, now breaking into single figures of miles to go.
A mental determination to not fail and to finish took root in our minds, we pressed on focused and with purpose, passing the picturesque lighthouse at Anvil Point and moving on to Durlston country park covering part of their parkrun route. We made use of the proper toilets there, suffice to say 3 days of gels play havoc with your stomach!
From delightful Durlston the route took us on into Swanage where Marks long suffering Wife and daughter met us with an impromptu aid station to keep us going. We passed along the beach sea front scaling up the last big climb up on to the ridge line at the other end of the valley, leading on to yet another famous Dorset landmark Old Harry Rocks. The temperature noticeably rose becoming uncomfortable, layers were shed and sunscreen should’ve been applied!
The downhill stretch to Studland beach passed quickly in no time we were running on sand with “only a parkrun to go!” knowing this spurred us on and surprisingly our speed picked up dramatically. We took the beach at a strong steady pace even managing to overtake multiple runners. Putting all of our remaining strength into a strong finish, our families and friends came into view cheering and clapping us home, such a welcome sight to see! Finally we crossed the line and finished the challenge, as we’d started – together!
A shared bond that comes through mutually endured hardship and pain connected us. With each mile passed, admiration, appreciation and respect for each grew, pushed us on to keep going, supporting and encouraging each other so that failure was not an option. After collecting our medals, we hugged each other and our families, the realisation of what we had accomplished hit home. Sarah unable to contain her emotions burst into tears, Mark removed his shoe to reveal his near fatal black toenail! and I, had soup and a wee!
In summary my thoughts on the JCC are, its daunting, it’s tough, it certainly is a challenge in every sense, it’s not for the feint hearted but equally its wonderful! The sheer natural beauty that surrounds you as you go along and the sense of awe at the landscape on our doorstep is breathtaking.
What of my companions? In a word Phenomenal! I have nothing but true admiration, respect and love for these two outstanding, wonderful human beings. I cannot thank them enough for talking me into joining them in this epic adventure. I loved it all. If ever you feel the need to take on a crazy challenge, I cannot recommend taking these two with you enough. Mark is the best carer, planner and map reader going. Sarah is constantly positive and happy, nothing seems to faze her or get her down. They both have a humour that kept me laughing and entertained the whole time. Simply the best comrades you could ask for – thank you, you pair of crazy but very dear friends.
A couple of days later Mark posted a picture of his foot imprisoned in a medical boot, somewhat dramatic for a black toenail! Next, he will be trying to convince us he’s not 50 yet and hasn’t had any work done
