Its a few weeks since the 2024 Spartathlon.
Camino Ultra had three athletes taking part in this years event - Anna Brown - Miki Neant (Team Japan) and Bryan Wilkins.
Three athletes in this blue-ribband ultramarathon is pretty epic in itself - the levels required to gain an entry - the dedication required to be ready to take on what is considered one of the toughtest ultramarathons from a speed/cutoff pov (Wikipedia) and then the mindset game to be prepared to achieve something that many have failed at.
As proud sponsors of the British Spartathlon Team and also members of the British management team we have a privilged vantage point of where the whole team was at pre event. We felt optimistic that we could have the best finisher rate ever - looking at twenty finishers from twenty starters.
There was a great mix of first-time runners (Chloe, Wendy, Danny, Stuart, Phil, Matthew, Andrew and Terry - as well as Caminos Anna and Bryan) amongst many of the current greats like Sir Ian Thomas (8 times) and James Ellis (6 times previous). The weather looked decent - all relative but something in the high 20s and low 30s rather than silly 30s!!!
Going into this year we could not fault Bryan's training - for any Training Peaks geek we are talking about a non-stop flow of imperious greens. With podium finishes in all his races and a brain wired the right way for big ultras - we secretly harboured grand things for Bryan.
Anna and Miki on the other hand had what can only be described as mega-tough lead ups to the race - no specifics allowed but lets say that a starting place was far from on the cards with a month to go.
A major part of the coaching was the gentle encouragement to make the right decisions to give Spartathlon a chance. For Anna that was trusting Darren and David as her crew as well as coaches. For Miki this was the brilliant decision to get longtime friends Asdis & Marissa in as crew. For many people reading this you will know that there is a fine line between getting crew together who have no race and ultramarathon experience and utilising the strength of friendship to potentially get you through some tough times.
We are truly grateful to Anna, Miki & Bryan for sharing their race reflections with us.
These are some of the most heart-warming and emotional blogs we've ever posted and we are proud of all three for sharing their stories with us all x
Spartathlon is truly one of the most kaleidoscopic of ultramarathons - it weaves - it takes you on an almighty emotional rollercoaster - where there is no guarantee what state it will throw you off.
It feels in keeping that all three race reflections of these brilliant athletes are like messages from the Greek Gods x
So did they finish x
Did they receive what they had given? x
All we can say as coaches is that our respect for Anna, Bryan and Miki went to even more beautiful pools of heaven sent blessings. To have witnessed their challenges up front was something that we will always cherish x
If you are thinking about Spartathlon as a future race goal then you will discover many valuable things inside these three race reports. If you want to take it a step further then reach out to us and lets talk about how we get you a qualifier or get you to the footholds of the Acropolis and then positioned to be a fellow foot-kisser x
BIG CAMINO LOVE
Miki , Anna and Team GB's Chloe on the day before Race Day x
ANNA BROWN:
When you’ve focussed on one race for such a long time, it is all the more terrifying when things start derailing your preparation. This was the case after I found myself collapsed on my bathroom floor, 4 weeks before Spartathlon, with a splitting headache, acute lower back pain and vomiting. I wasn’t able to find a medical cause for any of my symptoms despite a whole day in A+E, multiple scans and investigations and a whole range of blood tests.
The only person I was able to find who could even give me a theory for my symptoms was my new best friend Craig, my chiropractor, who had been recommended to me by Stu from Precision Fuel & Hydration when I went for my sweat test. Craig identified multiple issues in my neck and spine and proceeded to work out an intensive plan with me to try and get me race-ready in 3 weeks - it was a long shot, but I was desperate and it was all I had.
Gradually, my back pain and my reliance on opioid analgesics decreased although the
headache stubbornly remained. Finally I was able to walk and even run again, mainly pain free, but I’d lost 2 weeks of vital training and it had put me into panic mode.
Fast forward to Athens and I’d done everything I could to be ready, but was still terrified. I sat there the night before the race barely able to eat, with a vacant expression on my face.
Anna with every bit of Precision Fuel & Hydration kit you need x
Whatwas I thinking?! I’d barely run in a month, how would my back hold out? Would my headachereturn? What if the run put too much strain on my head and something awful happened? Ihad no idea… The panic did not subside going to bed and I managed to pass the entire nightwith barely a wink of sleep - looking at my watch multiple times every hour, right up until thealarm went off at 4:30am and I promptly started crying.
I couldn’t imagine a worse possible build up to this massive race. I cried on both David and Darren on the way to the start, at which point Darren promptly sent me to the car to try and nap for 20 minutes before the start
- fruitless attempt but it was good to lie down and calm down.
Then I had to muster.
We had a few photos with the team on the start line, then it was time
to line up, await the count down and go. I was in autopilot at this point, doing exactly what my body knew it needed to do, but in some kind of spaced out dream world. I was aware of the Acropolis looming above me and the hoards of runners all around me, but everything else was a bit of a blur and I felt sick. I just had to follow the people down the hill and out into the streets of Athens and that was it - no turning back.
There was a lot going on through Athens as the roads weren’t closed but all the traffic was being held as we passed. There were some (hopefully) friendly honks of horns from the waiting cars and it had the feel of a big city marathon with the volume of runners all bunched together, but as we started to make the long climb out of the city the runners started to thin out. I was trying my best to maintain a steady pace as I watched various team members disappear into the distance. I was very aware of the tight cut offs, but I was well within my plan and wasn’t going to get sucked into other people pace, even if that meant running alone.
Anyway, given my lack of training and sleep I was finding my current pace quite
challenging enough! We finally hit the top of the hill (not a moment too soon as my heart rate had been hovering around 170!) and started the long downhill towards the sea. The first checkpoint of significance was 20km which which had a cut off of 2 hrs 10 minutes. This wouldn’t normally be of concern, but I already felt the pressure of building a buffer so trotting through with 11 minutes to spare didn’t feel that safe. I had some drop bags at some of the earlier checkpoints as I wasn’t seeing my crew until the marathon point, so I picked up my pre-prepared mountain fuel and additional snacks and re-loaded my hand-held for the next section. For the first time ever I had a proper nutrition plan as I’d had a consultation with Precision Fuel & Hydration, so I had carbohydrate and salt targets to aim for which also kept
my brain occupied making sure I was hitting these. By now I’d at least woken up and got into the swing of it so I plodded off, aiming for my next drop bag at 32km.
We were near the coast by this point but it wasn’t really visible as there either buildings or a long wall blocking the view nearly all the time. I noticed my hip starting to hurt a bit which is something I’ve had before, but at this point it was just a pleasant surprise it wasn’t my back or head! I caught up with James, who was already struggling with his own hip pain and managed to give him a proper rant about not taking ibuprofen which I’m sure he really appreciated…!
I also spent a large part of this section leap frogging with Chloe, Wendy and Matt Blackburn, which really helped break up the distance. I told myself I should try and keep with Matt as he is obviously the King of pacing, being such a legend at BYU, but gradually we lost each other again and I was on my own.
Finally as the day was really starting to feel hot, I arrived at the marathon point with about a 20 minute buffer. I was expecting to see Daz and David… but they weren’t there. There were a few cars around the checkpoint but they were nowhere to be seen.
I didn’t know what to do – how on earth could they miss me? All I could do was fill up my water and carry on – inwardly cursing them for abandoning me and feeling like it was all going wrong! A short while later, while going into a mild panic, especially as they’d not allowed me to carry my phone, I came across the actual crew point which was like some kind of oasis in the desert!
They had parked in shade, they had a bucket of ice cold water to sponge me down with, a variety of snacks, an ice buff to put round my neck and some lovely words of encouragement and reassurance that my pacing was spot on. Phew! But also the guilt…!! I realised that I had been right to put my trust in them for this one – they knew exactly what they were doing and I had no clue! I reluctantly moved off from the comfort of the checkpoint, knowing I wouldn’t see them again until Corinth – the next big cut off at 80km/9.5 hours. This next section took us through the hottest part of the day but also finally brought the beautiful sea views as we wound along the
coastal road. It was wonderful to be away from the city and the industrial area on the
outskirts. I had started to fill my sleeves with ice at every checkpoint and when my neck buff had melted I also filled that. Sometimes as well as sponging cold water on my head andneck I also put ice in my cap – there was no way I was risking heat stroke if I could do anything about it! I was moving pretty well and eating/drinking well, walking the odd hill but generally making steady progress. I came across Karl who was really struggling and was sad to hear he was likely to drop out due to excessive vomiting. I then saw another runner collapsed by the side of the road with medics rushing to him. I really needed to be careful as the temperature was soaring into the mid-30s and I’m not known for dealing with heat too well!!
Now and again I’d see the crew of one of the other Brits on the side of the road so it was nice to get encouragement from them too, even though I barely saw their runners
themselves. I was still running on my own and without music or podcasts to distract me it had been a fairly lonely day. As I finally approached the last few KM into Corinth, I had to take the diversion onto the motorway which had been a very recent addition to this year’s course due to fire at the refinery. This was a particularly low point for me as the heat just felt so intense beating up off the road and a lot of the section was a gentle uphill. I started walking a bit with a woman called Virginia who had completed Spartathlon 7 times. She said this was the hottest it had felt and she was struggling. Oh good. I looked her up the next day and was sorry to see she had DNF’d - it seemed this year’s late Summer heat was taking out even the most hardened Spartathletes… We reached the top of the hill together and there
was one more small checkpoint before reaching the famous canal which was much more dramatic than I had expected, then running over the yellow bridge and into the Corinth checkpoint.
Again, my crew were a sight for sore eyes as it had been a long 4 hour + stint in
the heat. This time, as well as the top notch cooling and feeding, they also directed me to the massage table for a quick pummelling and I found there was an actual toilet – this checkpoint was great! I was comforted by the fact it was now late afternoon so would hopefully start to cool off, I had at least 30 minutes on the cut off and apparently, the cut offs were meant to ease a bit from this point.
I set off from Corinth feeling pretty strong but was slightly concerned I hadn’t seen either of my fellow Brit ladies for quite some time. I kept seeing Rusty, who was crewing Wendy, so assumed she was nearby, but we didn’t cross paths again on the road and I was still on my own. The route then took me through a more scenic section, along olive groves and vineyards. This was more like it! I tried to keep my running pace up where possible and force myself to eat regularly, counting down the distance to each individual small checkpoint every time I passed the last one. I was now going to see my crew slightly more often, which was a relief as the earlier gaps had felt too long. This helped the distance pass a bit more quickly and it was great to arrive in each small village where they were waiting alongside some locals and excitable children all cheering me in. It must have been Ancient Corinth at about
90km where I started to notice the chafing… I could tell that I had a lot of soreness around my middle where my skort waist band sat. I tried to put sudocrem on it, but I knew it was going to be impossible to dry myself off enough to stop it from getting worse so I tried to grin and bear it, just hoping it wouldn’t get so bad as to affect my race.
As the evening drew in, I felt the relief of both the cooling temperature and the fact I’d
survived the heat of day 1. Now I just had to keep going, tackle the night and get myself over the mountain before the cut off. I passed through several checkpoints, trying to ask for a cup of tea at one, which resulted in a tepid, anaemic looking brew made with tinned milk which I just had to gulp down as quickly as possible and try not to have an opinion on! There were also several crew points through the evening, at one of which I was loaded up with head torch and hi-vis top as the darkness started to fall. Everything was hurting but another massage at Lyrkia helped a bit as well as the thick chicken soup I was presented with.
As I was ejected from tthat crew point to face the next section up to Mountain Base Daz warned me about the apparent climb. It would seem continual, but a lot of it was runnable so I couldn’t afford to walk it all. I kept this in my head as I set off into the dark on my own again.
There were head torches around but essentially I was still running solo. I took Daz’s words to heart and ran what I could over the next few gentle inclines, but gradually the gradient increased and I found myself on what seemed like a never ending power hike up a long road with multiple switch backs. I was overtaking numerous slower walkers as I hiked which gave me confidence I was still moving better than the people around me.
After what felt like forever, I finally rounded the corner towards Mountain Base to be greeted again by the smiling faces of David and Darren. Relief. They sorted me out with my nutrition and I had another panic as my watch - my brand new watch - just bleeped with 10% battery remaining.
I was in unknown territory here as I had expected it to last the whole race, but it had barely made it 20 hours. We pulled out my battery pack and connected it up, but due to the ridiculous connection point on the Coros, I basically had to hold it in my hand while it was charging. With this added logistical inconvenience I set off up the mountain trail towards the stream of head torches high above me. It had become quite windy by this point but wasn’t that cold so I felt quite lucky compared with stories I’d heard of previous years with minus temperatures or even storms up the mountain. The terrain for the climb was pretty awkward and uneven requiring lots of concentration but there was a ‘helpful’ tape to mark the drop at the side of the path - it was next to useless from a safety point of view. I was feeling unsettled holding my watch in my hand in case I stumbled and dropped it down the mountain, so I unplugged it and put it back on giving me both of my hands back in case needed. I tried to make good pace up hill but the climb was pretty steep and I actually had to take a few breaks to catch my breath.
Finally, I emerged at the mountain top to the next checkpoint. I celebrated with another Greek attempt at a cup of tea while sitting down but pretty quickly got myself up and moving to begin the descent. Going down the mountain turned out to be more stressful than going up as although less bumpy, the path was steep and covered in loose dirt/pebbles that I was constantly slipping on in my gripless road shoes.
Everyone was taking it pretty slowly and I did the same, although it was nice to catch up Ian on this section so we had a bit of a chat for the final section back down to the road. There was a checkpoint pretty soon so I took my time and sat down for a restorative cup of coke. I was pretty sore by this point and already finding running down the steep road sections quite painful, so I watched Ian skip off into the distance and took my time getting down through the village. It was great to finally make it to the next crew point having conquered the mountain.
I’d made the 100 miles in 21 hours which I was pretty happy with and hoped to get as many additional KM covered as I could before the dreaded Sun returned for day 2..
The section leading up to dawn has completely disappeared from my memory but at some point I found enough easy running to be able to charge my watch up to 50% - fingers crossed that would be enough! I was running alone, with no landmarks visible and no drama to report which I guess is a good thing! Finally the sky turned grey and I was running through expanses of flat farmland that reeked of rotting fruit. I even saw a huge dead pig on the side of the road (I think it was real!) which was particularly unpleasant. I caught up with Danny who was going through a rough patch and we ran/walked together for a while. I lost him though when he suggested ‘shall we try a run?’ and then promptly stopped running about 10 steps later leaving me yelling behind me ‘but it was YOUR idea!!!’.
Never mind, I had momentum and running felt ok, so I set off alone again. By the next crew point it was time to ditch my overnight ultra vest and long sleeve and I was ready to hit the day in my BBRC vest, arm sleeves and with my hand-held. It felt liberating to have ditched the excess weight and for a while I felt light again and was able to run decent chunks in between walk breaks.
I’d got to the point of breaking down everything into countable steps or by aiming for the next tree/house/piece of shade or ticking of fragments of KMs on my watch - anything I could do to cover the distance. It seemed to be working and when I arrived at the next crew point my crew seemed to be happy with the pace I’d been holding. It was starting to get warm though and although I was still eating and drinking and was feeling ok (relatively), I definitely was not feeling as good as the previous day. The wheels hadn’t fallen off though - yet!
The climbing and the road on day 2 can only be described as hideous. I was past the point of exhaustion after 2 nights of no sleep and 200km covered. It was hot, the heat was radiating at me from every possible surface and the hill I was climbing was going on forever.
The one positive point here was that I was still climbing much faster than anyone else
around me, but when I finally got to the top of the enormous hill and tried to run down the other side, the pain was unimaginable. My quads were completely gone and the pain from impact through my feet was too much. We seemed to have joined a long A-road, which I wasn’t to know at the time, but was basically going to continue, uninterrupted with no interesting landmarks and significant loud, fast traffic until about 5 km from the end of the race. I was in a living hell. I did manage to do some run/walking for small chunks of it early on, but the time to get between each checkpoint seemed to get longer and longer and I was starting to feel quite nauseous. I had to take down my pace to a hike as I could feel the warning signs of heat stroke, but this just meant it was all going to last for even longer!
When I finally reached checkpoint 68 to see David and Daz, I’d had a complete sense of humour failure and was just crying like a baby. There was nothing they could say at this point to make it any better. I begged them to tell me this hideous road was nearly over but unfortunately Daz told me the truth which just made me cry even more - at least 7km more on this road. I left them to head off, but by now I was just sobbing to myself intermittently and swearing at the road as it slowly baked me to a crisp. My face was burning and despite applying more factor 50 I could literally feel the skin throbbing which just made me feel even
hotter. Every checkpoint I came to I now told the volunteers exactly how much I hated the road before crying my way out and on towards the next one. I was a total embarrassment!
They tried to cheerfully say ‘its all downhill from here on’ which gave absolutely no comfort to me as I was not able to run at all - especially downhill! I was being overtaken now by plenty of people I’d previously left behind as they somehow found something in them to run down the hill but it didn’t matter, I was still easily within the cutoff and just needed to get to the finish. Miki came jogging past which was lovely to see as she’d hurt herself earlier, but I was so jealous of her legs still working! I calculated that I could still make it in under 35 hours, even hiking at the pace I was, so that became my new obsession.
I finally bustled into the last crew point with 10km to go and after almost growling at Nathan Flear and his family who were only trying to give friendly encouragement (Sorry!) I just said to my crew ‘I can’t stay long - I am on target to beat 35 hours!’ which was a huge change in tune from the ‘can I stop running yet?!’ whinge I’d been boring them with for hours! I changed into my BST kit and was booted out to complete probably the slowest and most depressing 10km of my entire
life. At some points I was almost staggering into the road with exhaustion and the heat but I kept forcing myself to keep moving towards the town. As I finally entered Sparta, I came across Stu who was also having his own battle with those final few KM. We walked a bit together, but as we started to get the cheers from the locals, from children on the street and people up on their balconies I finally started to feel like it might soon be over and managed to pick up my hiking pace a bit. Even then the town seemed to go on forever (where on earth was this blooming statue?!) and we kept being directed round corner after corner until finally I turned the last corner and could see it.
Of course it was uphill (slightly!) I forced myself into a painful jog/shuffle and as I approached I could see David waiting there, beaming with a Union Jack ready to hand to me and Daz with his camera out filming. I took the flag and
continued running, high fiving the many children that were standing in the middle of the road - it felt incredible.
And then I was there. I crossed the timing mat but instead of striding
straight up to King Leonidas to kiss his foot, I had to stop dead - there was a queue! This, I hadn’t expected! I patiently waited my turn until finally they called me forward and I was able to officially stop running, at which point any pain I had was blocked out by the euphoria of finishing. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it.
I was ushered, hobbling, to the medical tent where the team washed my feet and the lovely Dora looked after me, strapping an inflamed ankle and lancing my one small blister (so proud!). I was relatively unscathed and even the ankle recovered quite quickly, but the chafing was next level and would provide plenty of reminders of my madness for the days to come!
It seemed almost immediate that the questions started coming about whether I’d do it again and my automatic response at the time was ‘hell no!’ as it was by far the most painful and gruelling thing I’ve ever put myself through. It took less than 24 hours though to start thinking about where I could improve - would some sleep and proper training in the lead up help?! If I could build my leg strength maybe I could have run the downhills? There are unanswered questions… what I absolutely want to do though is encourage other British women to enter Spartathlon. Before me only 17 British women have ever completed it and most of them are ‘names’ rather than normal people like me. It’s definitely a bucket list race and anyone who can make the qualifier should consider entering - the Greek support for this race is incredible
and it was so lovely being part of a team with the BST - quite different from normal ultras which are run as an individual.
One thing is for sure though and that is I absolutely would not have finished if I hadn’t had the support of my incredible crew. There is nothing Daz and David don’t know about this race and having them there looking after me was an absolute honour, I’m so relieved I was able to finish and make them proud!
And as I’ve already said to them, I’m going to be repaying this debt forever!
MIKI NEANT:
We all have struggles and walls to overcome or swing by.
I started running pretty late stage of my life , and I see so many around me start challenging at the similar stage of their journey.
The majority of challenges could be “mentally” for me, in addition to feeling my menopause symptoms, start hitting me since last year.
Feeling grey or being smuggled in the bubbles of whatever organic or not, not quite being able to root in my right heart.
I keep going despite feeling myself sometimes different and alone, changing narratives to overcome my introvert, I do not enjoy to be put on the spotlight.
My mind expands arborescence, with colours, music and numbers, some might understand me?
But we are despite however the uniqueness of heart we carry, we can embrace this. You shall out-stand, the truth I care the most. I will perhaps understand you if you care, talk to me if struggling.
I love the movement Run Grateful. I practice it at all my runs. Breaths in the moment, observe, awareness comes, your-self, all that you are, internally and externally, thanks to the connections to frame what really make you an unique self, and highlighting how you stand-out, correspondingly to feel all has no boundary, one is all, all is one. It is good to give thanks and dedicate my runs, turns into a spiritual practice. Thank you Mark.
In March 2024, I received the news from Japanese Spartathlon association that I secured the (Spartathlon) place.
I talked to my friend David Bone, now my coach along with Paula and Darren with Camino-Ultra.
I was not sure about having several coaches, and certainly if I was coach-able, having free spirit especially when it comes to running.
David and I met one morning, and shared a passion towards this big precious race, hearing about his “The Tunnel” winning story, and lots about Spartathlon, anchored my mind into the direction towards Sparta.
I trained during spring and summer, but I had a lot of niggle and discomfort appearing constantly, and I did not know any of the name of the basic strengthening exercises I suppose to do, so my bad, it was not so smooth process.
Sauna session has been put on my calendar, I went to YMCA on Tottenham Court Road for it. The duration of sauna sessions increased each time, and at 20minutes non stop, I almost fainted on the pool side. They rescued me, was medically cared by the staff very professionally, 6 of them surrounded me and I was embarrassed. That interrupted a week of sauna session prior. But I hoped to be acclimatised better for the Greek heat.
Julien Cazola also helped me to prepare my mind set. He gave me funny stories and shared the points of his twice finisher experiences. I appreciated especially his advice on putting ice on the right spot of the body. Cooling these big blood vessels precisely on the right spot - neck, arms, head etc. And this reminder made so efficient during the race, and I did not feel the stinging heat.
PRE RACE DAY:
Pre-race day, Camino family gathered at rather posh beachside restaurant near registration hotel in Glyfada.
Anna, Chloe and I had a huge plate of pasta. David and Darren were so supportive to prepare my crew, my dear friends Asdis Karadottir from Reykjavik, and Marissa O’Malia from London. They had tons of questions and my coaches answer so calmly. Needless to say that they are both multiple time Spartathlon finishers, and they have engraved all into their blood. We are in this together as one force.
RACE DAY:
Acropolis, Athens.
Saturday 28 September at 7 am start, Marissa, Asdis and I were skipping up the little hidden stone path, smiling little crescent moon low above, almost touching the roof of Acropolis.
We feel ready and united.
After little Sun-Salutaion, we walked to the start, and saw our Camino family Anna, David and Darren. I look for my friend Nedo, too, - together we were auto-qualified for Spartathlon, thanks to Sri Chinmoy Self-Transcendance 24H Track at Battersea London, last October. We were the first timer for 24H race then, and the first timer to run Spartathlon today.
I already wore sunglasses, observing around, and found Team Japan. I was uplifted to meet with them finally. Because I live in London, the geographic distance imposed a wall between us, not knowing each other prior to the race day. They were extremely funny and happy. I asked advices to Junko-san, - few times Spartathlon finisher, told to follow the YELLOW flesh, key point of which I needed to be reminded. I was unsure to use navigation mode or not, but majority of finishers told me that there is no way one can get lost.
I set my watch to simple “run” mode, thought I like that much better.
We positioned at very front. Got pictures taken.
Countdown starts, and we are off. Someone from behind tries to push me and squeeze ahead, at first pace down hill start. But I am a solid Spartan already. I run still and tall, flying down. The sky starts to spark the light and gave the clouds complex and gentle hues of pink and blue.
“wow the sky is so beautiful” I exclaimed to Camille Herron who was nearby, she turned to me, surprised, but did not say anything. Fine, she is focused. Noora (Finland) is also a meter ahead of us, smoothly swinging forward.
Nedo came at about half marathon point, fast and strong, finally seeing him is a pure delight. I wish him the best journey.
CP11, 42.2km Megara. Marathon distance from the start. First crew CP. arrived 10:47:51 (3:48 marathon including all 11 CP stops)
Consumed 3 SIS gels from the start, 500ML Water + Half Mauten powderMix, 3 minutes stop. Sunscreen, Ice under arms.
Hip little tight, so I stretched legs
feeling great, running effortless, making sure to stop and drink at each CPs before then. I took 3 SIS gels which I carried.
I see Asdis and Marissa, excited to see me. All the supporting crew are there, team GB, happy to see familiar faces. Uplifted to chat with David and Darren.
I start to use pink cotton bandana, the ones I was given while summer dance festival (Bon-Odori) in Tokyo.
I filled it with ice cubes and wrapped around my neck, few ice cubes in my hat too, at each single CPs until the finish. Who thought of being saved by this bandana, 5 years later.. I am off, carrying 3 gels again for the 2nd marathon distance ahead.
Until about 60km, the pace felt fast, too fast in hindsight.
Camille H was leading my way perhaps until 30km or so. Remembering the conversation with Julien back in London, who ran Spartathlon twice in previous years. He told me that at the first time Spartathlon, he was running with Camille too, and reflected that was too speedy for the pacing strategy, considering the long journey ahead.
She is a world champion, cream of the cream, the female Spartathlon course record holder, a multiple Guinness record holder for long distance running.
As I stop at each CPs, I lost her and that is totally cool.
Undulating road, with the heavy hot air begun to sap my energy bit by bit.
The heat clung, soaking into skin, and making every breath heavier, I keep moving, ignoring the nagging thought of just how many KM are left.
My quads are heavy, stiff and ignorant, and this never happed to me.
20 km to the next Crew CP, longing for the first available Massage there, my running speed was divided by 1.5.
CP22 Ancient Wall Hellas Kan Factory 81km, 2nd Crew CP, arrived 14:56:07 (4:10 marathon including all 11 CP stops)
I need massage! Eat Watermelon, but no appetite, “I need to get the massage every opportunities”
Ice in Bandana around my neck is so vital. The average air temperature is 32C and above.
CP26 92.5km Ancient Corinth Sq
Can’t eat, more ice cubes for neck.
CP28 Assos 99.6km
The most beautiful choir by the village elderly , beautiful girl at the CP gazing my eyes and said “see you in Sparta” I could not stop clapping and praising them because the beauty and harmony I felt here touched my heart. Dean Karnazes tells me to put ice cube in my running hat too.
CP29 102.1km Zevgolatio Climb starts ( towards CP35 123.3km Ancient Nemea, gentle climb over 21.2km, Grade 1.5%)
I took chance to not carry the night gear here, over 10km uphill to the next crew point. Risky. I need to push and keep running this climbing sections ahead.
I plan to reach 110km before 6pm and sunset, so it kept me busy calculating number, among pace, distance and cutoffs, number catch-balls in my head.
Spartathlon is unique with its severe cut off set to each 75 CPs. At the end, the race needs to be completed in 36hours.
CP32 112.3km Halkeion “ToXlaki” Tavern
See GB crew team. Graeme tells me to keep on going, because of the approaching sunset I assume.
“did my crew see the sunset?” Wanted to lie down. not quitting.
To reach 110km point before the sunset at 19:12, is the first objective I set. ticked.
The sunset came and I felt the gradual dwindling of my energy. I don’t want to eat. The fast start begin to take its toll, and more step becomes more laboured.
My legs are stone bunch, my will to move forward can’t make them follow.
Gets the head torch out, my crew freed me from Ice soaked clothes.
Eat a bit, lay down a bit, and time to go, with headlamp, coffee caramel in pocket.
I saw Yuko-san. Such a strong, quiet and steady runner she is. She incarnates team Japan spirit I thought. I admire her.
We still have climb, until CP35, another 10km. I tune into the nature surrounding us, practicing an attitude of artisans who just know how to go forward in the still of shadow.
It’s a jungle. Don’t push me cause I am close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head : lyrics from The Message /Grand Master Flash
CP35 122.7km Ancient Nemea, nearly the half point
got massages, try to eat, but no appetite, legs and hips are so tight.
“This supposed to be fun! I am not enjoying this!!”
My eyes are drowsy, I recognise myself through the eyes of Marissa, saw a fear in them. She would tell me positive thoughts, but I sense that she is hard trying. Asdis calmly talks to me. She asks if I would possibly have any thoughts of quitting. No, pushed weakly. The spring of willing never dries out despite the dizziness I am living. My mind swimming, my body need a recharge, but I must go.
Each CP shows the distance ahead to the next CP. I try to go forward with my little strength, as if I extend my arms to grab the tip of the 'hope of rope” one more time, at each CP when my energy felt digging deeper than the bottom of the dirt
CP43 147.8km Malandreni Second Climb starts to CP47 159.5km
The second steep climb starts, asphalt but steep. I try to run it, but decide to conserve the body energy from exertion, nagging the heavy legs.
CP47 159.4km Mountain Base 100Mile point. 3:21:55am, over 20 hours from the start. About 12% grade mountain climb starts.
I put my jacket tight. Strong cold wind. Got massages from the physio who gave me a lot of healing energy. Gratitude and feeling of love flowing out towards my crew Asdis and Marissa, who are encouraging me over and over. They look tired and getting cold from the wind. Seeing David giving me stability and assurance.
My friends seems sorry for me to face the mountain section.
Now is the Mountain section.
Julien told me that he was running all the way except some of this steep sections. I can channel into his moment.
Dark night, loose rocks and steep climb lasting, narrow and no handrail to prevent the fall, one step needs an extra attention.
Looking down at the feet.
At one point I look up the sky, and realise the long headlamp going up high, high above. Walking up steadily.
I ate the miracle caramel that Dean Karnazes offered me through my crew. It supposed to make the miracle happen for the hardest moment, Marissa and Asdis say. He went all the way to get this caramel for me, he knew I was struggling - said Marissa. He has been checking on me kindly and asked updates to my crew. What a big heart. Now I am a big fan!
CP48 161km Mountain Top
Very windy and chilly. We were told to be very careful going down.
The descent was not so simple. Mid-steep and loose rocks. I saw a runner sliding down slowly on her bottom, she was very scared and gave us a small additional chill.
I am remembering Rebeca lost 8 toe nails at TDS earlier, and Julian who probably run this down without hesitation? Ok, I will walk this down carefully.
Finally get to the next CP. The checkpoints are beacons of hope by now. I look forward the little progresses of distance from CPs to the next.
My phone screen is set to show the crew CPs. As the night falls deeper and my energy fades, all I can think is the next time I see them. They are the shining light showing me the way for my little being.
I feel living the moment through their eyes too. My senses become sharpened as I progresse further, I read the silent words in their eyes by now. I don’t look good, they are scared at one point. My eyes drowsy with little energy I refilled.
Along the country road, with Olive trees lined, I saw a huge fat black boar. Dead with maggots maybe. I leak a short scream but keep going in silence. Nobody talks about it. Strange.
The sun comes, into a new day, I love this feeling. I soak the fresh energy in the air.
CP57 186.1km Zeygolatio Arkadias 8:10:19 about 60km left Climb starts, stretched over 10 miles distance towards CP66 less than 3% grade
The sun shines now. New day, feeling the energy back. Toilet. Thought I had a massage here?? Eat more.
David whispers about the climb coming. “It’s flat for a while then climb comes, Ok to walk but if you feel that boring then you may run up” sensed that I better run it, isn’t it a kind way to tell me?!
CP60 TEGEA SQ 195km 9:43:42
Eat more.
Each Crew CPs, I eat, and eat more. I feel recovering and gaining strong energy. My legs start marching along with my heart again.
CP65 Ardamis restaurant 210.6km, around 11:55, climb to CP66
I am feeling great. Eat more. Marissa keeps telling me to eat more bananas, climb ahead but I will run it. Less than a marathon to go, the runner in me sprout, more I clock, battery goes fuller as I approach to Sparta.
Cars on the road honk and Spartans wave at us screaming bravo. The people cheering from their windows, from cafe and the sidewalks.
I become Pheideppides, incarnation of the legend - saving Athenians, the holy messenger. Battle of Marathon.
These Spartans, the descendants of the most feared solders in ancient time are now greeting us to celebrate this history.
CP68, 221.6km point, about half marathon to the finish.
Asdis, Marissa David greets with bouncing voices. Yes, I want to eat,
David whispers me, just like he did during Sri Chinmoy 24H Track race, he must have this extraterrestrial sense to communicate.. But here, I keep this whisper secret, sorry it is ours only! the last SIS gel. Ready to fly to the finish.
Now I am strong and succumbed into mission. I will be pulled to the foot of the King Leonidas. Runner in me fully awake.
CP72 234.7km Voutiani Shell petrol station 15:35
Little more than 10km to Sparta.
I am so very hungry. I grab a banana. Asdis running to me, with Marissa, they are so excited! Had a chair in the shade ready, Ice cubes in my bandana.
I wear my club WRW (Women Running the World) singlet.
10 minutes recharge, and go to the finish.
Here we come! I saw many other Pheideppides marching broken, but we are reaching there in time for sure, making this history all together in ONE SPIRIT!!
Running Spartathlon is witnessing the kaleidoscope of champions of the toughest long distance races around the globe, and no matter where you are from, you are free to express yourself through running, and we are also united. We are touching this Holy Spirit now. Let’s fly friends!!
CP74 243km, Entrance to Sparta, 2.4 km from the finish and the last chip point
The last CP, 3 volunteer sanding at the side of busy road. They recognised me and said in Japanese “Itterassyai” = good going” = have a good one!
Sparta 245.3km (my watch at 246.57km)
We are greeted with familiar faces, my dear friends crew, Team Japan, Team GB and Camino family, Nedo, this uphill stretch felt so wild and real.
Joy of accomplishment. Our hope and dream come true!
I wear Olive wrath, received the medal. Kissing the foot of King Leonidas, drinking the water from the holy jag. I share my whole world with gratitude, with these amazing friends and my family Olivier and Julia here. Special thank you to Asdis, Marissa and David for supporting and staying with me throughout and shined my paths. This wild dream is here to stay forever.
BRYAN WILKINS:
A Greek Odyssey: My road to Sparta
It was 2am on Sunday 27th Sept 2009 at Infernos in Clapham. I’d asked the barman for another beer but had just missed last orders. My mates and I had started drinking at noon the previous day and the night was still young. “Come on mate, just one more for the road” I’d bargained. We’d sunk 10 pints by 5pm, hitting the triple vodka red bulls when our bloated stomachs couldn’t hold any more liquid. There was a bottle of Moet in the mix that I had no problem whacking on my already maxed out credit card. But my binge drinking was nothing compared to my legendary nicotine addiction — 2 decks of Marlborough Lights down and only a few stray fags remained in the packet that I’d bought from the club vending machine a couple of hours before. I hadn’t yet lost my phone; that would come later in the night when I’d fall asleep in Waterloo station, waiting for the first train back to Guildford. I’d spent more that night than the cost of my monthly rent but this was par for the course back then.
Fast forward one and a half decades, it’s 2am and I’ve just covered 100 miles on foot. I’m nearing the base of a 1,000+ metres mountain ascent with only 50-ish miles until the finish line of the Spartathlon and I’ve overtaken a 3rd runner in as many minutes. There’s a long way to go, but I’m running well, feeling strong and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
This is the story of my journey to Sparta; not just from the Acropolis in Athens, but much further back. How I changed my life from a binge drinking, 20 plus per day smoker, to embrace the esoteric world of ultra running. A tale of determination, perseverance, grit, knock backs, setbacks and come backs. Much like how my Spartathlon unfolds really! So here goes…
Part I Aged 17 and underBuild up to Athens
I start my journey to Sparta, 21 weeks out, enlisting the expert help of the Camino Ultra team: Daz and Dave. Having raced and crewed the event themselves multiple times, I know I’ll be in safe hands under their tutorship. Week on week their detailed training schedule gives me the structure I crave to simply tick off the sessions, not giving them a second thought. As the days, weeks and months pass by, the training volume increases, hitting a zenith in August, with 4 consecutive weeks of 100 miles plus, including back-to-back days running on a 5.2 km loop in the depths of Kent for 6 hours per day. Tough as it sounds, if I could manage 2 days in Gravesend, Sparthalon would be a breeze, right? (No disrespect intended to the good folk of this fine Kent community).
Taper starts in earnest 3 weeks from race day and coincides with a week in Singapore, tagging along on my wife Katie’s work trip for some well-timed heat acclimatisation training. Running out there is gentle and it had to be as temperatures reach (according to the ever-reliable BBC weather app!) 42 degrees, not to mention the 80% humidity. It’s tough going and I start to fear I’ve bitten off more than I could chew with Spartathlon. It’s like running into a hairdryer. A 12km run, usually bread and butter around the streets of SW London, involves at least a few walk breaks in Singapore and I return to the hotel looking like I’ve done a few lengths of the Singapore Strait. I can only compare it to that feeling when you first start running and everything feels impossible. If there was a couch to running in the Singapore humidity app, I need it and was coming to realise that getting to Sparta is going to be a long day at the office. Mercifully, as the days in Singapore pass by, my body adapts to the conditions, and I’m encouraged by my Garmin chirping to announce I’ve reached 92% heat acclimatisation. Given that Greece would hopefully be a bit less humid, I’m quite happy with that.
Back in the UK, it’s time to discuss goals for the race with the Camino team. I receive another well-timed boost when Daz shares that my training block is up there with the best he’s seen — boom! Dave suggests an A goal of first Brit, thus claiming the coveted Michael Graham Callaghan trophy. This sounds good to me — game on! Daz reckons 25–26 hours wouldn’t be out of the question if everything was to unfold without mishaps — double boom!
It’s now 4.15am the Saturday morning of race day and I’m scrolling aimlessly through my phone waiting for my alarm to bleep. I’ve had an hour’s sleep, yet today I’m running 153 miles throughout the night. Not the greatest prep for this year’s A race, but hey ho, I’m sure the adrenaline will kick in… what’s sleep amongst friends anyway?!
Lining up ready to go in Athens, light is seeping majestically through the beams of the ancient Acropolis above. This is the most spectacular of start lines, the atmosphere amongst the runners and crew is off the scale and my adrenaline is now in free flow. We’re here, this is what I’ve been dreaming of and training for the past 6 months. I’m just itching to get moving.
I start at an easy pace, finding my groove at about 5mins/km before settling in behind a pack of able runners who clearly have a similar strategy as we make our way along the busy motorway out of Athens. We’re greeted at each major intersection by the sound of car horns celebrating our arrival; queues of vehicles have formed as far as the eye can see yet the drivers are sitting patiently, in reverence to the historic journey we have just embarked upon. Dave and Daz warned of the perils of setting off too quickly and I remind myself of this as runners come by our pack at unsustainable speeds.
I’m content to relax and follow the game plan. 3.5 hours pass by in a flash and I reach marathon distance which is also the first time I see my crew since Athens. Katie is quick to hand me my carefully prepared nutrition pack whilst Ed, my brother-in-law, recruited late in the day, to help navigate the unfamiliar Greek roads (and what a signing he’d turn out to be), reinforces that I’m pacing it nicely, before sending me on my way, bottles brimming with electrolytes.
The next section until crew support is almost another marathon away and with the sun starting to rise above the Greek capital, now a small dot on the horizon, I’ll need all these fluids and more, to get me there. I reach the famous Corinth Canal, marking our entry into the Peloponnese, just over 7 hours in, greeted by Daz and Dave as I pass over the yellow bridge, praising my sensible pacing and remarking how strong I’m looking. Part one of the race is under my belt. I feel strong, relaxed and confident.
As I reflect on my build up to Athens and the first 80km of running, I’m struck by the similarities to the early years of my life; a happy, confident kid — I made friends easily and loved all sports; playing footie with my mates at every opportunity. Sadly, my parents divorced when I was 7 and whilst it was devastating at the time, it was all too easy to bury this trauma until it reared its head in my late teens. I’m also burying my head in the sand when it comes to the impact the afternoon heat is having on my race and, much like my life from the age of 17, the wheels are about to fall off all too quickly.
Part II Corinth to Ancient Nemea Aged 17 to 30
The year was 1999; fresher’s week at Southampton university where I was embarking on 3 years of study (in its loosest possible context). I’d just downed a half bottle of vodka before heading out with my housemates for the first time. I had recently discovered alcohol and I was using it increasingly to hide the shy, scared and frankly out of control 18-year-old I’d become. Long gone was the happy and confident kid, running around my mum and dad’s pub in Wantage to the sound track of Dire Straits “Walk of Life”, known to all the locals as “little Bryan” after my dad, “big Brian”.
Fast forward another 5 years, I was now in my mid 20s, living in Guildford. A few years out of uni, I’d got myself a decent job in banking, and I thought I’d made it! It’s the mid noughties, pre the credit crisis, and money is as free flowing as the Veuve Cliquot. I’d become an expert at appearing confident and truly believed I was destined for a successful career climbing the ranks. But when I reflect back on this period in my life, thanks to my binge drinking, chain smoking lifestyle, the only thing I was destined for is an early grave. My teeth are stained brown, my fingers stained yellow from tobacco abuse, and I’m well on the way to amassing debt equivalent to that of a house deposit.
I’m not sure when and where things went so horribly wrong for me; it happened slowly over time. It’s a given that my parents’ divorce played a part but equally, I would not wish to shy away from taking responsibility here. I have little doubt what causes the decline in my Sparthalthon performance however; the heat… and I’m starting to pay dearly.
I arrive at Ancient Corinth (93km) complaining of a pain in my left quad which appears to be causing my right hamstring to cramp up. I’ve been unable to take on any solid fuel since 80km, relying solely on coke and orange juice from the aid stations. Thankfully, one of Ryan Tipping’s British Spartathlete crew, who I later found out was a paramedic, is on hand to administer a much-needed massage, the Ancient Corinth ruins, serene yet incongruous in the background. Standing at well over 6ft tall, it would be fair to say he doesn’t lack strength and it’s just the ticket for my aching leg muscles.
I’m sent back out on my way, but it’s tough. The heat is unbearable, the sun unrelenting as it radiates back off the blistering tarmac. There’s no shade to be found, I’m starting to walk the flats when I know I should be running, just aiming to get to the next checkpoint. By Zeygolatio at 102km, I’m in a bad way and opt for another massage. With the masseur’s fingers digging into my aching left quad, in an attempt to raise my flagging spirits, he promises my leg another good going over at Alea Tegea (193km), to which I’m thinking “ha no chance mate”.
My palms are clammy, my body temperature is dangerously high and I’m displaying all the tell-tale signs of heat exhaustion: puking? tick; no appetite? tick; cramps? tick… etc etc. I’m back out running again, but my decline is rapid. I’m being overtaken for fun now and my head has completely gone. I decide resolutely that I’m going to throw in the towel the next time I see my crew at Halkeion Tavern (113km) before doing any long-term damage.
When I reach this hillside rest stop, I’m actually smiling, content that my race is run. I inform my crew of my intentions as I grab the nearest seat, ready to call it a day. They’re having none of it. Katie calms me down, telling me how proud she is, that I’ve got this and she has total faith. Ed quickly deduces that I’m struggling due to an inauspicious combo of heat exhaustion and lack of energy. I’ve been unable to keep anything down for the past 3 hours, and the thought of a chew or gel makes me want to hurl. He suggests a radical change of approach; back to basics — water with lemon squash and soup.
Given the state I find myself in, I’m up for anything and do what I’m told, slowly sipping on both vessels of liquid, whilst Katie cools me down, relaying Dave’s messages of encouragement “come on Bryan, put the chimp back in the box”…”you’re top Brit, your training deserves this”… “tell him he can cry, just not slow down — EVER”.
Ed, cajoling me from my comfortable chair, suggests it’s only 9km until the next crew stop, which is not only downhill, but would also mark the half way point. “Just give it a try and if you want to quit, then so be it” he reassures. I remain unconvinced, but insist on taking my phone in case of any difficulties. 35 mins since arriving at Halkeion, I’m back on my feet and on my way.
Running again after so long stationary is tough, but I’m actually starting to feel a bit better. I get into a rhythm, finding that my pace is ok; superior in fact to those who have overtaken me after my lengthy tavern tantrums. I’m taking nothing for granted however, and the pernicious thoughts of quitting are omnipresent. I reach the next crew point at Ancient Nemea (122km), grab a pew, and feebly proclaim to my crew that I’m done, apologising guiltily for making them come all this way to watch me DNF. I’m sure I spy a smirk on Katie’s face as she hands me some soup, completely disregarding my weak protestations. Ed gently reminds me that I’ve now made it to half way, and caught up some places.
On the previous leg, I’d fallen into step with a Mexican runner, and as he leaves the check point, I will my body to get up out of the chair and make my way forward with him, handing off my phone to Katie as I leave. I don’t know at the time that this simple act would be such a significant milestone, but it feels like, by removing my ability to call it in so to speak, something may have shifted. We continue in our usual rhythm, conversing rarely, running well and staying together. I’ve managed to stomach more soup at Nemea and also adopt a novel fuelling approach of downing biscoff biscuits soaked in sweet tea or coffee — I can’t remember reading this strategy in any PH material but it’s gradually restoring my energy levels, supporting me through the 17km stretch until I see my crew again. The noise in my head is still loud, and I can think of little else other than to quit but then, where would we stay? And could I really live with myself boarding the dreaded “death bus”?
I have just enough clarity of thought left to distil my choices to 2 clear options; either see out this suffer-fest until the end, as long as it may take, or throw in the towel for instant relief but a whole lot of long-term soul searching. There’s only one real choice, and whilst the proverbial has truly hit the fan, I’m not remotely done yet.
Malandrenia cafe (139km) is the next crew point. I cover the 17km stretch in good time, taking a bunch more runners under torch light, and Ed’s back to basics fuelling (coupled with my biscoff banquet) is now paying dividends. The heat of the day has long since passed and I’m enjoying being back in familiar running conditions. Even the cheery checkpoint crew are beginning to take note. At a stop in the arse end of nowhere, one character, sporting a handlebar moustache Lord Kitchener would be proud of, takes a shine to me, greeting me by name as I approach. A quick fill of sweet tea and biscoffs and I’m on my way, his shouts of “Bryan you’re a beast, see you in Sparta” sending me off with a spring in my step into the night.
At the next crew point, Katie and Ed greet me with their usual enthusiasm which mirrors my turn around in fortunes. Only 8km until Lyrkeia (148km), mostly downhill and for the first time since early afternoon, this feels like a stretch that might just be achievable. It’s not long before I reach them again, my resurgence now well and truly embedded.
The long climb to mountain base, only a few short hours ago filling me with such dread, no longer seems so daunting and, after a quick turnaround where I decline a pew (it’s too hard to stand up again), I’m off up the long winding road to the mountain. I set about a, run-as-much-as-I-can, walk-if-I-have-to strategy which serves me well.
I’m gobbling up more of my competitors, and I’m starting to enjoy myself again. It’s only possible to see one foot in front of the other under torch light so I’m left in blissful ignorance as to the climb unfolding in front of me. Driving back to Athens along this route the next day, I’m glad I couldn’t see the 700+ metres we scaled as I think it might have broken me! I’ve definitely turned a corner now, my very own Phoenix from the Ashes moment, and I’m ready to give the 3rd part of my race a damn good go.
Part III Mountain Base to SpartaAged 30 years to present
I have those close to me to thank for turning my race around, much like I have my dad to credit for inadvertently changing the direction in which my life was heading many years before. Estranged since 1989, I decided to reach out to him on his birthday in March 2010, finding his address and sending him a card whilst including my mobile number. I’d been thinking a lot about him at that time, hoping to meet again one day and start making up for all the lost time. The evening of his birthday, he called me marking the first time we had spoken in over 20 years. It was amazing to hear his voice yet also so tough and I had so many questions.
We arranged to meet a month or so later over the Easter weekend; I’d go and visit him in Ashford in Kent, where he’d been living with his wife after my parent’s divorce. We got on famously, were like peas in a pod and stayed up all night, drinking, smoking and attempting to fill in the gaps of the last 2 decades. I was so overjoyed to have rekindled our relationship, I was blind to his failings, but as we continued to meet up during the course of that year, I realised this was someone I was beginning to dislike and was scared given we were so similar. A barely functioning, chain smoking alcoholic, he cared about only one person and it certainly wasn’t me.
Most importantly, the path that I found myself on pointed head on, 100mph in the direction his life had taken. My mum always said one of the reasons she left my dad was because she feared I might turn into him and here I was fulfilling the prophecy.
It was time to take action before it was too late. I started by breaking off all ties. I needed to look after myself first and foremost. I then cut back on drinking, providing space to look at myself properly and I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror. The fags also had to go; a month before my 30th birthday, I attended a smoking cessation day. On 10th February, 2011, I had my last ever cigarette. It was undoubtably one of the hardest things I’d ever done but gradually I was able to release myself from nicotine’s tar-stained tentacles.
At the same time, I’d signed up for a gym membership, realising that to help with my fag free lifestyle, I needed a new pursuit. It didn’t take long to get into weight training and I was surprised at how quickly my flabby belly became flat. Pecks popped up and I was starting to receive a few passing compliments. I’d always enjoyed and excelled at anything cardio based at school and I began jogging… nothing of note; a few 5k’s and Parkrun’s, that sort of thing. Towards the end of that year, I met my wife to be, Katie. A few months into our relationship, I told her about my past life as a smoker and I always remember her saying that couldn’t imagine me smoking. This was the point when I knew I’d never go back.
I was now on an upward trajectory, surfing on a wave of momentum, and for the first time since my childhood, I’d developed a natural and healthy confidence. I liked myself again, and people seemed to like me. I still enjoyed the odd beer, but this was limited to a couple of times a week, I was taking pride in my new found healthy lifestyle and most importantly, me as a person.
Running was intermittent until 2014, when I signed up for my first proper race; the inaugural Surrey half. After a month of half-hearted training, I managed to stumble over the line in 1hr 39mins, laying down at the finish in a haze of tired satisfaction, but from that moment on, I was hooked. Katie, her family, as well as my mum Allison (Alli) had come to support and I’ll always remember the look of pride on her face at the finish line, knowing full well the journey I’d been on to get there.
The beers and burgers post-race were the best I’d ever tasted, as I contemplated what it would take to run a full marathon. I set my sights on Paris in 2015, giving me a full year to get into shape. Paris is our favourite city, so it didn’t take much convincing, Katie, her mum Jenny, my sister Amy, her partner Kit, and my mum to join us. I started training in earnest in January 2015, following a basic Runner’s World plan I’d acquired online, surprising myself how quickly my cardio fitness from my youth had returned, despite the decade of abuse I’d subjected my lungs to. Everything was looking great for a strong run in Paris, and I was eager to get going. Then, on Easter weekend, 2 weeks before the event, and completely out of nowhere, my mum was told she had terminal lung cancer.
To say we were devastated doesn’t quite cut it. Not only was she my best friend, but also my biggest supporter. I still ran Paris, my Mum insisted, whilst she followed along in her bed at Dorothy House, an amazing hospice near Bath. The race was bittersweet — I’d run my first marathon, and in 3 hours 18, but as she couldn’t be there, it broke my heart. We spoke on the phone after the race, and despite her weakness, I could sense the pride in her voice. We then headed to a Montparnasse bistro for club sandwiches and beers, saving the first cheers for her.
On the 21st May 2015, Allison Whitney passed away peacefully at home. Mercifully, her suffering was short, but this didn’t make it any easier to process. Two months earlier, she was a full of life 59-year-old, coming to visit us in Bristol, buzzing around the boutiques of Clifton Village. I was completely broken, struggling to muster the strength to even open the curtains, let alone get out of bed. I couldn’t see the point in anything. Life was just so cruel. These days carried on into weeks, but as a return to work loomed, I had to do something to start functioning again. One morning, unprompted, I laced up my trainers for the first time since Paris and went for a run around the Downs in Bristol. It was tough, but I found that the cloud of grief, still clogging my every being, lifted, just slightly and it felt good. I gradually increased my frequency of runs and before long was back at work, still grief stricken, but able to perform at least basic functions. It was a case of one step at a time, slowly but surely. There were many ups and downs, but I was moving through the grief with each running footstep.
The last 86km to Sparta is also renowned for its undulating peaks and troughs as well as a second mountain to contend with when you’re perhaps at your lowest. I can’t help but compare my life in my mid 30’s to this section of the race; my mum’s passing being the proverbial mountain when I’d already been through so much. There have many steep inclines to negotiate since then from cancer rearing its ugly head again and then the passing this year of Katie’s Mum, Jenny, an incredible lady who we all miss terribly. Since turning 30, it’s fair to say it has been the best of times and the worst of times but what’s enabled me to get through the difficulties is the unconditional love of Katie and her wonderful family. I’ve also had running to call upon in times of need; an escape from life’s trials and tribulations.
Ok back to the race, and I’m up and down the mountain in great time, taking on board a good fill of salty potatoes at Nestani. I’m at the point now where quitting is no longer an option; I just want to get this done as quickly as possible. It’s the middle of the night and I’m navigating one small village at a time, regularly greeted by loud dog growls, echoing in the darkness. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins as I anticipate a rogue canine encounter, which thankfully doesn’t transpire. The fear fuels my progress and I gobble up a few more of my fellow athletes. My objective at this point is to get to the second mountain in good enough shape to at least run some of the incline.
Daz’s pre-race words of wisdom are ringing in my ears as I approach the next checkpoint ‘If you can run up a chunk of the second mountain, it’s a very good sign”. I settle on a strategy of aiming to run to a lamppost in the distance, but then invariably I’ll run past it as I’m feeling strong. I’m making short work of the incline, and I’m loving every minute of it. As I crest the summit of the second mountain, in my heart of hearts, I know I’ll get to Sparta now, come what may; it’s just a case of seeing out the hours.
Despite my severe struggles earlier in the race, I’m now well fuelled thanks to my crew’s intervention and smart thinking, Daz and Dave’s training plan has got me fit and strong and I’m making hay whilst the sun doesn’t shine. To break up the monotony, I start belting out a few tunes at the top of my lungs… Rick Astley’s “Never gonna give you up” comes into my head though I modify the chorus to a 2024 edition — “never gonna give this up”; the Venga Boy’s Vengabus Ibiza classic, I’ve updated to a “Spartathlon special” — every time I cross the SP markings painted on the road, the “it’s time to party” chorus becomes “it’s time for Sparti.” The thoughts I’m having at that moment of giving up ultra running for a career in writing song lyrics, seem pretty ridiculous in the cold light of day! And I’m not sure why these tunes came into my head; my taste in music is usually on point and I love nothing better than putting together a good playlist!
A quick change out of my base layer at Monument (221km), another sweet coffee, my 28th packet of coffee doused biscoffs, and I’m setting off in the morning light, my bones warmed by the morning Spartan heat. Running is becoming increasingly more difficult as the sun rises above the tree lined switch backs but this is at least tempered by what is now a full out descent into Sparta.
One more small climb, and it’s all downhill from here; literally and metaphorically, despite my quads arguing otherwise. The Shell garage at Voutiani is the last chance I’ll see my crew before King Leonidas. It’s here that I pick up my Union Jack flag, a mere pipe dream during my earlier travails. I look at my Garmin for the total hours elapsed — the first time since Corinth (80km) when I was still on goal pace. 28hours plus change. I’ve been passing the last few miles with 2 other runners, a Czech chap who was looking strong, and a Japanese guy with a slight lean. We wind down to Sparta together, entering the town with 1km to go and I switch on the “afterburners” (if you consider 5:30/km pace as fast!). It seems to do the trick, and I open up a gap between me and my fellow athletes. I’ve only been overtaken once since Lykeria (some 160km earlier) and I’m not prepared to give up my hard-earned spot now.
Energetic teenagers on bikes direct me to turn right up the hill. Where are you King Leo, my friend? I can’t see anyone behind me and think I’ve well and truly broken my competition now. I’m then joined by a police motorcycle, who rides alongside, relaying the bad news that I’ve taken a wrong turn and need to go back! He chaperones me to the point of my mishap — the exact spot the teenagers told me to turn! I’ve added on an extra 2km, half of which was uphill, throwing away any chances of besting my 2 fellow competitors.
But at this point, I can only see the funny side, given my streak in recent races of heading off course, and can’t help but think that if I was going mess up, there’s unlikely to be a better place for it to happen.
Back on course, I can make out cheering in the distance. Suddenly, it’s time to turn right for real this time, and there is King Leo himself, in all his glory, resplendent in the Sparta sun. Crowds line the street. I high five a bunch of kids before draping the Union Jack over my shoulders as more children join me for this last little leg. And there are my beautiful crew. Ed is filming, Katie is just beaming, I can easily pick her cheers out amongst the throng of noise. Tears are streaming down my face. The British Spartathlon team are assembled at a local taverna. I high five Nath and acknowledge my fellow country men and women.
This is the most iconic of finishing straits and Katie and Ed are now running with me too. There are only a few metres to go until the end of the race. I negotiate the steps and give King Leo’s foot a big old smackeroni, before a brief bow in front of his majesty, barely believing I’m here. I’ve crossed the line in 28hours 50mins, to take 23rd place and first British athlete.
I turn around to be embraced by my beautiful wife; the promise of this moment is the only thing (Biscoffs aside) that has kept me going for so many solitary miles. Emotions are on full display. Ed joins us for the family embrace I’d been dreaming of since the Acropolis. Team 101! What a TEAM! But it’s much more than that… it’s family. We did it! It’s our moment and as we hug it out, King Leo gazing down in approval, I’m just bursting with pride.
It’s the culmination of a journey that may have started at the Acropolis, but began many many years before. I’m surrounded by my family, people who I love with all my heart. People I didn’t even know existed 15 years ago at that dark Clapham club as I drank myself into oblivion. Yes, I may have run the miles, but it was my family who made sure I was able to put one foot in front of the other. It was the greatest of collective efforts. A journey we will share with our children and grandchildren. The road to Sparta — our modern-day Greek Odyssey.
Bryan Shout outs
Thank you to Team 101. WHAT A TEAM! Your love and gentle coaxing gave me strength in the toughest of times. It simply would not have been possible without you.
To Aunty Brie, and Radka, my sister-in-law, for rearranging your weekends so Ed could join our little Greek adventure.
To Daz, Dave and the Camino Crew — your motivation, guidance and Sparta insight was truly INVALUABLE.
To the friends and family dot watching around the world; from San Francisco to Shalford, Mitcham to Monaco, Singapore to Southfields — your support was a true inspiration.
To the checkpoint staff, cheering tavernas, kids with autograph books and for everyone who shouted “bravo”- you made me feel like a hero.
To the British Spartathlon team — thanks for an amazing few days in Greece. So great to meet you all.
To my fellow runners — thanks for sharing the miles and making them pass more easily. I feel so proud to be part of this wonderful community we call ultra running. See you all next year??? Well, 25hrs in 2025 does have a certain ring to it…
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