The Thames Ring 250
In 48 hours time, I'll be toeing up to the start line of the UK's longest ever non-stop running race, the Thames Ring 250. Two hundred and fifty refers to the distance in miles, and the cut-off time is 100 hours. Nearly ten marathons in four-and-a-bit days. It's organised by the two chaps that mastermind the Grand Union Canal Race (145 miles, and until this week, the longest non-stop running race in the UK) and in wonderfully understated British style, the Thames Ring doesn't even have a website. Orchestration so far has been via a series of emailed Word documents; one mentions "You will be travelling a full marathon between checkpoints", another that says checkpoints will have "Rice pudding… Marmite sandwiches… crisps… custard". Nothing isotonic, no hype, no hyperbole, no bullshit. As soon as I heard about the event, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to sort my head out.
If you've been following along for a while, you've probably surmised that I didn't make it back to the North Pole this spring. The problem this time wasn't a dodgy ski binding, it was a dodgy global economy, though much like the equipment failure that scuppered last year's expedition, it was a hurdle I never expected to bring me crashing down, and I still lose sleep wondering if I could have avoided the situation, or if I could somehow have overcome it with a little more effort or ingenuity.
I curse myself along more than I praise myself. Perhaps this is an unavoidable part of the English condition; we (or at least I, certainly) feel awkwardly self-conscious giving high-fives, but we revel in self-contained suffering. Expiation with a stiff upper lip (from the Latin expiare – to end something by suffering it to the full).
And if the Thames Ring 250 sounds like anything (to laypeople and dilettante joggers, at least), it sounds like dreadful, pointless suffering. Blisters, chafing, sunburn, sleep deprivation, endless miles of towpath. I faced a volley of questions over a sunny Sunday afternoon barbeque this weekend, largely on my motivation. On many levels it's near-impossible to justify: it's plainly a stupid thing to attempt.
I have two reasons. The first, Sri Chinmoy would call self-transcendence, and -while I balk at any talk of spirituality (I'm English) and "the Will of the Absolute Supreme" (I'm an atheist)- I'm relishing the chance to plumb the depths of my mind, my ability and my potential as a human, and to slay a few demons (in what I am sure will be a bizarrely bucolic backdrop). The second is the chance to distance myself -and bear with me if this sounds macho- from what Mark Twight ruthlessly terms "[The] wannabes, pretend-to-bes, has-beens and never-will-bes".
I'll be posting updates from the race on Twitter, and I'll publish a write-up here with some photos at the beginning of next week.
— Filed under Inspiration, Running