90% Talcum Powder 10% Chocolate

One evening at the beginning of last week, Shauney sat down with a pen and a piece of paper:

Doggo cracked owner's heel bone in May = 8 weeks off

July to Mid August back in training = 7 weeks back in training, max 18 miles/3 hours in one go

Vietnam 100k is 20th September = 5 weeks away

*bites end of pen* hmm

Conclusion: ........ Well shit.

That said, as far as bouncing back from injury goes, I've given myself a pat on the back for this one (not sarcasm). Proper rest through June and a slow build up through July meant Kirsty the physio was satisfied with the strength in the ankle and foot by the beginning of August. Two 10 hour weeks after this had me ready for a nap at any given opportunity (who knew it was possible to sleep on a bar stool?!), but feeling slightly better about my fitness. 

But 18 miles isn't anywhere near 100k, and as much as I've read and read about quality over distance, and hours over distance, and this and that and the next thing being better than distance... my mind still needs some faith in my ability to cover the distance. Yeah, yeah, weak minded and inexperienced, whatever.

So it was decided (during a run where I have far too much idle time to think about these things), I'd do a 40 mile training run and then that would be that. No dilly-dallying and doubting. With Vietnam starting at 9pm at night and night-time runs doing funny things to my brain, it made sense to do the run through the night (that and the fact I couldn't find a spare 8 or 9 hours during the day this week).

Thursday evening saw the slightly concerned faces of my work colleagues as I pottered around the office in my odd (and probably useless) compression socks, looking for my deep heat, chocolate and ibuprofen. It's always a strange and uncomfortable feeling starting a stupidly long run. Logically, it's been a year since I tackled anything as long. Rationally, I've got my doubts that an undoubtedly sprained and definitely fractured ankle and foot can do 40 miles. And emotionally... I'm really not sure I want to do it.... I could turn around now.... go home.... get a Chinese...

(Leaving Forfar)

However, by 6 miles my Grenade pre-workout tablets had kicked in - whoever came up with the idea of shoving an insane amount of caffeine into a teeny little capsule is an absolute genius - and the sunshine and cows and fields were all looking glorious as I wound my way through Whigstreet and Kirkbuddo. The next 9 miles to Dundee were spent with the following thought process: "...that's a nice field, I like that field, is that a windmill? Who came up with windmills, god windmills are big, SOMETHING'S STARING AT ME! No it's a rock, is my shin hurting? Pig shit, I smell pig shit... pretty clouds..." and on it went. Anyone wondering what an ultra runner thinks about during the hours and hours on their own...don't ask me.

(6 miles)

I've been long-distance running for a few years now, and with that comes a little wisdom. Mainly the wisdom to take heed of the early signs you might need the loo rather than waiting till you've entered civilisation and can't do anything about it. With this wisdom, I clambered up a stone dyke wall, tried to precariously step over the barbed wire on top, tripped, fell into the nettles on the other side and tried in vane to ignore the stinging sensation up my legs while I took my call of nature.

The light was fading as I entered Dundee, still inconspicuously taking the odd scratch, and it had been preceded for the last three miles by the smell of takeaways. I was excited to have completed that countryside leg from Forfar in 3 hours. Half a Kinder bar and and a good talc up before my bra started working its way through my rib cage, I set off along the pavements with B&Q in my mind as my halfway, proper sit down stop. 

Have you ever passed anybody taking pictures of B&Q at 10.15 at night, sweating with a huge grin on their face and a bag of chicken nuggets at their feet? No, neither have I. 

Chuffed to be halfway in 4 hours I delved into my chicken nugs and thought about how much I was missing my nug-eating buddy, Nym nom. 40 miles was going to be too much for midget collie legs but not having her to chatter away to made me sadder than I cared to admit. It also makes my pictures very dull.

With sweat going cold after 20 minutes, and my mood much chirpier because of chicken nuggets and Tango (nonchalant corner shop owner didn't have Lucozade so I braved the fizz), I set off.

Following the eerie blue lights past Camperdown, I wondered how my mood would hold up now I was about to head out of civilisation and into dark, silent countryside.

Not badly as it happened, however my body didn't appreciate the decision to tackle the off road ascent then descent over Denoon in the dark with an unexceptional head torch. With no trust or bounce in my left ankle it was slow-going and by the time I got to Glamis - around 1.45am - I was mentally puggled.

What picked me up again was the sight of three signs on little stakes along my route, left out by a wonderful (and very worried) colleague along with a banana and a can of juice... I almost cried!

Spurred on by this I made it to Forfar again, and have never been quite so excited to see an Aldi sign in my entire life (Aldi being exactly 40 miles). As an aside note, Aldi get their delivery at 3.15am on a Friday morning and now have a very confused lorry driver.

Curled up in my truck (under a horse rug because I hadn't the foresight to pack a duvet), and reunited with my Nymsical, I had time to reflect on the run before I passed out for 3 or so hours. It had been slow overall, but mentally I hadn't struggled. The fractured heel and sprained ligaments meant the whole left leg was weaker and more sore, but nothing had gone ping, pop or otherwise. So, in all, I'm chuffed (Aldi lorry driver will testify to my whooping and laughing).

Over and out, the now talc infused runner.