Mud sweat and tears...Conti Thunder Run 24!

I recently ticked off a new style of event on my running list and like many I’ve done this year, it was completely different to anything I’d done before. This time, I would be running as part of a team in a 24 hour endurance race – Continental Thunder Run 24.


For anyone who isn’t familiar with what a 24 hour race entails, the timer starts at noon and from then on individuals, pairs and teams have 24 hours to complete as many laps as they can. In the case of TR24, each lap is a scenic and undulating 10km in the picturesque grounds of Catton Hall. 


I had been looking forward to the challenge for a while, with an optimistic target of three in my head. However, I knew that a week in Spain ending with a late flight, few hours’ sleep and dash over to the outskirts of Derbyshire ready for the start probably wasn’t the best preparation!


The team aspect is what was really appealed to me with this one. Having been along to a few of these events without taking part, I had observed from a camping chair the camaraderie and team-spirit between those competing and I couldn’t wait to be part of it. So I was excited as 12noon came around and we head down to the race village ready to watch the mass start. 


As the clock ticked over and runners charged through the spectators and out onto the course, the atmosphere was fantastic! The running had started, everyone was in high spirits and I was itching for our first runner to come back so I could get started with my lap. After just over an hour, it was time for me to get started! 

All smiles heading off for lap one

Remembering the words of advice from Des and all my friends who had completed the course in previous years, I was prepared for it to be a steady one. Despite the week of sangria and the lack of sleep, I felt strong as I made my way along the start of the course, heading through the camp site and out towards the woods at a nice pace. The first hill hit which takes runners up through some trees on narrow and windy paths and I jogged along, letting those quicker pass by if they needed to. Then it was out onto some open fields with some amazing views – unfortunately I was enjoying it too much to take any photos! 


A couple of KM into the route I fell into pace with two ladies and it ended up being that we spent the rest of the lap working together to spur each other on. They’d go ahead a bit, then I would. Then we’d all run together for a bit, swapping stories of our best races and our worst along with sharing thoughts on what we hoped to get out of this event. Navigating the tricky course with my two new pals was really good fun! I started to think that I might actually enjoy trail running despite years of saying I wasn’t a fan. We ticked off the kilometre markers as we made our way through the fields, trees, and hills until we were trotting around the lake and on the home straight almost ready to pass on the baton to the next person.


As I climbed up the last little incline and around the last bends, big spots of rain were starting to fall so I dashed to the end as quickly as I could to pass on to Des who would start our team’s third lap. It was about a minute or so after I waved him off that the heavens really did open! Dashing into a nearby gazebo for cover, the spirits weren’t dampened too much as I chatted with fellow runners and thought about how I hoped the trees were shielding Des from the worst of the rain. 


After what seemed like a life time, the rain wasn’t letting up and my endorphins were dwindling. Along with some of my camp mates we trudged back through the field and to our camp. I quickly became a bit too cold and remembered all the reasons I’m not particularly a fan of outdoors and camping. This feeling was accelerated somewhat when I went to the tent to get changed to find that our bed, tent and bags were all flooded! 


It’s a bit strange in between laps really. By the time I greeted Des back from his rainy mission I still had a good few hours until it was my turn to go again so I decided to try and make the most of my soggy tent and airbed and get a bit of sleep to top up the few hours I’d had the night before. I’m not sure whether I felt better or worse when I emerged just over an hour later, just in time to eat a bit of curry before getting ready to head out for lap number two. 


I started to feel quite nervous at this point. My teammate kindly swapped places with me so that I’d be able to head out before darkness but, after seeing a few people return having taken a fall on their lap, I was worried about the conditions of the course. I’m not the steadiest on my feet at the best of times and I knew that what had already been a tough route earlier on was going to be utterly awful the second time around. All too soon I was back in the transition pen, listening to Ian’s detailed description of the tricky bits and doing my best not to do a panic cry as I head back onto the familiar first part of the course.


It wasn’t too bad to start with and I told myself it would be ok. I might even enjoy it as much as I had done my first lap, despite the coating of mud on the ground. Even going up the first tree-lined hill and along the windy path was alright. 


Then the mud came. The proper stuff. The several-inches thick can’t run just slide mud. And it was awful! Who was I kidding, I don’t like trail runs, what was I doing?! Still trying to keep a bit of control and not panic too much, I sort-of fashioned myself some steps out of the mud as my trainers slipped and slid down pathway. Then of course the inevitable happened. I hit the ground with a big squelchy thud. 


I sat, surrounded by mud, for what felt like a good 10 minutes while in reality it can’t have been longer than about 30 seconds. The tears I’d been trying so hard to hold back really started to flow now as I looked around me to find a way of getting up without getting myself even more caked in it. Eventually back on my feet, it dawned on me that I had to keep going to get through this awful mud that I couldn’t even see the end of at that point. More tears.


I must have looked absolutely ridiculous to all the seasoned, fearless trail runners whipping past me as I extremely gingerly took tiny steps through what seemed like an impossible pathway. I willed myself on as much as possible and pushing out all the “you can’t do this” “when you get to the next marshal you’re going to ask how to quit the lap” and plodding on until, finally, I was back on slightly firmer ground. 


I broke into a jog in the areas where it felt safe to do so and passed through the familiar twists and turns as the route wound through the various camp sites and back up into the woods. Even the slowest shuffle-jog was tricky with my legs tired from the early afternoon’s 10km and slightly tender from my fall but I kept going as best I could. 


As I made my way up into the woodland section of the track, darkness was drawing in quickly. Despite the fact that we’d switched the plan around so that I would get the last of the sunlight, the additional time I was talking meant that before long, it was completely dark. I’ve never ran in a headlamp before and the bobbing about of the light-beam as I moved was annoying enough, that’s without mentioning all the creatures it attracted! I had so many things flying towards me that I felt like I was in some awful video game constantly trying to flip and flap them away. 


Just to summarise the scene here: I’m in the middle of some woods in the pitch black, my legs hurt, I’m being attacked by the cast of bugs life and I’m stressing because I’m worried my team will be annoyed at how long it’s taking me. So of course I’m crying as I carry on making my way through what’s become a combination of my least favourite things, slowly checking off the miles as I extremely gradually find my way back towards the lake and into the campsite. 


At this point I found a determination to get it done. Willing the battery on my watch not to go flat (imagine going through all this and it not even being on Strava) and fuelled by the high-fives of campers lining the final few hundred meters of the route, I managed to find something to get me through to the end of the lap. It was done! It had taken me longer than some of the half marathons I’ve done in the past, but bloody hell the most mentally and technically tough run I’ve ever done was over. I was so relieved to pass the baton to my team mate, really trying not to seem too traumatised as I offered advice on the route and sent him off on his way. 


Des had been waiting at the finish line for well over an hour, wondering if he’d missed me coming back and where I was. As soon as I got to him at the end of the cross-over tunnel the floodgates really did open. Everything I’d been trying (and failing for a lot of the time) to hold back while I completed my challenge came tumbling out. Tears of relief, frustration and exhaustion. I had just about pulled myself together by the time we arrived back to our friends as base camp and promptly started to cry again as I relayed my tales of woe to them. I couldn’t even stomach the pancakes I’d so been looking forward to a few hours ago. 

Before the tsunami of tears

Over the next few hours, several of my team mates arrived back at that change-over area with their own stories of tumbles in the woodland, including Des when he returned. Despite the terrible conditions though, our teams, along with hundreds of other runners carried on through the night, ticking off the laps pushing through the challenges put before them. 


I went to bed. 


Much like the weather, things seemed a lot brighter the next morning. It goes without saying that I had firmly decided that I wouldn’t be achieving the three laps I had originally wanted to complete. But after a few hours’ sleep and with an abundance of tasty sausage and bacon cobs laid on by Dawn, I felt content with my effort. I’d done two laps, one in conditions I wouldn’t have even thought about attempting if it wasn’t for being part of a team. I reckon I’d done alright!


With the 24 hours almost over, the excitement surged as we all prepared to go and meet Ian so the team could run the last few hundred meters with him and all cross the finish line together. This part was the absolute highlight of the weekend, an army of DOrunners armed with our Nottingham flag, powering on together in the highest of spirits until we reached the finish line. Loads of sweaty smiles and hugs followed, and of course some photos! 

Team DOrunning DO Thunder Run 2018

Without a doubt, one of the best things I found about the race is that the field of runners is completely different to any other events. There are people at every stand amongst you, some may be doing their first and only lap, powering along through the fields of the tricky course. Then there’s the solo runners aiming on doing 100+ miles, taking it all in their stride with a huge challenge ahead of them. There are the quick team runners chasing a podium finish and the team runners who are really just there for the social camping weekend with their mates. Everyone has their own reasons, their own challenge. But unlike a ‘normal’ race, because of the relay laps you all become mixed up together – and it’s fabulous! 


On reflection, despite how awful my second lap was, it was still a fantastic weekend and something I’d recommend to any runner in a heartbeat. The experience of all being there together, all with different challenges and motivations is made even more enjoyable by the novelty of being away with your mates for the weekend. It’s essentially a festival for runners! 


Will I run it again next year? I’m still undecided. If there was a guarantee that every lap I did would be like the first, then definitely. But being a natural worrier, I would no doubt spend weeks before the event panicking that it will be like the second again. Either way, I’ll almost certainly be going along to support my friends so never say never. And I’m sure that I do have three laps in me….

DONE!!!