The OGBW is a beautiful, varied route... mostly. Conditions were dry underfoot, and most paths were either freshly ploughed or reasonably clear. The exceptions were the river section approaching Abingdon Lock and the stretch between Toot Baldon and Nuneham Courtenay, which did their best to turn my legs into shredded wheat and were distinctly unrunnable.
As the route passes right through Radley College, where I live, starting there would have been the obvious choice. However, with temperatures set to soar, I needed a plan for reliable water sources if I was going to complete it unsupported. A bit of research identified three dependable refill points: Abingdon Lock, St Michael's Church, and Thrupp. This limited the maximum gap between water stops to 18 miles. I therefore started at The Abingdon Arms in Beckley, which had the added bonus of getting an early small climb out of the way rather than leaving it for tired legs at the finish.
I set off early on a glorious morning carrying 2.5 litres of water and enough nutrition for around 60g of carbs per hour, based on a planned finish time of 10 to 11 hours. Apart from topping up water bottles, I took on nothing else. No support crew, no pacers, no company. My husband Paul was planning a run around Boars Hill, but he'd been given strict instructions not to appear anywhere near me. Being a compliant husband, he waited until my tracker showed I was safely clear before venturing out.
I knew 55 miles solo would be tough, especially as I hadn't raced / run this distance for a while. Knowing the route and what to expect, was definitely an advantage, and the first 40 miles were a joy. This was most certainly helped by the fact that they are by far the prettier and more interesting miles of the route when starting from Beckley.
One concern was cows. Following a previous unfortunate 50-metre race with a particularly disgruntled herd (which, for the record, I won), I never take them lightly. Fortunately, this year's cow encounters were much friendlier. One field even featured a bull who couldn't have been less interested in my FKT attempt. His salt lick was evidently a far more fascinating spectacle than some middle-aged woman running 55 miles in 30°C heat.
The final 15 miles were less enjoyable. Despite electrolytes and salt tablets, I couldn't keep up with the amount of salt my excessively sweaty, peri-menopausal body was losing. The route also became harder work and, if I'm honest, a bit boring. Along the canal I took a spectacular tumble, mashing up my knees, and later managed to headbutt a low branch. At 5ft not very much, low branches don't normally trouble me, but fatigue clearly changes the rules.
For a while, sub-10 hours looked possible. Unfortunately, the heat, overgrown sections, battered legs and general suffering had other ideas. Still, I finished comfortably closer to 10 hours than my "I'll be happy with anything under 11" target, so I'll take that as a win!
Paul had never said he'd meet me at the finish, but through those final grim miles I kept hoping he'd magically appear. And there he was, just beyond the finish, at the bottom of the hill, waiting with a cold can of Pepsi Max. There may have been tears... mine, not his. Although, I suspect, he was probably a little gutted that his uninterrupted hours of peace and quiet, had come to an end.