Conquering the Elephant Challenge: Why Ultra-Running Falls Are Lessons In Disguise

The Small Jump That Meant Everything

I can only manage a small jump. It’s a pained leap that contains more joy than height. It was a symbol of me conquering the Elephant Challenge.

Within that jump is redemption, resilience, and an end to – if not a story – then at least a chapter that began on an emergency room operating table.

More prosaically, it represents the completion of 50km (31 miles) of running – ok, and walking and, towards the end, shuffling – round Northamptonshire’s Salcey Forest.

It is all part of the grandly named Big Bear Elephant Challenge – an event I can finally say I hav conquered.

Half-a-mile later, I’m face down in the dirt, a concerned fellow runner phoning her husband to tell the event organiser someone needs help.

If ultra runs teach you resilience and mental toughness, they also have a habit of reminding you that the world will bite you on the bum given half a chance.

From the ER to the Ultra Start Line

How – and why – did these juxtaposed moments come about so close to each other? To answer that we have to rewind to 2022 when I suffered what paramedics originally thought was a heart attack.

As it turned out, my ambulance assisted dash to hospital for a bout of a condition called pericarditis, an inflammation of the lining of the heart, most probably caused by a virus.

Nevertheless, it was seven slow months before I could get running again. At one point, I was huffing and puffing up my small set of house stairs with a heart rate of 180bpm.

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The First Attempt: A Lesson in Fueling

My first major run back came at Salcey Forest, the start of a triumvirate of events there that would conclude in that jump… and the unexpected dirt nap that followed.

Event one was a gentle half-marathon, utilising the friendly mantra and well-stocked aid station that make Big Bear events so enjoyable. They specialise in looped events, with runners allowed to complete whatever distance suits them over a maximum of six hours.

In fact, the race rules are so generous that as long as you start your last lap before those six hours are up, whatever time it takes to finish, your final loop is allowed.

Salcey Forest: The Stomping Ground of Redemption

Salcey Forest is a pretty, wooded area in the south of Northamptonshire, relatively flat and generally kind trails seeing you along your way for each of the three-and-a-half mile laps.

Like every long run, those gentle uphill climbs and the camber of the trails, combined with their uneven surface, make it seem like you’re trekking up Everest by the end of the event.

Those are the constants. The races have different names, mostly based on animals.

Woodpecker. Elephant. Rhino. Squirrel. It makes a change from The Canyon of Death 200, I guess.

My second Salcey Forest Big Bear outing came towards the end of 2023, my pericarditis long conquered the aim was to complete my story of rehabilitation via my first ultra – yes, a 50k baby but that’s a lot of running in circles.

It was an attempt that ended at the marathon distance, although my ultra hopes really finished after 22 miles when I decided to sit down for five minutes… and couldn’t get up for 25.

Apparently, no electrolytes, no salt tablets and no hydration other than water and coke is a bad idea. Who knew? My struggling legs, that’s who, or at least that’s what they told me through the medium of cramp so painful lying on my back for a good while was the only option.

Redemption Day: The 50K Goal

And so, to the present. Friday, March 7 was Redemption Day. A third visit to Salcey Forest. Another attempt to hit 50k.

In the interest of complete honesty, I had in the meantime gone away and completed not only 50k elsewhere but the 107km Isle of Wight Challenge. But Salcey Forest and I had unfinished business.

I won’t bore you with the full story of six hours of passing the same trees, the identical children’s playground, or the increasingly alluring cafe. Or the joy of slugging electrolytes, eating candy like a baby and watching my fellow runners smash the variety of goals they’d set themselves – from 5ks to running more than 40 miles.

Suffice to say, I was flying along on loop six, loving life and listening to the electric sounds of Run, Tri, Bike’s Everyday Athlete Podcast Playlist – highlights include jumping from the Mario theme tune to a live version of Counting Crows’ Recovering the Satellites (try it – if jolting change is your thing!).

By half-way round the seventh lap, I was ready to take a chainsaw to the tree I was passing AGAIN… if only I wasn’t too tired to do so.

And so, to where we started. Mission accomplished, 50k under my belt within five hours and 51 minutes – knocking nine minutes of my previous best for the distance.

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The Final Miles: A Painful Reminder

Those days of barely being able to climb the stairs due to pericarditis were gone, that moment of not being able to climb from the floor with cramps on my last Salcey event was just a memory. This is what it was all for.

But that was not the end.

The lapped nature of the course meant my 50k target was merely arbitrary, and there were still two miles to go (for anyone getting their calculators out and working out that 3.5 miles times nine laps doesn’t equal 33 miles, just remember the number one rule of trail and ultra distances – the course length may vary from what the run director says it is!).

By this point, I was walking. But that didn’t stop the two simultaneous stabs of pain in the back of my calves that brought me to my knees. Or the jolting sensation in my hips that persuaded me to keep going on my journey towards the ground.

The curse of the cramps was back. Delayed beyond my goal, but still crafty enough to take effect a mile-and-a-half before the end of the loop.

The lesson of this story: Don’t leave your salt tablets at home.

Lessons from the Dirt: The True Meaning of Ultra Running

But as I dragged myself to my feet, the importance of both my end of race moments was crystal clear: without falling on your face every now and again, you can’t truly appreciate those small leaps that encapsulate such big things.

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