The 'Neolithic'

The ‘Neolithic’ Marathon

One of the main fund raising events of the year for the Wiltshire Wildlife Trust is its annual 26 mile event from Avebury to Stonehenge. This is both a sponsored walk and a multi-terrain running race.

In 2003 my partner, Lynne and I walked the full distance. We were the first to start at about 6am and almost the last to finish but we had a very nice day strolling along through a variety of Wiltshire countryside. I was somewhat hampered by the fact that we had just returned from a walking holiday on the Isle of Man and whilst the airline had delivered us safely back to Bristol Airport it had seen fit to send my walking boots to Belfast instead. As all long distance runners will agree, you do need to be happy about your footwear. I found out that day what happens when you are not…

Shortly before the half-way point we began to be caught by the marathon runners; they had started several hours after us. Although I had run in races over the years, there was something about these madmen (and mad-ladies) that touched a nerve. I started to form a plan, which was that I would run in the marathon myself the next year.

The plan was not over-crowded with schemes to get fit in the preceding months. My records show me running the Slaughterford 9mile, (an excellent off-road mud-bath!) the Terminator (likewise, but 11 miles) and the London Half Marathon in the weeks before the big day. I continued to run in the hills around the University at Bath much as I had done for the previous twenty years, rather oblivious to fellow runners doing their weekend long runs to prepare for the London Marathon etc., and as for such technicalities as a ‘taper’… wassat? I also continued to enjoy such training aids as chips, long bicycle rides and freezing days in bird-watching hides. Still, with my malt & hop-derived muscle stimulant (aka beer), how can I go wrong?

On a rather misty May morning I find myself in the oddest bus queue of all time, all of Great Britain’s greatest eccentrics gathered together in one place and catching a bus from Stonehenge at dawn. We are taking advantage of the bus service which ferries runners (and walkers) from various finish points to their chosen point of starting. Obviously all the full marathon runners want to start in Avebury but to find their car waiting for them at Stonehenge. Most of the participants are just like me, but on our bus one runner stands out as somewhat more impressive. Together with his ‘buddy’ he is going to run 26 multi-terrain miles without the benefit of eyesight. I feel rather humble at that point!

The bus arrives in Avebury in very good time for the start and I am able to enjoy the normal good cheer which passes between competitors. To be fair this is the only time that I will see most of them.

Soon we are being hushed to hear the advice of the starter and the words of some dignitary who is probably saying what brave buffoons we all are; I can’t hear. On the other hand he may be telling us that his pit-bull terrier hasn’t been fed since Thursday and if we don’t leave Avebury immediately… Either way, we soon leave town and head out along the narrow road to the west and into a series of paths and tracks.

Upon reaching the main A4 we are hugely amused to discover half of the field approaching us from the opposite direction, so clearly some of the marshalling will be ‘iffy’! The road crossing at Beckhampton is well controlled though and we cross in safety and start along the path which will lead to the Marlborough Downs. This is a considerable climb which is mostly on field-edge tracks of the sort made ‘smooth’ by the passage of several dozen tractors each year. The top of this hill is the highest point in Wiltshire, Tan Hill at 294 metres, a climb of about 140m. from the start-line. Near the top, the ancient earthwork, Wansdyke is crossed, followed by a sharp drop and then a sharp climb to the hill-fort of Rybury Camp. There follows a tricky descent to the lane near All Cannings Cross. Here there are water and toilets, mostly for the benefit of the sponsored walkers.

The next section is a series of lowland tracks leading to the main street of All Cannings, a pretty thatched village where the villagers put on a feast of sausage sandwiches for the walkers. Next time I run I’ll carry money for one; it’ll be worth the time lost.

All Cannings is left behind as one plods through a not-very-nice quagmire caused by the route coinciding with the main commuter route for 200 Friesians. It doesn’t last for long though and there soon follows one of the few tarmac sections. It's nice easy running that feels madly fast after the off-road section. There’s some nice surfaced bridle-path and then a boggy section which includes a couple of stiles. At this point is something I have yet to encounter in any other running race. You cross a 125mph railway-line. “Stop, look and listen.” says the sign… Damned right you do!

More pleasant countryside passes and then suddenly the A342 is encountered. After this is crossed, the route is tarmac surfaced for nearly 2 miles. Don’t think this is some sort of holiday as in the distance can be seen Redhorn Hill, a 75 metre climb and a steep walk for most competitors.

At the top is a crowded area of tents and tea vans where most of the walkers will stop for a bite and a rest. Hard to drag myself past these attractions but apart from filling up my water bottle I don’t pause.

The route turns left here; ahead are army firing ranges. Our path is a shingle path of varying quality and often crowded with walkers and their dogs plus the vehicles of various participants all heading east in a voluntary one-way system. A place called Charlton Clumps is reached, the start of the half-marathon, and for us, the halfway point. There is a water station there and other ‘facilities’, plus the litter of 400 half-marathoners.

At times the road turns nasty and has a few climbs. These climbs seem visible from miles back so by the time you get to them, your resolve has melted away. However for every up there is a down and progress is made after all. One of the most significant climbs of the day comes after Casterley Camp, another Iron Age hill fort, at about 15 miles. The track climbs out of Water Dean Bottom. It’s an excuse for a walk for many. From the top of that climb though, the trend is generally downhill for the rest of the way to Wexland Farm where runners take a sharp right into the heart of the military training zone. The next four miles are, frankly, dull, very slightly uphill and quite featureless. At least along that section you can concentrate properly on the suffering. Eventually the junction with the old coach road appears though, where a left turn is made and a rather forlorn pub, the Bustard Inn, stands surrounded by a permanent caravan site and various military ‘street furniture’. Sadly the pub must be shunned on this occasion though I have been glad of its presence on many a cold winter’s day whilst cycling. Ahead of me I see Lynne, and her friend Debbie, walking in the sponsored walk from Redhorn Hill to Stonehenge. I can’t resist clowning and empty my water bottle over Lynne as I jog past.

The road becomes tarmac for a mile then the fast road to Larkhill is reached and the course takes to the grass track alongside. Soon a marshal sends us across the road and onto a private drive for a mile.

It is along this drive that a pile of very ancient rocks appears on the horizon for the first time and a grin replaces a grimace for the first time. The end is in sight. The last mile is an agony and an ecstasy and the last hundred yards a delirious dream. I achieve something for the first time in my life; I finish a marathon. Sitting down near the finish line I do something else for the first time in my life. I fall asleep in a public place. A marshal wakes me up to give me my finisher’s medal. I find the car and continue my snooze in the boot of the car.

The run has taken its toll. Somewhere at about the 18 mile point I had felt the pressure on my increasingly sore right foot ease off, accompanied by a damp feeling. A vast blister had burst. Both feet had suffered but the marathon has really exposed the weakness in my right foot and by the end I had lost three toe-nails. (To say I had lost them is a bit inaccurate. I knew precisely where they were – somewhere in my sock!)
With the benefit of hindsight I would have run in road shoes. I had run in off-road shoes, well suited to the Marlborough Downs section early in the race but hopelessly lacking in cushioning for the majority of the miles.

I took 4-22-35 to finish and a further 11 months to enter my next race, a doddle round the woods called the Chedworth Roman Trail.

The Neolithic is no place to be if you want to do a ‘personal best time’ and some aspects of it lack the polish of events run by experienced running clubs, but over the years it is improving. It remains one of my most cherished memories. I’m sure I will run in it again one day, hopefully soon.