Jeffing My Way to 100km

An Act of Optimism or Complete Delusion?

By Nicky Jenkins

Sometimes you enter a race with everything lined up perfectly. You're injury-free, training is going well, life is ticking along nicely, and you're quietly confident that the plan is coming together.

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball, or two or three or four....

For me it started with a sprained ankle that was refusing to heal. Not my first, and almost certainly not my last. I've been spraining ankles since I was a kid. John says it's because my feet are too small for my body. Personally, I think it's because I spent much of my childhood convinced I was indestructible.

There was the time I tried to jump the full length of a hopscotch grid when I was about 6. The time I launched myself off the top of a climbing frame when I was about 8 (as a dare). The time I fell out of a tree because the branch I was hanging from snapped. And then, as an adult, there have been countless ankle rolls - sometimes on technical terrain while running or hiking, and sometimes on perfectly ordinary paths involving an inconspicuous stone and a complete lack of attention.

When I rolled my ankle this last time, I believed it would be like all the previous instances. I allowed it to heal, did some rehabilitation, and gradually began running again. Initially, everything seemed fine, but then my ankle started locking up, becoming extremely painful even to walk on. The worrying thing was not just the pain, but the distance before it happened kept getting shorter.

It seemed that around this time there was a lot of talk about “Jeffing”.

Named after Jeff Galloway, it’s a run-walk strategy built around structured breaks; a way of getting through long distances without relying on continuous running.

The idea isn’t new, but it had started gaining traction again, particularly in the ultra running community.

Articles began popping up on my social media feeds, and I did a bit more digging.

On paper, it made perfect sense - less stress and strain on the body and joints, reduced muscle fatigue, more sustainable stamina over long distances.

All of which, to a perimenopausal woman with an arthritic knee (yes my body is falling to bits), sounded less like a training strategy and more like a gift from the endurance gods.

So, I started experimenting, 9mins walk, 1min run; 8mins 2mins, 7 and 3; gradually adjusting the ratios and finding each time that my body would tolerate going a little bit further.

Long hikes were OK too. I practised power-marching and all those years of chasing John up hills started to pay dividends.

I added in some modified Hyrox training, keeping impact low, and some swimming for general aerobic fitness. It wasn’t traditional ultra training, but it was consistent enough.

And then the puppy arrived.

Any illusion of structure disappeared overnight. Training became whatever I could fit in as we tag-teamed our way around life, work and puppy walks.

At the time it didn't feel like enough, but I hadn't given enough credit to the daily dog walks or the sheer amount of time we spend on our feet for a job. Gradually, it all started adding up and as the puppy settled, I slowly started to find my fitness rhythm again. Perhaps a tad too close to the event for my liking, but you don’t fail by trying. You only fail by not starting..

So with John's encouragement and support (never once questioning the validity of my optimistic effort) I set off with a plan of 10 mins running, 20 mins walking (a 1:2 ratio).

Let me tell you now; Jeffing seems particularly counter intuitive in the early stages of an event. Why on earth would you walk when you feel so fresh?

It takes a bit (or lot) of discipline, a willingness to leave your ego at the start line and trust in a plan (that I had no idea would actually work).

Walking for 20 minutes felt like an absolute eternity while I was still full of energy and repeatedly saying morning to everyone running past. I was quickly starting to feel fed up. So I adjusted. 5mins run, 10mins walk still felt too conservative but I stuck with it and started to find a rhythm.

Water intake every walking break, snacks every second walking break.

And slowly the miles started to take care of themselves.

I walked with purpose, brisk and efficient, averaging between 15 and 16 min miles on the walking sections.

Forty miles in and I was still moving fairly well.

We get to the checkpoint at 41miles and I noticed something interesting: some of the runners who had been trying to run as much as possible were already dropping out. They weren’t that much further ahead than me, but they were done in.

My ankle was behaving, my knee was stiff but manageable, the only issue being a hotspot on my little toe which was becoming increasingly painful with each step. I took my shoes and socks off and found a blister the actual size of my little toe. I've come all this way and doing so well (for me) - no way was I getting taken out by that!

I popped it and taped it up and accepted that my running sections were probably done. No problem, the cut-offs were generous and I was well ahead of where I had expected to be.

From here on, I would hold a strong walking pace to the finish.

Sixteen hours and four minutes after starting, I crossed the finish line.

Far quicker than the twenty hour finish I had quietly been aiming for.

So, looking back, maybe it wasn’t complete delusion after all.

Progress doesn’t always look like training plans and perfect weeks.

And if life gives you lemons, throw them in your water bottle and pretend it's a nutrition strategy.

Sometimes the best performances don’t come from perfect preparation, but from adapting when things don’t go to plan. And nobody needs little toenails anyway, do they?