100 miles, 12,700 feet, average rainfall 52mm
In the age of Strava, we’re used to being visible, to being watched. If it’s not on Strava, it didn’t happen. But the dramatic rise in popularity of ultra endurance events and multi-day adventure racing over recent years has seen the emergence of a curious new form of spectatorship. So-called “dot-watching” enables followers to track runners around courses in real time from the comfort of their own homes. Like the Eye of Sauron, now, there really is nowhere to hide.
If you actually stop and think about it, following a small dot around a screen for an entire weekend is a slightly strange pursuit. Especially when you consider that many of the people we so enthusiastically share our tracker links with have little or no context for the types of events we’re undertaking. How many dot watchers, for example, have been dots themselves? Do all dot watchers want to become dots? Probably not. But that doesn’t mean that watching the relentless forward progress of these tiny dots quietly going about their business can’t still be reassuring, and perhaps a little bit captivating. Especially when set against the mundane, everyday settings in which we often consume them; at work, in bed, or on the sofa. But what does it actually feel like to be a dot? To be out there in the dark, the wind, the rain, hour after hour. Do dots have feelings too?
Until very recently, I’m not sure I would have been best placed to answer this question. Two years ago, at the South Downs Way 100, I was the very worst kind of dot. You know the kind. It’s the one that hasn’t moved for a while. And I mean, quite a while. At first, you think it might be your internet connection. Or, more likely, the tracker itself has just momentarily dropped signal. But now, to make matters worse, this dot isn’t actually a dot any longer. No, this dot has become the thing that all dots fear; the strange little flashing bed icon!!! Some dots, the lucky ones, will miraculously reverse this unwanted transformation and regain their status as dots to begin their onward progress towards the finish. But, alas, I was not one of those.
It sounds a little bit dramatic now as I write it, but my DNF at the 30-mile point on the South Downs Way 100 in 2022 actually prompted something of an existential crisis. It certainly didn’t help that I’d planned the run as the centerpiece of my 40th birthday celebrations. I was quite literally racing the moment, at 2am in the morning, that I would step triumphantly from one decade into another. I’d decided this would be the final, definitive act of my 30s. A fitting end to another decade of running. As it happened (thanks to my hip, and probably poor pacing and lack of mental preparation), I turned 40 sitting on the sofa in an Airbnb in Eastbourne with a beer in my hand, not as a strong little dot, but as a vulnerable and fragile voyeur, hidden from view, watching all the other dots doing what dots are actually supposed to do, moving towards the finish!
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, I’d gone from participating in the race to consuming it online. In reality, I’d waited for a good couple of hours to be picked up from the checkpoint I’d dropped out at. I’d been driven nearly 70 miles back to our accommodation, where I’d enjoyed a shower, two meals and a nap, and the dots were still at it, just being dots, and most still had a very long way to go. On the one hand, this was a sobering and unappealing thought. On the other, it provided an enticing glimpse into the unfathomable persistence of these tiny little dots. I simply needed to know more. My time as a dot had been so brief. If only I’d known that I wouldn’t be a dot forever, I would have soaked up every precious moment. So, I did what any rational human being would do in my place, and I signed up immediately for the Lakeland 100. I would be a dot once again!
I’m pleased to say that this time around, my experience as a dot was a much happier one. I set off at a more reasonable pace, I kept my ego in check, and I ran strongly throughout the entire race to finish in 22h and 50 minutes, well under my 24-hour target. Suddenly, all the bad memories from last year were forgotten. I’d become the dot I’d always imagined I would be; effervescent, bright, and proudly visible in my moment of glory.
Finally, our curious little preoccupation with dot watching all made perfect sense because, ultimately, a dot can only really be a dot if someone’s watching it.
Matt John
